“Really, Mr. Falloway,” Vance admonished in a soothing voice, “you shouldn’t handle heavy objects when you’re in that frame of mind. Frightfully sorry. But just sit still and relax.” He drew on his cigarette again and, apparently ignoring the incident, went on in his unemotional drawl:
“As I was sayin’, the disappearance of the stones from the collection was an indication of the identity of the murderer, for the simple reason that the hirin’ of thugs and the underground disposal of these gems quite obviously suggested that the same type of person was involved in both endeavors: to wit, both procedures implied a connection with undercover characters—fences and assassins. Not that the reasonin’ was final, you understand, but most suggestive. The two notes yesterday were highly enlightenin’. One of them was obviously concocted for effect; the other was quite genuine. But boldness—usually a good technique—was, in this case, seen through.”
“But who,” asked Quaggy, “could possibly have fulfilled the requirements, so to speak, of your vague and amusing theory?” The smile on his lips was without mirth—it was cold and self-satisfied. “Just because you saw two black opals in my possession—”
“My theory, Mr. Quaggy, is not nearly so vague as you may think,” Vance interrupted quickly. “And if it amuses you, I am delighted.” Vance looked at the man with steady, indifferent eyes. “But, to answer your question, I should say that it was someone with an opportunity to render legal service, with legal protection, to members of the underworld...”
Fleel, who was sitting at the small desk at the front of the room, quickly addressed Vance.
“There is a definite implication in your words, sir,” he said, with his customary judicial air. (I could not resist the impression that he was pleading for a client in a court of law.) “I’m a lawyer,” he went on, with ostentatious bitterness, “and I naturally have certain contacts with the type of men you imply were at the bottom of this outrage.” Then he chuckled sarcastically. “However,” he added, “I shall not hold the insult against you. The fact is, your long amateurish ratiocinations are highly amusing.” And, leaning back in his chair, he smirked.
Vance barely glanced at the man, and continued speaking as if there had been no interruption.
“Referrin’ again to the various ransom notes, they were dictated by the plotter of Kaspar’s murder—that is, all but the one received by Mr. Fleel yesterday—and they were couched in such language that they could be shown to the authorities in order to side-track suspicion from the actual culprit and at the same time impress Mr. Kenyon Kenting with the urgent necessity of raising the fifty thousand dollars. I had two statements as to the amount of money which Kaspar himself was demanding for his debts—one, an honest report of fifty thousand dollars; the other, no doubt a stupidly concocted tale of thirty thousand dollars—again obviously for the purpose of diverting suspicion from the person connected with the crime.”
Vance looked thoughtfully at Fleel and continued.
“Of course, it is possible that Kaspar asked you for only thirty thousand dollars, whereas he had just asked his brother for fifty thousand. But it is highly significant that he first asked his brother for fifty thousand dollars and then asked you for a different amount, whereas the ransom note called for the fifty thousand. This discrepancy between Mr. Kenting’s report and your report of the amount would certainly have a tendency to point toward the brother and not toward you—which could easily be interpreted, in view of everything, as another clever means of your pointing suspicion away from yourself in case you were suspected. Certainly Mr. Kenyon Kenting was not lying about the amount, and there could be little or no reason to think that Kaspar's brother was guilty of the crime, for in such a case the money would have had to come from him—and people, don’t y’ know, do not ordinarily commit crimes in order to impoverish themselves—eh, what? Summing it up, there was no reason for Mr. Kenyon Kenting to lie about the amount demanded by Kaspar, whereas there was a definite reason for you to lie about it.”
Vance moved his eyes slowly round the startled group.
“The second note received by Mr. Fleel, was not, as I have already intimated, one of the series written at the instructions of the guilty man—it was a genuine document addressed to him; and the recipient felt that he not only could use it to have the ransom money paid over to him, but to disarm once more any suspicion that might be springing up in the minds of the authorities. It did not occur to him that the address, cryptically written in for his eyes alone, could be interpreted by another. Oh, yes, it was a genuine message from the unpaid minions, demanding the money they had earned by disposing of Kaspar.”
He turned slowly to Fleel again and met the other’s smirk with a cold smile.
“When I suspected you, Mr. Fleel,” he said, “I sent you from the District Attorney’s office Thursday before Mr. Markham and I came here, in order to verify my expectation that you would urge Mr. Kenyon Kenting to request that all police interference be eliminated. This you did, and when I learned of it, after arriving here with Mr. Markham, I definitely objected to the proposal and counteracted your influence on Mr. Kenting so that you could not get the money safely that night. Seeing that part of your plan hopelessly failing, you cleverly changed your attitude and agreed to act for us—at my request through Sergeant Heath—as the person to place the money in the tree, and went through with the farce in order to prove that no connection existed between you and the demand for money. One of your henchmen had come to Central Park to pick up the package if everything went according to your prearranged schedule. Mr. Van Dine and I both saw the man. When he learned that you had not been successful with your plans, he undoubtedly reported your failure, thereby throwing fear into your hirelings that they might not be paid—which accounts for their keeping Mrs. Kenting alive as an effective threat to hold over you till payment was forthcoming.”
