Philo Vance Omnibus Vol 1

by S. S. Van Dine

  It was a beautiful and interesting piece of workmanship. Its handle was ornamented with decorations of granulated gold and with strips of cloisonné and semi-precious stones—amethysts, turquoises, garnets, carnelians, and tiny cuttings of obsidian, chalcedony and felspar. The haft was surmounted with a lotiform knob of rock crystal, and at the hilt was a chair-scroll design in gold wire. The blade was of hardened gold adorned with shallow central grooves ending with an engraved palmette decoration.[25]

  "Late Eighteenth Dynasty," murmured Vance, fingering the dagger and studying its designs. "Pretty, but decadent. The rugged simplicity of early Egyptian art went frightfully to pot during the opulent renaissance following the Hyksos invasion. . . . I say, Doctor Bliss; how did you come by this flamboyant gewgaw?"

  Bliss was ill at ease, and when he answered his tone was apologetic and embarrassed.

  "The fact is, Mr. Vance, I smuggled that dagger out of Egypt. It was an unusual and unexpected find, and purely accidental. It's a most valuable relic, and I was afraid the Egyptian Government would claim it."

  "I can well imagine they'd want to keep it in their own country." Vance tossed the dagger to the table. "And where did you ordinarily keep it?"

  "Under some papers in one of my desk drawers in the study," he replied presently. "It was a rather personal item, and I thought it best not to list it in the museum."

  "Most discreet. . . . Who besides yourself knew of its existence?"

  "My wife, of course, and—" He broke off suddenly, and a peculiar light came in his eyes.

  "Come, come, doctor." Vance spoke with annoyance. "This won't do. Finish your sentence."

  "It is finished. My wife was the only person I confided in."

  Vance accepted the statement without further argument.

  "Still," he said, "any one might have discovered it, what?"

  Bliss nodded slowly.

  "Provided he had been snooping through my desk."

  "Exactly. When did you last see the dagger in your desk drawer?"

  "This morning. I was searching for some foolscap paper on which to check my report for poor Kyle. . . ."

  "And who, to your knowledge, has been in your study since we left the house this afternoon?"

  Bliss pondered, and shortly a startled expression came over his face.

  "I'd rather not say."

  "We can't do anything to help you, doctor, if you take that attitude," Vance said severely. "Was it Mr. Salveter who was in the study?"

  Bliss paused for several seconds. Then he set his jaw.

  "Yes!" The word fairly burst from his lips. "I sent him to the study after dinner to-night to get me a memorandum book. . . ."

  "And where did you keep the book?"

  "In the desk." This information was given reluctantly. "But any attempt to connect Salveter—"

  "We're not attemptin' just now to connect any one with this episode." Vance interrupted. "We're merely tryin' to accumulate all the information possible. . . . However, you must admit, doctor," Vance added, "that young Mr. Salveter is—how shall I put it?—rather interested in Mrs. Bliss—"

  "What's that?" Bliss stiffened and glared at Vance ferociously. "How dare you intimate such a thing? My wife, sir—"

  "No one has criticised Mrs. Bliss," Vance said mildly. "And one A.M. is hardly the time for indignant pyrotechnics."

  Bliss sank into his chair and covered his face with his hands.

  "It may be true," he conceded in a despairing voice. "I'm too old for her—too much absorbed in my work. . . . But that doesn't mean that the boy would attempt to kill me."

  "Perhaps not." Vance spoke indifferently. "But who, then, do you suspect of endeavorin' to sever your carotid?"

  "I don't know—I don't know." The man's voice rose pitifully.

  At this moment the door leading into the front apartment opened, and Mrs. Bliss stood on the threshold, a long flowing robe of oriental pattern draped about her. She was perfectly calm, and her eyes were steady, if a bit brilliant, as they took in the scene before her.

  "Why have you gentlemen returned at this hour?" she inquired imperiously.

  "An attempt has been made on your husband's life, madam," Markham answered sombrely; "and he telephoned to us—"

  "An attempt on his life? Impossible!" She spoke with over-emphasis, and her face turned perceptibly pale. Then she went to Bliss and put her arms about him in an attitude of affectionate protection. Her eyes were blazing as she lifted them to Vance. "What absurdity is this? Who would want to take my husband's life?"

