The Greene Murder Case

by S. S. Van Dine

  Von Blon’s face clouded over, but I failed to detect any resentment in his expression.

  “Quite true,” he rejoined, and shifted his eyes. “The fact is, sir, that ever since those drugs disappeared from my case I’ve felt that something tragic was impending, and that I was in some way to blame. Whenever I’m in this neighborhood I can’t resist the impulse to call here and—and see how things are going.”

  “Your anxiety is wholly understandable.” Vance’s tone was non-committal. Then he added negligently: “I suppose you will have no objection to Doctor Drumm continuing with Ada’s case.”

  “Continuing?” Von Blon brought himself up straight in his chair. “I don’t understand. You said a moment ago—”

  “That Ada had been poisoned,” finished Vance. “Quite. But d’ ye see, she didn’t die.”

  The other looked dumbfounded.

  “Thank God for that!” he exclaimed, rising nervously.

  “And,” added Markham, “we are making no mention whatever of the episode. You will, therefore, be guided by our decision.”

  “Of course.—And is it permitted that I see Ada?”

  Markham hesitated, and Vance answered.

  “If you care to—certainly.” He turned to Drumm. “Will you be so good as to accompany Doctor Von Blon?”

  Drumm and Von Blon left the room together.

  “I don’t wonder he’s on edge,” commented Markham. “It’s not pleasant to learn of people being poisoned with drugs lost through one’s own carelessness.”

  “He wasn’t worrying as much over Ada as he was over Sibella,” remarked Heath.

  “Observin’ fella!” smiled Vance. “No, Sergeant; Ada’s demise apparently bothered him far less than Sibella’s possible state of health… Now, I wonder what that means. It’s an inveiglin’ point. But—dash it all!—it everts my pet theory.”

  “So you have a theory.” Markham spoke rebukingly.

  “Oh, any number of ’em. And, I might add, they’re all pets.” Vance’s lightness of tone meant merely that he was not ready to outline his suspicions; and Markham did not push the matter.

  “We won’t need any theories,” declared Heath, “after we’ve heard what Ada’s got to tell us. As soon as she talks to us to-morrow we’ll be able to figure out who poisoned her.”

  “Perhaps,” murmured Vance.

  Drumm returned alone a few minutes later.

  “Doctor Von Blon has stepped into the other girl’s room. Said he’d be down right away.”

  “What did he have to say about your patient?” asked Vance.

  “Nothing much. She put new energy into her walking the minute she saw him, though. Smiled at him, too, by Jove! A good sign, that. She’ll come through fast. Lot of resistance in her.”

  Drumm had hardly ceased speaking when we heard Sibella’s door close and the sound of descending footsteps on the stairs.

  “By the by, doctor,” said Vance to Von Blon as the latter re-entered the drawing-room, “have you seen Oppenheimer yet?”

  “I saw him at eleven. The fact is, I went direct to him after leaving here this morning. He has agreed to make an examination to-morrow at ten o’clock.”

  “And was Mrs. Greene agreeable?”

  “Oh, yes. I spoke to her about it this morning; and she made no objection whatever.”

  A short while later we took our departure. Von Blon accompanied us to the gate, and we saw him drive off in his car.

  “We’ll know more by this time to-morrow, I hope,” said Markham on the way down-town. He was unwontedly depressed, and his eyes were greatly troubled.

  “You know, Vance, I’m almost appalled by the thought of what Oppenheimer’s report may be.”

  No report was ever made by Doctor Oppenheimer, however. At some time between one and two the next morning, Mrs. Greene died in convulsions as a result of strychnine-poisoning.

  Footnotes

  * Hennessey was the detective stationed in the Narcoss Flats to watch the Greene mansion.

  † Medical term for a spasmodic, grinning facial expression.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONEA Depleted Household

  (Friday, December 3; forenoon)

  MARKHAM BROUGHT US the news of Mrs. Greene’s death before ten o’clock the next morning. The tragedy had not been discovered until nine, when the nurse brought up her patient’s morning tea. Heath had notified Markham, and Markham had stopped on his way to the Greene mansion to apprise Vance of the new development. Vance and I had already breakfasted and we accompanied him to the house.

