“The day before yesterday,” the man answered promptly. “I generally see him at least three times a week—either here or at my office downtown—there are always minor matters of one kind or another to decide on, and he naturally depends a great deal on my judgment. In fact, the situation is such that even the ordinary household expenses have always been referred to me.”
Vance nodded without looking up.
“And did your brother bring up the subject of finances on Monday?”
Kenyon Kenting fidgeted a bit and shifted his position in the chair. He did not answer at once. But at length he said, in a half-hearted tone, “I would prefer not to go into that, inasmuch as I regard it as a personal matter, and I cannot see that it has any bearing on the present situation.”
Vance studied the man for a moment.
“That is a point for us to decide, I believe,” he said in a peculiarly hard voice. “We should like you to answer the question.”
Kenting looked again at Vance and then fixed his eyes on the wall ahead of him.
“If you deem it necessary, of course—” he began. “But I would much prefer to say nothing about it.”
“I’m afraid, sir,” put in Markham, in his most aggressive official manner, “we must insist that you answer the question.”
Kenting shrugged reluctantly and settled back in his chair, joining the tips of his fingers.
“Very well,” he said resignedly. “If you insist. On Monday my brother asked me for a large sum of money—in fact, he was persistent about it, and became somewhat hysterical when I refused him.”
“Did he state what he required this money for?” asked Vance.
“Oh, yes,” the man said angrily. “The usual thing—gambling and unwarranted debts connected with some woman.”
“Would you be more specific as to the gambling debts?” pursued Vance.
“Well, you know the sort of thing.” Kenting again shifted in his chair. “Roulette, black-jack, the bird-cage, cards—but principally horses. He owed several book-makers some preposterous amount.”
“Do you happen to know the names of any of these book-makers?”
“No, I don’t.” Once more the man glanced momentarily at Vance then lowered his eyes. “Wait—I think one of them had a name something like Hannix.”250
“Ah! Hannix, eh?” Vance contemplated his cigarette for a few moments. “What was so urgent about this as to produce hysterics?”
“The fact is,” the other went on, “Kaspar told me the men were unscrupulous and dangerous, and that he feared for himself if he did not pay them off immediately. He said he had already been threatened.”
“That doesn’t sound like Hannix,” mused Vance. “Hannix looks pretty hard, I know, but he’s really a babe at heart. He’s a shrewd gentleman, but hardly a vicious one.… And I say, Mr. Kenting, what was the nature of your brother’s debts in connection with the mysterious lady you mentioned? Jewelry, perhaps?”
The man nodded vigorously.
“Yes, that’s just it,” he said emphatically.
“Well, well. Everything seems to be running true to form. Your brother’s position was not in the least original—what? Gamblin’ debts, liquor, and ladies cravin’ precious gems. Most conventional, don’t y’ know.” A faint smile played over Vance’s lips. “And you denied your brother the money?”
“I had to,” asserted Kenting. “The amount would almost have beggared the estate, what with so much tied up in what we’ve come to call ‘frozen assets.’ It was far more than I could readily get together at the time, and anyway, I would have had to take the matter up with Fleel, even if I had been inclined to comply with Kaspar’s demands. And I knew perfectly well that Fleel would not approve my doing so. He has a moral as well as legal responsibility, you understand.”
Vance took several deep inhalations on his Régie and sent a succession of ribbons of blue smoke toward the old discolored Queen-Anne ceiling.
“Did your brother approach Mr. Fleel about the matter?”
“Yes, he did,” the other returned. “Whenever I refuse him anything he goes immediately to Fleel. As a matter of fact, Fleel has always been more sympathetic with Kaspar than I have. But Kaspar’s demand this time was too utterly outrageous, and Fleel turned him down as definitely as I did. And—although I don’t like to say so—I really think Kaspar was grossly exaggerating his needs. Fleel got the same impression, and mentioned to me over the phone the next morning that he was very angry with Kaspar. He told me, too, that legally he was quite helpless in the matter and could not accommodate Kaspar, even if he had personally wanted to.”
