The Bishop Murder Case
Page 28
“Still and all,” put in Heath, “you guessed that Robin hadn’t been shot with a bow and arrow.”
“Yes. I saw from the battered condition of the nock of the arrow that it had been hammered into Robin’s body; and I concluded, therefore, that the chap had been killed indoors, after having first been stunned with a blow on the head. That was why I assumed that the bow had been thrown to the range from the window—I didn’t know then that the professor was guilty. The bow, of course, was never on the range.—But the evidence on which I based my deductions cannot be held as an error or oversight on the professor’s part. As long as his Mother Goose joke was accomplished, the rest didn’t matter to him.”
“What instrument do you think he used?” Markham put the question.
“His walking stick, most likely. You may have noticed it has an enormous gold knob perfectly constructed as a lethal weapon.* Incidentally, I’m inclined to think he exaggerated his gout to attract sympathy and to shunt any possible suspicion from himself.”
“And the suggestion for the Sprigg murder?”
“After Robin’s death he may have deliberately looked about for Mother Goose material for another crime. In any event, Sprigg visited the house the Thursday night preceding the shooting; and it was at that time, I imagine, that the idea was born. On the day chosen for the gruesome business he rose early and dressed, waited for Pyne’s knock at half past seven, answered it, and then went to the park—probably through the archery room and by way of the alley. Sprigg’s habit of taking daily morning walks may have been casually mentioned by Arnesson, or even by the lad himself.”
“But how do you explain the tensor formula?”
“The professor had heard Arnesson talking to Sprigg about it a few nights before; and I think he placed it under the body to call attention—through association—to Arnesson. Moreover, that particular formula subtly expressed the psychological impulse beneath the crimes. The Riemann-Christoffel tensor is a statement of the infinity of space—the negation of infinitesimal human life on this earth; and subconsciously it no doubt satisfied the professor’s perverted sense of humor, giving added homogeneity to his monstrous conception. The moment I saw it, I sensed its sinister significance; and it substantiated my theory that the Bishop murders were the acts of a mathematician whose values had become abstract and incommensurable.”
Vance paused to light another cigarette and, after a moment’s thoughtful silence, continued.
“We come now to the midnight visit to the Drukker house. That was a grim entr’acte forced on the murderer by the report of Mrs. Drukker’s scream. He feared the woman had seen Robin’s body thrown to the range; and when, on the morning of Sprigg’s murder, she had been in the yard and met him returning from the kill, he was more worried than ever that she would put two and two together. No wonder he tried to prevent our questioning her! And at the earliest opportunity he attempted to silence her for all time. He took the key from Belle Dillard’s handbag before the theater that night, and replaced it the next morning. He sent Pyne and Beedle to bed early; and at half past ten Drukker complained of fatigue and went home. At midnight he figured that the coast was clear for his grisly visit. His taking the black bishop as a symbolic signature to the contemplated murder was probably suggested by the chess discussion between Pardee and Drukker. Then again, it was Arnesson’s chessman, and I even suspect him of telling us of the chess discussion to call attention to Arnesson’s chess set in case the black bishop should fall into our hands.”
“Do you think he had any idea of involving Pardee at that time?”
“Oh, no. He was genuinely surprised when Arnesson’s analysis of the Pardee-Rubinstein game revealed the fact that the bishop had long been Pardee’s nemesis… And you were undoubtedly right about Pardee’s reaction to my mention of the black bishop the next day. The poor chap thought I was deliberately ridiculing him as a result of his defeat at Rubinstein’s hands… ”
Vance leaned over and tapped the ashes from his cigarette.
“Too bad,” he murmured regretfully. “I owe him an apology, don’t y’ know.” He shrugged his shoulders slightly and, settling back in his chair, took up his narrative. “The professor got his idea for Drukker’s murder from Mrs. Drukker herself. She expressed her imaginative fears to Belle Dillard, who repeated them at dinner that night; and the plan took shape. There were no complications to its execution. After dinner he went to the attic and typed the notes. Later he suggested a walk to Drukker, knowing Pardee wouldn’t remain long with Arnesson; and when he saw Pardee on the bridle path, he of course knew Arnesson was alone. As soon as Pardee had walked away, he struck Drukker and tipped him over the wall. Immediately he took the little path to the Drive, crossed to 76th Street, and went to Drukker’s room, returning by the same route. The whole episode couldn’t have occupied more than ten minutes. Then he calmly walked past Emery and went home with Drukker’s notebook under his coat—”
“But why,” interposed Markham, “if you were sure that Arnesson was innocent, did you make such a point of locating the key to the alley door? Only Arnesson could have used the alley on the night of Drukker’s death. Dillard and Pardee both went out by the front door.”
