"Oh, I'll try! I'll try!" She spoke eagerly and braced herself. "Perhaps you think, Mr. Vance, that I insisted on going to the inquest Friday merely as an overcurious child."
"No," returned Vance. "Naturally, I've pondered the point. But no opinion."
"Well, anyway, you know all that I heard there. I think that jury was just anxious to get a bad job off their hands." (I could see that Vance was amazed at the sagacity indicated by her remark.) "And I've heard other things, too, Mr. Vance. I've heard the workmen saying it's strange that my father should have been the one to find Lief Wallen's body. ...Guy Darrup is still saying I should have married Lief.--Can a girl help it if she doesn't love a man?--Then I've heard my father say it's strange that Jed should have known just which way to go that morning. Jed, who wouldn't harm a fly!...I've heard that my father wasn't home at midnight on the night Lief died, and that it made things look pretty dark for him...Well, I wasn't at home at midnight either! Does that mean I killed Lief Wallen?..."
She broke off.
"I'm sorry if I sound all mixed up," she resumed. "But it's because I feel all mixed up...A little before twelve that night I came here. Richard asked me to. We hadn't had a chance to speak alone together all day. We were to meet at a favorite tree we have up behind the pavilion. I waited and waited. But Richard didn't come. And then I heard him talking to somebody.--He was angry, I think. But he must have gone back inside. That's when I went running down past the pavilion crying. Just as Guy Darrup said I did. But he didn't know the reason."
She paused and looked at Vance, then at Rexon.
"Anything more?" Vance gave her a searching glance.
"Haven't I said enough?" Her voice sounded weary.
"You haven't told us where you got the necklace."
"Must I?"
"It might help to clear up a deucedly involved situation, don't y' know."
"All right. But my father didn't take it!" She looked defiantly at Rexon. "I found it lying on the floor near the window in the dressing room reserved for me at the pavilion last night. I was going to return it to Mr. Rexon. But then Richard told me what had happened. I was afraid I'd be asked questions. I knew father was in the pavilion yesterday. Jed brought my costume up there for me. Father locked the room--to keep the surprise--and gave me the key. I was afraid to do anything with the necklace until I had time to think what would be best. And that's why I took it to Jed's cabin and hid it in my little music box...But my father didn't take it! And Old Jed didn't take it either!..."
Carrington Rexon looked profoundly disturbed and perplexed. Vance placed his hands on Ella Gunthar's shoulders and was about to raise her from the chair.
A knock on the door was followed by Higgins ushering in Lieutenant O'Leary with a plainclothes man in his wake.
CHAPTER XIII - THE SECOND MURDER
(Sunday, January 19; 11 a.m.)
O'Leary looked from Vance to the girl in the chair and then at the necklace spread on the desk before Rexon.
"Where did that come from, sir?" he inquired bluntly.
Vance briefly repeated the girl's account of the finding of the necklace.
"A likely story." O'Leary's tone was sarcastic...
The telephone rang. Rexon answered. Then: "It's from New York, Vance--for you. Private line, this. Perfectly safe. Go ahead." He pushed the instrument across the desk.
O'Leary drew his officer aside and spoke earnestly to him while Vance was at the telephone.
"...What caused the delay, Sergeant?"
Vance was saying. "Ah, records in Washington...I see...take it word for word..." He reached for paper and pencil. He wrote out a dictated message. I recognized the excitement under his calm demeanor as he worked quickly. "Thorough as always, Sergeant." He spoke with satisfaction as he threw down the pencil. "That gives me just what I need...No. Not necess'ry for you to come. Many thanks..."
He pushed the phone back and stood up. He sighed. He folded the message he had written out, and placed it in his pocket. He sat down again and lighted a Régie. "Well, Lieutenant?"
O'Leary came back to Ella Gunthar's chair. "I've kept my promise to you, sir." He was calm, unofficious. "I've waited, as you asked me to. Now I have no choice but to arrest this girl and her father. I think you will agree, sir. I brought this man for the purpose." He hesitated. "Unless you have additional information that will alter my decision."
"I think I have, Lieutenant." Vance turned to the girl in the chair. "Would you join Miss Joan on the veranda, Miss Ella?"