  "Who, indeed?" Vance met her gaze calmly. "If we knew, we could at least arrest the person for assault with a deadly weapon—I believe that's the phrase."

  "A deadly weapon?" She frowned with obvious distress. "Oh, tell me what happened!"

  Vance indicated the dagger on the table.

  "All we know thus far is that yon golden dagger was projectin' from the head of the bed when we arrived. We were on the point of asking your husband for a full account of the affair when you appeared—a charming Nefretîti—at the door. . . . Perhaps," he went on, turning to Bliss, "the doctor will recount the entire episode for us now."

  "There's really little to tell." Bliss sat up and began nervously to make creases in the folds of his dressing-gown. "I came here to my room shortly after dinner, and went to bed. But I couldn't sleep, and got up. Just then Salveter passed my door on his way up-stairs and I asked him to fetch the memorandum book from the study,—I thought I might take my mind off the dreadful events of the day—"

  "One moment, doctor," Vance interposed. "Was your door open?"

  "Yes. I had opened it when I arose, in order to get a little more air in the room,—the atmosphere was stifling. . . . Then I went over a few old notes and entries relating to last winter's excavations. But I couldn't keep my mind on them, and finally I closed the door, switched off the lights, and lay down again on the bed."

  "That would have been about what time?"

  "Between half past ten and eleven, I should say. . . . I dozed intermittently till midnight—I could see the time by that clock with the luminous dial—and then became unaccountably restless. I got to thinking about poor Kyle, and all inclination to sleep left me. However, I was dog-tired physically, and lay quite still. . . . About a quarter past twelve—the house was very quiet, you understand—I thought I could hear footsteps on the stairs—"

  "Which stairs, doctor?"

  "I couldn't determine. The footsteps might have been coming down from the third floor, or they might have been ascending from the first floor. They were very quiet, and if I had not been wide awake and keyed up I wouldn't have noticed them. As it was, I couldn't be sure, though at one time I imagined I heard a slight creak as if a board were a little loose under the carpet."

  "And then?"

  "I lay speculating on who it might be, for I knew the other members of the house had retired early. I did not exactly worry about the sounds until I heard them approach my own door and suddenly halt. Then your warning, Mr. Vance, swept over me with full force, and I felt that some terrible unknown danger was lurking on the threshold. I was, I admit, temporarily paralyzed with fright: I could feel the roots of my hair tingle, and my body broke out in cold perspiration."

  He took a deep breath, as if to rid himself of a haunting memory.

  "Just then the door began to open slowly and softly. The light in the hall had been turned out and the room here was in almost pitch darkness, so I was unable to see anything. But I could hear the gentle swish of the door as it swung open, and I could feel the mild current of air that came in from the hall. . . ."

  A tremor ran over his body, and his eyes glowed unnaturally.

  "I would have called out, but my throat seemed constricted, and I did not want to imperil Mrs. Bliss, who might have answered my call and run unwittingly into something dangerous and deadly. . . . And then the blinding ray of a flash-light was thrown directly into my eyes, and I instinctively lurched to the far side of the
bed. At that moment I heard a swift, brushing sound followed by a dull wooden detonation near my head. And immediately I became conscious of footsteps retreating—"

  "In which direction?" Vance again interrupted.

  "I'm not sure—they were very faint. I was aware only of their stealthy retreat. . . ."

  "What did you do after that, doctor?"

  "I waited several minutes. Then I cautiously closed the door and switched on the lights. It was at that moment I realized what had made the noise at the head of the bed, for the first thing I saw was the dagger. And I knew that I had been the object of a murderous attack."

  Vance nodded and, picking up the dagger, weighed it on the palm of his hand.

  "Yes," he mused; "it's blade-heavy and could easily have been thrown accurately even by an amateur. . . . A peculiar form of assassination, though," he went on, almost to himself. "Much simpler and surer for the wielder to have sneaked to the bed and thrust it into his intended victim's ribs. . . . Most peculiar! Unless, of course—" He stopped and glanced thoughtfully at the bed. Presently he shrugged his shoulders, and looked at Bliss. "After discovering the dagger, I opine, you telephoned to me."

