Snitkin saluted and went away without a word.
Vance walked over to Heath and, taking out his monocle, studied the drawings.
“My word!” he commented admiringly. “They’re really clever, don’t y’ know. The chap is a natural draughtsman... I say, Mr. Leland, here are copies of the footprints we found in the pool.”
Leland moved—somewhat hesitantly, I thought—to the Sergeant’s side and looked at the drawings. I watched him closely during his examination of the sketches, but I was unable to detect the slightest change of expression on his face.
At length he looked up, and his calm eyes slowly turned to Vance.
“Quite remarkable,” he said, and added in a colorless voice: “I cannot imagine what could have made such peculiar imprints in the pool.”
Footnote
* The Greene Murder Case
CHAPTER TEN
The Missing Man (Sunday, August 12; 1 p.m.)
IT WAS NOW one o’clock. Stamm insisted on ordering lunch for us, and Trainor served it in the drawing-room. Stamm himself and Leland ate with the others in the dining-room. We were no sooner alone than Markham turned a troubled gaze on Vance.
“What do you make of it all?” he asked. “I can’t understand those marks on the bottom of the pool. They’re—they’re frightful.”
Vance shook his head despairingly: there could be no doubt that he too was troubled.
“I don’t like it—I don’t at all like it.” There was discouragement in his tone. “There’s something dashed sinister about this case—something that seems to reach out beyond the ordin’ry every-day experiences of man.”
“If it were not for all this curious dragon lore surrounding the Stamm estate,” said Markham, “we’d probably have dismissed those large imprints with the simple explanation that the water draining over the mud had tended to enlarge or distort ordinary footmarks.”
Vance smiled wearily.
“Yes, quite so. But we’d have been unscientific. Some of the footprints were pointed in the direction of the flow of the water, while others were at right-angles to it; yet their character was not changed at any point. Moreover, the receding water flowed very gently, and the shallow mud on the bottom of the pool is rather tenacious,—even the scale-like formations on the imprints were not washed away... But even if one could account reasonably for the larger impressions, what about those astonishing claw-like imprints—?”
Suddenly Vance leapt to his feet and, going swiftly to the door, drew one of the portières aside. Before him stood Trainor, his pudgy face a ghastly white, his eyes staring like those of a man in a trance. In one hand he held Vance’s shoes.
Vance regarded him ironically and said nothing; and the man, with a quiver that ran over his entire body, made an effort to draw himself together.
“I’m—I’m sorry, sir,” he stammered. “I—I heard you talking and—didn’t wish to disturb you...so I waited. I have your boots, sir.”
“That’s quite all right, Trainor.” Vance returned to his chair. “I was merely curious as to who was hoverin’ outside the portières... Thanks for the boots.”
The butler came forward obsequiously, knelt down and, removing the slippers from Vance’s feet, replaced them with the oxfords. His hands trembled perceptibly as he tied the laces.
When he left the room with the tray of luncheon dishes Heath glared after him belligerently.
“Now, what was that baby snooping around for?” he snarled. “There’s something on his mind.”
“Oh, doubtless.” Vance smiled moodily. “I’d say it was the dragon.”
“See here, Vance,”—Markham spoke with acerbity—“let’s drop this poppycock about a dragon.” There was a certain desperation in his tone. “How do you account for that note in Montague’s pocket—and what does it mean?”
“My word, Markham, I’m no Chaldean.” Vance leaned back in his chair and lighted another Régie. “Even if the whole affair was a spectacular plot in which the histrionic Montague was to make his exit in the approved dramatic manner, I still can’t imagine how he joined his inamorata without leaving some evidence as to his means of departure from the pool. It’s mystifyin’ no end.”
“Hell!” The forthright Sergeant cut into the discussion. “The bird got away somehow, didn’t he, Mr. Vance? And if we can’t find the evidence, he out-foxed us.”