"I'm sorry, sir." O'Leary held up his hand peremptorily. "I don't believe I can allow that."
"Oh, I say! Then send your man with her. Perfectly safe, Lieutenant."
O'Leary scowled, but complied. The girl walked slowly from the room, followed by the husky Winewood constable.
"Thanks no end." Vance tossed his cigarette into the grate. "Lieutenant, I promised you additional information. Here it is." He brought forth the folded paper from his pocket, and passed it to O'Leary.
The Lieutenant unfolded it, glanced at it with quickly moving eyes, then read it aloud: "Whisky glass submitted shows clear prints of Jasper Biset. Description also corresponds. Biset reputed head of international organization of high-pressure jewel thieves. Generally keeps in background. No cause for criminal action against him available. Better known abroad, but would be recognized here. Last tabbed in Saint Moritz, Switzerland."
O'Leary looked up blankly.
"Let me explain further." Vance spoke. "On my first evening here I saw a face. Strangely familiar. Vague association. With Amsterdam. There were eyebrows meeting above the nose. Like a black shaft. But the face wasn't right. No. Something missin'. Should have been a mustache. Bristly. However...Mustaches come and go. On impulse, I took the glass from which the gentleman had been imbibing too much Bourbon. Sent it, with note and general description, to New York police. Hopin'...That's the verbatim report. Just received."
"Who is Jasper Biset?" O'Leary's voice was tinged with exasperation.
"Gent known to police as Jasper Biset is here under preferable name of Jacques Bassett. Guest of the Manor. More specifically of Mr. Richard Rexon."
Carrington Rexon gave a start but said nothing.
"Then you think he's the one--" began O'Leary.
"Don't know, Lieutenant. Those are all the facts I have. Bein' honest. Keepin' an open mind. Like yourself. But a chat with Biset--Bassett is clearly indicated--eh, what? Shall we do it here?"
O'Leary, somewhat dazed and uncertain, nodded.
Vance turned to Rexon. "Will you have the gentleman summoned, sir?"
Rexon, frowning deeply, rang. Higgins appeared and was given instructions. Vance paced up and down the room. He lighted a fresh Régie. The Lieutenant stood stoically at the window. He fumbled with his pipe.
Higgins returned. "Sorry, sir. Mr. Bassett is not in his room."
"Well, can't you find him, man?" Rexon showed impatience.
"It would seem, sir, the gentleman hasn't been in his room all night."
"Oh, my word!" Vance stood perfectly still, his cigarette halfway to his lips. "Are you sure, Higgins?"
"I knocked on the door, sir. No one answered. The door was unlocked, and I looked in, sir. The bed hasn't been slept in all night. I checked with the chambermaid, sir."
A groan escaped from Rexon.
O'Leary stood up, aggressively indignant. "I felt we should have acted sooner, Mr. Vance."
Vance ignored the implied reprimand. "Higgins, call the garage."
The butler dialed three numbers, handed the instrument to Vance.
"Any car been taken out this morning?" Vance waited a moment. "And last night?"...He put the telephone down. "Every car cozily in its place. Curious. Suppose we toddle up to the gentleman's boudoir."
The room showed no sign of disorder. One closet held a number of suits neatly arranged on their hangers. The other disclosed a grey topcoat, a tan one, two or three robes, and several pairs of shoes. Three hats rested on an upper shelf. From th
e closets Vance went to the bureau, inspected the drawers. These were neatly filled with the customary accessories of a man of taste. A trunk stood in one corner of the room with a matching bag beside it. Vance opened these, found them empty.
"Can't see that we'll learn anything here." He took in every detail of the room. "Suggest we go down to Winewood. Confab with the station master might prove illuminatin'."
The Lieutenant's small car was parked outside the veranda. O'Leary turned toward it as we came down the steps.
"Oh, I say!" Vance checked him. "Please! Mind functions more efficiently at lesser speed. Let's go on foot. If you don't mind."
O'Leary shrugged. We continued to the end of the pathway, swung into the vehicle road leading through the estate to the county highway. The fresh layer of snow was unmarred but for a single set of tire tracks marking the Lieutenant's arrival an hour or two earlier.
Vance lighted a cigarette. We trudged along.