“Has Mrs. Kenting any money of her own?” Vance asked unexpectedly.
“Nothing—absolutely nothing!” the man assured him. “She is entirely dependent upon what Kaspar gives her—which, of course, means some part of what I allow him from the estate. Often I think that he does not do the right thing by her and deprives her of many of the things she should have, so that he himself can fritter the money away.” A scowl came over the man’s face. “But there’s nothing I can do about it. I have tried to remonstrate with him, but it’s worse than useless.”
“In view of this morning’s occurrence,” suggested Vance, “it may be that your brother was not unduly exaggerating about the necessity for this money.”
Kenting became suddenly serious, and his eyes wandered unhappily about the room.
“That is a horrible thought, sir,” he said, half under his breath. “But it is one that occurred to me immediately when I arrived here early this morning. And you can be sure it left me uncomfortable.”
Vance regarded the man dubiously as he addressed him again.
“When you receive further instructions regarding the ransom money, what do you intend to do about it—that is to say, just what is your feeling in the matter?”
Kenting rose from his chair and stood looking down at the floor. He appeared deeply troubled.
“As a brother,” he said slowly, “what can I do? I suppose I must manage somehow to get the money and pay it. I can’t let Kaspar be murdered.… It’s a frightful situation.”
“Yes—quite,” agreed Vance.
“And then there’s Madelaine. I could never forgive myself.… I say again, it’s a frightful situation.”
“Nasty mess. Rather. Still, I have a groggy notion,” Vance went on, “that you won’t be called upon to pay the ransom money at all.… And, by the by, Mr. Kenting, you didn’t mention the amount that your brother asked for when you last saw him. Tell me: how much did he want to get him out of his imagin’ry difficulties?”
Kenting raised his head sharply and looked at Vance with a shrewdness he had not hitherto displayed during the interview. Withal, he seemed ill at ease and took a few nervous steps back and forth before replying.
“I was hoping you wouldn’t ask me that question,” he said regretfully. “I avoided it purposely, for I am afraid it might create an erroneous impression.”
“How much was it?” snapped Markham. “We must get on with this.”
“Well, the truth is,” Kenting stammered with evident reluctance, “Kaspar wanted fifty thousand dollars. Sounds incredible, doesn’t it?” he added apologetically.
Vance leaned back in the swivel chair and looked unseeingly at one of the old etchings over the desk.
“I imagined that was the figure,” he murmured. “Thanks awfully, Mr. Kenting. We sha’n’t bother you any more just now, except that I should like to know whether Mrs. Kenting’s mother, Mrs. Falloway, still lives here in the Purple House.”
Kenting seemed surprised at the question.
“Oh, yes,” he said with disgruntled emphasis. “She still occupies the front suite on the third floor with her son, Mrs. Kenting’s brother. But the woman is crippled now and can get about only with a cane. She rarely is able to come downstairs, and she almost never goes outdoors.”
“What about the son?” asked Vance.
“He’s the most incompetent young whi
ppersnapper I’ve ever known. He always seems to be sickly and has never earned so much as a penny. He’s perfectly content to live here with his mother at the expense of the Kenting estate.” The man’s manner now had something of resentment and venom in it.
“Most unpleasant and annoyin’ situation—what?” Vance rose and put out his cigarette. “Does Mrs. Falloway or her son know about what happened here last night?”
“Oh, yes,” the man told him. “Both Madelaine and I spoke to them about it this morning, as we saw no point in keeping the matter a secret.”
“And we, too, should like to speak to them,” said Vance. “Would you be so good as to take us upstairs?”
Kenting seemed greatly relieved.
“I’ll be glad to,” he said, and started for the door. We followed him upstairs.
Mrs. Falloway was a woman between sixty and sixty-five years old. She was of heavy build and seemed to possess a corresponding aggressiveness. Her skin was somewhat wrinkled, but her thick hair was almost black, despite her years. There was an unmistakable masculinity about her, and her hands were large and bony, like those of a man. She had an intelligent and canny expression, and her features were large and striking. Withal, there was a wistful feminine look in her eyes. She impressed me as a woman with an iron will, but also with an innate sense of loyalty and sympathy.
