Philo Vance 12 Novels Complete Bundle

by S. S. Van Dine

  "Oh, Lord!" exclaimed Vance. "Am I to be made responsible for any part of this priceless lunacy? . . . True, I pried into the chap's emotions toward the lady; but that was before anything had come to light. I was bein' careful--tryin' to test each possibility as it arose."

  "Well, that was a lucky question of yours, just the same." Heath turned back to Markham. "As I see it: Jessup was stuck on Odell, and she told him to trot along and sell his papers. He got all worked up over it, sitting there night after night, seeing these other guys calling on her. Then Skeel comes along, and, recognizing him, suggests burglarizing Odell's apartment. Skeel can't do the job without help, for he has to pass the phone operator coming and going; and as he's been there before, he'd be recognized. Jessup sees a chance of getting even with Odell and putting the blame on someone else; so the two of 'em cook up the job for Monday night. When Odell goes out, Jessup unlocks the side door, and the Dude lets himself into the apartment with his own key. Then Odell and Spotswoode arrive unexpectedly. Skeel hides in the closet, and after Spotswoode has gone, he accidentally makes a noise, and Odell screams. He steps out, and when she sees who he is, she tells Spotswoode it's a mistake. Jessup now knows Skeel has been discovered, and decides to make use of the fact. Soon after Spotswoode has gone, he enters the apartment with a passkey. Skeel, thinking it's somebody else, hides again in the closet; and then Jessup grabs the girl and strangles her, intending to let Skeel get the credit for it. But Skeel comes out of hiding and they talk it over. Finally they come to an agreement, and proceed with their original plan to loot the place. Jessup tries to open the jewel case with the poker, and Skeel finishes the job with his chisel. Then they go out. Skeel leaves by the side door, and Jessup rebolts it. The next day Skeel hands the swag to Jessup to keep till things blow over; and Jessup gets scared and throws it away. Then they have a row. Skeel decides to tell everything, so he can get out from under; and Jessup, suspecting he's going to do it, goes round to his house Saturday night and strangles him like he did Odell."

  Heath made a gesture of finality and sank back in his chair.

  "Clever--deuced clever," murmured Vance. "Sergeant, I apologize for my little outburst a moment ago. Your logic is irreproachable. You've reconstructed the crime beautifully. You've solved the case. . . . It's wonderful--simply wonderful. But it's wrong."

  "It's right enough to send Mr. Jessup to the chair."

  "That's the terrible thing about logic," said Vance. "It so often leads one irresistably to a false conclusion."

  He stood up and walked across the room and back, his hands in his coat pockets. When he came abreast of Heath he halted.

  "I say, Sergeant; if somebody else could have unlocked that side door and then rebolted it again after the crime, you'd be willing to admit that it would weaken your case against Jessup--eh, what?"

  Heath was in a generous mood.

  "Sure. Show me someone else who coulda done that, and I'll admit that maybe I'm wrong."

  "Skeel could have done it, Sergeant. And he did do it--without anyone knowing it."

  "Skeel! This ain't the age of miracles, Mr. Vance."

  Vance swung about and faced Markham. "Listen! I'm telling you Jessup's innocent." He spoke with a fervor that amazed me. "And I'm going to prove it to you--some way. My theory is pretty complete; it's deficient only in one or two small points; and, I'll confess, I haven't yet been able to put a name to the culprit. But it's the right theory, Markham, and it's diametrically opposed to the sergeant's. Therefore, you've got to give me an opportunity to demonstrate it before you proceed against Jessup. Now, I can't demonstrate it here; so you and Heath must come over with me to the Odell house. It won't take over an hour. But if it took a week, you'd have to come just the same."

  He stepped nearer to the desk.

  "I know that it was Skeel, and not Jessup, who unbolted that door before the crime and rebolted it afterward."

  Markham was impressed.

  "You know this--you know it for a fact?"

  "Yes! And I know how he did it!"

  25

  VANCE DEMONSTRATES

  (Monday, September 17; 11:30 A.M.)

