The Winter Murder Case

by S. S. Van Dine

  Sydes bowed himself out with a look of concern mingled with relief.

  Young Rexon was conversing in an undertone with his father. He looked bewildered as he stepped back to the window. Vance turned to him.

  “How much did you know about your friend Bassett, Mr. Richard?”

  The young man did not answer immediately. Vance lighted a cigarette while he waited. Finally young Rexon spoke.

  “Not too much, I’m afraid. Only that he seemed a likable enough chap. And he was a pleasant traveling companion.”

  “Hardly sufficient recommendation,” grumbled the elder Rexon bitterly. “The man was a scoundrel!”

  “Did you know,” Vance asked carelessly, “that during his brief stay here he was annoying Miss Ella?” Richard Rexon only shook his head. Vance continued. “Old Jed found it necess’ry to reprimand him severely. Perhaps Jed did more than that…”

  Eric Gunthar jumped from his chair. “You can’t say that, sir! The hermit may be a queer one, but he didn’t murder nobody!” The man seemed surprised at his own outburst. He sank back to his chair.

  Quayne looked across at Vance with significance. “Bearing out my earlier contention, Mr. Vance.”

  Vance nodded abstractedly. He found an ash tray and broke the ashes from his cigarette.

  “Tell me, Gunthar: was this hermit of yours friendly with Lief Wallen?”

  “The hermit ain’t friendly with nobody. Except, maybe, my Ella.”

  “Had Wallen any friend on the estate who would want to avenge him if he thought there had been foul play?”

  “I don’t know about friends. But any man of us would do that if we had cause.”

  “Very interestin’. And most commendable… But I think Lieutenant O’Leary has a query or two to put to you.” Vance made a broad gesture with his hand, as if turning over a witness to the opposition.

  “Mr. Gunthar,” the Lieutenant began, “you were at Murphy’s tavern the night Wallen died?”

  Gunthar thought back. “Yes, I was.”

  “And did you go directly to your cottage from there?”

  “You might say I did, sir. I only stopped outside the house here, just to see what was doin’.”

  “Did you see Wallen?”

  “No—I don’t think so,” said Gunthar hesitantly. Then he amended his statement. “Or if I did, I wouldn’t have noticed specially.”

  “Did you come up to the Manor yesterday, Gunthar?” The Lieutenant was becoming more belligerent.

  “Well, I did—and I didn’t. I mean, I didn’t come into the house exactly.”

  “What did you come for?”

  “To talk with the Squire.” He looked uneasily at Rexon. “You see, Mr. Richard wanted I should come up here and promise the Squire I wouldn’t drink no more if he’d let me keep my job. So I come up here first thing in the morning. But the Squire wasn’t down yet. Later Mr. Richard come down to me where I was busy at the pavilion an’ told me to go up again. I didn’t want to, but Mr. Richard he wouldn’t let me off. So I come up. I had a bottle with me, an’ I took another drink on my way. Just to buck me up, you know. An’ when I come up to the house I stopped to make up what I would say. Then I thought the Squire wouldn’t like it if he could smell the liquor on me. I was outside for a bit, changing my mind this way an’ that. But I didn’t come in. I went back to the pavilion. After lunch Mr. Richard come down again to ask me—”

  “That’s enough.” O’Leary interrupted the recital impatiently.

  “I think, Lieutenant,” Vance interposed mildly, “the doctor’s theory is more plausible. However, I have known medical men who, when they did not like a diagnosis which could not be proven all the way, would substitute a more acceptable alternative based on the same principal factors.”

  “A discerning observation,” commented Quayne dryly.

  “We start then, with the admissible assumption that the guard, having frustrated an attempt to enter the Gem Room from outside, is deliberately murdered. That there is an eye witness to this murder seems not too preposterous. We know definitely that access to the room is later effected by means of Mr. Rexon’s key. We likewise know, beyond a doubt, that one Bassett, with sufficient and understandable reason to be interested in the emeralds, falls victim to a second murder.”

  Vance paused to light a fresh Régie.

  “We find ourselves confronted,” he resumed, “with more unknown quantities than I care to cope with in a single problem: Who witnessed that first hypothetical murder? Who managed to procure the key to the Gem Room and appropriate the emeralds? Finally, who finished Bassett, and why?”

