"No. It was when he was leaving. He had stayed longer than usual and he was late. I remember the noon siren had blown a few minutes earlier--"
Vance sprang to his feet and held up his hand for silence. A far-away look came into his eyes. He paced back and forth nervously several times. Then he came to a sudden stop before Rexon's desk.
"That insignificant something," he remarked slowly, as he sank into a chair. "I think I have it. The siren. Haven't heard it today."
"It's not sounded on Sundays," Rexon told him.
"No. Of course not. But yesterday."
"What can the siren have to do with it all, Vance?"
"Everything. Needs a little thought." He brought out his case and selected a cigarette with marked deliberation. He walked to the window, stood gazing out for a moment. As he turned back, a soft knock on the door was followed by the timid entry of Eric Gunthar, twisting his hat nervously in his hands.
"You wanted to see me, Squire?" he asked, looking down at the floor.
It was Vance who answered his query. "You might as well know the worst, Gunthar. Lieutenant O'Leary is determined to arrest you and Miss Ella on what he calls suspicion. You must have noted he has a constable watching Miss Ella now...She came back with you?"
"Yes, sir. She did. She's down at the pavilion, changing her clothes. She said she was going to skate on the rink."
"Good," said Vance. "We must all go out and watch her anon."
"She asked me to tell you, sir, that she couldn't find Old Jed anywhere."
"Thank you. It doesn't matter...But to get back to what I was saying. I see no reason why you shouldn't be here too. No use trying to run away. The Lieutenant will arrive any minute. You're to sit there. Trust to me. Just as Ella is doing. I'll do my best. May fail. But can't be helped. Sit tight and wait. Understand?"
Nodding dejectedly, the man moved with awkward steps to the chair Vance had indicated. He continued the twirling motion of the hat in his hands for a moment. Then he placed the hat behind him and rested his head docilely on the palms of his hands. He was abashed, frightened.
Vance had scarcely resumed his own seat before Rexon's desk when another tap on the door announced the arrival of the Lieutenant and Doctor Quayne. A faint odor of gasoline accompanied them.
"I see your chariot has had another intramuscular injection, doctor," Vance said pleasantly. Quayne merely nodded.
"Greetings and congratulations, doctor," said Rexon. "Bruce has just told us of the betrothal..."
Quayne smiled and looked admiringly at Marcia Bruce. He seated himself on the long leather divan, and Miss Bruce rose from her chair and joined him.
"I felt somehow you'd be pleased, Rexon," Quayne said with some show of pride.
"Naturally. But I'll miss you both. So will Joan."
O'Leary mumbled felicitations, his gaze on the downcast figure of Gunthar perched uneasily on the edge of his chair. Then he furrowed his brow in a puzzled frown and sought Vance's eyes.
"Yes. Quite, Lieutenant. Doing the bighearted. Knew you'd be poppin' in anon. Thought I'd have Gunthar handy for you. Trying to do my share. Always appreciative of favors."
"And the girl?"
"Waiting for you, too. After a manner of speaking. If she isn't already out on the rink she'll be there in a minute or two. Skating for the guests. Under the eagle eye of your doughty constable, of course."
O'Leary suddenly stepped back, narrowed his eyes and looked at Vance shrewdly. "What's the meaning of all this, sir? There's something underneath."
Vance smiled wearily and nodded. "Right you are, Lieutenant! Something underneath. But what? I think it's the siren--the Rexon noonday siren, Lieutenant, which echoes through the hills and--"
O'Leary broke in impatiently. "Just where is this leading, sir?"
"To a mere bit of chatting. Puttin' things together. Askin' a few questions. Searchin' our souls. Good for the soul now and then. When all that's done, you may lead Gunthar and his daughter forth. If that should still be your desire, Lieutenant."
"Sounds like hocus-pocus to me, sir."
"More or less true of all life--eh, what?"
"How long is this to take, sir?" O'Leary's restlessness was apparent. "I've gone pretty far with you already. For my part, I'm ready to take them now..."
"You shall call the time yourself, Lieutenant."
O'Leary packed his pipe. "That's fair."
"Yes--oh, yes. Always fair. May be futile at times. But fair."
CHAPTER XV - QUERIES AND ANSWERS
(Sunday, January 19; 1:45 p.m.)
Doctor Quayne moved uneasily in his place on the divan. "It's a bad business," he remarked. "A bad business. Bassett's been dead at least ten hours. We had the body removed to the morgue. Another autopsy to do. From what I've seen offhand, I can only say that he met his death very much as Wallen did. But this time there is no cliff from which he might have fallen."
"You, too, noticed the similarity of the wounds, did you, doctor?" O'Leary put in.
"It could hardly be overlooked," returned Quayne. "I've never seen such a strange coincidence. If I weren't so confused by other factors I'd be willing to state under oath that both deaths were caused in the same manner."
O'Leary compressed his lips with great satisfaction and nodded energetically. "The same thought occurred to me," he said.
"I understand, Mr. Vance," the doctor went on, "that you had an official report on the man this morning that throws a rather sinister light on the matter. From what Lieutenant O'Leary has told me, I've formed a theory that I'd like to put before you."
"Pray do," said Vance eagerly.
