Brush bowed and went to the kitchen. A few moments later he reappeared with a corpulent, placid woman of about fifty.
“This is Dingle, sir,” he said. “I took the liberty of informing her of Mr. Kyle’s death.”
Dingle regarded us stolidly and waited, unperturbed, her hands on her generous hips.
“Good-afternoon, Dingle.” Vance sat on the edge of the table. “As Brush has told you, a serious accident has happened in this house.”
“An accident, is it?” The woman nodded her head sagely. “Maybe. Anyhow, you couldn’t knock me over with a feather. What surprises me is that something didn’t happen long ago—what with young Mr. Salveter living in the house, and Mr. Scarlett hanging around, and the doctor fussing with his mummies day and night. But I certainly didn’t expect anything to happen to Mr. Kyle,—he was a very nice and liberal gentleman.”
“To whom did you expect something to happen, Dingle?”
The woman set her face determinedly.
“I’m not saying—it’s none of my business. But things here ain’t according to nature.…” Again she wagged her head shrewdly. “Now, I’ve got a young good-looking niece who wants to marry a man of fifty, and I says to her—”
“I’m sure you gave her excellent advice, Dingle,” Vance interrupted; “but we’d much prefer to hear your views on the Bliss family.”
“You’ve heard ’em.” The woman’s jaws went together with a click, and it was obvious that neither threats nor wheedling could get any more out of her on the subject.
“Oh, that’s quite all right.” Vance treated her refusal as of no importance. “But there’s one other matter we’d like to know about. It won’t compromise you in the slightest to tell us.—Did you hear any one in this room after Mrs. Bliss and Mr. Salveter had gone up-stairs this morning—that is, during the time you were making the toast for the doctor’s breakfast?”
“So that’s it, is it?” Dingle squinted and remained silent for several moments. “Maybe I did and maybe I didn’t,” she said at length. “I wasn’t paying any particular attention.… Who could’ve been in here?”
“I haven’t the faintest notion.” Vance smiled engagingly. “That’s what we’re tryin’ to find out.”
“Is it, now?” The woman’s eyes drifted to the percolator. “Since you ask me,” she returned, with a malevolence I could not understand at the time, “I’ll tell you that I thought I heard some one drawing a cup of coffee.”
“Who did you think it was?”
“I thought it was Brush. But at that moment he came out of the rear hall and asked me how the toast was getting along. So I knew it wasn’t him.”
“And what did you think then?”
“I didn’t do any thinking.”
Vance nodded abruptly and turned to Brush.
“Maybe we could have that toast and tea now.”
“Certainly, sir.” He started toward the kitchen, waving Dingle before him; but Markham halted them.
“Bring me a small container of some kind, Brush,” he ordered. “I want to take away the rest of the coffee in this percolator.”
“There ain’t no coffee in it,” Dingle informed him aggressively. “I cleaned that pesky contraption out and polished it at ten o’clock this morning.”
“Thank Heaven for that,” sighed Vance. “Y’ know, Markham, if you had any of that coffee to analyze, you’d be farther away from the truth than ever.”
With this cryptic remark he slowly lighted a cigarette and began inspecting one of the stencilled figures on the wall.
CHAPTER 12
THE TIN OF OPIUM
(Friday, July 13; 3:15 P.M.)
A few minutes later Brush served us tea and toast.
“It is oolong tea, sir—Taiwan,” he explained proudly to Vance. “And I did not butter the toast.”
“You have rare intuition, Brush.” Vance spoke appreciatively. “And what of Mrs. Bliss and Mr. Salveter? They have had no lunch.”
“I took tea to them a little while ago. They did not wish anything else.”
“And Doctor Bliss?”
“He has not rung for me, sir. But then, he often goes without lunch.” Ten minutes later Vance called Brush in from the kitchen.
“Suppose you fetch Hani.”
The butler’s eyelids fluttered.
“Yes, sir.” He bowed stiffly and departed.
