The Philo Vance Megapack

by S. S. Van Dine

  The inspection of Greeff’s belongings took but a short time. Vance went first to the clothes-closet and found there a brown business suit and a sport suit; but the pockets held nothing of any importance. The dinner suit was then investigated, without any enlightening result: its pockets contained merely an ebony cigarette holder, a cigarette case of black moiré silk, and two elaborately monogrammed handkerchiefs. There was nothing belonging to Greeff in the drawers of the dressing-table; and in the cabinet of the bathroom were only the usual toilet accessories—a toothbrush and paste, a shaving outfit, a bottle of toilet water and a shaker of talcum powder. Nor did the Gladstone bag yield anything significant or suggestive.

  Vance had said nothing during the search, but there was an intent eagerness in his attitude. He now stood in the middle of the room, looking down, his eyes half closed in troubled thought. It was patent that he was disappointed.

  Slowly he lifted his head, shrugged slightly, and started toward the door.

  “I’m afraid there’s nothing here that will help us,” he said; and there was something in his voice that made me feel that he was referring to some specific, but unnamed, object which he had hoped to find.

  Markham, too, must have caught the undertone in Vance’s voice which had conveyed this impression to me, for he asked crisply:

  “Just what, Vance, were you expecting to discover in this room?”

  Vance hesitated and turned slowly back to us.

  “I am not quite sure.… There should have been something here. But don’t ask me to say what—there’s a good fellow. I wouldn’t know exactly how to answer.” He smiled ingratiatingly and, turning, went out into the hall. The rest of us followed him.

  As we reached the head of the stairs Doctor Holliday was just coming up from the main floor. He greeted us with reserved cordiality, and we were about to start down the stairs when, with what seemed a sudden impulse, Vance halted.

  “I say, doctor,” he asked, “would you mind if we went up with you? There’s something of vital importance I would like to ask Mrs. Stamm. I sha’n’t disturb her.…”

  “Come along,” Doctor Holliday nodded, as he turned on the landing and swung his bulky frame up toward the third floor.

  When Mrs. Schwarz opened the door for us Mrs. Stamm was standing at the open window overlooking the pool, her back to us. As we entered the room she turned slowly until her fiery eyes rested on us. There seemed to be a new glittering quality in her gaze, but there was no smile on her lips: her mouth was at once grim and placid.

  Vance walked directly toward her, halting only when he was within a few feet of her.

  His expression was severe; his eyes were determined.

  “Mrs. Stamm,” he said, in a stern, quiet tone, “terrible things have happened here. And more terrible things are going to happen—unless you help us. And these other terrible things will not be of a nature that will please you. They will befall those who are not enemies of the Stamms; and, therefore, your dragon—that protector of your household—could not be held responsible.”

  A frightened look came into the woman’s eyes as she stared raptly at Vance.

  “What can I do to help you?” Her voice was a hollow monotone, as if she had merely thought the words and her lips had automatically articulated them.

  “You can tell us,” Vance answered, without relaxing his severity of tone, “where you have hidden the key to the family vault.”

  The woman’s eyes closed slowly, as if from some great physical reaction, and she took a long, deep breath. I may have imagined it, but I received the strong impression that Vance’s words had brought her a sense of relief. Then her eyelids went up quickly: a certain calm had come into her gaze.

  “Is that all you wish to know?” she asked.

  “That is all, madam—but it is vitally important. And I give you my word that the tomb of your dead will not be desecrated.”

  The woman studied Vance appraisingly for several moments. Then she moved to the large chair by the window and sat down. With slow but resolute determination she reached into the bosom of her black lace dress and drew forth a small rectangular scapular on which I could see the faded image of a saint. The stitching, which held the linen and chamois-skin together, was open at the top, so that the scapular was in actuality a small bag. Turning it upside down, she shook it; and presently there fell out into her hand a small flat key.

  “Mrs. Schwarz,” she commanded dictatorially, “take this key and go to my old steamer trunk in the clothes-closet.”