Fleel looked up slowly with a patronizing grin.
“Aren’t you overlooking the possibility, Mr. Vance, that young Kaspar kidnapped himself—as I maintained from the beginning—and was murdered by thugs later, for reasons and under circumstances unknown to us? Certainly all the evidence points to his self-abduction for the purpose of acquiring the money he needed.”
“Ah! I’ve been expecting that observation,” Vance returned, meeting the other’s cynical stare. “The self-kidnapping setup was very clever. Much too clever. Overdone, in fact. As I see it, it was to have been your—what shall we call it?—your emergency escape, let us say, if your innocence in the matter should at any time be in doubt. In that event how easy it would have been for you to say just what you have said regarding the implications of a self-motivated pseudo-crime. And I am not overlooking the significant fact that you have consistently advised Mr. Kenyon Kenting to pay over the money in spite of the glaring evidence that Kaspar had planned the kidnapping himself.”
Fleel’s expression did not change. His grin became even more marked; in fact, when Vance paused and looked at him keenly, Fleel began to shake with mirth.
“A very pretty theory, Mr. Vance,” he commented. “It shows remarkable ingenuity, but it entirely fails to take into consideration the fact that I myself was attacked by a sub-machine gunner on the very night of Mrs. Kenting’s disappearance. You have conveniently forgotten that little episode since it would knock the entire foundation from under your amusing little house of cards.”
Vance shook his head slowly, and though his smile seemed to broaden, it grew even chillier.
“No. Oh, no, Mr. Fleel. Not conveniently forgot—conveniently remembered. Most vivid recollection, don’t y’ know. And you were jolly well frightened by the attack. Surely, you don’t believe your escape from any casualty was the result of a miracle. All quite simple, really. The gentleman with the machine gun had no intention whatever of perforating you. His only object was to frighten you and warn you of exactly what to expect if you did not raise the money instanter to pay for the dastardly services rendered you. You were never safer in yo
ur life than when that machine gun was sputtering away in your general direction.”
The smirk slowly faded from Fleel’s lips; his face flushed, and he stood up, glowering resentfully at Vance.
“Your theory, Mr. Vance,” he said angrily, “no longer has even the merit of humor. Up to this point I have been amused by it and have been able to laugh at it. But you are carrying a joke too far, sir. And I wish you to know that I greatly resent your remarks.” He remained standing.
“I don’t regard that fact as disconcertin’ in the least,” Vance returned with a cold smile. “The fact is, Mr. Fleel, you will be infinitely more resentful when I inform you that at this very minute certified public accountants are at work on your books and that the police are scrutinizing most carefully the contents of your safe.” Vance glanced indifferently at the cigarette in his hand.
For two seconds Fleel looked at him with a serious frown. Then he took a swift backward step and, thrusting his hand into his pocket, drew forth a large, ugly-looking automatic. Both Heath and Snitkin had been watching him steadily, and as Fleel made this movement Heath, with lightning-like speed, produced an automatic from beneath the black sling of his wounded arm. The movements of the two men were almost concurrent.
But there was no need for Heath to fire his gun, for in that fraction of a second Fleel raised his automatic to his own temple and pulled the trigger. The weapon fell from his hand immediately, and his body slumped down against the edge of the desk and fell to the floor out of sight.
Vance, apparently, was little moved by the tragedy. However, after a deep sigh, he rose listlessly and stepped behind the desk. The others in the room were, I think, like myself, too paralyzed at the sudden termination of the case to make any move. Vance bent down.
“Dead, Markham—quite,” he announced as he rose, a moment or so later. “Considerate chappie—what? Has saved you legal worry no end. Most gratifyin’.” He was leaning now against the corner of the desk, and, nodding to Snitkin, who had rushed forward with an automatic in his hand, jerked his head significantly toward Fraim Falloway.
Snitkin hesitated but a moment. He slipped the gun back into his pocket and unlocked the handcuffs on young Falloway.
“Sorry, Mr. Falloway,” murmured Vance. “But you lost your self-control and became a bit annoyin’... Feelin’ better?”
The youth stammered: “I’m all right.” He was alert and apparently his normal self now. “And Sis will be home in a couple of days!” He found a cigarette, after much effort, and lighted it nervously.
“By the by, Mr. Kenting,” Vance resumed, without moving from the desk, “there’s a little point I want cleared up. I know that the District Attorney is aching to ask you a few questions about what happened yesterday evening. He had not heard from you and was unable to reach you. Did you, by any chance, give that fifty thousand dollars to Fleel?”
