He glanced about him, examined the top of the dressing-table, opened the two drawers, looked under the pillows on the bed, and finally felt in the pockets of the pajamas and the dressing-gown.
“Everything’s quite conventional and in order,” he sighed, dropping into a chair by the window. “I fear we’ll have to look elsewhere for clues.”
Stamm had gone to the clothes-closet and opened the door; and Leland, as if animated by the spirit of the search, had followed him. Stamm reached up and turned on the light in the closet.
Leland, looking over the other’s shoulder, nodded approvingly.
“Of course,” he murmured, without any great show of enthusiasm. “His day suit.”
Vance rose quickly.
“’Pon my soul, Mr. Leland, I’d quite forgot it.… I say, Sergeant, fetch the johnny’s other togs, will you?”
Heath hastened to the closet and brought Montague’s sport suit to the centre-table. An examination of its pockets failed to reveal anything of importance until a leather wallet was removed from the inside coat pocket. Within the wallet were three letters, two in envelopes and one merely folded, without a covering. The two in envelopes were a circular from a tailor and a request for a loan.
The letter without an envelope, however, proved to be one of the most valuable clues in the dragon murder. Vance glanced through it, with a puzzled expression, and then, without a word, showed it to the rest of us. It was a brief note, in characteristically feminine chirography, on pale blue scented note-paper. It was without an address, but it was dated August 9th (which was Thursday, the day before the house-party began) and read:
Dearest Monty—
I will be waiting in a car, just outside the gate on the East Road, at ten o’clock. Ever thine,
Ellen.
Stamm was the last to read the note. His face went pale, and his hand trembled as he gave it back to Vance.
Vance barely glanced at him: he was gazing with a slight frown at the signature.
“Ellen… Ellen,” he mused. “Wasn’t that the name, Mr. Stamm, of the woman who said she wasn’t able to join your house-party because she was sailing for South America?”
“Yes—that’s it.” Stamm’s tone was husky. “Ellen Bruett. And she admitted she knew Montague.… I don’t get it at all. Why should she be waiting for him with a car? And even if Montague was in love with her, why should he join her in such an outlandish fashion?”
“It strikes me,” Leland put in grimly, “that Montague wanted to disappear in order to join this woman. The man was a moral coward, and he did not have the courage to come out and tell Bernice he wanted to break his engagement with her because he was in love with another woman. Moreover, he was an actor and would concoct just such a dramatic episode to avoid his obligations. The fellow was always spectacular in his conduct. Personally, I am not surprised at the outcome.”
Vance regarded him with a faint smile.
“But, Mr. Leland, really, don’t y’ know, there isn’t any outcome just yet.…”
“But surely,” protested Leland, with mild emphasis, “that note explains the situation.”
“It explains many things,” Vance conceded. “But it doesn’t explain how Montague could have emerged from the pool to keep his rendezvous without leaving the slightest sign of footprints.”
Leland studied Vance speculatively, reaching in his pocket for his pipe.
“Are you sure,” he asked, “that there are no footprints whatever?”
“Oh, there are footprints,” Vance returned quietly. “But they couldn’t have been made by Montague. Furthermore, they are not on the plot of ground at the edge of the pool which leads out to the East Road.… The footprints, Mr. Leland, are in the mud on the bottom of the pool.”
“On the bottom of the pool?” Leland drew in a quick breath, and I noticed that he spilled some of the tobacco as he filled his pipe. “What kind of footprints are they?”
Vance listlessly shifted his gaze to the ceiling.
“That’s difficult to say. They looked rather like marks which might have been made by some gigantic prehistoric beast.”
“The dragon!” The exclamation burst almost explosively from Leland’s lips. Then the man uttered a low nervous laugh and lighted his pipe with unsteady fingers. “I cannot admit, however,” he added lamely, “that Montague’s disappearance belongs in the realm of mythology.”
“I’m sure it does not,” Vance murmured carelessly. “But, after all, d’ ye see, one must account for those amazin’ imprints in the pool.”