  Mrs. Schwarz took the key, turned stoically and, opening the small door in the east wall of the room, disappeared into the semi-darkness beyond.

  “Ja, Frau Stamm,” she called from within.

  “Now unlock the trunk and lift out the tray,” Mrs. Stamm instructed her. “Carefully turn up all the old linen you see there. In the right-hand back corner there is an old jewel box, wrapped in a damask tablecloth. Bring out the box.”

  After a few moments, during which Vance stood in silence looking out the window at the cliffs beyond the pool, Mrs. Schwarz emerged from the closet, carrying a beautiful Venetian box, about eight inches long and six inches wide, with a rounded top. It was covered in faded mauve brocaded velvet, surmounted with hammered-metal scroll-work.

  “Hand it to this gentleman.” Mrs. Stamm made an awkward gesture toward Vance. “The vault key is inside.”

  Vance came forward and took the box. He threw the catch and opened the lid. Markham had stepped up to him and stood looking over his shoulder. After a moment’s inspection Vance closed the box and handed it back to Mrs. Schwarz.

  “You may put it away again,” he said, in a tone and with a look which constituted a command. Then he turned to Mrs. Stamm and, bowing, said: “You have helped us no end. And I want you to know that we deeply appreciate your confidence.”

  A faint smile of cynical gratification distorted the contour of Mrs. Stamm’s mouth.

  “Are you entirely satisfied?” she asked. (There was an undertone of both sarcasm and triumph in her voice.)

  “Quite,” Vance assured her.

  He took his leave at once. Doctor Holliday remained with his patient. When we were again in the hallway and Mrs. Schwarz had closed the door behind us, Markham took Vance by the arm.

  “See here,” he said, frowning deeply; “what was the idea? Are you going to let her put you off with an empty box?”

  “But she hasn’t, don’t y’ know,” Vance returned dulcetly. “She didn’t know the box was empty. She thought the key was there. Why upset her by telling her the box is empty?”

  “What has the key got to do with it, anyway?” Markham demanded angrily.

  “That’s what I’m trying to ascertain.” And before Markham could say anything more, Vance turned to Leland, who had watched the entire proceeding in puzzled silence. “Can you show us where Tatum’s room is?” he asked.

  We had now reached the second-story landing, and Leland drew himself up with a curious start: his habitual air of cool reserve momentarily deserted him.

  “Tatum’s room?” he repeated, as if he doubted that he had heard Vance correctly. But immediately he recovered himself and turned. “His room is just here, across the hall,” he said. “It is the one between Stamm’s room and Greeff’s.”

  Vance crossed the hall to the door Leland indicated. It was unlocked, and he opened it and stepped inside the room. We followed him, puzzled and silent. Markham appeared even more surprised than Leland had been at Vance’s sudden and unexpected query about Tatum’s room. He now gave Vance a searching, inquisitive look, and was about to say something but checked himself and waited.

  Vance stood in the middle of the room, glancing about him and letting his gaze rest for a moment on each piece of furniture.

  Heath’s expression was hard and determined. Without waiting for Vance to speak, he asked:

  “Do you want me to get the guy’s clothes out and make a search?”

  Vance shook his head in a
slow, thoughtful negative.

  “I don’t think that will be necess’ry, Sergeant. But you might look under the bed and on the floor of the clothes-closet.”

  Heath drew out his flashlight and went down on his hands and knees. After a brief inspection, he stood up with a grunt.

  “Nothing there but a pair of slippers.” He went to the clothes-closet and made another inspection.

  “Just some shoes, that’s all,” he announced upon emerging.

  Vance, in the meantime, had gone to the low-boy beside the window and opened the drawers, examining them carefully. He then went to the dressing-table and repeated the operation. There was a look of disappointment on his face as he turned away from the table and slowly lit a cigarette. Again his eyes roamed about the room and finally came to rest on a Queen Anne night-table beside the bed.

  “One more chance,” he murmured, as he crossed the room and drew out the small drawer of burl walnut.

  “Ah, quite!”