“There are one or two matters,” Vance explained to Markham, “that we should clear up at once; and Hani may be able to enlighten us.… The actual murder of Kyle is the least devilish thing about this plot. I’m countin’ extravagantly on what we’ll learn from Salveter and Mrs. Bliss—which is why, d’ ye see, I want to accumulate beforehand as much ammunition as possible.”
“Still and all,” put in Heath, “a guy was bumped off, and if I could put my hands on the bird who did it I wouldn’t lay awake night worrying about plots.”
“You’re so dashed pristine, Sergeant.” Vance sipped his tea dolefully. “Findin’ the murderer is simple. But even if you had him gyved, it wouldn’t do you a tittle of good. He’d have you apologizin’ to him within forty-eight hours.”
“The hell he would!” snapped Heath. “Slip me the baby that croaked Kyle, and I’ll show you some inside stuff that don’t get into the newspapers.”
“If you were to arrest the murderer now,” Vance returned mildly, “both of you would get into the newspapers—and the stories would all go against you. I’m savin’ you from your own impetuosity.”
Heath snorted, but Markham looked at Vance seriously.
“I’m begining to fall in with your views,” he said. “The elements in this case are damnably confused.”
At this moment soft, measured footsteps sounded in the hall, and Hani appeared at the door. He was calm and aloof as usual, and his immobile face registered not the least surprise at our being in possession of the breakfast-room.
“Come in and sit down, Hani.” Vance’s invitation was almost too pleasant.
The Egyptian moved slowly toward us, but he did not take a seat.
“I prefer to stand, effendi.”
“It’s of course more comfortin’ to stand in moments of stress,” Vance commented.
Hani inclined his head slightly, but made no answer. His poise, typically oriental, was colossal.
“Mr. Scarlett tells us,” Vance began, without looking up, “that Mrs. Bliss had been well provided for in Mr. Kyle’s will. This information, Mr. Scarlett said, came from you.”
“Is it not natural,” asked Hani, in a quiet voice, “that Mr. Kyle should provide for his god-child?”
“He told you he had done so?”
“Yes. He always confided in me, for he knew I loved Meryt-Amen like a father.”
“When did he give you his confidence?”
“Years ago—in Egypt.”
“Who else, Hani, knew of this bequest?”
“I think every one knew of it. He told me in the presence of Doctor Bliss. And naturally I told Meryt-Amen.”
“Did Mr. Salveter know about it?”
“I told him myself.” There was a curious note in Hani’s voice, which I could not understand at the time.
“And you also told Mr. Scarlett.” Vance raised his eyes and studied the Egyptian impersonally. “You’re not what I’d call the ideal reposit’ry for a secret.”
“I did not consider the matter a secret,” Hani returned.
“Obviously not.” Vance rose and walked languidly to the samovar.
“Do you happen to know if Mr. Salveter was also to be an object of Mr. Kyle’s benefactions?”
“I could not say with assurance.” Hani’s eyes rested dreamily on the opposite wall. “But from certain remarks dropped by Mr. Kyle, I gathered that Mr. Salveter was also well provided for in the will.”
“You like Mr. Salveter—eh, what, Hani?” Vance lifted the top of the samovar and peered into its interior.
“He is, I have reason to think, an admirable young man.�
��
“Oh, quite.” Vance smiled faintly, and replaced the samovar’s lid. “And he is much nearer Mrs. Bliss’s age than Doctor Bliss.”
Hani’s eyes flickered, and it seemed to me that he gave a slight start. It was a momentary reaction, however. Slowly he folded his arms, and stood like a sphinx, silent and detached.
“Mrs. Bliss and Mr. Salveter will both be rich, now that Mr. Kyle is dead.” Vance spoke casually without glancing toward the Egyptian. After a pause he asked: “But what of Doctor Bliss’s excavations?”
“They are probably at an end, effendi.” Despite Hani’s monotonous tone there was a discernible note of triumphal satisfaction in his words. “Why should the sacred resting-places of our noble Pharaohs be ravaged?”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” Vance said blandly. “The art unearthed is scarcely worth considerin’. The only true art of antiquity is Chinese; and all modern aesthetic beauty stems from the Greeks.… But this isn’t an appropriate time to discuss the creative instinct.… Speakin’ of the doctor’s researches, isn’t it possible that Mrs. Bliss will continue to finance her husband’s work?”