“I should like to have seen those imprints,” Leland returned dourly. “But I suppose it is too late now.” He went to the window and looked out. “The water is already flowing through the gates.…”
Just then came the sound of heavy footsteps in the hall, and Snitkin appeared at the door, with several pieces of paper in his hand.
“Here are the copies, Sergeant.” The detective spoke in a strained tone: it was evident that our morning’s adventure on the basin of the pool had had a disquieting effect on him. “I’ve got the men working on the gates, and the lock in the dam is about closed. What’s the orders now?”
“Go back and boss the job,” Heath told him, taking the sketches. “And when it’s done send the boys home and take up your post at the road gate.”
Snitkin saluted and went away without a word.
Vance walked over to Heath and, taking out his monocle, studied the drawings.
“My word!” he commented admiringly. “They’re really clever, don’t y’ know. The chap is a natural draughtsman.… I say, Mr. Leland, here are copies of the footprints we found in the pool.”
Leland moved—somewhat hesitantly, I thought—to the Sergeant’s side and looked at the drawings. I watched him closely during his examination of the sketches, but I was unable to detect the slightest change of expression on his face.
At length he looked up, and his calm eyes slowly turned to Vance.
“Quite remarkable,” he said, and added in a colorless voice: “I cannot imagine what could have made such peculiar imprints in the pool.”
CHAPTER X
THE MISSING MAN
(Sunday, August 12; 1 p. m.)
It was now one o’clock. Stamm insisted on ordering lunch for us, and Trainor served it in the drawing-room. Stamm himself and Leland ate with the others in the dining-room. We were no sooner alone than Markham turned a troubled gaze on Vance.
“What do you make of it all?” he asked. “I can’t understand those marks on the bottom of the pool. They’re—they’re frightful.”
Vance shook his head despairingly: there could be no doubt that he too was troubled.
“I don’t like it—I don’t at all like it.” There was discouragement in his tone. “There’s something dashed sinister about this case—something that seems to reach out beyond the ordin’ry every-day experiences of man.”
“If it were not for all this curious dragon lore surrounding the Stamm estate,” said Markham, “we’d probably have dismissed those large imprints with the simple explanation that the water draining over the mud had tended to enlarge or distort ordinary footmarks.”
Vance smiled wearily.
“Yes, quite so. But we’d have been unscientific. Some of the footprints were pointed in the direction of the flow of the water, while others were at right-angles to it; yet their character was not changed at any point. Moreover, the receding water flowed very gently, and the shallow mud on the bottom of the pool is rather tenacious,—even the scale-like formations on the imprints were not washed away.… But even if one could account reasonably for the larger impressions, what about those astonishing claw-like imprints—?”
Suddenly Vance leapt to his feet and, going swiftly to the door, drew one of the portières aside. Before him stood Trainor, his pudgy face a ghastly white, his eyes staring like those of a man in a trance. In one hand he held Vance’s shoes.
Vance regarded him ironically and said nothing; and th
e man, with a quiver that ran over his entire body, made an effort to draw himself together.
“I’m—I’m sorry, sir,” he stammered. “I—I heard you talking and—didn’t wish to disturb you…so I waited. I have your boots, sir.”
“That’s quite all right, Trainor.” Vance returned to his chair. “I was merely curious as to who was hoverin’ outside the portières.… Thanks for the boots.”
The butler came forward obsequiously, knelt down and, removing the slippers from Vance’s feet, replaced them with the oxfords. His hands trembled perceptibly as he tied the laces.
When he left the room with the tray of luncheon dishes Heath glared after him belligerently.
“Now, what was that baby snooping around for?” he snarled. “There’s something on his mind.”
“Oh, doubtless.” Vance smiled moodily. “I’d say it was the dragon.”
“See here, Vance,”—Markham spoke with acerbity—“let’s drop this poppycock about a dragon.” There was a certain desperation in his tone. “How do you account for that note in Montague’s pocket—and what does it mean?”
