Vance paused a moment with a reflective look, and then continued.
"Amethyst, a variety of quartz, which likewise comes from Russia, although somewhat similar in shade to alexandrite, does not have that peculiar dichroic characteristic. Amethyst, d' ye see, has a structural dissimilarity from alexandrite. At times we find in the crystals a right-angular formation to the edge of the prism, shaped in sectoral triangles. This accounts for its bicoloration--the so-called white and purple tints, making it resemble two separate, fused stones. The fractural ripples and the feather-like effects--so apparent in amethyst--result from this peculiar laterality of structure. On the other hand, Markham, alexandrite--"
"Thanks for the lecture, but forgive me if I am not interested." Markham was irritated. "What I'd like to know is whether you see anything significant in the disappearance of the alexandrite and the substitution of the amethyst."
"Oh, yes--decidedly. You'd be amazed if you knew how highly significant it is." He turned quickly to Fraim Falloway, who had been listening with an eagerness of interest I had not seen him display at any previous time. "I think, Mr. Falloway, you would better return to your home at once and do exactly as I told you. We are grateful no end for your coming here and telling us about the missin' stone."
Falloway rose heavily.
"I'll put the stone back in place right away."
"Oh, by the by, Mr. Falloway." Vance drew himself up sharply. "If, as you have intimated, your favorite cutting of alexandrite was stolen, could you suggest the possible thief? Could it, for instance, have been any one you know?"
"You mean some one in the house?--or Mr. Quaggy or Mr. Fleel?" retorted Falloway with a show of indignation. "What would they want with my alexandrite?" He shook his head shrewdly. "But I have an idea who did take it."
"Ah!"
"Yes! I know more than you think I do." Falloway made a pitiful effort to thrust forward his narrow chest. "It was Kaspar--that's who it was!"
Vance nodded indulgently.
"But Kaspar is dead. His body was found last night."
"A damned good riddance!" Vance's announcement left Falloway unruffled. "I was hoping he wouldn't come back."
"He won't," interjected Markham laconically, staring at the youth with unmistakable disgust.
I doubt if Falloway even heard the District Attorney's remark: his attention was concentrated on Vance.
"But do you think you can ever find my beautiful alexandrite?" he asked. He seemed to regard the disappearance of the alexandrite as a personal loss.
"Oh, yes--I'm quite sanguine we shall recover it," Vance assured him.
The youth, greatly relieved, went toward the door with heavy, dragging feet.
Markham's secretary came again through the leather door, just before Falloway reached it, and announced Kenyon Kenting.
"Send him in," said Markham.
Kenting and Falloway passed each other on the threshold. I was forcibly struck by the wordless exchange of hostility which passed between the elder and the younger man. Kenting bowed stiffly and muttered a word of greeting as he passed the other, with a stiff, elderly dignity in his manner. But Falloway did not respond as he went through to the outer office.
CHAPTER XVI
"THIS YEAR OF OUR LORD"
(Friday, July 22; 11 a.m.)
As Kenting stepped into the office it was obvious that he was in a perturbed state of mind. He nodded to Vance and to me, and, going to Markham's desk, dejectedly placed an envelope before the District Attorney.
"That came in the second mail this morning, to my office," Kenting said, controlling his excitement with considerable effort. "It's another one of those damn notes."
Markham had already picked up the envelope and was carefully extracting the folded sheet of paper from inside.
"And Fleel," added Kenting, "got a similar one in the same mail--at his office. He phoned me about it, just as I was leaving to come here. He sounded very much upset and asked me if I also had received a note from the kidnappers. I told him I had, and I read it to him over the phone. I added I was bringing it immediately to you; and Fleel said he would meet me here shortly and bring his own note with him. He hasn't, by any chance, come already?"
"Not yet," Markham answered, glancing up from the note. His face was unusually grave, and there was a deep, hopeless frown round his eyes. When he had finished his perusal of the note he picked up the envelope and handed them both to Vance.
"I suppose you'll want to see these, Vance," the District Attorney muttered distractedly.
"Oh, quite--by all means."
Vance, with his monocle already adjusted, took the note and the envelope with suppressed eagerness, glancing first at the envelope and then at the single sheet of paper. I had risen and was standing behind him, leaning over his chair.
The paper on which the note was written in lead pencil was exactly like that of the first note Fleel had received in the mail the day before. The disguised, deliberately clumsy chirography was also similar, but there was a distinct difference in the way it was worded. The spelling was correct, and the sentences grammatically constructed. Nor was there any pretense here in the means of expression. It was as if whoever wrote it had purposely abandoned such tactics so that there might be no mistake or misunderstanding of any kind regarding the import of the message. Vance merely read it through once--he did not seem greatly interested in it. But it was obvious that something about it annoyed and puzzled him.
