The Winter Murder Case

by S. S. Van Dine

  The old man looked back at him in blank silence.

  Vance tried strategy. “It’s for Miss Ella’s sake I must know.”

  “Miss Ella, she doesn’t do anything bad.”

  “Then tell me where you got that necklace,” persisted Vance.

  The old man looked about him in perplexity. His eyes came to rest on the small phonograph we had seen Ella Gunthar using. He looked up at Vance triumphantly. “There!” He pointed to the instrument.

  Vance rose and brought it to the table. He opened it up and shook it, but without disclosing anything untoward. The old man picked up the necklace, placed it on the green felt base.

  “So,” he said simply. “It was hidden there when I found it.”

  Just then the door was pushed wide open again. Ella Gunthar stood there, a smile fading from her lips as she saw us. Old Jed stood up to greet her. Vance stepped across the room, took the girl gently by the hand, and led her to the table. Her glance fell on the open phonograph with the string of gems sparkling inside. Abruptly she turned away, her face white.

  “How much do you know about this, Miss Gunthar?” Vance asked indulgently.

  “I don’t know—anything about it.” Her answer was low and hesitant.

  “But you’ve seen it before?”

  “I—think so. In the Gem Room.”

  “How did it happen to be hidden in your little music box? Jed says he found it there.”

  “I—I don’t know. Maybe it’s not real.”

  “Oh, it’s real enough, my dear.”

  “I don’t know anything about it,” she repeated stubbornly.

  “Now I think you’re fibbing again. Do you know that just such a necklace, and many other costly stones, are missing from the Gem Room?”

  She nodded. “Richard told me last night.”

  “Did Richard give you this?”

  “No!” She glared at Vance indignantly. “And Jed doesn’t know anything about it either. And neither does my father! Oh, you’re all trying to pin lies on father—don’t you think I know why that police officer from Winewood is always hanging around the estate?” Her words came in a passionate rush.

  Vance watched the unhappy girl appraisingly. “Who, then, my dear, do you think took the emeralds?” he asked calmly.

  “Who?—who?” she echoed. She bit her lips. She thought for several moments. Then, as if on sudden impulse, she blurted defiantly: “I took them—I took them, of course!”

  “You took them!”” Vance repeated skeptically. “What else did you take besides the Istar necklace, Miss Ella?”

  “I don’t know just what—some loose stones.”

  “How did you get into the Gem Room?”

  “I found the door unlocked.”

  “Oh, come now, Miss Ella. Mr. Rexon’s not in the habit of leaving the Gem Room door unlocked.”

  “I found it unlocked,” she insisted.

  “And once inside the room, what did you do?”

  “I opened two of the cases.”

  Vance laughed softly. “You found those unlocked too?”

  She drew up with a start. Tears formed in her eyes.

  “Then I—I—broke them,” she stammered.

  “I see, Miss Ella. Then you won’t mind coming with me to the Manor to tell Mr. Rexon all about it?”

  “No.” She swallowed hard. “I won’t mind.”

  Old Jed looked from Vance to the girl and back to Vance. He furrowed his brow in an attempt to concentrate.

  “Mr. Vance,” the girl asked timidly, “will Miss Joan have to know about it? And—and—Richard?”

  “I’m afraid so,” said Vance. “But perhaps not at once, my dear. Are you ready to go?”

  Vance pocketed the necklace and accompanied the girl from the cabin. Again he took the footpath by which we had come. He made no further mention of the missing gems. Instead he asked: “Bassett been making himself objectionable again?”

  She kept her eyes straight ahead. “It was nothing… Did Jed tell you?… I never saw Jed so angry. I think Mr. Bassett was really frightened.”

  The rest of the walk was in silence.

  Carrington Rexon was alone in the den. Ella Gunthar entered the room as Vance held the door for her. She stepped to one side and stood shyly with her back against the wall. Vance indicated a chair. The girl looked from him to Rexon and came forward.

  “Now, my dear,” prompted Vance as she sat down.

  She lowered her eyes, gripped the sides of the chair.

  “Mr. Rexon, I—” She raised her head and then spoke very quickly. “I took the emeralds.”

  “You what?” Rexon asked in astonishment.