“Tut, tut, Sergeant. You’re far too modest. I’ll admit the explanation should be simple, but I’ve a feelin’ that it’s going to prove dashed complex.”
“Nevertheless,” Markham argued, “that note from the Bruett woman and Montague’s disappearance complement each other perfectly.”
“Granted,” nodded Vance. “Too perfectly, in fact. But the imprints in the pool and the absence of any kind of footprints on the opposite bank, are two conflictin’ elements.”
He got to his feet and walked the length of the room and back.
“Then there’s the car in which the mysterious lady waited... I say, Markham, I think a brief chat with Miss Stamm might prove illuminatin’... Fetch the quakin’ butler, will you, Sergeant?”
Heath went swiftly from the room, and when Trainor came in Vance requested him to ask Miss Stamm to come to the drawing-room. A few minutes later she appeared.
Bernice Stamm was not exactly a beautiful girl, but she was unquestionably attractive, and I was amazed at her air of serenity, after the reports of her hysterical condition the night before. She had on a sleeveless white crêpe-de-Chine tennis dress. Her legs were bare, but she wore orange-colored woollen socks, rolled at the ankles, and white buckskin sandals. Though not exactly an athletic type, she gave one the same impression of strength and vitality as did her brother.
Vance offered her a chair. But she declined it courteously, saying that she preferred to stand.
“Perhaps you’ll have a cigarette,” he suggested, proffering her his case.
She accepted one with a slight bow, and he held his lighter for her. Her manner seemed strangely detached, as if both her thoughts and her emotions were far away from her immediate surroundings; and I remembered the Sergeant’s criticism of her to the effect that she had not seemed as much concerned about the tragedy itself as about something indirectly connected with it. Perhaps Vance received the same impression, for his first question was:
“Exactly how do you feel, Miss Stamm, about the tragedy that took place here last night?”
“I hardly know what to say,” she answered, with apparent frankness. “Of course, I was tremendously upset. I think we all were.”
Vance studied her searchingly a moment.
“But surely your reaction must have been deeper than that. You were engaged to Mr. Montague, I understand.”
She nodded wistfully.
“Yes—but that was a great mistake. I realize it now... If it had not been a mistake,” she added, “I’m sure I would feel much more deeply about the tragedy than I do.”
“You think this tragedy was accidental?” Vance asked with sudden bluntness.
“Of course it was!” The girl turned on him with blazing eyes. “It couldn’t have been anything else. I know what you mean—I’ve heard all the silly chatter round this house—but it’s quite impossible to attribute Monty’s death to anything but an accident.”
“You don’t put any stock, then, in these tales of a dragon in the pool?”
She laughed with genuine amusement.
“No, I don’t believe in fairy-tales. Do you?”
“I still believe in tales of Prince Charming,” Vance returned lightly; “though I’ve always rather suspected the chap. He was much too good to be true.”
The girl let her eyes rest on Vance calmly for several moments. Then she said:
“I haven’t the slightest idea what you mean.”
“It really doesn’t matter,” he returned. “But it’s a bit disconcertin’ not to have found the body of the gentleman who dived into the pool last night.”
“You mean—”
“Yes—quite. Mr. Montague has disappeared completely.”
She gave him a startled look.
“But—at lunch—my brother—he didn’t tell me... You’re quite sure that Monty has disappeared?”
“Oh, yes. We drained the pool, don’t y’ know.” Vance paused and regarded the girl mildly. “All we found were some fantastic footprints.”
Her eyes widened and the pupils dilated.
“What kind of footprints?” she asked, in a tense, hushed voice.
“I’ve never seen any like them before,” Vance returned. “If I believed in mythical submarine monsters, I might conclude that some such creature had made them.”
Bernice Stamm was standing near the portières, and involuntarily she reached out and clutched one of them with her hand, as if to steady herself. But her sudden loss of composure was only momentary. She forced a smile and, walking further into the room, leaned against the mantelpiece.