“I wasn’t interested in the key from the standpoint of Arnesson’s guilt. But if the key was gone, d’ ye see, it would have meant that someone had taken it in order to throw suspicion on Arnesson. How simple it would have been for Arnesson to slip down the alley after Pardee had gone, cross the Drive to the little path, and attack Drukker after the professor had left him… And, Markham, that is what we were supposed to think. It was, in fact, the obvious explanation of Drukker’s murder.”
“What I can’t get through my head, though,” complained Heath, “is why the old gent should have killed Pardee. That didn’t throw any suspicion on Arnesson, and it made it look like Pardee was guilty and had got disgusted and croaked himself.”
“That spurious suicide, Sergeant, was the professor’s most fantastic joke. It was at once ironical and contemptuous; for all during that comic interlude plans were being made for Arnesson’s destruction. And, of course, the fact that we possessed a plausible culprit had the great advantage of relaxing our watchfulness and causing the guards to be removed from the house. The murder, I imagine, was conceived rather spontaneously. The professor invented some excuse to accompany Pardee to the archery room, where he had already closed the windows and drawn the shades. Then, perhaps pointing out an article in a magazine, he shot his unsuspecting guest through the temple, placed the gun in his hand, and, as a bit of sardonic humor, built the house of cards. On returning to the library, he set up the chessmen to give the impression that Pardee had been brooding over the black bishop…
“But, as I say, this piece of grim grotesquerie was only a side issue. The Little Miss Muffet episode was to be the dénouement; and it was carefully planned so as to bring the heavens crashing down on Arnesson. The professor was at the Drukker house the morning of the funeral when Madeleine Moffat brought the flowers for Humpty Dumpty; and he undoubtedly knew the child by name—she was Drukker’s favorite and had been to the house on numerous occasions. The Mother Goose idea being now firmly implanted in his mind, like a homicidal obsession, he very naturally associated the name Moffat with Muffet. Indeed, it’s not unlikely that Drukker or Mrs. Drukker had called the child ‘Little Miss Muffet’ in his presence. It was easy for him to attract her attention and summon her to the mound by the wall yesterday afternoon. He probably told her that Humpty Dumpty wanted to see her; and she came with him eagerly, following him under the trees by the bridle path, thence across the Drive, and through the alley between the apartment houses. No one would have noticed them, for the Drive is teeming with children at that hour. Then last night he planted in us the seed of suspicion against Arnesson, believing that when the Little Miss Muffet notes reached the press, we would look for the child and find her, dead from lack of air, in the Drukker house… A clever, devilish plan!”
“But did he expect us to search the attic of his own home?”
“Oh, yes; but not until tomorrow. By then he would have cleaned out the closet and put the typewriter in a more conspicuous place. And he would have removed the notebook, for there’s little doubt that he intended to appropriate Drukker’s quantum researches. But we came a day too soon and upset his calculations.”
Markham smoked moodily for a time.
“You say you were convinced of Dillard’s guilt last night when you remembered the character of Bishop Arnesson…”
“Yes—oh, yes. That gave me the motive. At that moment I realized that the professor’s object was to shoulder Arnesson with the guilt, and that the signature to the notes had been chosen for that purpose.”
“He waited a long time before he called our attention to The Pretenders,” commented Markham.
“The fact is, he didn’t expect to have to do it at all. He thought we’d discover the name for ourselves. But we were duller than he anticipated; and at last, in desperation, he sent for you and beat cleverly round the bush, accentuating The Pretenders.”
Markham did not speak for several moments. He sat frowning reproachfully, his fingers tapping a tattoo on the blotter.
“Why,” he asked at length, “did you not tell us last night that the professor and not Arnesson was the Bishop? You let us think—”
“My dear Markham! What else could I do? In the first place, you wouldn’t have believed me and would most likely have suggested another ocean trip, what? Furthermore, it was essential to let the professor think we suspected Arnesson. Otherwise, we’d have had no chance to force the issue as we did. Subterfuge was our only hope; and I knew that if you and the sergeant suspected him, you’d be sure to give the game away. As it was, you didn’t have to dissemble; and lo! it all worked out beautifully.”
The sergeant, I noticed, had, for the past half hour, been regarding Vance from time to time with a look of perplexed uncertainty; but for some reason he had seemed reluctant to give voice to his troubled thoughts. Now, however, he shifted his position uneasily and, taking his cigar slowly from his mouth, asked a startling question.
