"How do you know it was Benny---?" Mirche was floundering, dazed by some inner mental vision. "You're trying to trick me." Then he almost shrieked: "I tell you, it couldn't have been the Buzzard!"
"Ah, yes. An error on your part." Vance spoke with quiet authority. "No possible doubt. Fingerprints don't lie. You may ask Sergeant Heath, or the District Attorney. Or you may phone the Police Department and satisfy yourself."
"Fool!" snapped Owen, his drowsy eyes on Mirche with a look of unutterable disgust. He turned to Vance. "After all, how futile it is--this devilish dream--this shadow across..." His voice trailed off.
Mirche was staring at some distant point beyond the confines of the room, alone with his thoughts, striving to assemble a disrupted mass of facts.
"But," he mumbled, as if protesting weakly against some inevitable shapeless nemesis, "Miss Del Marr saw the body here, and..."
He lapsed again into calculating silence; and then a deep flush slowly mounted his features, gradually intensifying in colour till it seemed the blood must suffocate him. The muscles of his neck tightened; globules of sweat suddenly appeared on his forehead.
Stiffly, and as if with effort, the man turned toward Miss Del Marr, and in a voice of seething hatred, spat out at her a foul and bestial epithet.
CHAPTER XIX - THROUGH THE SHADOW
(Tuesday, May 21; 4 pm.)
Again some powerful emotion broke through Dixie Del Marr's stony calm. A violent primitive passion blazed in her. She rose and faced Mirche, and her words came like an ineluctable torrent.
"Of course, you filthy creature, I let them think that the dead man in this office--the man you had killed--was Philip Allen. A few more days of doubt and torture for you--what did it matter? I had already waited years to avenge Benny. Oh, I knew only too well your treachery had sent him to prison for twenty years. And I could say nothing to save him. There was only one way for me to square the injustice. I must wait silently, patiently--I knew the moment would come some day...You liked me--you wanted me. That thought was already in your beastly mind when you let Benny get sent up. So I played up to you--I helped you in your rotten schemes. I flattered you. I did what you told me to. And all the time I loved Benny. But I waited..."
She gave a bitter laugh.
"Three years is a long time. And the moment for which I had waited came too late. But I console myself with the thought that Benny's death was a merciful end. He couldn't hope for anything, even when he had managed to break jail. He'd always have been hounded by the police. But he went mad in his cell, mad enough to think he could find real freedom from the prison where your dirty double--crossing had put him."
Irresistible fury drove her on.
"But Benny never knew of your treachery. He thought you his friend. And he came to you for help. But, thank God, he called me too when he got back last Saturday. He told me he had phoned you before he reached the city. You had said that you would help him; and I knew it was a lie. But what could I do? I tried to warn him. But he wouldn't listen. He thought that perhaps, after all these years, I might have reason to keep you two apart. He wouldn't listen to me. He would tell me nothing of his plans, except that you were going to help him..."
"You're insane," Mirche managed to say.
"Shut up, fool," sighed Owen. "You can't change the pattern."
"So I followed you, Dan--in the car you gave me, and with the chauffeur you supplied from your own crooked gang." She laughed again, with the same bitterness. "He hates you as much as I do--but he's afraid of you, for he knows how dangerous you can be...I followed you from the time you left here Saturday afternoon. I knew you wouldn't let Benny come to you,--in spite of your vicious cruelty, you're a coward. And I followed you uptown, and saw you go to Tony's place...Too bad Rosa didn't squint in her crystal and warn you!...And then I knew what a dirty deal you planned for Benny. But I didn't think you had the guts to do it as you did. I thought that Benny was to die only when you yourself were safely back here. How could I tell that you had chosen Tony's cigarettes for the job? I thought I could still warn Benny before it was too late--I thought I could still save him. So I followed you. I saw you pick him up from where he was hiding, far up in the park; I saw you drive north through River--dale; I saw you stop at a lonely spot around a bend, where you thought no one could see you. And then I saw you place his body quickly beside the road and drive off."