  "Within five minutes. I listened at the door a while and then went down to the study and called your number. After that I roused Brush and told him to watch for you at the front door. I came back up-stairs,—I'd armed myself with my revolver while in the study,—and awaited your arrival."

  Mrs. Bliss had been watching her husband with a look of deep anxiety during his recital.

  "I heard the sound of the dagger striking the headboard," she said in a low, fearful voice. "My bed is against the other side of the wall. It startled me and woke me up, but I didn't give it a second thought, and went to sleep again. She threw her head back and glared at Vance. "This is shameful and outrageous! You insist upon my husband staying in this house that harbors a murderer—a murderer who is plotting against him—and you do nothing to protect him."

  "But nothing has happened to him, Mrs. Bliss," Vance replied with gentle sternness. "He has lost an hour's sleep, but really, y' know, that's not a serious catastrophe. And I can assure you that no further danger will beset him." He looked straight into the woman's eyes, and I was conscious that some understanding passed between them in that moment of mutual scrutiny.

  "I do hope you find the guilty person," she said with slow, tragic emphasis. "I can bear the truth—now."

  "You are very courageous, madam," Vance murmured. "And in the meantime you can best help us by retiring to your room and waiting there until you hear from us. You can trust me."

  "Oh, I know I can!" There was a catch in her voice. Then she bent impulsively, touched her lips to Bliss's forehead, and returned to her room.

  Vance's eyes followed her with a curious expression: I could not determine if it was one of regret or sorrow or admiration. When the door had closed after her he strolled to the table and replaced the dagger on it.

  "I was just wonderin', doctor," he said. "Don't you lock or bolt your door at night?"

  "Always," was the immediate reply. "It makes me nervous to sleep with an unlocked door."

  "But what about to-night?"

  "That is what puzzles me." Bliss's forehead was knit in perplexity. "I'm sure I locked it when I first came to my room. But, as I told you, I got up later and opened the door to get some air. The only explanation I can think of is that when I went back to bed I forgot to relock the door. It's possible of course, for I was very much upset. . . ."

  "It couldn't have been unlocked from the outside?"

  "No, I'm sure it couldn't. The key was in the lock, just as you see it now."

  "What about finger-prints on the outside knob?" Heath queried. "That cut glass would take 'em easy."

  "My word, Sergeant!" Vance shook his head despairingly. "The concocter of this plot knows better than to leave his visitin' card wherever he goes. . . ."

  Bliss sprang to his feet.

  "An idea has just struck me," he exclaimed. "There was a gold-and-cloisonné sheath to that dagger; and if the sheath should not be in my desk drawer now, perhaps—perhaps—"

  "Yes, yes. Quite." Vance nodded. "I see your point. The sheath might still be in the frustrated assassin's possession. An excellent clew. . . . Sergeant, would you mind going with Doctor Bliss to the study to ascertain if the sheath was taken with the dagger? No use worryin' ourselves about it if it's still in the drawer."

  Heath went promptly to the hall, followed by Bliss. We could hear them descending to the first floor.

  "What do you make of this, Vance?" Markham asked, when we were alone. "It looks pretty serious to me."

  "I make a great deal of it," Vance returned sombrely. "And it is pretty serious. But, thank Heaven, the coup was not very brilliant. The whole thing was frightfully botched."

  "Yes, I can see that," Markham agreed. "Imagine any one hurling a knife six feet or more when he could have dealt a single thrust in a vital spot."

  "Oh, that?" Vance lifted his eyebrows. "I wasn't thinking of the technic of the knife-thrower. There were other points about the affair still less intelligent. I can't understand it altogether. Perhaps too much panic. Anyway we may get a definite key to the plot through the doctor's suggestion about the sheath."

  Bliss and Heath were heard returning up the stairs.

  "Well, it's gone," the Sergeant informed us, as the two stepped into the room.

  "No doubt taken with the dagger," Bliss supplemented.