“Yes!” Kenting stood up excitedly. “I gave it to him a little after nine o’clock last night. We got the final instructions all right—that is, Fleel got them. He called me up right away and we arranged to meet. He said someone had telephoned to him and told him that the money had to be at a certain place—far up in the Bronx somewhere—at ten o’clock that night. He convinced me that this person on the telephone had said he would not deal with anyone but Fleel.”
He hesitated a moment.
“I was afraid to act through the police again, after that night in the park. So I took Fleel’s urgent advice to leave the police out of it, and let him handle the matter. I was desperate! And I trusted him—God help me! I didn’t telephone to Mr. Markham, and I wouldn’t speak to him when he called. I was afraid. I wanted Madelaine back safe. And I gave the money to Fleel—and thought he could arrange everything...”*
“I quite understand, Mr. Kenting.” Vance spoke softly, in a tone which was not without pity. “I was pretty sure you had given him the money last night, for he telephoned to the Lord Street house while we were there, obviously to make immediate arrangements to pay off his commissions, as it were. Sergeant Heath here recognized his voice over the wire. But, really, y’ know, Mr. Kenting, you should have trusted the police. Of course, Fleel received no message of instructions last night. It was part of his stupid technique, however, to tell you he had, for he needed the money and was at his wit’s end. He too was desperate, I think. When Mr. Markham told me he was unable to get in touch with you, I rather thought, don’t y’ know, you had done just what you have stated. Fleel was far too bold in showing us that note yesterday. Really, y’ know, he shouldn’t have done it. There were references in it which he thought only he himself could understand. Luckily, I saw through them. That note, in fact, verified my theory regarding him. But he showed it to us because he wished to make an impression on you. He needed that money. I rather think he had gambled away, in one way or another, the money he held in trust for the Kenting estate. We shan’t know definitely till we get the report from Stitt and McCoy,* the accountants who are goin’ over Fleel’s books. It is quite immaterial, however.”
Vance suddenly yawned and glanced at his watch.
“My word, Markham!” he exclaimed, turning to the District Attorney, who had sat stolidly and nonplused through the amazing drama. “It’s still rather early, don’t y’ know. If I hasten, old dear, I’ll be able to catch the second act of Tristan and Isolde.”
Vance went swiftly across the room to Mrs. Falloway and bowed over her hand solicitously with a murmured adieu. Then he hurried out to his car waiting at the curb.
When the reports from the accountants and the police came in at the end of the day on which Fleel had shot himself, Vance’s theory and suppositions were wholly substantiated. The accountants found that Fleel had been speculating heavily on his own behalf with the funds he held in trust for the Kenting estate. His bank had already called upon him to cover the legitimate investments permitted him by law as the trustee of the estate. The amount he had embezzled was approximately fifty thousand dollars, and as he had long since lost his own money in the same kind of precarious bucket-shop transactions, it would have been but a matter of days before the shortage caused by his extra-legal operations would have been discovered.
In his safe were found practically all the gemstones missing from the Kenting collection, including the large and valuable alexandrite. (How or when he had acquired this last item was never definitely determined.) The package of bills which Kenyon Kenting had so trustingly given him was also found in the safe.
All this happened years before the actual account of the case was set down here. Since then, Kenyon Kenting has married his sister-in-law, Madelaine, who returned to the Purple House the second day after Fleel’s suicide.
Less than a year later Vance and I had tea with Mrs. Falloway. Vance had a genuine affection for the crippled old woman. As we were about to go, Fraim Falloway entered the room. He was a different man from the one we had known during the investigation of what the papers persisted in calling the Kenting kidnap case (perhaps the alliteration of the nomenclature was largely the reason for it). Fraim Falloway’s face had noticeably filled in, and his color was healthy and normal; there was a vitality in his eyes, and he moved with ease and determined alacrity. His whole manner had changed. I learned later that old Mrs. Falloway had called in the endocrinologist whose name Vance had given her, and that the youth had been under observation and treatment for many months.
After our greetings that day Vance asked Falloway casually how his stamp collecting was going. The youth seemed almost scornful and replied he had no time for such matters any more—that he was too busy with his new work at the Museum of Natural History to devote any of his time to so futile a pursuit as philately.
It might be interesting to note, in closing, that Kenyon Kenting’s first act, after his marriage to Madelaine Kenting, was to have the exterior of the Purple House thoroughly scraped and sand-blasted, so that the natural color of the bricks and stones was restored. It ceased to be the “purple house,” and took o
n a more domestic and gemütlich appearance, and has so remained to the present day.
Footnotes
* The practice of turning over ransom money to outsiders, in the hopes of settling kidnap cases, is not an unusual one. There have been several famous instances of this in recent years.
* This was the same firm of certified public accountants whom Markham had called in to inspect the books of the firm of Benson and Benson in the investigation of the Benson murder case.
The Kidnap Murder Case Page 22