The note read:
You did not obey instructions. You called in the police. We saw everything. That is why we took his wife. If you fail us again, the same thing will happen to her that happened to him. This is your last warning. Have the $50,000 ready at five o'clock today (Friday). You will get instructions at that time. And if you notify the police this time it is no dice. We mean business. Beware!
For signature there was the interlocking-squares symbol that had come to have such a sinister portent for us all.
"Very interestin' and illuminatin'," murmured Vance, as he carefully refolded the note, replaced it in the envelope, and tossed it back on Markham's desk. "The money is quite obviously wanted immediately. But I am not at all convinced that it was only the presence of the police that turned last night's episode in the park into a fiasco. However . . ."
"What shall I do--what shall I do?" Kenting asked, glancing distractedly from Vance to the District Attorney and back again.
"Really, y' know," said Vance in a kindly tone, "you can't do anything at present. You must wait for the forthcoming instructions. And then there's Mr. Fleel's billet-doux which we hope to see anon."
"I know, I know," mumbled Kenting hopelessly. "But it would be horrible if anything should happen to Madelaine."
Vance was silent a moment, and his eyes clouded. He showed more concern than he had since he had entered the Kenting case.
"One never knows, of course," he murmured. "But we can hope for the best. I realize that this waiting is abominable. But we are at a loss at present even as to where to begin. . . . By the by, Mr. Kenting, I don't suppose you heard the shots that were fired at Mr. Fleel shortly after you left your brother's house last night?"
"No, I didn't." Kenting seemed greatly perturbed. "I was frightfully shocked on hearing about it this morning. When I left you last night I was lucky enough to catch a taxicab just as I reached the corner, and I went directly home. How long after I left the house did Fleel go?"
"Just a few minutes," Vance returned. "But no doubt you had time to have got a taxi and have been well on your way."
Kenting considered the matter for a minute; then he looked up sharply with a frightened expression.
"Perhaps--perhaps--" he began in an awed voice which seemed to tremble with a sudden and uncontrollable emotion. "Perhaps those shots were intended for me! . . ."
"Oh, no, no--nothing like that," Vance assured him. "I'm quite sure the shots were not intended for you, sir. The fact is, I am not convinced that the shots were intended e
ven for Mr. Fleel."
"What's that you say!" Kenting sat up quickly. "What do you mean by that? . . ."
Before Vance could answer, a buzzer sounded on Markham's desk. As the District Attorney pressed a key on the inter-communicating call-box a voice from the outer office announced that Fleel had just arrived. Markham had barely given instructions that Fleel be sent in when the lawyer came impatiently through the swinging door and joined us. He, too, looked pale and drawn and showed unmistakable traces of lack of rest,--he appeared to have lost much of his earlier self-confidence. He greeted all of us formally with the exception of Kenyon Kenting, with whom he shook hands with a silent, expressive grasp.
"A difficult situation," he said with a formal effort at condolence. "My deepest sympathy goes to you, Kenyon."
Kenting shrugged despondently.
"You yourself had a pretty close call last night."
"Oh, well," the other muttered, "at least I'm safe and sound enough now. But I can't understand that attack. Can't imagine who would want to shoot me, or what good it would do any one. It's the most incredible thing."
Kenting threw a sharp look at Vance, but Vance was busying himself with a fresh cigarette and seemed oblivious to the conventional interchange between the two men.
Fleel moved toward the District Attorney's desk.
"I brought the note I received in the mail this morning," he said, fumbling in his pocket. "There's no reason whatever why I should be getting anything like this--unless the kidnappers imagine that I control all the Kenting money and have it on deposit. . . . You can understand that I am greatly disturbed by this communication, and I thought it would be best to show it to you without delay, at the same time explaining to you that there's absolutely nothing I can do in the matter."
"There's no need for an explanation," said Markham abruptly. "We are wholly cognizant of that phase of the situation. Let's see the note."
Fleel had drawn an envelope from his inside coat pocket and held it out to Markham. As he did so his eyes fell on the note that Kenting had brought and which lay on the District Attorney's desk.
"Do you mind if I take a look at this?" he asked.
"Go right ahead," answered Markham as he opened the envelope Fleel had given him.
The note that Fleel turned over to Markham was not as long as the one received by Kenting. It was, however, written on the same kind of paper; and it was written in pencil and in the same handwriting.
The few brief sentences struck me as highly ominous:
You have double-crossed us. You have control of the money. Get busy. And don't try any more foolishness again. You are a good lawyer and can handle everything if you want to. And you had better want to. We expect to see you according to instructions in our letter to Kenting today in this year of our Lord, 1936, or else it will be too bad.*
* I have made one small and wholly immaterial change in transcribing this note. I have used the year in which I am actually writing the record of that memorable case, instead of stating the exact year in which it occurred (which, naturally, was the year given in the note); for I regard it as both unimportant and unnecessary to identify specifically the time at which the events herewith enumerated occurred. If that date has been forgotten, or if it is of any particular interest to the reader of this chronicle, it will not be difficult to find the year by referring to the back files of newspapers, for what has come to be known as the Kenting kidnap case received nation-wide publicity at the time.