  He reached into the drawer and withdrew some object which we could not see. Then he approached Leland and held out his hand.

  “Is that the key to the vault, Mr. Leland?” he asked.

  “That is the key,” said Leland simply.

  Markham strode forward, his face an ugly red.

  “How did you know the key was here?” he demanded angrily. “And what does it mean?”

  “I didn’t know it was here, old dear,” Vance returned with exaggerated sweetness. “And I don’t know what it means.… But I think we’ll take a peep at the vault—eh, what?”

  When we were again in the lower hall Vance turned to Leland with a serious and stern gaze.

  “You will remain here, please,” he said. “And you’re to make no mention, to any one, of the fact that we have found the key to the vault.”

  Leland appeared nettled at Vance’s tone. He bowed with considerable dignity.

  “I will, of course, respect your wishes,” he replied, and turned toward the library.

  Vance went immediately to the front door. We circled the house to the north, descended the steps to the pool, traversed the coping of the filter, and turned into the narrow tree-lined cement walk which led to the East Road. When we had reached a point where we were entirely hidden from observation, Vance led the way through the shrubbery toward the ivy-covered vault. Taking the key from his pocket, he inserted it in the keyhole and turned it. I was astonished to see how easily the tumblers swung back and operated the bolt. Vance leaned against the heavy door, and it moved slowly inward, rasping and creaking on its rusty iron hinges.

  A musty dead odor assailed us from the dimness within.

  “Let’s have your flashlight, Sergeant,” Vance said, as he passed over the threshold.

  Heath complied with alacrity, and we stepped into the ancient vault of the Stamms. Then Vance cautiously closed the door and played the beam of the flashlight about the walls and ceiling and floor. Even on that hot summer day there was a damp and chilling atmosphere in this gruesome half-buried tomb, with its encrusted walls of dank mortar, its age-discolored marble floor, and its tiers of wooden coffins, which stretched across the entire south side of the vault, from the floor to the ceiling.

  After a casual inspection Vance knelt down and examined the floor carefully.

  “Some one’s been walking round here recently,” he remarked. He moved the circle of light along the marble tiles, toward the coffins. On one of the tiles were two small dark spots.

  Stepping toward them, Vance leaned over. Then he moistened a finger and touched one of them. When he moved his finger directly into the light there was visible a dark red smudge.

  “That will be blood, Markham,” he commented dryly, as he stood up.

  Again he moved the flashlight back and forth across the floor, systematically traversing each of the large marble tiles. Suddenly he stepped forward, toward the north wall of the vault and, reaching swiftly down, picked up something which I had not even noticed, although my eyes had been following the sweep of the light.

  “Oh, my aunt! That’s interestin’.” He extended his hand in the circle of intense illumination cast by the flashlight.

  We beheld there a small gardenia, still white and fresh-looking, with only the edges of the petals curled and browning.

  “Greeff’s gardenia, I imagine.” Vance’s tone was low and held a faint undercurrent of sinister awe. “You remember he wore one yesterday afternoon when we talked with him. And there was no gardenia in his coat lapel when we found him in the pot-hole this morning!”

  CHAPTER XVII

  THE DUPLICATED DEATH

  (Monday, August 13; 11.15 a. m.)

  We came out of the chilly dank vault into the hot sunlight, and there was something benign and steadying in the vista of trees and shrubbery and the intimate, familiar objects of the outdoors.

  “I think that will be all for the present,” Vance said, in a curiously hushed voice, as he locked the ponderous iron door and dropped the key into his pocket. He turned, a deep frown on his forehead, and started back toward the house. “Bloodstains and a gardenia! My word!”

  “But, Vance,” protested Markham, “those marks on Greeff’s body:—surely Greeff wasn’t in the pool last night. His clothes were perfectly dry and showed no signs of having been wetted—”

  “I know what’s in your mind,” Vance interrupted. “And you’re quite right. Even if Greeff was murdered in the vault, the same cannot be said of Montague. That’s the confusin’ part of it.… But let’s wait a bit before we speculate.” He made a slight gesture, as if to request silence, and continued his way across the coping of the filter.