  Half an hour later we entered the little apartment house in 71st Street. Despite the plausibility of Heath's case against Jessup, Markham was not entirely satisfied with the arrest; and Vance's attitude had sown further seeds of doubt in his mind. The strongest point against Jessup was that relating to the bolting and unbolting of the side door; and when Vance had asserted that he was able to demonstrate how Skeel could have manipulated his own entrance and exit, Markham, though only partly convinced, had agreed to accompany him. Heath, too, was interested, and, though supercilious, had expressed a willingness to go along.

  Spively, scintillant in his chocolate-colored suit, was at the switchboard and stared at us apprehensively. But when Vance suggested pleasantly that he take a ten-minute walk round the block, he appeared greatly relieved and lost no time in complying.

  The officer on guard outside of the Odell apartment came forward and saluted.

  "How goes it?" asked Heath. "Any visitors?"

  "Only one--a toff who said he'd known the Canary and wanted to see the apartment. I told him to get an order from you or the district attorney."

  "That was correct, Officer," said Markham; then, turning to Vance: "Probably Spotswoode, poor devil."

  "Quite," murmured Vance. "So persistent! Rosemary and all that. . . . Touchin'."

  Heath told the officer to go for a half-hour's stroll; and we were left alone.

  "And now, Sergeant," said Vance cheerfully, "I'm sure you know how to operate a switchboard. Be so kind as to act as Spively's understudy for a few minutes--there's a good fellow. . . . But, first, please bolt the side door--and be sure that you bolt it securely, just as it was on the fatal night."

  Heath grinned good-naturedly.

  "Sure thing." He put his forefinger to his lips mysteriously, and crouching, tiptoed down the hall like a burlesque detective in a farce. After a few moments he came tiptoeing back to the switchboard, his finger still on his lips. Then, glancing surreptitiously about him with globular eyes, he put his mouth to Vance's ear.

  "His-s-st!" he whispered. "The door's bolted. Gr-r-r. . . ." He sat down at the switchboard. "When does the curtain go up, Mr. Vance?"

  "It's up, Sergeant." Vance fell in with Heath's jocular mood. "Behold! The hour is half past nine on Monday night. You are Spively--not nearly so elegant; and you forgot the moustache--but still Spively. And I am the bedizened Skeel. For the sake of realism, please try to imagine me in chamois gloves and a pleated silk shirt. Mr. Markham and Mr. Van Dine here represent 'the many-headed monster of the pit.'--And, by the bye, Sergeant, let me have the key to the Odell apartment; Skeel had one, don't y' know."

  Heath produced the key and handed it over, still grinning.

  "A word of stage direction," Vance continued. "When I have departed by the front door, you are to wait exactly three minutes, and then knock at the late Canary's apartment."

  He sauntered to the front door and, turning, walked back toward the switchboard. Markham and I stood behind Heath in the little alcove, facing the front of the building.

  "Enter Mr. Skeel!" announced Vance. "Remember, it's half past nine." Then, as he came abreast of the switchboard: "Dash it all! You forgot your lines, Sergeant. You should have told me that Miss Odell was out. But it doesn't matter. . . . Mr. Skeel continues to the lady's door . . . thus."

  He walked past us, and we heard him ring the apartment bell. After a brief pause, he knocked on the door. Then he came back down the hall.

  "I guess you were right," he said, quoting the words of Skeel as reported by Spively; and went on to the front door. Stepping out into the street, he turned toward Broadway.

  For exactly three minutes we waited. None of us spoke. Heath had become serious, and his accelerated puffing on his cigar bore evidence of his state of expectancy. Markham was frowning stoically. At the end of the three minutes Heath ro
se and hurried up the hall, with Markham and me at his heels. In answer to his knock, the apartment door was opened from the inside. Vance was standing in the little foyer.

  "The end of the first act," he greeted us airly. "Thus did Mr. Skeel enter the lady's boudoir Monday night after the side door had been bolted, without the operator's seeing him."

  Heath narrowed his eyes but said nothing. Then he suddenly swung round and looked down the rear passageway to the oak door at the end. The handle of the bolt was in a vertical position, showing that the catch had been turned and that the door was unbolted. Heath regarded it for several moments; then he turned his eyes toward the switchboard. Presently he let out a gleeful whoop.