"Not every day one has the opportunity to lay his hands on a murderer." O'Leary spoke glumly. "Too bad if he's got away."
"Oh, yes. Quite. Very sad. But I'm not convinced the man is a murderer. My own observations contraindicative. No. Not the type that deals in murder. Too suave. Wouldn't bloody his hands."
"Then you don't think he killed Wallen in an earlier attempt to get at the emeralds?" O'Leary seemed surprised.
"No--oh, no. As I said. Not the type. However..."
"But you admit he's gone off now with the gems?"
"My dear Lieutenant! I admit nothing. Just lookin' round at present. Strivin' to learn."
"That throws us back on Eric Gunthar. Has he been asked to account for himself during yesterday's incident?"
"No. Not yet. Good thought, however. I'll speak with him later. 'Where were you on the night?' And all that sort of thing. Might help. Might not..." Vance flung the end of his cigarette aside.
We had just passed through the large gates and taken perhaps a hundred paces on the highway toward Winewood.
O'Leary brought out his pipe. "The car would have been quicker--"
"Quicker. Yes." Vance stopped abruptly. "But not as productive of results...Look yonder, Lieutenant."
He directed our gaze into a clump of trees at one side of the roadway, just beneath the towering wall of the Rexon estate. An irregular mound of snow, with patches of black here and there, ended in a pair of patent leather shoes.
"Might have driven right past that, don't y' know." Vance stepped through the undergrowth. O'Leary followed in abashed silence.
As we came nearer, the mass resolved itself into the outlines of a hunched human form, one arm twisted crazily under the torso; the other extended straight from the shoulder.
"That, I opine, is our missing jewel expert." Vance spoke solemnly. He approached the figure, turned the face upward.
It was Jacques Bassett, in the evening attire in which I had last seen him the previous night. Now he wore a black Chesterfield as well. Vance bent down, examined the body more closely. A streak of sticky, darkened snow above the right ear caught his attention.
"Same like Wallen, Lieutenant. Not a nice business. Not at all a nice business. No."
"You're right, sir. Too much like Wallen. Same kind of wound. I don't like it either, sir...Been dead long, would you say?" O'Leary asked as Vance rose.
"Eight or ten hours. But, my word, Lieutenant! I'm not the Medical Examiner. Should have Quayne here. Shall I stagger back to the Manor and phone your Aesculapius, or would you prefer to do the chore while I wait here?"
"No need for you to stay here, sir." O'Leary was respectful. "I'll remain. If you'll be good enough to phone Doctor Quayne."
"Gladly, Lieutenant...By the by,..." Vance hesitated. "Could you tell me if the emeralds are in the gentleman's attire?"
"Really shouldn't do it, sir. Against regulations." O'Leary knelt down as he spoke and made a swift examination of Bassett's pockets. He rose. "No emeralds, sir. Just the usual." Then he added quickly, "You see what this means, sir?"
Vance looked at the other from the corner of his eye. "You're far too clever for this bailiwick, Lieutenant."
"I like it here...It does throw the case back on Eric Gunthar harder than ever--doesn't it, sir?"
Vance nodded. "I'm afraid it does--theoretically. But surely, Lieutenant, you don't believe--"
"I'm not paid to believe things, sir. I'm paid to follow facts." O'Leary drew on his pipe. "And I'm afraid I'll have to go through with the arrest of Gunthar and his daughter. I'm telling you now, sir. I want to be fair."
"I understand, Lieutenant." Turning away, Vance retraced his steps to the Manor.
On the veranda a few of the guests were talking animatedly. Joan Rexon had gone indoors. Ella Gunthar sat apart from the others, looking listlessly toward the rink. She was still guarded rather ludicrously by the Winewood constable. Vance approached her.
"Listen carefully, my dear. There's real danger for you and your father. I need your help. You and I must work together. We'll get rid of the nightmare: Here's what I want you to do. Get your skates and skating costume. Tell your father Mr. Rexon would like to see him in his den. And Old Jed too, if you can find him. This gentleman will accompany you."--Vance indicated the constable.--"Then you are to come back here to the rink and skate as if everything you ever wanted depended on it. Keep all the guests interested. Keep them away from the house at any cost. Skate until I give you the signal to stop. In the meantime, I'll be working hard for you and your father. Understand?"
