"Hennessey musta been lookin' the other way," said Heath stolidly.
"That's not likely, Sergeant. Something very peculiar there."
He smoked for a while in silence.
"I wish I could see the plans for the remodeling of that old house when Mirche took it over for his cafe. There might be something suggestive about them. An odd desire, I'll admit. But I could bear to look at them."
"I don't see how those plans would do you any good," said Heath. "But if you really want 'em, I can get 'em for you easy. Doyle and Schuster did the job, and I've had dealings with their chief draughtsman before."
"That sounds hopeful, Sergeant. When could you get the blue--prints for me?"
"Before you're up in the morning, sir," returned the other confidently. "Say around ten o'clock."
Markham looked amused.
"Why not get the blue--prints for a couple of mare's--nests, too, while you're about it, Vance?--The sensible thing to do, it seems to me, would be to wait till you get Doremus' final report."
"You're quite right," Vance reluctantly conceded. "But my instincts don't run to so many coincidences. I crave simplicity. Besides, I have an appealin' young lady to consider."
"I assure you," said Markham unsympathetically, "after you've scanned the blue--prints tomorrow, you'll have ample time to consider your young lady."
"No--no, Markham." Vance spoke soberly. "It is not a subject for levity..."
Then he told in detail of Gracie Allen's pathetic visit to him that afternoon--her appeal for help, her concern for Burns, and his own compassionate suggestions to keep her mind occupied.
"Both the Sergeant and I," he concluded, "have made a promise to her mother, and, after the girl's impromptu visit today, I want to impress upon both of you that we must be considerate whenever the girl chooses to intrude on us."
"I deem it a pleasure, not to say a rarity, to commend your sentimental punctilio," Markham said. "But I myself shall probably not be called upon to assist in the charitable deception. The brunt of the situation, it seems to me, will fall upon you and the Sergeant."
"It's all right with me, Chief," said Heath. "That Mrs. Allen is a mighty sweet little woman. And the girl is plenty cute."
Vance smiled gratefully.
"You'll have to be rather careful, Sergeant. The best way to meet the situation is to show no outward sympathy. That might make the girl suspicious. We should simply act at all times as if we knew no more about her brother's death than she does herself. An actor, Sergeant! Could you be an actor?"
"Sure I'll be an actor!" Heath voiced his decision with ready sincerity. "But I ain't so hard--boiled yet that I'm gonna promise not to sometimes get a lump in my gullet..."
He seemed a little ashamed of his unbecoming outburst of sentiment.
"Hell!" he added quickly. "I'll even be one of those damn matinee idols."
CHAPTER XII - A STRANGE DISCOVERY
(Monday, May 20; 9 am.)
Vance had been reluctant Sunday evening to leave Markham's apartment, and had remained late. But he was up earlier than usual the following morning. By half--past eight he was completely dressed and had drunk his coffee. Shortly after nine, Sergeant Heath arrived, striding into the library in jaunty triumph.
"Here you are, Mr. Vance," he announced, placing a long cardboard tube on the desk. "If all my jobs were as easy as getting these blue--prints for you, I'd never die from overwork."
"My word, such efficiency!"
Vance drew the plans from their holder and spread them on the desk. He scrutinized them all, inspecting the sheet for each floor in turn. He gave more time, however, to the ground--floor plan which included the actual cafe room, the entrance--hall and the checkrooms, the kitchen quarters, and the office. The Sergeant watched him with expectant amusement.
"Quite conventional," Vance murmured, tapping the sheets with his finger. "An excellent bit of planning. Intelligently done. No more, no less. Sad.. sad."
At this moment Gracie Allen unexpectedly arrived. She preceded Currie into the room, making his announcement superfluous.
"Oh, I just had to come and see you, Mr. Vance! Somehow I don't seem to be getting anywhere--and I worked so hard. Honest, I did!"
"But my word! Young lady,"--Vance spoke pleasantly--"why aren't you at the factory this morning?"
"I just couldn't go there," she returned. "Not for a while, anyhow. I've got so much on my mind--that is, terribly important things. And I'm sure Mr. Doolson won't mind...George didn't go to the factory today, either. He phoned me last night and said he couldn't possibly do anything. He's so upset."