  “This knocks out our only prop,” Markham said despondently, as we sped up Madison Avenue. “The possibility that the old lady was guilty was frightful to contemplate; though all along I’ve been trying to console myself with the thought that she was insane. Now, however, I almost wish our suspicions had proved true, for the possibilities that are left seem even more terrible. We’re dealing now with a cold-blooded calculating rationality.”

  Vance nodded.

  “Yes, we’re confronted with something far worse than mania. I can’t say, though, that I’m deeply shocked by Mrs. Greene’s death. She was a detestable woman, Markham—a most detestable woman. The world will not bemoan her loss.”

  Vance’s comment expressed exactly the sentiment I had felt when Markham informed us of Mrs. Greene’s death. The news had of course shaken me, but I had no pity for the victim. She had been vicious and unnatural; she had thriven on hatred, and had made life a hell for everyone about her. It was better that her existence was over.

  Both Heath and Drumm were waiting for us in the drawing-room. Excitement and depression were mingled in the Sergeant’s countenance, and the desperation of despair shone in his china-blue eyes. Drumm revealed only a look of professional disappointment: his chief concern apparently was that he had been deprived of an opportunity to display his medical skill.

  Heath, after shaking hands absently, briefly explained the situation.

  “O’Brien found the old dame dead at nine this morning, and told Sproot to wigwag to Doc Drumm. Then she phoned the Bureau, and I notified you and Doc Doremus. I got here fifteen or twenty minutes ago, and locked up the room.”

  “Did you inform Von Blon?” Markham asked.

  “I phoned him to call off the examination he’d arranged for ten o’clock. Said I’d communicate with him later, and hung up before he had time to ask any questions.”

  Markham indicated his approval and turned toward Drumm.

  “Give us your story, doctor.”

  Drumm drew himself up, cleared his throat, and assumed an attitude calculated to be impressive.

  “I was down-stairs in the Narcoss dining-room eating breakfast when Hennessey came in and told me the curtains had gone down in the reception-room here. So I snatched my outfit and came over on the run. The butler took me to the old lady’s room, where the nurse was waiting. But right away I saw I was too late to be of any good. She was dead—contorted, blue, and cold—and rigor mortis had set in. Died of a big dose of strychnine. Probably didn’t suffer much—exhaustion and coma came inside of half an hour, I’d say. Too old, you understand, to throw it off. Old people succumb to strychnine pretty swiftly... ”

  “What about her ability to cry out and give the alarm?”

  “You can’t tell. The spasm may have rendered her mute. Anyway, no one heard her. Probably passed into unconsciousness after the first seizure. My experience with such cases has taught me—”

  “What time would you say the strychnine was taken?”

  “Well, now, you can’t tell exactly.” Drumm became oracular. “The convulsions may have been prolonged before death supervened, or death may have supervened very shortly after the poison was swallowed.”

  “At what hour, then would you fix the time of death?”

  “There again you can’t say definitely. Confusion between rigor mortis and the phenomenon of cadaveric spasm is a pitfall into which many doctors fall. There are, however, distinct points of dissimilarit
y—”

  “No doubt.” Markham was growing impatient with Drumm’s sophomoric pedantrics. “But leaving all explanation to one side, what time do you think Mrs. Greene died?”

  Drumm pondered the point.

  “Roughly, let us say, at two this morning.”

  “And the strychnine might have been taken as early as eleven or twelve?”

  “It’s possible.”

  “Anyhow, we’ll know about it when Doc Doremus gets here,” asserted Heath with brutal frankness. He was in vicious mood that morning.

  “Did you find any glass or cup by which the drug might have been administered, doctor?” Markham hastened to ask, by way of covering up Heath’s remark.

  “There was a glass near the bed with what appeared to be sulphate crystals adhering to the sides of it.”

  “But wouldn’t a fatal dose of strychnine make an ordin’ry drink noticeably bitter?” Vance had suddenly become alert.