She swept us with a burning glance. "Oh, I'm not lying!" she cried. "Nothing matters any more--except the punishment of this creature."
Mirche seemed paralyzed, unable to speak. Owen, still with his cynical detached smile, had not moved. "Please continue, Miss Del Marr," Vance requested.
"I took Benny's body into my own car, and I brought him back here when I knew Mirche would be upstairs. I came into the driveway, as I always do, and stopped close to the side door at the end of that passage." She pointed toward the rear of the room. "No one could see from the street--not with the car door open. And the ivy helped, too. Then I went inside to make sure no one was in the hall beyond, and I gave the signal. My driver carried poor Benny in here, as I had instructed him, through that secret door; and placed him in the cabinet where I keep the cafe records locked. Yes! I brought Benny back and placed him at the very feet of his murderer!...You didn't know, did you, Owl, that a dead man was in that cabinet when you sat here talking with me that night?"
"What of it?" There was no change in Owen's expression.
"And when you went out, Owl, I moved Benny to the desk and telephoned the police."
I now realized that Vance had deliberately provoked the woman's frantic outburst. As she was speaking he had made a sign to the Sergeant; and Heath and Hennessey had surreptitiously closed in on Mirche, so that they now stood guard on either side of him.
"But how, Miss Del Marr," asked Vance, "does your story account for the fact that the jonquille--scented cigarette--case was found in Pellinzi's pocket?"
"Fear!--the conscience of this animal," she retorted, pointing defiantly at Mirche. "When he saw what he thought was Allen's body, his muddled, frightened brain remembered that in his own pocket was that man's cigarette--case; and as he knelt beside the body, I saw him slip the case into the dead man's coat. The impulsive act of a coward, by which he meant to rid himself of all association with what he thought a second death. He shrank from any possible connection with another dead man."
"A reasonable version," murmured Vance. "Yes. A rather subtle analysis...And you were content to let the truth regarding the dead man emerge through natural channels?"
"Yes! After I informed the police of Allen's address, I knew they'd find out the truth sooner or later. And in the meantime this creature would worry and suffer--and I'd have plenty of ways of torturing him."
"The ethics of woman..." Owen began; then lapsed into silence.
"Have you anything to say before we arrest you, Mirche?" Vance's tone was low, but it cut like a lash.
Mirche stared hideously, and his flabby figure seemed to shrink. Suddenly, however, he drew himself up, and shook a quivering finger at Owen. His veins stood out like cords.
Owen made a small contemptuous noise.
"Your blood--pressure, fool," he scoffed. "Don't cheat the gibbet."
I doubt if Mirche heard the biting words. Vituperation and profanity poured from him. His wrath seemed to surpass all human bounds. His venom left him a mere automaton--insensate, contorted, repulsive.
"You think I'll take the rap for you--without a word! I have knuckled under too long already to your bidding. I carried out your dirty schemes for you. I've shut my mouth whenever they tried to twist from me the filthy truth about you. I may go to the chair, Owl--but not alone! I'll take you and your poisoned, hypnotic brain along with me!"
He flashed a look at Vance, and pointed anew at Owen.
"There's the twisted mind behind it all!...I warned him of the Buzzard's arrival, and he sent me for the cigarettes. He told me what I must do. I was afraid to refuse--I was in hi
s power..."
Owen looked at the man with calm derision: he was still aloof and scornful. The play was drawing to a close, and his contemptuous boredom had not abated.
"You're an unclean spectacle, Dan." His lips barely moved. "You think I haven't prepared myself against this moment? You are the fool--not me. I've kept every record--names, dates, places--all! For years I've kept them. I've hidden them where no one can find them. But I know where to find them! And the world will know----"
Those were the last words Mirche ever spoke.
There was a shot. A small black hole appeared on Mirche's forehead between the eyes. Blood trickled from it. The man fell forward over the desk.
Heath and the two officers, their automatics drawn, started swiftly across the room to the passive Owen who sat without moving, one hand lying limply in his lap, holding a smoking revolver.