  “I took the emeralds,” she repeated more slowly.

  Rexon laughed bitterly in spite of himself.

  “I can prove it!” she declared recklessly. She extended her hand to Vance for the necklace. He brought it out, gave it to her. She placed it diffidently on the desk beside her.

  Rexon took it up eagerly, looked at it carefully. “The Istar necklace! Ah!” Then shrewdly: “Where are the rest?”

  The girl shook her head. “I won’t tell you. I won’t!” Her compressed lips indicated unmistakably that she would say no more.

  Rexon leaned back in his chair and studied the girl critically. Then crisply: “And you’re the girl my son wants to marry!”

  Ella Gunthar’s face suddenly flushed. Rexon’s words had startled her.

  “Oh, yes, my dear young lady,” Rexon continued coldly. “You didn’t think I knew of the affair that’s been going on between you and Richard. Miss Naesmith told me about it only last night—Miss Naesmith, the girl I hoped would be his wife… Bah! After all I’ve done for you! You’re not content to steal the love of my only son. You must take my emeralds too.” He half rose in his anger. “I’m almost glad this thing has happened. It will be well worth the loss of the emeralds if I can save Richard…”

  Vance stepped swiftly round the desk and put his hand on the older man’s shoulder. “My dear old friend, please! Don’t turn a disappointment into a tragedy.”

  Rexon relaxed under the persuasive pressure of Vance’s hand.

  Tears flooded Ella Gunthar’s eyes. Vance came to her side.

  “Poor child,” he said soothingly, “don’t you think this tragic farce has gone far enough? It’s time for the truth now—all the truth you know. We’re in the dark. We want your help. Some terrible forces are at work in the Manor here. Some dangerous criminal perhaps. You can help those you love only by telling us the truth. Will you?”

  She took a deep breath, dried her eyes. “Yes, I will,” she said with unexpected determination.

  Vance sat down beside her. “Then tell me first: Whom are you trying to shield with this foolish tale of theft?”

  “I—I don’t know exactly. But it seemed that everyone I love had suddenly been caught in an awful trap. Poor Jed, whom you caught with the necklace; my father, whom I knew that police officer suspected of all sorts of things; and, somehow, Richard… And it was all mixed up in some horrible way with that night on the cliff when poor Lief was killed. I—I—it was all confusion. And it seemed that only I could help.”

  She buried her face in her hands, but when she looked up again her eyes were still dry.

  “And I had to try to help them without knowing how to go about it; for I really didn’t know… Only little things, here and there, that didn’t seem to fit together.”

  “You poor child,” murmured Vance again. “But please tell us what you do know—all the little things—anything that may come to your mind. Maybe it will help us all—especially those you love most.”

  “Oh, I’ll try! I’ll try!” She spoke eagerly and braced herself. “Perhaps you think, Mr. Vance, that I insisted on going to the inquest Friday merely as an overcurious child.”

  “No,” returned Vance. “Naturally, I’ve pondered the point. But no opinion.”

  “Well, anyway, you know all that I heard there. I think that jury was just
anxious to get a bad job off their hands.” (I could see that Vance was amazed at the sagacity indicated by her remark.) “And I’ve heard other things, too, Mr. Vance. I’ve heard the workmen saying it’s strange that my father should have been the one to find Lief Wallen’s body… Guy Darrup is still saying I should have married Lief. Can a girl help it if she doesn’t love a man? Then I’ve heard my father say it’s strange that Jed should have known just which way to go that morning. Jed, who wouldn’t harm a fly!… I’ve heard that my father wasn’t home at midnight on the night Lief died, and that it made things look pretty dark for him… Well, I wasn’t at home at midnight either! Does that mean I killed Lief Wallen?…”

  She broke off.

  “I’m sorry if I sound all mixed up,” she resumed. “But it’s because I feel all mixed up… A little before twelve that night I came here. Richard asked me to. We hadn’t had a chance to speak alone together all day. We were to meet at a favorite tree we have up behind the pavilion. I waited and waited. But Richard didn’t come. And then I heard him talking to somebody. He was angry, I think. But he must have gone back inside. That’s when I went running down past the pavilion crying. Just as Guy Darrup said I did. But he didn’t know the reason.”