  He puffed thoughtfully on his cigarette and looked about.

  “Offhand,” he continued, “Bassett seems the logical choice for the second factor of the puzzle.” The others nodded in agreement. “If only we had found the emeralds on him—or in his room…”

  “Has a thorough search been made?” asked Carrington Rexon hopefully.

  Before Vance could answer, the doctor spoke again. “My dear Rexon,” he said, almost as if to a child. “The man was not so simple as to have left them carelessly about. He might have wrapped them securely in a packet and mailed them off somewhere.”

  “A reasonable suggestion,” agreed Vance. “On the other hand, I am compellingly driven to the conclusion that Bassett could not have taken the emeralds at all.”

  There was a murmur of surprised dissent.

  “Why not, Mr. Vance?” It was O’Leary who asked the question.

  “For the simple reason, Lieutenant, that he wouldn’t have had the time. Mr. Rexon has told us that he heard the beginning of the noon siren just as he was struck and lost consciousness. Is that correct, old friend?”

  “Absolutely, Vance. I am positive of it.”

  “But,” interposed the doctor, “I wasn’t called till after half-past twelve. I presume that no one knew of Mr. Rexon’s predicament until then.”

  “Quite right, doctor,” Vance told him. “And yet, I persist in the opinion that Bassett could not have managed it… Habit dulls our awareness of the repetitious act or sound. How many of us are conscious of the striking of a clock unless we are waiting for it? We let time glide past us unnoticed. But let a man have a train to catch or a timed appointment to keep, and the tick of his watch acquires significance for him… Is that psychologically correct, Doctor Quayne?”

  “Undoubtedly,” agreed Quayne. He placed a hand on the shoulder of the woman beside him; but she seemed lost in her own thoughts.

  “Very well, then… Bassett joined us on the veranda almost before the echo of the siren died away. You may have noticed him.”

  “Can’t say that I did.” The doctor coughed negligently.

  “Possibly not. Aloof sort of johnnie. Remained at one end of the veranda—alone. Queer thing is that I wouldn’t have noticed the siren. Hadn’t noticed it on other days. Habit, as I say, dulls our senses, don’t y’ know. But though I was unconscious of the fact at the moment, the sound was forcibly called to my attention. By yourself, doctor. Do you recall?”

  “It’s quite possible. I remember I was in a hurry. I’d stayed longer than I intended.”

  “Exactly. But the important thing is—you couldn’t know, doctor, because you left us immediately—that Bassett remained on the veranda for the next half hour at least… Does that establish my contention?”

  Again there was a subdued murmuring among the others.

  “Of necessity eliminating Bassett from that phase of our little problem play, whom can we enter in his stead?… Sydes was undoubtedly speaking the truth here.”

  “That may be, Mr. Vance,” O’Leary conceded. “But what of Eric Gunthar? I’m about ready to call time, sir.”

  Gunthar squirmed in his chair. Young Rexon came forward.

  “If you will permit me, sir, I think I can bear out Gunthar’s statements. You can depend on it, he’s told you the truth.”

  “Yes, Lieutenant,” supplemented Vance. “Let me say this for Gunthar: He
’s been weak. He’s been foolish. He’s let his normal ego and competency run to aggressiveness. Hence his enemies. Then he began drinking too much. To bolster his confidence. Not wise. No. Result: both he and his daughter are in devilish hot water. However, I’m not believin’ he’s guilty. And I think you will agree with me shortly, Lieutenant. A few more short minutes, please…”

  He looked at O’Leary, got a grudging nod from him. Then he faced young Rexon.

  “What about yourself, Mr. Richard? Could you have taken your father’s emeralds and wrapped them securely in a packet—?”

  He was interrupted by a half-smothered shriek from Marcia Bruce. She suddenly rose from her place on the sofa.

  “Oh, my God!” she moaned as she ran from the room.

  Quayne looked after her in astonishment.

  Vance’s question had left us all equally stunned. Young Rexon stood white and speechless facing his accuser.

  “From what I’ve observed and heard,” Vance went on relentlessly, “and leaving the question of motive aside for the moment, you seem to have had every opportunity—”

  Carrington Rexon leaped from his chair and pounded the desk with his fist.