"Well, perhaps after all, Miss Allen, a few days' rest..."
"Oh, I'm not resting." She appeared hurt. "I'm frightfully busy every minute. You yourself said I have to keep busy. Remember?" She caught sight of Heath, and a frightened look came into her large eyes as she recognized him.
Vance eased the situation by casually introducing the Sergeant.
"He is working with us, too," he added. "You can trust the Sergeant. I explained his error to him yesterday, and now he's on our side... Furthermore," Vance went on cheerfully, "he has five letters in his name."
"Oh!" Her fears were somewhat allayed by this information, though she looked dubiously at Heath again before she broke into a faint smile. Then she pointed to the desk. "What are all those blue papers, Mr. Vance?--they weren't there yesterday. Maybe they're a clue, or something. Are they?"
"No, I'm afraid not. They're just plans of the Domdaniel where you were Saturday night..."
"Oh, may I look?"
"Certainly," Vance replied, and bent over the desk with her. "See, this is the big dining--room, and the entrance--door from the hall; and over here is the kitchen, and the side door; and right along here is the driveway that goes under the arch; and right in this corner is the office, with the door opening on the terrace; and---"
"Wait a minute," she interrupted. "That's not really an office."
She bent closer over the chart and traced corridors and directions with her finger, calling them off as she did so. She ended by following the outline of the small room. Then she looked up.
"Why, that's Dixie Del Marr's private room. She told me so herself... Don't you think she's just beautiful, Mr. Vance? And she can sing so lovely, too. I wish I could sing like her. You know, classical songs."
"I'm sure your singing is much prettier," Vance told her gallantly. "But I think you're mistaken about that room being Miss Del Marr's. Really, y' know, it's Mr. Mirche's office--isn't it, Sergeant?"
"I'll say it is!"
Gracie Allen bent still lower over the papers.
"Oh, but it is the room I was in," she asserted conclusively. "I'll show you:--that window looks right out on the driveway; and here's the street, through those tiny windows. It even says '50th Street' right on the picture. Why, it's got to be Miss Del Marr's room. And you can't have two rooms in the same place, can you--even in a picture?"
"No, not very well----"
"And aren't the walls all done in mauve? And aren't there three or four big leather chairs along this wall? And isn't there a big dead fish on a board, hanging up here?" She pointed out the locations as she spoke. "And isn't there a funny little glass chandelier hanging-----Oh, where's the ceiling, Mr. Vance? I don't see any ceiling on this picture."
Heath had become highly interested in the girl's inventory.
"Sure," he said. "The walls are a sort of light purple; and Mirche says he caught that fish down in Florida. She's dead right, Mr. Vance...But see here. Miss, when were you ever in that room?"
"Why, I was in it just last Saturday night."
"What!" bellowed Heath.
The girl was startled.
"Did I say something wrong? I didn't mean to go in there."
Vance spoke now.
"What time during the evening did you go in there, Miss Allen?"
"Why, you know, Mr. Vance. When I went to look for Philip, at ten o'clock...But I didn't see
Philip. He wasn't around. And he didn't come home yesterday, either. I guess he's gone on a vacation somewhere. And he promised he wouldn't quit his job."
Vance diverted the girl's aimless chatter.
"Let's not talk about Philip now. Just tell me how you happened to go out on the terrace looking for your brother, when you really wanted to go to the rear of the cafe."
"I didn't go out on the terrace." She shook her head emphatically. "What would I want to go on the terrace for, anyhow? I'd have caught cold in that thin dress I was wearing. Don't you think that was an awfully pretty dress, Mr. Vance? Mother made that too."
"Yes, you looked very charming in it...But you must have forgot, for the only way to get into that room is from the terrace."
"Oh, but I went in the other way--through the door at the back." She pointed to the wall directly opposite the street door of Mirche's office; then her eyes opened wide as she scrutinized the blue--print. "There's something awfully funny here, Mr. Vance. Whoever made this picture wasn't very careful."