The girl's lips quivered. Then she raised her chin and looked Vance straight in the eye. "I'll do everything you ask." There was determination, submission, heroism, in her voice. She turned toward the pavilion, the burly officer close behind her.
Vance started for the den. Carlotta Naesmith ran up inquisitively, as if to ask a question.
Vance held up his hand. "Not now, please. I have an urgent favor to ask of you. All the guests must be kept out here. Away from the house. Ella Gunthar is going to skate for them. You've hurt her much. She's suffering now. Be kind."
Before Miss Naesmith could answer, Vance continued to the den.
He found Carrington Rexon still alone there and briefly told him of the new developments.
The man sank dejectedly into a chair. "Another death!" he groaned miserably. "And the emeralds?"
"Not on him. May still be recovered."
Vance reached for the telephone. He called Quayne, apprised him of the situation, and informed him just where he would find Lieutenant O'Leary waiting by Bassett's body.
"What do you make of it all, Vance?" asked Rexon as the other sat down opposite.
"Nothing yet, old friend. Tryin' to add things up. Must make a simple sum eventually...Would you ask your housekeeper to come here, please? A few queries I'd like to put to her."
Rexon telephoned the request.
Vance rose with suppressed nervousness and went to the window. He lighted a cigarette. At length he turned and faced his host.
"I've a feeling that somewhere this morning I've missed something. Of no importance. Bothers me no end, though. Something unconsciously waited for. Hasn't happened..."
CHAPTER XIV - SKATING FOR TIME
(Sunday, January 19; 1:15 p.m.)
Marcia Bruce came in, dignified and composed. Vance drew up a chair for her.
"We have a few questions to put to you, Miss Bruce," he began tentatively.
"Nothing here surprises me any more," the housekeeper returned philosophically. "I'll do my best to answer."
"You know, of course, that several of the emeralds have been stolen from the Gem Room?"
"Mr. Rexon has informed me of it. That surprises me less than anything else. I'll be glad to be free of the atmosphere surrounding those stones."
"What do you mean, Bruce?" interposed Rexon.
"I might as well tell you, sir. You'll have to know sooner or later. I'm resigning immediately, sir. And leaving here for good in about a week--maybe sooner."
The woman blushed. "Doctor Quayne has done me the honor of asking me to marry him."
Vance smiled pleasantly. "Well, well! That would have been last evening--eh, what, Miss Bruce? Just before you came for Miss Joan."
The woman seemed startled. "How could you know that?"
"Lovelight in a woman's eyes. I saw the signs. May I be the first to congratulate you."
"And I too, am delighted to hear it, Bruce..." Rexon's voice trailed off. Then, "But couldn't you stay on? Joan would miss you..."
"And I'll be sorry to leave Miss Joan, sir. But Loomis--that is, the doctor--wants to leave Winewood. He finds it increasingly difficult to manage here--what with two younger men making such inroads on his practice."
"Where does he plan to go?"
"I'm not quite sure yet, sir. He mentioned the possibility of going abroad."
Rexon nodded resignedly. "I understand. I understand. I imagine it is getting a hard row for Quayne to hoe. But, Gad! I'll miss him. And you too, Bruce."
"To get back to less pleasant matters, Miss Bruce." Vance seated himself on the arm of a chair. "You must have been down on the lower floor here yesterday about noon."
"I was. I was down most of the morning, seeing about meals, and--"
"Did you see Eric Gunthar here?"
"I noticed him hovering outside the rear entrance. But I don't know whether he came into the house."
"Did you see Old Jed?"
"That hermit! He never comes near the house, sir."
"Well, can you remember any one you did specifically see? Out in the hall there, or near the Gem Room?"
"So many of the guests were up and down." She hesitated a moment, as if to collect her thoughts. "Mr. Richard dashed through the hall once or twice. I think I saw his foreign-looking friend, too. And that treasure-hunting gentleman was hovering around. I don't know whether he was waiting for Miss Naesmith, or what. And I saw Doctor Quayne, though I didn't have a chance to speak to him." She seemed avid for any excuse to mention the man's name.
"Was that when he arrived in the morning?" Vance asked.
Philo Vance 12 Novels Complete Bundle Page 260