A black cloud fell across Hani’s face.
“It’s possible. Meryt-Amen is a loyal wife.… And no one can tell what a woman will do.”
“So I’ve been told—by those unversed in feminine psychology.” Vance’s manner was light and almost flippant. “Still, even should Mrs. Bliss decline to assist in the continuance of the work, Mr. Salveter—with his fanatical enthusiasm for Egyptology—might be persuaded to act as the doctor’s financial angel.”
“Not if it offended Meryt-Amen—” began Hani, and then stopped abruptly.
Vance appeared not to notice the sudden break in the other’s response.
“You would, I suppose,” he remarked, “attempt to influence Mrs. Bliss against helping her husband complete his excavations.”
“Oh, no, effendi.” Hani shook his head. “I would not presume to advise her. She knows her own mind—and her loyalty to Doctor Bliss would dictate her decision, whatever I might say.”
“Ah!… Tell me, Hani, who do you consider was the most benefited by the death of Mr. Kyle?”
“The ka of Intef.”130
Vance raised his eyes and gave an exasperated smile.
“Ah, yes—of course.… Most helpful,” he murmured.
“For that reason,” Hani continued, a visionary look on his face, “the spirit of Sakhmet returned to the museum this morning and struck down the desecrator—”
“And,” interjected Vance, “put the financial report in the desecrator’s hand, placed the doctor’s scarab pin beside the body, and made bloody footprints leading to the study.… Not very fairminded, your lady of vengeance—in fact, a rather bad sport, don’t y’ know, tryin’ to get some one else punished for her little flutter in crime.” He studied the Egyptian closely through narrowed eyes; then he leaned forward over the end of the table. When he spoke again his voice was severe and resonant. “You’re trying to shield some one, Hani!… Who is it?”
The other took a deep breath, and the pupils of his eyes dilated.
“I have told you all I know, effendi.” His voice was scarcely audible. “I believe that Sakhmet—”
“Rubbish!” Vance cut him short. Then he shrugged his shoulders and grinned. “Jawâb ul ahmaq sakût.”131
A shrewd gleam came into Hani’s eyes, and I thought I detected a sneer on his mouth.
Vance was in no wise disconcerted, however. Somehow I felt that, despite the Egyptian’s evasiveness, he had learned what he wanted. After a brief pause he tapped the samovar.
“Leaving mythology to one side,” he said complaisantly, “I understand that Mrs. Bliss sent Brush to you this morning with a cup of coffee.”
Hani merely nodded.
“What, by the by, was the nature of your illness?” Vance asked.
“Since coming to this country,” the man returned, “I have suffered from indigestion. When I awoke this morning—”
“Most unfortunate,” Vance murmured sympathetically. “And did you find that the one cup of coffee was sufficient for your needs?”
Hani obviously resented the question, but there was no indication of his feeling in his answer.
“Yes, effendi. I was not hungry.…”
Vance looked mildly surprised.
“Indeed! I was rather under the impression you came down-stairs and drew yourself a second cup from this percolator.”
Once more a cautious expression came over Hani’s face, and he hesitated perceptibly before answering.
“A second cup?” he repeated. “Here in the breakfast-room?… I was not aware of the fact.”
“It doesn’t matter in the least,” Vance returned. “Some one was alone with the percolator this morning. And whoever it was—that is to say, whoever might have been alone with it—was involved in the plot of Mr. Kyle’s death.”
“How could that be, effendi?” Hani, for the first time, appeared vitally worried.
Vance did not answer his query. He was leaning over the table, looking critically at the inlay.
“Dingle said she thought she heard some one in here after Mrs. Bliss and Mr. Salveter had gone up-stairs after breakfast, and it occurred to me it might have been you.…” He glanced up sharply. “It’s possible, of course, that Mrs. Bliss returned for another cup of coffee…or even Mr. Salveter.…”
“It was I who was here!” Hani spoke with slow and impressive emphasis. “I came down-stairs almost immediately after Meryt-Amen had returned to her room. I drew myself another cup of coffee, and at once went back up-stairs. It was I whom Dingle heard.… I lied to you a moment ago because I had already told you, in the museum, that I had remained in my room all the morning—my trip to the breakfast-room had slipped my mind. I did not regard the matter as of any importance.”