  "Very good, Mr. Vance--very good!" he proclaimed, nodding his head knowingly. "That was easy, though. And it don't take psychology to explain it. After you rang the apartment bell, you ran down this rear hallway and unbolted the door. Then you ran back and knocked. After that you went out the front entrance, turned toward Broadway, swung round across the street, came in the alley, walked in the side door, and quietly let yourself into the apartment behind our backs."

  "Simple, wasn't it?" agreed Vance.

  "Sure." The sergeant was almost contemptuous. "But that don't get you nowhere. Anybody coulda figured it out if that had been the only problem connected with Monday night's operations. But it's the rebolting of that side door, after Skeel had gone, that's been occupying my mind. Skeel might've--might've, mind you--got in the way you did. But he couldn't have got out that way, because the door was bolted the next morning. And if there was someone here to bolt the door after him, then that same person could've unbolted the door for him earlier, without his doing the ten-foot dash down the rear hall to unbolt the door himself at half past nine. So I don't see that your interesting little drama helps Jessup out any."

  "Oh, but the drama isn't over," Vance replied. "The curtain is about to go up on the next act."

  Heath lifted his eyes sharply.

  "Yeah?" His tone was one of almost jeering incredulity, but his expression was searching and dubious. "And you're going to show us how Skeel got out and bolted the door on the inside without Jessup's help?"

  "That is precisely what I intend to do, my sergeant."

  Heath opened his mouth to speak but thought better of it. Instead, he merely shrugged his shoulders and gave Markham a sly look.

  "Let us repair to the public atrium," proceeded Vance; and he led us into the little reception room diagonally opposite to the switchboard. This room as I have explained, was just beyond the staircase, and along its rear wall ran the little passageway to the side door. (A glance at the accompanying diagram will clarify the arrangement.)

  Vance shepherded us ceremoniously to chairs and cocked his eye at the sergeant.

  "You will be so good as to rest here until you hear me knock at the side door. Then come and open it for me." He went toward the archway. "Once more I personate the departed Mr. Skeel; so picture me again en grande tenue--sartorially radiant. . . . The curtain ascends."

  He bowed and, stepping from the reception room into the main hall, disappeared round the corner into the rear passageway.

  Heath shifted his position restlessly and gave Markham a questioning troubled look. "Will he pull it off, sir, do you think?" All jocularity had gone out of his tone.

  "I can't see how." Markham was scowling. "If he does, though, it will knock the chief underpinning from your theory of Jessup's guilt."

  "I'm not worrying," declared Heath. "Mr. Vance knows a lot; he's got ideas. But how in hell--?"

  He was interrupted by a loud knocking on the side door. The three of us sprang up simultaneously and hurried round the corner of the main hall. The rear passageway was empty. There was no door or aperture of any kind on either side of it. It consisted of two blank walls; and at the end, occupying almost its entire width, was the oak door which led to the court. Vance could have disappeared only through that oak door. And the thing we all noticed at once--for our eyes had immediately sought it--was the horizontal position of the bolt handle. This meant that the door was bolted.

  Heath was not merely astonished--he was dumbfounded. Markham had halted abruptly, and stood staring down the empty passageway as if he saw a ghost. After a momentary hesitation Heath walked rapidly to the door. But he did not open it at once. He went down on his knees before the lock and scrutinized the bolt carefully. Then he took out his pocket knife and inserted the blade into the crack between the door and the casing. The point halted against the inner moulding, and the edge of the blade scraped upon the circular bolt. There was no question that the heavy oak casings and mouldings of the door were solid and well fitted, and that the bolt had been securely thrown from the inside. Heath, however, was still suspicious and, grasping the doorknob, he tugged at it violently. But the door held firmly. At length he threw the bolt handle to a vertical position and opened the door. Vance was standing in the court, placidly smoking and inspecting the brickwork of the alley wall.

  "I say, Markham," he remarked, "here's a curious thing. This wall, d' ye know, must be very old. It wasn't built in these latter days of breathless efficiency. The beauty-loving mason who erected it laid the bricks in Flemish bond instead of the Running--or Stretcher--bond of our own restless age. And up there a bit"--he pointed toward the rear yard--"is a Rowlock and Checkerboard pattern. Very neat and very pretty--more pleasing even than the popular English Cross bond. And the mortar joints are all V-tooled. . . . Fancy!"