“My word, Markham, I’m no Chaldean.” Vance leaned back in his chair and lighted another Régie. “Even if the whole affair was a spectacular plot in which the histrionic Montague was to make his exit in the approved dramatic manner, I still can’t imagine how he joined his inamorata without leaving some evidence as to his means of departure from the pool. It’s mystifyin’ no end.”
“Hell!” The forthright Sergeant cut into the discussion. “The bird got away somehow, didn’t he, Mr. Vance? And if we can’t find the evidence, he out-foxed us.”
“Tut, tut, Sergeant. You’re far too modest. I’ll admit the explanation should be simple, but I’ve a feelin’ that it’s going to prove dashed complex.”
“Nevertheless,” Markham argued, “that note from the Bruett woman and Montague’s disappearance complement each other perfectly.”
“Granted,” nodded Vance. “Too perfectly, in fact. But the imprints in the pool and the absence of any kind of footprints on the opposite bank, are two conflictin’ elements.”
He got to his feet and walked the length of the room and back.
“Then there’s the car in which the mysterious lady waited.… I say, Markham, I think a brief chat with Miss Stamm might prove illuminatin’.… Fetch the quakin’ butler, will you, Sergeant?”
Heath went swiftly from the room, and when Trainor came in Vance requested him to ask Miss Stamm to come to the drawing-room. A few minutes later she appeared.
Bernice Stamm was not exactly a beautiful girl, but she was unquestionably attractive, and I was amazed at her air of serenity, after the reports of her hysterical condition the night before. She had on a sleeveless white crêpe-de-Chine tennis dress. Her legs were bare, but she wore orange-colored woollen socks, rolled at the ankles, and white buckskin sandals. Though not exactly an athletic type, she gave one the same impression of strength and vitality as did her brother.
Vance offered her a chair. But she declined it courteously, saying that she preferred to stand.
“Perhaps you’ll have a cigarette,” he suggested, proffering her his case.
She accepted one with a slight bow, and he held his lighter for her. Her manner seemed strangely detached, as if both her thoughts and her emotions were far away from her immediate surroundings; and I remembered the Sergeant’s criticism of her to the effect that she had not seemed as much concerned about the tragedy itself as about something indirectly connected with it. Perhaps Vance received the same impression, for his first question was:
“Exactly how do you feel, Miss Stamm, about the tragedy that took place here last night?”
“I hardly know what to say,” she answered, with apparent frankness. “Of course, I was tremendously upset. I think we all were.”
Vance studied her searchingly a moment.
“But surely your reaction must have been deeper than that. You were engaged to Mr. Montague, I understand.”
She nodded wistfully.
“Yes—but that was a great mistake. I realize it now.… If it had not been a mistake,” she added, “I’m sure I would feel much more deeply about the tragedy than I do.”
“You think this tragedy was accidental?” Vance asked with sudden bluntness.
“Of course it was!” The girl turned on him with blazing eyes. “It couldn’t have been anything else. I know what you mean—I’ve heard all the silly chatter round this house—but it’s quite impossible to attribute Monty’s death to anything but an accident.”
“You don’t put any stock, then, in these tales of a dragon in the pool?”
She laughed with genuine amusement.
“No, I don’t believe in fairy-tales. Do you?”
“I still believe in tales of Prince Charming,” Vance returned lightly; “though I’ve always rather suspected the chap. He was much too good to be true.”
The girl let her eyes rest on Vance calmly for several moments. Then she said:
“I haven’t the slightest idea what you mean.”
“It really doesn’t matter,” he returned. “But it’s a bit disconcertin’ not to have found the body of the gentleman who dived into the pool last night.”
“You mean—”
“Yes—quite. Mr. Montague has disappeared completely.”
She gave him a startled look.
“But—at lunch—my brother—he didn’t tell me.… You’re quite sure that Monty has disappeared?”
“Oh, yes. We drained the pool, don’t y’ know.” Vance paused and regarded the girl mildly. “All we found were some fantastic footprints.”
Her eyes widened and the pupils dilated.
“What kind of footprints?” she asked, in a tense, hushed voice.
“I’ve never seen any like them before,” Vance returned. “If I believed in mythical submarine monsters, I might conclude that some such creature had made them.”