When we entered her room that morning Mrs. Falloway was sitting placidly in a wicker armchair in front of the large bay window. She wore an antiquated black alpaca dress which fell in voluminous folds about her and completely hid her feet. An old-fashioned hand-crocheted afghan was thrown over her shoulders. On the floor beside her chair lay a long heavy Malakka cane with a shepherd’s-crook gold handle.
At an old and somewhat dilapidated walnut secretary sat a thin, sickly youth, with straight dark hair which fell forward over his forehead, and large, prominent features. There was no mistaking mother and son. The pale youth held a magnifying glass in one hand and was moving it back and forth over a page of exhibits in a stamp album which was propped up at an angle facing the light.
“These gentlemen wish to speak to you, Mrs. Falloway,” Kenyon Kenting said in an unfriendly tone. (It was obvious that an antagonism of some kind existed between the woman and this man on whose bounty she depended.) “I won’t remain,” Kenting added. “I think I’d better join Madelaine.” He went to the door and opened it. “I’ll be downstairs if you should need me.” This last remark was addressed to Vance.
When he had gone, Vance took a few steps toward the woman with an air of solicitation.
“Perhaps you remember me, Mrs. Falloway—” he began.
“Oh, very well, Mr. Vance. It is very pleasant to see you again. Do sit down in that armchair there, and try to imagine that this meager room is a Louis-Seize salon.” There was a note of apology in her voice, accompanied by an unmistakable undertone of rancor.
Vance bowed formally.
“Any room you grace, Mrs. Falloway,” he said, “becomes the most charming of salons.” He did not accept her invitation to sit down, however, but remained standing deferentially.
“What do you make of this situation?” she went on. “And do you really think anything has happened to my son-in-law?” Her voice was hard and low-pitched.
“I really cannot say just yet,” Vance answered. “We were hopin’ you might be able to help us.” He casually presented the others of us, and the woman acknowledged the introductions with dignified graciousness.
“This is my son, Fraim,” she said, waving with a bony hand toward the anæmic young man at the secretary.
Fraim Falloway rose awkwardly and inclined his head without a word; then he sank back listlessly into his chair.
“Philatelist?” asked Vance, studying the youth.
“I collect American stamps.” There was no enthusiasm in the lethargic voice, and Vance did not pursue the subject.
“Did you hear anything in the house early this morning?” Vance went on. “That is, did you hear Mr. Kaspar Kenting come in—or any kind of a noise between three and six o’clock?”
Fraim Falloway shook his head without any show of interest.
“I didn’t hear anything,” he said. “I was asleep.”
Vance turned to the mother.
“Did you hear anything, Mrs. Falloway?”
“I heard Kaspar come in—he woke me up banging the front door shut.” She spoke with bitterness. “But that’s nothing new. I went to sleep again, however, and didn’t know anything had happened until Madelaine and Mr. Kenyon Kenting informed me of it this morning, after my breakfast.”
“Could you suggest any reason,” asked Vance, “why any one should wish to kidnap Kaspar Kenting?”
The woman uttered a harsh, mirthless chuckle.
“No. But I can give you many reasons why any one should not wish to kidnap him,” she returned with a hard, intolerant look. “He is not an admirable character,” she went on, “nor a pleasant person to have around. And I regret the day my daughter married him. However,” she added—and it seemed to me grudgingly—“I wouldn’t wish to see any harm come to the scamp.”
“And why not, mater?” asked Fraim Falloway with a whine. “You know perfectly well he has made us all miserable, including Sis. Personally, I think it’s good riddance.” The last words were barely audible.
“Don’t be vindictive, son,” the woman reproved him with a sudden softening in her tone, as the youth turned back to his stamps.
Vance sighed as if this interchange between mother and son bored him.
“Then you are not able, Mrs. Falloway, to suggest any reason for Mr. Kenting’s sudden disappearance, or tell us anything that might be at all helpful?”