But Vance quickly intervened. His back to the silent figure in the chair, he faced Heath with a commanding gesture. Leisurely he turned, and extended his hand Owen glanced up at him; then, as if with instinctive courtesy, he turned the revolver round and held it out with meek indifference. Vance tossed the weapon into an empty chair and, looking down again at the man, waited.
Owen's eyes were half closed and dreamy. He no longer seemed to be aware of his surroundings or of the sprawled body of Mirche whom he had just killed. Finally he spoke, his voice seeming to come from far off.
"That would have meant ripples."
Vance nodded.
"Yes. Cleanliness of spirit...But now there's the trial, and the chair, and the scandal--indelibly written..."
A shudder shook Owen's slight frame. His voice rose to a shrill cry.
"But how can one escape the finite--how cut through the shadow--clean?"
Vance took out his cigarette--case and held it for a moment in his hand; but he did not open it.
"Would you care to smoke, Mr. Owen?" he asked.
The man's eyes contracted. Vance dropped his cigarette--case back into his pocket.
"Yes..." Owen breathed at length. "I believe I shall have a cigarette." He reached into an inner pocket and drew forth a small Florentine--leather case...
"See here, Vance!" snapped Markham. "This is no longer your affair. A murder has been committed before my eyes, and I myself order this man's arrest."
"Quite," Vance drawled. "But I fear you are too late."
Even as he spoke, Owen slumped deeper in his chair; the cigarette he had lighted slipped from his lips and fell to the floor. Vance quickly crushed it with his foot.
Owen's head fell forward on his breast--the muscles of his neck had suddenly relaxed.
CHAPTER XX - HAPPY LANDING
(Wednesday, May 22; 10:30 am.)
The following morning Vance was sitting in the District Attorney's office, talking with Markham. Heath had been there earlier with his report of the arrest of the Tofanas. Sufficient evidence had been unearthed in the cellar of their house to convict them both--or so the Sergeant hoped.
Dixie Del Marr had also called, at Markham's request, to supply such details as were needed for the official records. As there was no question of pressing charges against her for the part she had played in Mirche's affairs, she was comparatively content when she left us.
"Really, y' know, Markham," Vance remarked, "in view of the woman's primitive infatuation for Benny Pellinzi, her conduct, as we know it, is quite understandable--and forgivable...As for Mirche, his end was far better than he deserved...And Owen! A diseased maniac. Fortunate for the world he chose so expeditious a way of making his exit! He knew he was dying; and the stalking dread of a vengeful hereafter inspired his act...We may well be content to call the whole matter closed. And, after all, I did give the lunatic a vague promise to guard his aftermath so there should be no 'ripples,' as he put it, to follow him."
Vance laughed dismally.
"What does it really matter? A minor gangster is found dead--a quite commonplace event; a major gangster is shot--also an ordin'ry episode; and the guiding light of a criminal band turns felo de se--well, perhaps a rare occurrence, but certainly not important...And anyway, the year's at the spring; the lark's on the wing; the snail's on the thorn-----I say! how about some escargots Bordelaise later?"
As he spoke, the buzzer sounded, and a voice announced the presence of Mr. Amos Doolson in the outer office.
Markham looked at Vance.
"I suppose it's about that preposterous reward. But I can't see the man now-"
Vance stood up quickly.
"Keep him waiting, Markham! An idea smites me."
Then he went to the telephone and spoke to the In--O--Scent Corporation. When he hung up the receiver he smiled at Markham.
"Gracie Allen and George Burns will be here in fifteen minutes." He chuckled with genuine delight. "If anyone deserves that reward, it's the dryad. And I'm going to see that she gets it."
"Are you out of your mind!" exclaimed Markham in surprise.
"No--oh, no. Quite sane, don't y' know. And--though you may doubt it--I'm passionately devoted to justice."
Miss Allen, with Mr. Burns, arrived shortly thereafter. "Oh, what a terrible place!" she said. "I'm glad I don't have to live here, Mr. Markham." She turned troubled eyes on Vance. "Have I got to go on with my detecting? I'd much rather work at the factory--now that George is back, and everything."