  Markham was fuming. "Damn it, Vance! I'm not building brick walls. What I want to know is how you got out here and left the door bolted on the inside."

  "Oh, that!" Vance crushed out his cigarette and reentered the building. "I merely made use of a bit of clever criminal mechanism. It's very simple, like all truly effective appliances--oh, simple beyond words. I blush at its simplicity. . . . Observe!"

  He took from his pocket a tiny pair of tweezers to the end of which was tied a piece of purple twine about four feet long. Placing the tweezers over the vertical bolt handle, he turned them at a very slight angle to the left and then ran the twine under the door so that about a foot of it projected over the sill. Stepping into the court, he closed the door. The tweezers still held the bolt handle as in a vise, and the string extended straight to the floor and disappeared under the door into the court. The three of us stood watching the bolt with fascinated attention. Slowly the string became taut, as Vance gently pulled upon the loose end outside, and then the downward tug began slowly but surely to turn the bolt handle. When the bolt had been thrown and the handle was in a horizontal position, there came a slight jerk on the string. The tweezers were disengaged from the bolt handle and fell noiselessly to the carpeted floor. Then as the string was pulled from without, the tweezers disappeared under the crack between the bottom of the door and the sill.

  "Childish, what?" commented Vance, when Heath had let him in. "Silly, too, isn't it? And yet, Sergeant dear, that's how the deceased Tony left these premises last Monday night. . . . But let's go into the lady's apartment, and I'll tell you a story. I see that Mr. Spively has returned from his promenade; so he can resume his telephonic duties and leave us free for a causerie."

  "When did you think up that hocus-pocus with the tweezers and string?" demanded Markham irritably, when we were seated in the Odell living room.

  "I didn't think it up at all, don't y' know," Vance told him carelessly, selecting a cigarette with annoying deliberation. "It was Mr. Skeel's idea. Ingenious lad--eh, what?"

  "Come, come!" Markham's equanimity was at last shaken. "How can you possibly know that Skeel used this means of locking himself out?"

  "I found the little apparatus in his evening clothes yesterday morning."

  "What!" cried Heath belligerently. "You took that outa Skeel's room yesterday during the search without saying anything about it?"

  "Oh, only after your ferrets had passed it by. In fact, I didn't even look at the gentleman's clothes until your experience
d searchers had inspected them and relocked the wardrobe door. Y' see, Sergeant, this little thingumbob was stuffed away in one of the pockets of Skeel's dress waistcoat, under the silver cigarette case. I'll admit I went over his evening suit rather lovin'ly. He wore it, y' know, on the night the lady departed this life, and I hoped to find some slight indication of his collaboration in the event. When I found this little eyebrow plucker, I hadn't the slightest inkling of its significance. And the purple twine attached to it bothered me frightfully, don't y' know. I could see that Mr. Skeel didn't pluck his eyebrows; and even if he had been addicted to the practice, why the twine? The tweezers are a delicate little gold affair--just what the ravishin' Margaret might have used; and last Tuesday morning I noticed a small lacquer tray containing similar toilet accessories on her dressing table near the jewel case. But that wasn't all."

  He pointed to the little vellum wastebasket beside the escritoire, in which lay a large crumpled mass of heavy paper.

  "I also noticed that piece of discarded wrapping-paper stamped with the name of a well-known Fifth Avenue novelty shop; and this morning, on my way downtown, I dropped in at the shop and learned that they make a practice of tying up their bundles with purple twine. Therefore, I concluded that Skeel had taken the tweezers and the twine from this apartment during his visit here that eventful night. . . . Now, the question was: Why should he have spent his time tying strings to eyebrow pluckers? I confess, with maidenly modesty, that I couldn't find an answer. But this morning when you told of arresting Jessup and emphasized the rebolting of the side door after Skeel's departure, the fog lifted, the sun shone, the birds began to sing. I became suddenly mediumistic; I had a psychic seizure. The whole modus operandi came to me--as they say--in a flash. . . . I told you, Markham old thing, it would take spiritualism to solve this case."