  “Undoubtedly. But there was a bottle of citrocarbonate—a well-known antacid—on the night-table; and if the drug had been taken with this, the taste would not have been detected. Citrocarbonate is slightly saline and highly effervescing.”

  “Could Mrs. Greene have taken the citrocarbonate alone?”

  “It’s not likely. It has to be carefully mixed with water, and the operation would be highly awkward for anyone in bed.”

  “Now, that’s most interestin’.” Vance listlessly lighted a cigarette. “We may presume, therefore, that the person who gave Mrs. Greene the citrocarbonate also administered the strychnine.” He turned to Markham. “I think Miss O’Brien might be able to help us.”

  Heath went at once and summoned the nurse.

  But her evidence was unilluminating. She had left Mrs. Greene reading about eleven o’clock, had gone to her own room to make her toilet for the night, and had returned to Ada’s room half an hour later, where she had slept all night, according to Heath’s instructions. She had risen at eight, dressed, and gone to the kitchen to fetch Mrs. Greene’s tea. As far as she knew, Mrs. Greene had drunk nothing before retiring—certainly she had taken no citrocarbonate up to eleven o’clock. Furthermore, Mrs. Greene never attempted to take it alone.

  “You think, then,” asked Vance, “that it was given to her by some one else?”

  “You can bank on it,” the nurse assured him bluntly. “If she’d wanted it, she’d have raised the house before mixing it herself.”

  “It’s quite obvious,” Vance observed to Markham, “that some one entered her room after eleven o’clock and prepared the citrocarbonate.”

  Markham got up and walked anxiously about the room.

  “Our immediate problem boils down to finding out who had the opportunity to do it,” he said. “You, Miss O’Brien, may return to your room... ” Then he went to the bell-cord and rang for Sproot.

  During a brief interrogation of the butler the following facts were brought out:

  The house had been locked up and Sproot had retired at about half past ten.

  Sibella had gone to her room immediately after dinner, and had remained there.

  Hemming and the cook had lingered in the kitchen until shortly after eleven, at which time Sproot had heard them ascend to their rooms.

  The first intimation Sproot had of Mrs. Greene’s death was when the nurse sent him to draw the reception-room shades at nine that morning.

  Markham dismissed him and sent for the cook. She was, it appeared, unaware of Mrs. Greene’s death and of Ada’s poisoning as well; and what evidence she had to give was of no importance. She had, she said, been in the kitchen or in her own room practically all of the preceding day.

  Hemming was interviewed next. From the nature of the questions put to her she became suspicious almost at once. Her piercing eyes narrowed, and she gave us a look of shrewd triumph.

  “You can’t hoodwink me,” she burst out. “The Lord’s been with his besom again. And a good thing, too! ‘The Lord preserveth all them that love him: but all the wicked shall he destroy.’”

  “‘Will,’” corrected Vance. “And seeing that you have been so tenderly preserved, perhaps we had better inform you that both Miss Ada and Mrs. Greene have been poisoned.”

  He was watching the woman closely, but it took no scrutiny to see her cheeks go pale and her jaw sag. The Lord had evidently been too precipitously devastating even for this devout disciple; and her faith was insufficient to counteract her fear.

  “I’m going to leave this house,” she declared faintly. “I’ve seen enough to bear witness for the Lord.”

  “An excellent idea,” nodded Vance. “And the sooner you go the more time you’ll have to give apocryphal testimony.”

  Hemming rose, a bit dazed, and started for the arch-way. Then she quickly turned back and glared at Markham maliciously.

  “But let me tell you something before I pass from this den of iniquity. That Miss Sibella is the worst of the lot, and the Lord is going to strike her down next—mark my words! There’s no use to try and save her. She’s—doomed!”

  Vance lifted his eyebrows languidly.

  “I say, Hemming, what unrighteousness has Miss Sibella been up to now?”

  “The usual thing.” The woman spoke with relish. “She’s nothing but a hussy, if you ask me. Her carryings-on with this Doctor Von Blon have been scandalous. They’re together, as thick as thieves, at all hours.” She nodded her head significantly. “He came here again last night and went to her room. There’s no telling what time he left.”

  “Fancy that, now. And how do you happen to know about it?”