Vance came closer to her. The Sergeant, too, moved nearer, and stood beside them with an air of curious expectancy, his cigar poised in mid--air.
"You think there should be another door shown at that spot?" Vance asked softly.
"Why, of course! Because there is a door right there. Otherwise, how could I have gotten in Miss Del Marr's private room? But I can't imagine why she keeps that fish in there. I don't think it's pretty at all."
"Don't worry about the fish. Look here at the plan a minute...Now, here's the archway through which you left the dining--room---"
"Uh--huh. The one with the big carved stairway in front of it."
"And then--let's see--you must have gone this way in the hall----"
"That's right. George wanted me to stay and speak to him, but I was in a hurry. So I went right on back, until I passed another little passage. And then I didn't know which way to go."
"You must have turned into that narrow passage, and walked down to this point, here." Vance brought to a stop the pencil with which he was tracing her course on the blue--print.
"That's just what I did! How do you know? Were you watching me?"
"No, my dear," Vance answered patiently. "But maybe you're a little confused. There is a door here, at the end of this narrow passage, where you say you walked down."
"Yes, I saw that door. I even opened it. But there wasn't anything there--only the driveway. That's how I knew I was lost. And then as I stood there leaning against the wall and wondering how to find Philip, this other door I was telling you about--you know, the one into Miss Del Marr's room--opened right behind me." She tittered, as at some joke she was just about to relate. "And I fell right into the room! It was terribly embarrassing. But I didn't spoil my dress at all. And I might have torn it, falling like that...I guess it was my own fault though, for not looking where I was leaning. But I didn't know there was a door there. I didn't see any door at all. Anyhow, there I was in the room. Isn't that silly--not seeing a door and leaning up against it, and then falling down right into a lady's room?" She laughed engagingly at the recital of her mishap.
Vance led the girl to a chair and arranged a pillow for her.
"Sit right there, my dear," he said, "and tell us all about it."
"But I have told you," she said, arranging herself comfortably. "It was awfully funny, and I was so embarrassed. Miss Del Marr was embarrassed too. She told me that was her private room. So, I told her I was awfully sorry and explained about looking for my brother--she even knew Philip. I guess that's because they both work at the same place, like me and George...And then she showed me back down the hall, and pointed out the exact way to the landing on the kitchen stairs. She was awfully nice. Well, I waited a long time, but Philip didn't show up. So I went back to Mr. Puttie. I knew how to find my way back, all right...And now, Mr. Vance, I want to ask you some more questions about what you said yesterday----"
"I'd love to answer them, Miss Allen," Vance said; "but I really haven't any time this morning. Maybe later--this afternoon. You won't mind, will you?"
"Oh, no." The girl jumped up quickly. "I've got something very important to do, too. And maybe George will come up for a while." She shook Vance's hand, nodded suspiciously to Heath, and in a moment she was gone.
"Holy suffering sauerkraut!" exploded Heath, almost before the door closed on Miss Allen. "Didn't I tell you that Mirche was a crafty customer? So he's got a secret door! The dizzy doll didn't see it--sure she didn't! Somebody musta got careless--her leani'n up against a invisible door and goin' plop--right into the room where her brother was killed! That's somethin'!"
Vance smiled grimly.
"But, after all, Sergeant, there's no law against a man having a secret door to his own office. And that, undoubtedly, is our answer to the question of how the dead fellow got in there without being seen by Hennessey. But someone must have been in there with him. Not Mirche: he was at my table between ten and eleven. And certainly no dead man was there at ten."
"But don't you think Mr. Vance----"
"Spare me, Sergeant!" Vance was pacing the floor.
"I'd like to go up to the Domdaniel and smash that fake door in!" Heath asserted violently.
"No--oh, no," counselled Vance. "You mustn't be impetuous. Silkiness. Let that be your watchword for the nonce."
"Still and all," said the determined Heath, "if this Domdaniel is the headquarters for a crooked ring of some kind, like I've always suspected, nothing'd give me more pleasure than smashing the whole place--and Mirche along with it."
"Your nature's too vehement, Sergeant," Vance rebuked him. "One doesn't go about shattering people's offices without proof of their guilt."