  "Suppose I send for a couple of the boys and give the house the once-over," Heath suggested.

  "That's not necess'ry, Sergeant," Vance told him. "I've a feelin' it won't be hard to find."

  Markham was becoming annoyed at Vance's vagueness.

  "I suppose," he said, with a tinge of sarcasm, "you can tell us exactly where we can find the sheath."

  "Yes, I rather think so." Vance spoke with thoughtful seriousness. "However, I'll verify my theory later. . . . In the meantime"—he addressed himself to Bliss—"I'd be greatly obliged if you'd remain in your room until we finish our investigation."

  Bliss bowed in acquiescence.

  "We're going to the drawing-room for a while," Vance continued. "There's a little work to be done there."

  He moved toward the hall, then stopped as if on sudden impulse and, going to the table, slipped the dagger into his pocket. Bliss closed the door after us, and we could hear the key turn in the lock. Markham and Heath and I started down the stairs, Vance bringing up the rear.

  We had descended but a few steps when a calm, flat voice from the upper hall arrested us.

  "Can I be of any assistance, effendi?"

  The unexpected sound in that dim quiet house startled us, and we instinctively turned. At the head of the stairs leading to the third floor stood the shadowy figure of Hani, his flowing kaftan a dark mass against the palely lighted wall beyond.

  "Oh, rather!" Vance answered cheerfully. "We were just repairin' to the drawing-room to hold a little conversational séance. Do join us, Hani."

  18. A LIGHT IN THE MUSEUM

  (Saturday, July 14; 1:15 A.M.)

  Hani joined us in the drawing room. He was very calm and dignified, and his inscrutable eyes rested impassively on Vance like those of an ancient Egyptian priest meditating before the shrine of Osiris.

  "How do you happen to be up and about at this hour?" Vance asked casually. "Another attack of gastritis?"

  "No, effendi." Hani spoke in slow, measured tones. "I rose when I heard you talking to Brush. I sleep with my door open always."

  "Perhaps, then, you heard Sakhmet when she returned to the house tonight."

  "Did Sakhmet return?" The Egyptian lifted his head slightly in mild interest.

  "In a manner of speaking. . . . But she's a most inefficient deity. She bungled everything again."

  "Are you sure she did not intentionally bungle things?" Despite the droning quality of Hani's voice, there was a significant note in it.

  Van
ce regarded him for a moment. Then:

  "Did you hear footsteps on the stairs or along the second-floor corridor shortly after midnight?"

  The man shook his head slowly.

  "I heard nothing. But I was asleep for at least an hour before you arrived; and the soft tread of footsteps on the deep carpet would scarcely have been sufficient to rouse me."

  "Doctor Bliss himself," Vance explained, "came down-stairs and telephoned to me. You did not hear him either?"

  "The first sound I perceived was when you gentlemen came into the front hall and talked to Brush. Your voices, or perhaps the door opening, awakened me. Later I could hear your muffled tones in Doctor Bliss's bedroom, which is just below mine; but I could not distinguish anything that was said."

  "And of course you were not aware that any one turned off the light in the second-story hall round midnight."

  "Had I not been asleep I would certainly have noticed it, as the light shines dimly up the stairs into my room. But when I awoke the light was on as usual." Hani frowned slightly. "Who would have turned the hall light off at that hour?"

  "I wonder. . . ." Vance did not take his eyes from the Egyptian. "Doctor Bliss has just told us that it was some one who had designs on his life."

  "Ah!" The exclamation was like a sigh of relief. "But the attempt, I gather, was not successful."

  "No. It was quite a fiasco. The technic, I might say, was both stupid and hazardous."

  "It was not Sakhmet." Hani's pronouncement was almost sepulchral.

  "Really, now!" Vance smiled slightly. "She is still reclinin', then, by the side of the great west wind of heaven.[26] . . . I'm jolly glad to be able to rule her out. And since no occult force was at work, perhaps you can suggest who would have had a motive to cut the doctor's throat."

  "There are many who would not weep if he were to quit this life; but I know of none who would take it upon himself to precipitate that departure."