Bernice Stamm was standing near the portières, and involuntarily she reached out and clutched one of them with her hand, as if to steady herself. But her sudden loss of composure was only momentary. She forced a smile and, walking further into the room, leaned against the mantelpiece.
“I am afraid”—she spoke with obvious effort—“I’m too practical to be frightened by any seeming evidences of the dragon’s presence here.”
“I’m sure you are, Miss Stamm,” Vance replied pleasantly. “And since you are so practical, perhaps this missive will interest you.” He took from his pocket the blue, scented note that had been found in Montague’s day suit, and handed it to her.
The girl read it without change of expression, but when she gave it back to Vance I noticed that she sighed deeply, as if the implication of its contents had brought her peace of mind.
“That note is far more reasonable than the footprints you speak of,” she remarked.
“The note in itself is reasonable enough,” Vance admitted. “But there are correlative factors which make it appear most unreasonable. For one thing, there’s the car in which the ever-thine Ellen was to have waited. Surely, in the night-time silence of Inwood, the sound of an automobile could have been heard at a distance of a few hundred yards.”
“It was—it was!” she exclaimed. “I heard it!” The color rushed back to her cheeks, and her eyes glistened. “I didn’t realize it until this minute. When Mr. Leland and the others were in the pool searching for Monty—ten minutes or so after he had dived in—I heard a car starting and the hum of the motor picking up as when the gears are being shifted—you know the sort of noise I mean. And it was down on the East Road.…”
“The car was going away from the estate?”
“Yes—yes! It was going away—toward Spuyten Duyvil.… It all comes back to me now. I was kneeling there, at the edge of the pool, frightened and dazed. And the sound of this car drifted in on me, mixed with the sound of splashing in the water. But I didn’t think about the car at the time—it seemed so unim
portant…the suspense of those few minutes—I think you understand what I am trying to say. I completely forgot such a trivial thing as the sound of a car, until that note brought it back to me.” The girl spoke with the intensity of unassailable veracity.
“I understand exactly,” Vance assured her consolingly. “And your remembering the sound of the car has helped us no end.”
He had been standing by the centre-table during the interview, and he now came forward toward the girl and held out his hand in an attitude of friendly sympathy. With a spontaneous gesture of gratitude, she put her hand in his; and he led her to the door.
“We sha’n’t bother you any more now,” he said gently. “But will you be good enough to ask Mr. Leland to come here?”
She nodded and walked away toward the library.
“Do you think she was telling the truth about hearing an automobile?” Markham asked.
“Oh, undoubtedly.” Vance moved back to the centre-table and smoked for a moment in silence: there was a puzzled look on his face. “Curious thing about that girl. I doubt if she thinks Montague escaped in a car—but she unquestionably did hear a car. I wonder…she may be trying to shield some one.… A nice gel, Markham.”
“You think perhaps she knows or suspects something?”
“I doubt if she knows anything.” Vance turned and sought a nearby chair. “But, my word! she certainly has suspicions.…”
At this moment Leland entered the drawing-room. He was smoking his pipe, and, though he tried to appear cheerful, his expression belied his manner.
“Miss Stamm told me you wished to see me,” he said, taking his stand before the fireplace. “I hope you have said nothing to upset her.”
Vance watched him intently for a moment.
“Miss Stamm,” he said, “did not seem particularly upset by the fact that Montague has departed this milieu.”
“Perhaps she has come to realize—” Leland began, and then stopped abruptly, busying himself with repacking his pipe. “Did you show her the note?”
“Yes, of course.” Vance kept his eyes on the other.
“That note reminds me of something,” Leland went on. “The automobile, you know. I have been thinking about that ever since I saw the note, trying to recall my impressions last night, after Montague had disappeared under the water. And I remember quite distinctly now that I did hear a motor-car on the East Road when I came to the surface of the pool, after having looked for the chap. Naturally, I thought nothing of it at the time—I was too intent on the task in hand; that is probably why it went out of my mind until that note recalled it.”
The Philo Vance Megapack Page 171