  When we had reached the south side of the pool and were about to mount the steps leading to the house, I happened to glance up. On the third-floor balcony sat old Mrs. Stamm, her elbows on the railing and her head buried between her hands. Behind her stood the imperturbable Mrs. Schwarz, gazing down at her.

  Then suddenly there came drifting out of the library windows the blurred, cacophonic strains of a popular dance tune played fortissimo on the piano; and I assumed that Tatum was endeavoring to throw off the depressing pall that hung over the old house. But as suddenly as the raucous music had begun, it ceased; and at this moment Vance, who was leading the way up the steps, turned and spoke, with the air of one who had made a final decision on some moot and difficult problem.

  “It would be best to say nothing to any one about our visit to the vault. The right time has not come yet.” His eyes were troubled as they rested on Markham. “I can’t fit the pattern together yet. But something horrible is going on here, and there’s no telling what might happen if what we have just discovered became known.”

  He gazed at his cigarette speculatively, as if trying to make another decision. At length he added:

  “I think, however, we had better speak to Leland about it. He knows we found the key to the vault.… Yes, we had better tell Leland. And there’s always the chance that he may have some explanation that will help us.”

  When we entered the house Leland was standing in the front hall, near the stairs. He turned quickly and looked at us uneasily.

  “I had to leave the library,” he explained, as if his presence in the hall required an apology. “Tatum started playing the piano. I am afraid I was a bit rough with him.”

  “He can endure it, I imagine,” Vance murmured. “Anyway, I’m glad you’re here. I wanted to ask you something about Tatum.”

  He led the way into the drawing-room.

  “Did Tatum, by any chance,” he inquired when we were seated, “accompany Stamm on any of his fishing or treasure-hunting expeditions?”

  Leland looked up slowly, and there was a flicker of astonishment in his eyes.

  “Funny you should ask that.” His voice, though drab, was pitched a little higher than usual. “The truth is, Tatum did ship along with us to Cocos Island—an uncle of his, I believe, helped finance the trip. But he could not stick it out. He went all to pieces in the d
eadly climate there—too much alcohol, I imagine. We tried him on under-sea work for a while, but it was no go. He was just a burden to the expedition. We finally hailed a whaler and sent him to Costa Rica, where he picked up a liner back to the States.”

  Vance nodded abstractedly and dropped the subject. Slowly he took his cigarette case from his pocket, chose a Régie with intent deliberation, and lighted it.

  “We’ve been to the Stamm vault, Mr. Leland,” he remarked, without looking up.

  Leland glanced at Vance sideways, took his pipe from his mouth, and said indifferently: “I imagined as much. I have never been inside it myself. The usual thing, I suppose?”

  “Quite the usual thing,” Vance concurred. He looked up casually and smoked for a moment. “One or two little points of interest, however. There was a bit of blood on the floor—and the gardenia Greeff wore yesterday. Otherwise quite conventional.”

  Leland stiffened in his chair and then leaned forward. Presently he rose to his feet—it was obvious that he was deeply perturbed. He stood for several moments, gazing down at the floor.

  “You found nothing else of an unusual nature?” he asked at last in a strained tone, without lifting his head.

  “No,” Vance replied, “nothing else. Do you feel that we overlooked something? There are no hidden nooks, y’ know.”

  Leland glanced up quickly and shook his head with unwonted vigor.

  “No, no, of course not. My query had no significance. I was merely shocked by what you told me. I cannot imagine what your discoveries portend.”

  “Could you not offer some explanation?” Vance asked quietly. “We would be most grateful for a suggestion.”

  Leland appeared bewildered.

  “I have nothing to suggest,” he said, in a low colorless tone. “I would be only too glad.…” His voice trailed off and he stared again at the floor, as if weighing the possibilities of the situation.

  “By the by,” Vance went on, “that creaking noise you heard last night—as of one piece of metal against another I believe you expressed it:—might that have been the creaking of the iron hinges of the vault door?”