  “See here, Vance!” he thundered. “This has gone far enough! If you’re going to make a farce of it, I prefer to say be damned to the emeralds, and drop the matter right now.”

  “Rexon’s quite right,” put in Quayne impressively. “Think of the scandal…”

  “I am thinking of it.” Vance’s manner remained cool. “But it is no longer a question of just the emeralds. We have certainly one murder on our hands. Possibly two. Surely, you wouldn’t say ‘be damned’ to that.”

  The elder Rexon shook his head despondently. He sank back into his chair. The son, at a gesture of dismissal from Vance, resumed his former place on the window sill.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Final Curtain

  (Sunday, January 19; 2:40 p.m.)

  VANCE TOOK A few paces across the room. His attention was caught by a pair of eyes peering in at the window behind Richard Rexon. It was the Green Hermit. He made no move as Vance approached the window and raised it.

  “Might as well join us in here, Jed,” Vance suggested casually. “You’ll see much better, don’t y’ know. And hear. More satisfact’ry, what?” He closed the window as the old man moved away. Vance came back to a chair, crossed his knees as he sat down.

  Higgins opened the door with a surprised look on his face. “It’s Old Jed, sir,” he mumbled awkwardly.

  “Yes—oh, yes. Let him come in.” It was Vance who spoke.

  The white-haired old man came shuffling into the room, looking from side to side as if to find a place where he might hide. He finally chose a chair in the corner nearest Vance and sat down without a word.

  “Where do we stand now?” Vance began anew. “Ah, yes. We still have to determine the identity of the persons involved in a dramatic piece of mayhem and thievery.”

  He rose from the chair and stood leaning against it.

  “Mr. Rexon tells me, Doctor Quayne, that you are planning to leave Winewood.” Vance looked at the man lazily.

  The doctor seemed taken aback. “Frankly, yes,” he returned. “Though I don’t recall having mentioned it. At any rate, I don’t see what my future plans can have to do with this matter.”

  “You will in a moment, doctor.” Vance brought out a visiting card and a pencil. He wrote a few words hastily, toyed with the card for a moment. “Our problem is falling nicely into line,” he announced, looking up. “I said Bassett could not have obtained the jewels. But he could—and probably did—assault Mr. Rexon and secure the key to the Gem Room… Yes. He would have had just enough time for that… This assumption assigns to him half of the second rôle. But our cast is still woefully incomplete… Permit me one more question, Doctor Quayne. Just why were you determined to let me know it was after twelve yesterday?”

  “I resent the imputation, sir. I was simply in a hurry.”

  “As you said. In a hurry to get to the Gem Room and out again, doctor?”

  Quayne made no reply. Merely smiled, as at a precocious child.

  The door opened suddenly. Marcia Bruce came rushing back into the room. Her face was flushed. Her hands were tearing frenziedly at the paper wrappings of a small parcel. She shot a look of disgust at the man on the divan.

  In the momentary confusion Vance passed the card in his hand to Lieutenant O’Leary. The latter stepped from the room, returning almost immediately. He moved leisurely to the divan, sat down beside Quayne.

  Marcia Bruce had removed the last bit of paper and now held in her trembling hands a small, crudely sewn chamois bag, tied with a bit of dental floss. She turned fiery green eyes on Quayne.

  “You charlatan! You thief!” she flung at him. “Did you think I could be so easily deceived? Did you think that because of your honeyed words you could count on me to aid you and shield you in your hour of need?… Your hour of need!” she repeated disdainfully. “Hour of shame! Hour of perfidy!”

  She turned from him and held the bag out to Vance. He took it from her, tossed it lightly to the desk.

  Carrington Rexon, with shaking fingers, managed to get the bag opened. He emptied its contents. The brilliant gems formed a shimmering green pattern on the blotter before him. His son was again at his side. Together they examined the stones.

  “I think they are all here, Vance.” The elder Rexon brought out a pocket handkerchief and placed the stones, one by one, in its folds.

  On the divan Quayne sat deathly pale. He seemed to have aged years in a few minutes. O’Leary moved a little closer to him.

  Vance turned to the housekeeper. “May I ask how that little pouch came into your possession, madam?”