“I ain’t complaining about your not putting us wise last night, Mr. Vance, but what I would like to know is: why, when you hopped up and pointed at that plate on the mantel, did you switch Arnesson’s and the old gent’s glasses?”
Vance sighed deeply and gave a hopeless wag of the head. “I might have known that nothing could escape your eagle eye, Sergeant.”
Markham thrust himself forward over the desk and glared at Vance with angry bewilderment.
“What’s this!” he spluttered, his usual self-restraint deserting him. “You changed the glasses? You deliberately—”
“Oh, I say!” pleaded Vance. “Let not your wrathful passions rise.” He turned to Heath with mock reproach. “Behold what you’ve got me in for, Sergeant.”
“This is no time for evasion.” Markham’s voice was cold and inexorable. “I want an explanation.”
Vance made a resigned gesture.
“Oh, well. Attend. My idea, as I’ve explained to you, was to fall in with the professor’s plan and appear to suspect Arnesson. This morning I purposely let him see that we had no evidence, and that, even if we arrested Arnesson, it was doubtful if we could hold him. I knew that, in the circumstances, he would take some action—that he would try to meet the situation in some heroic way—for the sole object of the murders was to destroy Arnesson utterly. That he would commit some overt act and give his hand away, I was confident. What it would be I didn’t know. But we’d be watching him closely… Then the wine gave me an inspiration. Knowing he had cyanide in his possession, I brought up the subject of suicide, and thus planted the idea in his mind. He fell into the trap, and attempted to poison Arnesson and make it appear like suicide. I saw him surreptitiously empty a small phial of colorless fluid into Arnesson’s glass at the sideboard when he poured the wine. My first intention was to halt the murder and have the wine analyzed. We could have searched him and found the phial, and I could have testified to the fact that I saw him poison the wine. This evidence, in addition to the identification by the child, might have answered our purpose. But at the last moment, after he had refilled all our glasses, I decided on a simpler course—”
“And so you diverted our attention and switched the glasses!”
“Yes, yes. Of course. I figured that a man should be willing to drink the wine he poured for another.”
“You took the law in your own hands!”
“I took it in my arms—it was helpless… But don’t be so righteous. Do you bring a rattlesnake to the bar of justice? Do you give a mad dog his day in court? I felt no more compunction in aiding a monster like Dillard into the Beyond than I would have in crushing out a poisonous reptile in the act of striking.”
“But it was murder!” exclaimed Markham in horrified indignation.
“Oh, doubtless,” said Vance cheerfully. “Yes—of course. Most reprehensible. I say, am I by any chance under arrest?”
The “suicide” of Professor Dillard terminated the famous Bishop murder case and automatically cleared Pardee’s reputation of all suspicion. The following year Arnesson and Belle Dillard were married quietly and sailed for Norway, where they made their home. Arnesson had accepted the chair of applied mathematics at the University of Oslo; and it will be remembered that two years later he was awarded the Nobel prize for his work in physics. The old Dillard house in 75th Street was torn down, and on the site now stands a modern apartment house on whose façade are two huge terra-cotta medallions strongly suggestive of archery targets. I have often wondered if the architect was deliberate in his choice of decoration.
Footnote
*It was discovered later that the large weighted gold handle, which was nearly eight inches long, was loose and could be easily removed from the stick. The handle weighed nearly two pounds and, as Vance had observed, constituted a highly efficient “blackjack.” Whether or not it had been loosened for the purpose to which it was put, is of course wholly a matter of conjecture.
For more of S. S. Van Dine’s “Philo Vance” series and other “Vintage” titles from Felony & Mayhem Press, including the “Inspector Alleyn” series by Ngaio Marsh, and the “Henry Gamadge” series by Elizabeth Daly, please visit our website:
FelonyAndMayhem.com
All the characters and events portrayed in this work are fictitious.
THE BISHOP MURDER CASE
A Felony & Mayhem “Vintage” mystery
PUBLISHING HISTORY
First print edition (Scribner’s): 1929
Felony & Mayhem print and digital editions: 2019
Copyright © 1929 by Charles Scribner’s Sons
Copyright renewed 1954 by Claire R. Wright
All rights reserved
E-book ISBN: 978-1-63194-192-4
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Van Dine, S. S., author.
Title: The bishop murder case / S. S. Van Dine.
Description: Felony & Mayhem edition. | New York : Felony & Mayhem Press, 2019.
Identifiers: LCCN 2019010749| ISBN 9781631941832 (softcover) | ISBN 9781631941924 (ebook)
Subjects: | GSAFD: Mystery fiction.
Classification: LCC PS3545.R846 B5 2019 | DDC 813/.54--dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019010749