  She paused and looked at Vance, then at Rexon.

  “Anything more?” Vance gave her a searching glance.

  “Haven’t I said enough?” Her voice sounded weary.

  “You haven’t told us where you got the necklace.”

  “Must I?”

  “It might help to clear up a deucedly involved situation, don’t y’ know.”

  “All right… But my father didn’t take it!” She looked defiantly at Rexon. “I found it lying on the floor near the window in the dressing room reserved for me at the pavilion last night. I was going to return it to Mr. Rexon. But then Richard told me what had happened. I was afraid I’d be asked questions. I knew father was in the pavilion yesterday. Jed brought my costume up there for me. Father locked the room—to keep the surprise—and gave me the key. I was afraid to do anything with the necklace until I had time to think what would be best. And that’s why I took it to Jed’s cabin and hid it in my little music box. But my father didn’t take it! And Old Jed didn’t take it either!…”

  Carrington Rexon looked profoundly disturbed and perplexed. Vance placed his hands on Ella Gunthar’s shoulders and was about to raise her from the chair.

  A knock on the door was followed by Higgins ushering in Lieutenant O’Leary with a plain-clothes man in his wake.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The Second Murder

  (Sunday, January 19; 11 a.m.)

  O’LEARY LOOKED FROM Vance to the girl in the chair and then at the necklace spread on the desk before Rexon.

  “Where did that come from, sir?” he inquired bluntly.

  Vance briefly repeated the girl’s account of the finding of the necklace.

  “A likely story.” O’Leary’s tone was sarcastic…

  The telephone rang. Rexon answered. Then: “It’s from New York, Vance—for you. Private line, this. Perfectly safe. Go ahead.” He pushed the instrument across the desk.

  O’Leary drew his officer aside and spoke earnestly to him while Vance was at the telephone.

  “… What caused the delay, Sergeant?” Vance was saying. “Ah, records in Washington… I see… I’ll take it word for word…” He reached for paper and pencil. He wrote out a dictated message. I recognized the excitement under his calm demeanor as he worked quickly. “Thorough as always, Sergeant.” He spoke with satisfaction as he threw down the pencil. “That gives me just what I need… No. Not necess’ry for you to come. Many thanks…”

  He pushed the phone back and stood up. He sighed. He folded the message he had written out, and placed it in his pocket. He sat down again and lighted a Régie. “Well, Lieutenant?”

  O’Leary came back to Ella Gunthar’s chair. “I’ve kept my promise to you, sir.” He was calm, unofficious. “I’ve waited, as you asked me to. Now I have no choice but to arrest this girl and her father. I think you will agree, sir. I brought this man for the purpose.” He hesitated. “Unless you have additional information that will alter my decision.”

  “I think I have, Lieutenant.” Vance turned to the girl in the chair. “Would you join Miss Joan on the veranda, Miss Ella?”

  “I’m sorry, sir.” O’Leary held up his hand peremptorily. “I don’t believe I can allow that.”

  “Oh, I say! Then send your man with her. Perfectly safe, Lieutenant.”

  O’Leary scowled, but complied. The girl walked slowly from the room, followed by the husky Winewood constable.

  “Thanks no end.” Vance tossed his cigarette into the grate. “Lieutenant, I promised you additional information. Here it is.” He brought forth the folded paper from his pocket, and passed it to O’Leary.

  The Lieutenant unfolded it, glanced at it with quickly moving eyes, then read it aloud: “Whisky glass submitted shows clear prints of Jasper Biset. Description also corresponds. Biset reputed head of international organization of high-pressure jewel thieves. Generally keeps in background. No cause for criminal action against him available. Better known abroad, but would be recognized here. Last tabbed in Saint Moritz, Switzerland.”

  O’Leary looked up blankly.

  “Let me explain further.” Vance spoke. “On my first evening here I saw a face. Strangely familiar. Vague association. With Amsterdam. There were eyebrows meeting above the nose. Like a black shaft. But the face wasn’t right. No. Something missin’. Should have been a mustache. Bristly. However… Mustaches come and go. On impulse, I took the glass from which the gentleman had been imbibing too much Bourbon. Sent it, with note and general description, to New York police. Hopin’… That’s the verbatim report. Just received.”