  “Didn’t I let him in?”

  “Oh, you did?—What time was this? And where was Sproot?”

  “Mr. Sproot was eating his dinner, and I’d gone to the front door to take a look at the weather when the doctor walks up. ‘Howdy-do, Hemming?’ he says with his oily smile. And he brushes past me, nervous-like, and goes straight to Miss Sibella’s room.”

  “Perhaps Miss Sibella was indisposed, and sent for him,” suggested Vance indifferently.

  “Huh!” Hemming tossed her head contemptuously, and strode from the room.

  Vance rose at once and rang again for Sproot.

  “Did you know Doctor Von Blon was here last night?” he asked when the butler appeared.

  The man shook his head.

  “No, sir. I was quite unaware of the fact.”

  “That’s all, Sproot. And now please tell Miss Sibella we’d like to see her.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  It was fifteen minutes before Sibella put in an appearance. “I’m beastly lazy these days,” she explained, settling herself in a large chair. “What’s the party for this morning?”

  Vance offered her a cigarette with an air half quizzical and half deferential.

  “Before we explain our presence,” he said, “please be good enough to tell us what time Doctor Von Blon left here last night?”

  “At a quarter of eleven,” she answered, a hostile challenge coming into her eyes.

  “Thank you. And now I may tell you that both your mother and Ada have been poisoned.”

  “Mother and Ada poisoned?” She echoed the words vaguely, as if they were only half intelligible to her; and for several moments she sat motionless, staring stonily out of flintlike eyes. Slowly her gaze became fixed on Markham.

  “I think I’ll take your advice,” she said. “I have a girl chum in Atlantic City... This place is really becoming too, too creepy.” She forced a faint smile. “I’m off for the seashore this afternoon.” For the first time the girl’s nerve seemed to have deserted her.

  “Your decision is very wise,” observed Vance. “Go, by all means; and arrange to stay until we have settled this affair.”

  She looked at him in a spirit of indulgent irony.

  “I’m afraid I can’t stay so long,” she said; then added “I suppose mother and Ada are both dead.”

  “Only your mother,” Vance told her. “Ada recovered.”

&nb
sp; “She would!” Every curve of her features expressed a fine arrogant contempt. “Common clay has great resistance, I’ve heard. You know, I’m the only one standing between her and the Greene millions now.”

  “Your sister had a very close call,” Markham reprimanded her. “If we had not had a doctor on guard, you might now be the sole remaining heir to those millions.”

  “And that would be frightfully suspicious, wouldn’t it?” Her question was disconcertingly frank. “But you may rest assured that if I had planned this affair, little Ada would not have recovered.”

  Before Markham could answer she switched herself out of the chair.

  “Now, I’m going to pack. Enough is enough.”

  “What about it, sir? Are you going to let her leave the city? She’s the only one of the Greenes who hasn’t been touched.”

  We knew what he meant; and this spoken suggestion of the thought that had been passing through all our minds left us silent for a moment.

  “We can’t take the chance of forcing her to stay here,” Markham returned finally. “If anything should happen... ”

  “I get you, sir.” Heath was on his feet. “But I’m going to see that she’s tailed—believe me! I’ll get two good men up here who’ll stick to her from the time she goes out that front door till we know where we stand.” He went into the hall, and we heard him giving orders to Snitkin over the telephone.

  Five minutes later Doctor Doremus arrived. He was no longer jaunty, and his greeting was almost somber. Accompanied by Drumm and Heath he went at once to Mrs. Greene’s room, while Markham and Vance and I waited down-stairs. When he returned at the end of fifteen minutes he was markedly subdued, and I noticed he did not put on his hat at its usual rakish angle.

  “What’s the report?” Markham asked him.

  “Same as Drumm’s. The old girl passed out, I’d say, between one and two.”

  “And the strychnine was taken when?”

  “Midnight, or thereabouts. But that’s only a guess. Anyway, she got it along with the citrocarbonate. I tasted it on the glass.”*

  “By the by, doctor,” said Vance, “when you do the autopsy can you let us have a report on the state of atrophy of the leg muscles?”