  “He brought it to me.” She pointed scornfully. “Last night. For safekeeping. It was all wrapped up. It was to be a surprise. A surprise I was to share with him when we were married and—” She broke off abruptly.

  Vance bowed to the woman. “Thank you, madam. It was the tangible proof I needed… Fortunate for Mr. Rexon the banks were already closed yesterday—eh, what, doctor?”

  Quayne shrugged helplessly.

  “Your theory wasn’t far wrong, doctor. Now, if we assign to Doctor Quayne the rôle of obtaining the gems, as circumst’nces so irresistibly suggest, the problem is no longer a problem.”

  “But how in the world, Vance—” Carrington Rexon was at a loss for words.

  “If the good doctor will help me elucidate further… Bassett’s appearance on the veranda yesterday was your cue that he had carried out his half of the plan.—Am I right, doctor?”

  Quayne gave no sign that he had heard.

  “And, having established for yourself an ironclad alibi through that perilous hour of noon, you had only to enter the house, take the key from where you knew he had left it for you, and the rest was simplicity itself. Your presence anywhere on the lower floor here would excite no suspicion… But won’t you tell us, doctor, what form of blackmail Bassett employed to induce you to enter this scheme with him?”

  Still Quayne sat in stony silence.

  “Then I must resort again to our limited cast,” continued Vance. “You were most helpful a little earlier, doctor. No doubt thought you were helping yourself. You suggested an eye witness to the murder of Wallen. Now, whom could we place in that rôle more appropriately than Mr. Bassett?… Of course, it would be only guesswork. But he would seem to meet every requirement…”

  There was an unexpected interruption from the Green Hermit. “You’re not guessing, Mister. If you mean the night Lief Wallen died, I was there. I was there because I came to look after Miss Ella. Miss Ella oughtn’t to come here so late… I saw the doctor walk a ways with Lief. And I saw your Mr. Bassett walk after them. All very quiet and peaceful. I didn’t know they meant harm…”

  Vance suddenly turned to O’Leary with a questioning look. The Lieutenant arose, making a jerky motion of his arm, much as a magician does when
he is about to produce a surprise. Gradually dropping from his sleeve, came a heavy straight wrench, about twelve inches in length, with varied square openings at each end. He passed it to Vance.

  “By Jove!” said Vance evenly. “A spanner! Usually part of the tool equipment of an automobile—eh, what, doctor?”

  Quayne stiffened; his eyes bulged, fastened on the telltale wrench in Vance’s hand.

  “Too bad your first attempt to enter the Gem Room was not more successful, doctor.” Vance looked coolly at the man on the divan. “So Bassett was the eye witness. He must have driven a hard bargain.”

  Quayne now spoke for the first time. His voice was strained and bitter. “Half of what I might get. And he ran only the minimum of risk.”

  “And did you take the additional precaution of leaving the necklace at the pavilion in the hope of further involving Gunthar who already seemed to be seriously under suspicion?”

  The doctor spread his hands in a gesture of hopelessness.

  “But in the end you felt you could not trust your partner? You deemed it safer—and more profitable—to put him out of your way permanently?”

  Quayne leaned forward rigidly.

  “I might as well tell you everything,” he said wearily. “When I was abroad two years ago, Richard introduced me to Jacques Bassett. It was an unfortunate acquaintance for me. From the first I disliked the man, though I tried to give no indication of it. Brief as our association was, I felt his evil influence. In a weak moment I was persuaded to undertake smuggling a packet of gems into this country for him. I was fairly successful. Though I was under suspicion for some time, the federal investigation was finally dropped. When I sent the rascal his share of the transaction, I thought I had put him out of my life forever… Then Richard came home and brought Bassett with him. I was distressed to see that their friendship had continued. But I could say nothing… As I have already suggested, Bassett’s trip here was motivated solely by his desire to acquire the Rexon emeralds. He lost no time in re-establishing contact with me. He made it plain to me that he was fortunate to find an unwilling ally who was necessarily under his thumb. He gave me the choice of doing as he said or being exposed in the smuggling matter. He painted rosy pictures for me if I would follow his bidding… For years I’ve been hoping to marry Marcia Bruce…”