  “Who is Jasper Biset?” O’Leary’s voice was tinged with exasperation.

  “Gent known to police as Jasper Biset is here under preferable name of Jacques Bassett. Guest of the Manor. More specifically of Mr. Richard Rexon.”

  Carrington Rexon gave a start but said nothing.

  “Then you think he’s the one—” began O’Leary.

  “Don’t know, Lieutenant. Those are all the facts I have. Bein’ honest. Keepin’ an open mind. Like yourself. But a chat with Biset-Bassett is clearly indicated—eh, what? Shall we do it here?”

  O’Leary, somewhat dazed and uncertain, nodded.

  Vance turned to Rexon. “Will you have the gentleman summoned, sir?”

  Rexon, frowning deeply, rang. Higgins appeared and was given instructions. Vance paced up and down the room. He lighted a fresh Régie. The Lieutenant stood stoically at the window. He fumbled with his pipe.

  Higgins returned. “Sorry, sir. Mr. Bassett is not in his room.”

  “Well, can’t you find him, man?” Rexon showed impatience.

  “It would seem, sir, the gentleman hasn’t been in his room all night.”

  “Oh, my word!” Vance stood perfectly still, his cigarette halfway to his lips. “Are you sure, Higgins?”

  “I knocked on the door, sir. No one answered. The door was unlocked, and I looked in, sir. The bed hasn’t been slept in all night. I checked with the chambermaid, sir.”

  A groan escaped from Rexon.

  O’Leary stood up, aggressively indignant. “I felt we should have acted sooner, Mr. Vance.”

  Vance ignored the implied reprimand. “Higgins, call the garage.”

  The butler dialed three numbers, handed the instrument to Vance.

  “Any car been taken out this morning?” Vance waited a moment. “And last night?”… He put the telephone down. “Every car cozily in its place. Curious. Suppose we toddle up to the gentleman’s boudoir.”

  The room showed no sign of disorder. One closet held a number of suits neatly arranged on their hangers. The other disclosed a grey topcoat, a tan one, two or three robes, and several pairs of shoes. Three hats rested on an upper shelf. From the closets Vance went to th
e bureau, inspected the drawers. These were neatly filled with the customary accessories of a man of taste. A trunk stood in one corner of the room with a matching bag beside it. Vance opened these, found them empty.

  “Can’t see that we’ll learn anything here.” He took in every detail of the room. “Suggest we go down to Winewood. Confab with the station master might prove illuminatin’.”

  The Lieutenant’s small car was parked outside the veranda. O’Leary turned toward it as we came down the steps.

  “Oh, I say!” Vance checked him. “Please! Mind functions more efficiently at lesser speed. Let’s go on foot. If you don’t mind.”

  O’Leary shrugged. We continued to the end of the pathway, swung into the vehicle road leading through the estate to the county highway. The fresh layer of snow was unmarred but for a single set of tire tracks marking the Lieutenant’s arrival an hour or two earlier.

  Vance lighted a cigarette. We trudged along.

  “Not every day one has the opportunity to lay his hands on a murderer.” O’Leary spoke glumly. “Too bad if he’s got away.”

  “Oh, yes. Quite. Very sad. But I’m not convinced the man is a murderer. My own observations contraindicative. No. Not the type that deals in murder. Too suave. Wouldn’t bloody his hands.”

  “Then you don’t think he killed Wallen in an earlier attempt to get at the emeralds?” O’Leary seemed surprised.

  “No—oh, no. As I said. Not the type. However…”

  “But you admit he’s gone off now with the gems?”

  “My dear Lieutenant! I admit nothing. Just lookin’ round at present. Strivin’ to learn.”

  “That throws us back on Eric Gunthar. Has he been asked to account for himself during yesterday’s incident?”

  “No. Not yet. Good thought, however. I’ll speak with him later. ‘Where were you on the night of—?’ And all that sort of thing. Might help. Might not…” Vance flung the end of his cigarette aside.

  We had just passed through the large gates and taken perhaps a hundred paces on the highway toward Winewood.

  O’Leary brought out his pipe. “The car would have been quicker—”