“I am afraid”—she spoke with obvious effort—“I’m too practical to be frightened by any seeming evidences of the dragon’s presence here.”
“I’m sure you are, Miss Stamm,” Vance replied pleasantly. “And since you are so practical, perhaps this missive will interest you.” He took from his pocket the blue, scented note that had been found in Montague’s day suit, and handed it to her.
The girl read it without change of expression, but when she gave it back to Vance I noticed that she sighed deeply, as if the implication of its contents had brought her peace of mind.
“That note is far more reasonable than the footprints you speak of,” she remarked.
“The note in itself is reasonable enough,” Vance admitted. “But there are correlative factors which make it appear most unreasonable. For one thing, there’s the car in which the ever-thine Ellen was to have waited. Surely, in the night-time silence of Inwood, the sound of an automobile could have been heard at a distance of a few hundred yards.”
“It was—it was!” she exclaimed. “I heard it!” The color rushed back to her cheeks, and her eyes glistened. “I didn’t realize it until this minute. When Mr. Leland and the others were in the pool searching for Monty—ten minutes or so after he had dived in—I heard a car starting and the hum of the motor picking up as when the gears are being shifted—you know the sort of noise I mean. And it was down on the East Road...”
“The car was going away from the estate?”
“Yes—yes! It was going away—toward Spuyten Duyvil... It all comes back to me now. I was kneeling there, at the edge of the pool, frightened and dazed. And the sound of this car drifted in on me, mixed with the sound of splashing in the water. But I didn’t think about the car at the time—it seemed so unimportant...the suspense of those few minutes—I think you understand what I am trying to say. I completely forgot such a trivial thing as the sound of a car, until that note brought it back to me.” The girl spoke with the intensity of unassailable veracity.
“I understand exactly,” Vance assured her consolingly. “And your remembering the sound of the car has helped us no end.”
He had been standing by the centre-table during the interview, and he now came forward toward the girl and held out his hand in an attitude of friendly sympathy. With a spontaneous gesture of gratitude, she put her hand in his; and he led her to the door.
“We sha’n’t bother you any more now,” he said gently. “But will you be good enough to ask Mr. Leland to come here?”
She nodded and walked away toward the library.
“Do you think she was telling the truth about hearing an automobile?” Markham asked.
“Oh, undoubtedly.” Vance moved back to the centre-table and smoked for a moment in silence: there was a puzzled look on his face. “Curious thing about that girl. I doubt if she thinks Montague escaped in a car—but she unquestionably did hear a car. I wonder...she may be trying to shield some one... A nice gel, Markham.”
“You think perhaps she knows or suspects something?”
“I doubt if she knows anything.” Vance turned and sought a nearby chair. “But, my word! she certainly has suspicions...”
At this moment Leland entered the drawing-room. He was smoking his pipe, and, though he tried to appear cheerful, his expression belied his manner.
“Miss Stamm told me you wished to see me,” he said, taking his stand before the fireplace. “I hope you have said nothing to upset her.”
Vance watched him intently for a moment.
“Miss Stamm,” he said, “did not seem particularly upset by the fact that Montague has departed this milieu.”
“Perhaps she has come to realize—” Leland began, and then stopped abruptly, busying himself with repacking his pipe. “Did you show her the note?”
“Yes, of course.” Vance kept his eyes on the other.
“That note reminds me of something,” Leland went on. “The automobile, you know. I have been thinking about that ever since I saw the note, trying to recall my impressions last night, after Montague had disappeared under the water. And I remember quite distinctly now that I did hear a motor-car on the East Road when I came to the surface of the pool, after having looked for the chap. Naturally, I thought nothing of it at the time—I was too intent on the task in hand; that is probably why it went out of my mind until that note recalled it.”
“Miss Stamm also remembers hearing a car,” Vance informed him. “By the by, how long would you say it was, after Montague’s mysterious dive, that you heard the car on the East Road?”
Leland thought a moment.