The interlocking, ink-brushed squares completed the message.
When Markham had finished reading it and handed it to Vance, Vance went through it quickly but carefully and, sliding it into the envelope, laid it on Markham's desk beside the note which Kenting had brought in, and which Fleel had read and replaced without comment.
"I can say to you, Mr. Fleel," Vance told him, "only what I have already said to Mr. Kenting--that there is nothing to be done at the present moment. A rational decision is quite impossible just now. You must wait for the next communication--by whatever method it may come--before you can decide on a course of action."
He rose and confronted the two unstrung men.
"There is much to be done yet," he said. "And we are most sympathetic and eager to be helpful. Please believe that we are doing everything possible. I would advise that you both remain in your offices until you have heard something further. We will certainly communicate with you later, and we appreciate the cooperation you are giving us. . . . By the by,"--he spoke somewhat offhand to Kenting--"has your money been returned to you?"
"Yes, yes, Vance." It was Markham's impatient voice that answered. "Mr. Kenting received the money the first thing this morning. Two of the men in the Detective Division across the hall delivered it to him."
Kenting nodded in confirmation of the District Attorney's statement.
"Most efficient," sighed Vance. "After all, y' know, Markham, Mr. Kenting couldn't give the money out unless he had it again in his possession. . . . Most grateful for the information."
Vance addressed Fleel and Kenting again.
"We will, of course, expect to hear immediately when you receive any further communication, or if any new angle develops." His tone was one of polite dismissal.
"Don't worry on that score, Mr. Vance." Kenting was reaching for his hat. "As soon as either one of us gets the instructions promised in my note, you'll hear all about it."
A few moments later he and Fleel left the office together.
As the door closed behind them Vance swung swiftly about and went to Markham's desk.
"That note to Fleel!" he exclaimed. "I don't like it, Markham. I don't at all like it. It is the most curious concoction. I must see it again."
As he spoke he picked up the note once more and, resuming his chair, studied the paper with far more interest and care than he had shown when the lawyer and Kenting had been present.
"You notice, of course, that both notes were cancelled in the same post-office station as was yesterday's communication--the Westchester Station."
"Certainly I noticed it," Markham returned almost angrily. "But what is there significant about the postmark?"
"I don't know, Markham,--I really don't know. It's probably a minor point."
Vance did not look up: he was earnestly engaged with the note. He read it through several times, lingering with a troubled frown at the last two or three lines.
"I cannot understand the reference to 'this year of our Lord.' It doesn't belong here. It's out of key. My eyes go back to it every time I finish reading the note. It bothers me frightfully. Something was in the writer's mind--he had a strange thought at that time. It may be entirely meaningless, or it may have been written down inadvertently, like an instinctive or submerged thought which had struggled through in expression, or it could have been written into the note with some very subtle significance for some one who was expected to see it."
"I noticed that phrase, too," said Markham. "It is curious; but, in my opinion, it means nothing at all."
"I wonder. . . ." Vance raised his hand and brushed it lightly over his forehead. Then he got to his feet. "I'd like to be alone a while with this note. Where can I go--are the judges' chambers unoccupied?"
Markham looked at him in puzzled amazement.
"I don't know." His perturbed, questioning scrutiny of Vance continued. "By the way, Sergeant Heath should be here any minute now."
"Stout fella, Heath," Vance murmured. "I may want to see him. . . . But where can I go?"
"You can go into my private office, you damned prima donna." Markham pointed to a narrow door in the west wall of the room. "You'll be alone in there. Shall I let you know when Heath gets here?"
"No--no." Vance shook his head as he crossed the room. "Just tell him to wait for me." And, carrying the note before him, he opened the side door and went out of the room.
Markham looked after him in bewildered silence. Then he turned half-heartedly to a pile of papers and documents neatly arranged a
t one side of his desk blotter. He worked for some time on extraneous matters.
It was fully ten minutes before Vance emerged from the private office. In the meantime Heath had arrived and was waiting impatiently in one of the leather lounging chairs near the steel letter files in one corner of the room. When the Sergeant had stepped into the office Markham greeted him with simulated annoyance.
"Our pet orchid is communing with his soul in my private office," he explained. "He said he may want to see you; so you'd better take a chair in the corner and wait to see what his profound contemplation will produce. Meanwhile, you might look at the note Kenting received this morning." Markham handed it to the Sergeant. "Another note, received by Fleel, is being submitted to the searching monocle, as it were."
Heath had grinned at Markham's sarcastic, but good-natured, comments and sat down as the District Attorney returned to his work.
When Vance re-entered the room he threw a quick glance in Heath's direction. It was obvious he was in an unusually serious mood and seemed unmindful of his surroundings.
Philo Vance 12 Novels Complete Bundle Page 235