"No, my dear," said Vance kindly. "You have already done ample. And the results you have achieved have been superb. In fact, I wanted you to come here this morning merely to receive your reward. A reward of five thousand dollars was offered to the person who would solve the murder of that man in the Domdaniel. It was Mr. Doolson who made the offer; and he's waiting in the other room now."
"Oh!" For once the girl was too puzzled and stunned to speak.
When Doolson was ushered in he took one amazed look at his two employees and went direct to Markham's desk.
"I want to withdraw that reward immediately, sir," he said. "Burns came back to work this morning in excellent spirits, and therefore there is no necessity-"
Markham, who had readily adjusted himself to Vance's jocular but equitable view of the situation, spoke in his most judicial manner.
"I regret extremely, Mr. Doolson, that such a withdrawal is entirely out of the question. The case was completed and shelved yesterday afternoon--well within the time limit you stipulated. I have no alternative but to pay that money to the person who earned it."
The man's gorge rose and he spluttered.
"But----!" he began to expostulate.
"We're frightfully sorry, and all that, Mr. Doolson," Vance cut in dulcetly. "But I am sure you will be quite reconciled to your impulsive generosity when I inform you that the recipient is to be Miss Gracie Allen."
"What!" Doolson burst forth apoplectically. "What has Miss Allen to do with it? Preposterous!"
"No," replied Vance. "Simple statement of fact. Miss Allen had everything to do with the solution of the case. It was she who supplied every important clue...And, after all, you did get back the services of your Mr. Burns today."
"I won't do it!" shouted the man. "It's chicanery! A farce! You can't legally hold me to it!"
"On the contrary, Mr. Doolson," said Markham, "I am forced to regard the money as the property of the young lady. The very wording of the reward--dictated here by yourself--would not leave you a leg to stand on if you decided to make a legal issue of it."
Doolson's jaw sagged.
"Oh, Mr. Doolson!" exclaimed Gracie Allen. "That's such a lovely reward! And did you really do it to get George back to work for the big rush? I never thought of that. But you do need him terribly, don't you?...And oh, that gives me another idea. You ought to raise George's salary."
"I'll be damned if I will!" For a moment I thought Doolson was on the verge of a stroke.
"But just suppose, Mr. Doolson," Miss Allen went on, "if George got worried again and couldn't do his work! What would become of the business?"
The man took hold of himself and studied Burns darkly and thoughtfully for several moments.
"You know. Burns," he said almost placatingly, "I've been thinking for some time that you deserved a raise. You've been most loyal and valuable to the corporation. You come back to your laboratory at once--and we can discuss the matter amicably." Then he turned and shook his finger wrathfully at the girl. "And you, young woman. You're fired!"
"Oh, that's all right, Mr. Doolson," the girl returned with smiling nonchalance. "I bet the raise you give George will make his salary as much as his and mine put together now--if you know what I mean."
"Who gives a damn what you mean!" And Doolson stalked angrily from the room.
"I believe," said Vance musingly, "that the next remark should come from Mr. Burns himself." And he smiled at the young man significantly.
Burns, though obviously astonished by the proceedings of the past half--hour, was nevertheless sufficiently clear--headed to understand the import of Vance's words. Grasping the suggestion offered, he walked resolutely to the girl.
"How about that proposition I made to you the morning I was arrested?" Our presence, far from embarrassing him, had given him courage.
"Why, what proposition?" the girl asked archly.
"You know what I mean!" His tone was gruff and determined. "How about you and me getting married?"
The girl fell back into a chair, laughing musically.
"Oh, George! Was that what you were trying to say?"
There is little more that need be told regarding what Vance has always insisted on calling the Gracie Allen murder case.
The Domdaniel, as everyone knows, has long been closed, and a few years ago it was replaced by a modern commercial structure. Tony and Rosa Tofana found it expedient to confess, and are now serving time in prison. I do not know what became of Dixie Del Marr. She probably took a new name and left this part of the country, to live quietly far from the scenes of her former triumphs and tragedies.
Philo Vance 12 Novels Complete Bundle Page 253