“Perhaps ten minutes,” he said finally, but he added: “However, it is rather difficult to gauge the passage of time in a situation of that kind.”
“Quite so,” Vance murmured. “But you are certain it was not merely two or three minutes?”
“It could not possibly have been as soon as that,” Leland answered with a slight show of emphasis. “You see, we all waited a couple of minutes for the chap to show up after his dive, and I had already gone into the water and made a fairly thorough search for him before I was aware of the sound of the car.”
“That being the case,” submitted Vance, “it is far from conclusive to connect the sound of the car with the absent Ellen; for it would not have taken Montague more than a minute or so to reach his waiting Juliet at the gate. Certainly he wouldn’t have tarried en route; nor would he have lingered for a loving tête-à-tête in the parked car.”
“I see what you mean.” Leland inclined his head and looked troubled. “Still, he might have decided there was no need for haste and gotten into some togs before driving off.”
“Quite so,” Vance admitted carelessly. “There are various possibilities, don’t y’ know...”
The conversation was interrupted by Doctor Holliday and Stamm descending the stairs. They crossed the hall and came into the drawing-room.
“I’m sorry to trouble you again, gentlemen.” The doctor, his face clouded, addressed us apologetically. “When I first came here this morning, I found Mrs. Stamm markedly improved, and I expected she would soon be her normal self again. But when I returned, a little later, she had relapsed. The events of last night seem to have upset her strangely, and she is now in a most unusual mood. She insisted on watching the draining of the pool, and the result threw her into a state of unprecedented excitement. There is, I believe, some fixed idea in her mind, which she will not confide to me or to her son.”
Doctor Holliday shifted his position awkwardly and cleared his throat.
“I’m inclined to think,” he went on, “in view of the fact that her interview with you last night seemed to relieve somewhat the tension of this pent-up hallucination, it might be helpful if you gentlemen would see her again. She may be willing to talk about this suppressed idea to you. It is worth trying, at any rate—if you don’t mind. I suggested the interview to her, and she seemed more than willing—quite anxious for it, in fact.”
“We would be very glad to see Mrs. Stamm, doctor,” Vance
returned. “Shall we go up alone?”
Doctor Holliday hesitated, and then nodded jerkily.
“I think that might be best. It may be that this supposed secret of hers is being withheld, for some irrational reason, only from members of the family and those she knows.”
We went immediately to Mrs. Stamm’s quarters, leaving Doctor Holliday, with Stamm and Leland, in the drawing-room.
Mrs. Schwarz was waiting for us at the door: evidently the doctor had told her we were coming. Mrs. Stamm was seated near the window, her hands folded in her lap. She appeared quite calm, and there was none of the sardonic tenseness about her that we had encountered the night before; instead, there was a look of almost humorous satisfaction on her wizened face.
“I thought you’d be back,” she greeted us, with a low cackle of triumph. “I told you that the dragon had killed him. And I told you that his body would not be found in the pool. But you didn’t believe me. You thought it was the ravings of an old woman’s cracked mind. But now you know that I told you the truth, and so you’ve come back to learn more. That’s why you’re here—isn’t it? Your foolish science has failed you.”
She chuckled, and something in the sound of that hideous nasal laughter brought back to me the witches’ cavern scene in “Macbeth,” with the dragon’s scale that was added to the cauldron.
“I saw you looking for the young man’s footprints on the bank opposite and on the cliffs,” she continued, in a gloating tone. “But the dragon rises to the surface of the water and flies away with his victims. I’ve seen him too often!... And I stood here, at the window, when the water was running out of the pool, and saw you waiting...waiting, and watching for the thing that was not there. And then I saw you walk out across the boards, as if you could not believe your eyes. Didn’t I tell you last night that there would be no body in the pool? Yet you thought that you could find something.” She unfolded her hands and placed them on the arms of the chair, her fingers flexing and unflexing like great talons.
The Dragon Murder Case Page 12