“Well, well! That explains everything.” Vance smiled musingly. “And now that you have recalled your little pilgrimage for coffee, will you tell us who in the house possesses powdered opium?”
I was watching Hani, and I expected to see him show some sign of fear at Vance’s question. But only an expression of profound puzzlement came over his stolid features. A full half minute passed before he spoke.
“At last I comprehend why you have questioned me concerning the coffee,” he said. “But you are being cleverly deceived.”
“Fancy that!” Vance stifled a yawn.
“Bliss effendi was not put to sleep this morning,” the Egyptian continued; and, despite the oracular monotone of his voice, there was an undercurrent of hatred beneath his words.
“Really, now!… And who said he had been put to sleep, Hani?”
“Your interest in the coffee…your question regarding the opium.…” His voice trailed off.
“Well?”
“I have no more to say.”
“Opium,” Vance informed him, “was found in the bottom of the doctor’s coffee cup.”
Hani appeared genuinely startled by this news.
“You are sure, effendi?… I cannot understand.”
“Why should you understand?” Vance stepped forward and stood before the man, searching him with a fixed look. “How much do you know about this crime, Hani?”
The veil of detachment again fell over the Egyptian.
“I know nothing,” he returned sullenly.
Vance made a gesture of impatient resignation.
“You at least know who owned powdered opium hereabouts.”
“Yes, I know that. Powered opium was part of the medical equipment on our tours of exploration in Egypt. Bliss effendi had charge of it.”
Vance waited.
“There is a large cabinet in the hall up-stairs,” Hani continued. “All the medical supplies are kept there.”
“Is the door kept locked?”
“No, I do not believe so.”
“Would you be so good as to toddle up-stairs and see if the opium is still there?”
H
ani bowed and departed without a word.
“Look here, Vance;”—Markham had risen and was pacing up and down—“what earthly good can it do us to know whether the rest of the opium is in the cabinet?… Moreover, I don’t trust Hani.”
“Hani has been most revealin’,” Vance replied. “Let me dally with him in my own way for a time,—he has ideas, and they’re most interestin’.… As for the opium, I have a distinct feelin’ that the tin of brown powder in the medicine chest will have disappeared—”
“But why,” interrupted Markham, “should the person who extracted some of the opium remove it all from the cabinet? He wouldn’t leave the container on his dressing-table for the purpose of leading us directly to him.”
“Not exactly.” Vance’s tone was grave. “But he may have sought to throw suspicion on some one else.… That’s mere theory, however. Anyway, I’ll be frightfully disappointed if Hani finds the tin in the cabinet.”
Heath was glowering.
“It looks to me, sir,” he complained, “that one of us ought look for that opium. You can’t trust anything that Swami says.”
“Ah, but you can trust his reactions, Sergeant,” Vance answered. “Furthermore, I had a definite object in sending Hani up-stairs alone.”
Again came the sound of Hani’s footsteps in the hall outside. Vance walked to the window. Under his drooping lids he was watching the door eagerly.
The Egyptian entered the room with a resigned, martyr-like air. In one hand he held a small circular tin container bearing a white-paper label. He placed it solemnly on the table and lifted heavy eyes to Vance.
“I found the opium, effendi.”
“Where?” The word was spoken softly.
Hani hesitated and dropped his gaze.
“It was not in the cabinet,” he said. “The place on the shelf were it was generally kept, was empty.… And then I remembered—”
“Most convenient!” There was a sneer in Vance’s tone. “You remembered that you yourself had taken the opium some time ago—eh, what?… Couldn’t sleep—or something of the kind.”
“The effendi understands many things.” Hani’s voice was flat and expressionless. “Several weeks ago I was lying awake—I had not slept well for nights—and I went to the cabinet and took the opium to my room. I placed the container in the drawer of my own cabinet—”
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