"I'm just sayin' what I'd like to do."
"And another thing, Sergeant: Mirche would be merely one weak link in your imagin'ry criminal chain. As I said, he's far from being a leader of men."
"He looks like a pretty slick article to me," Heath remonstrated meekly. "Anyhow, that 'Owl' Owen you was worrying about would fill the bill."
"Quite--quite," mused Vance. "But he was merely a fellow diner when I saw him. Very correct and unobtrusive. Though I admit I didn't relish his being there that night, with so many other queer things all coming together and signifying nothing." He made an ambiguous gesture. "I think we may forget him for the present, and concentrate on ascertaining who killed the poor chap."
"Yeah? How? By checkin' up a little closer on Mirche?"
"Precisely, Sergeant. And I shan't overlook Dixie Del Marr either. Not after that amazing information about the door into her private room."
"And just how do you intend doing it, Mr. Vance?"
"Quite openly, Sergeant. I shall drop in for a chat...Where, by the by, does brother Mirche reside?"
"That's easy," Heath told him. "Upstairs at the Domdaniel."
"I thought as much...And could you answer with equal ease if I asked you the domicile of Miss Del Marr?"
"Sure." Heath grunted. "I wouldn't have lasted this long on the homicide squad, if I didn't know where the people live that I think are crooked and mixed up in dirty business.--You'll find her at the Antler Hotel, on 53rd Street."
"You're a fund of information, Sergeant," Vance complimented him.
"When do you intend to see 'em, sir?...And then what?"
"I'll try to commune with Mirche and Miss Del Marr this very morning. After that, I'll endeavour to lure Mr. Markham to lunch. Then I should be charmed to meet you here again at three this afternoon."
"It's still your case, Mr. Vance," mumbled Heath. "I'm not goin' to tell you how to handle it." He remained another half--hour before taking his departure.
Then Vance telephoned to Markham, after which he sat down and lighted a cigarette, with more than ordinary deliberation.
"Still another amazin' facet in the gem, Van," he said. "Markham was on the point of calling me when I was put through to his office. Mr. Doolson--he of the In--O--Scent Corporation--had just come and go
ne. Markham promised he'd pour forth the story when I see him later--he seemed inordin'tely amused. We're to be at his office round one o'clock. I told him if we weren't there by two, to send a posse of trusty stalwarts to our rescue at the Domdaniel."
CHAPTER XIII - NEWS OF AN OWL
(Monday, May 20; 11 am.)
At eleven o'clock Vance went to the Domdaniel. He had no difficulty about seeing Mirche. After a delay of only five minutes, Mirche came into the reception--hall where we were waiting. He greeted Vance effusively, though he gave me the impression that he was acting out a rehearsed part.
"To what am I indebted for this unexpected visit, sir?" he asked smoothly.
"I merely wanted a chat with you anent the poor fellow who was found dead here Saturday night." Vance spoke with a casual pleasantness.
"Oh, yes." If Mirche was surprised, he disguised the fact successfully. "Of course, if it's about his family, we will be very glad to see what can be done...Naturally, I should like to avoid any scandal--the public is sensitive about such matters. A most unfortunate incident.--But suppose we go into my office."
He led the way along the terrace, and opening the door, stood aside to let us precede him. Vance seated himself in one of the large leather chairs, and Mirche sat down half facing him.
"The police have naturally been asking a great many questions about the affair," Mirche began. "But I was hoping the whole thing had been settled by now. "
"These things are most distressing, I know," said Vance. "But there are one or two points about the situation that rather interest me."
"I'm greatly surprised that you should be interested, Mr. Vance." Mirche was cool and suave. "After all, the man was only a dishwasher here. I had dismissed him just before the dinner hour. A question of pay--he didn't think he was getting enough. I don't see why he should have come back, unless he thought better of the matter and wished to be reinstated. Most unfortunate he should die in my office. But he didn't seem to be a particularly robust fellow, and I suppose one can never tell when the heart will give out...By the way, Mr. Vance, have they found out just what did cause his death?"
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