“No. I know nothing, and have nothing to tell you.” Mrs. Falloway closed her lips with an audible sound.
“In that case,” Vance returned politely, “I think we had better be going downstairs.”
The woman picked up her cane and struggled to her feet, despite Vance’s protestations.
“I wish I could help you,” she said with sudden kindliness. “But I am so well isolated these days with my infirmity. Walking, you know, is quite a painful process for me. I’m afraid I’m growing old.”
She limped beside us slowly to the door, her son, who had risen, holding her tightly by one arm and casting reproachful glances at us.
In the hall Vance waited till the door was shut.
“An amusing old girl,” he remarked. “Her mind is as young and shrewd as it ever was.… Unpleasant young citizen, Fraim. He’s as ill as the old lady, but he doesn’t know it. Endocrine imbalance,” Vance continued as we went downstairs. “Needs medical attention. I wonder when he had a basal metabolism taken last. I’d say his chart would read in the minus thirties. May be thyroid. But it’s more than possible, y’ know, he needs the suprarenal hormone.”
Markham snorted.
“He simply looks like a weakling to me.”
“Oh, yes. Doubtless. As you say, devoid of stamina. And full of resentment against his fellow-men and especially against his brother-in-law. At any rate, an unpleasant character, Markham.”
“A queer and unwholesome case,” Markham commented, half to himself, and then lapsed into thoughtful silence as he descended the stairs with Vance. When we had reached the lower hall Vance went immediately toward the drawing-room and stepped inside.
Mrs. Kenting, who seemed perturbed and ill at ease, sat rigidly upright on the small sofa where we had first seen her. Her brother-in-law sat beside her, looking at her with a solicitous, comforting air. Fleel was leaning back in an easy chair near the desk, smoking a cigar and endeavoring to maintain a judicious and unconcerned mien.
Vance glanced about him casually and, drawing up a small, straight-backed chair beside the sofa, sat down and addressed himself to the obviously unhappy woman.
“I know you told us, Mrs. Kenting,” he began, “that you could not describe the men who called on your husband several nights ago. I wish
, however, you would make an effort to give us at least a general description of them.”
“It’s strange that you should ask me that,” the woman said. “I was just speaking to Kenyon about them and trying to recall what they looked like. The fact is, Mr. Vance, I paid little attention to them, but I know that one of them was a large man and seemed to me to have a very thick neck. And, as I recall, there was a lot of grey in his hair; and he may have had a clipped mustache—I really don’t remember: it’s all very vague. That was the man who came twice.…”
“Your description, madam,” remarked Vance, nodding his head, “corresponds to the appearance of a certain gentleman I have in mind; and if it is the same person, your impression regarding the clipped mustache is quite correct—”
“Oh, who was he, Mr. Vance?” The woman leaned forward eagerly with a show of nervous animation. “Do you think you know who is responsible for this terrible thing?”
Vance shook his head and smiled sadly.
“No,” he said, “I’m deuced sorry I cannot offer any hope in that particular quarter. If this man who called on your husband is the one I think it is, he is merely a good-natured book-maker who is at times aroused to futile anger when his clients fail to pay their debts. I’m quite sure, don’t y’ know, that if he should pop in here again at the present moment, you would find him inclined to exert his efforts in your behalf. I fear that we must dismiss him as a possibility.… But, by the by, Mrs. Kenting,” Vance continued quickly, “can you tell me anything definite about the second man that called on your husband?”
The woman shook her head vaguely.
“Almost nothing, Mr. Vance,” she returned. “I’m very sorry, but I caught only a glimpse of him. However, I recall that he was much shorter than the first man, and very dark. And my impression is that he was very well dressed. I remember thinking at the time that he seemed far less dangerous than his companion. But I do know that, in the fleeting glimpses I had of both the men, they struck me as being undesirable and untrustworthy characters. And I admit I worried about them on Kaspar’s account.… Oh, I do wish I could tell you more, but I can’t.”
The Philo Vance Megapack Page 231