"It is this: Obviously Bassett came here with the sole purpose of getting his hands on at least some of Mr. Rexon's emeralds. If we assume that his first attempt was made from outside and that he was surprised in his effort by the guard, Wallen, we can conclude that he had then but one course left to him. Namely, to do away with Wallen. Let us further assume that he took this course; that he was seen taking it, by a friend of Wallen who was, in the circumstances, helpless to prevent the murder. This second man, you may be sure, would carry the grudge, and take his revenge at the very first opportunity. These men are a very simple folk, Mr. Vance. They believe whole-heartedly in the Mosaic law 'An eye for an eye'. They wouldn't hesitate to take matters into their own hands and mete out what they consider retributive justice."
"Very plausible theory, doctor," said Vance. "Worthy of consideration." Quayne nodded in acknowledgment of the compliment. Then Vance looked abruptly at Miss Bruce, sitting beside her fiancé. "You say you saw Mr. Sydes flittin' round down here about noontime?"
She nodded.
Vance now spoke to Rexon. "Will you send for the gentleman? And your son as well. Immediately, please. Speed, old friend. The leaves are turning. The bird is on the wing. Time is running out."
Rexon rang for the butler, relayed the request to him.
In a very few minutes a knock on the door was followed by the swaggering entrance of Stanley Sydes, with Richard Rexon close behind him. The younger man walked to the window behind his father's desk and sat down on the broad sill. Sydes remained standing, resting his arms on the back of an empty chair.
"Quite a conclave here," he commented casually. "I do hope we're not all going to pass up Miss Gunthar's performance. I've never seen anyone who can claim to be her equal on ice."
"You're not alone in that opinion, Mr. Sydes," Vance remarked. "We'll try not to detain you too long...Could you possibly recall just where you were yesterday when the noonday whistle sounded? Miss Bruce here thinks she saw you about that time, wanderin' in the lower hall."
Sides laughed boisterously. "I can't say the lady is wrong. Probably was heading for the bar to soothe my jangled nerves."
"Hope the antidote was effective." Vance smiled. "Looking tip-top today...Irrelevantly speakin', Mr. Sydes, does your interest run only to buried treasure?" Vance looked at the man keenly.
"I don't think I understand you, sir. As I said on
ce before, it's the thrill of the search that lures me on. But I don't suppose any man would turn up his nose at a treasure right under his nose--if I may make a quip."
"Did you know of Mr. Rexon's collection of emeralds?"
"Strangely enough, not until I'd been here a day or two. It was other game that brought me here. However, I might add that I was genuinely disappointed when I learned we were not to see the stones, after all."
"Do you happen to know why Mr. Rexon hasn't opened the Gem Room to his guests?"
"I'm sure I haven't the faintest idea. And I haven't been presumptuous enough to inquire."
"Admirable restraint," murmured Vance. "Deservin' of appeasement. I'll answer the unasked question for you. The fact is, a number of the Rexon emeralds have disappeared from the Gem Room--undoubtedly stolen. And one of the guests--Mr. Bassett--has been murdered."
Richard Rexon rose with a bound from his place at the window.
Sydes straightened up and drew in his breath. "Incredible!" he mumbled. "Why, I saw the man only--" He broke off.
"Yes?" prompted Vance. "When did you see Bassett last?"
"Now that I think of it," Sydes returned lamely, "I haven't seen him today at all...Is there anything I can do?"
"Thank you. Only to rejoin the others and help Miss Gunthar keep them entertained and out of our way."
Sydes bowed himself out with a look of concern mingled with relief.
Young Rexon was conversing in an undertone with his father. He looked bewildered as he stepped back to the window. Vance turned to him.
"How much did you know about your friend Bassett, Mr. Richard?"
The young man did not answer immediately. Vance lighted a cigarette while he waited. Finally young Rexon spoke.
"Not too much, I'm afraid. Only that he seemed a likable enough chap. And he was a pleasant traveling companion."
"Hardly sufficient recommendation," grumbled the elder Rexon bitterly. "The man was a scoundrel!"
"Did you know," Vance asked carelessly, "that during his brief stay here he was annoying Miss Ella?" Richard Rexon only shook his head. Vance continued. "Old Jed found it necess'ry to reprimand him severely. Perhaps Jed did more than that."
Eric Gunthar jumped from his chair. "You can't say that, sir! The hermit may be a queer one, but he didn't murder nobody!" The man seemed surprised at his own outburst. He sank back to his chair.
Quayne looked across at Vance with significance. "Bearing out my earlier contention, Mr. Vance."
Vance nodded abstractedly. He found an ash tray and broke the ashes from his cigarette. "Tell me, Gunthar: was this hermit of yours friendly with Lief Wallen?"
"The hermit ain't friendly with nobody. Except, maybe, my Ella."
"Had Wallen any friend on the estate who would want to avenge him if he thought there had been foul play ?"
"I don't know about friends. But any man of us would do that if we had cause."
"Very interestin'. And most commendable...But I think Lieutenant O'Leary has a query or two to put to you." Vance made a broad gesture with his hand, as if turning over a witness to the opposition.
"Mr. Gunthar," the Lieutenant began, "you were at Murphy's tavern the night Wallen died?"
Gunthar thought back. "Yes, I was."
"And did you go directly to your cottage from there?"
"You might say I did, sir. I only stopped outside the house here, just to see what was doin'."
"Did you see Wallen?"
"No--I don't think so," said Gunthar hesitantly. Then he amended his statement. "Or if I did, I wouldn't have noticed specially."
"Did you come up to the Manor yesterday, Gunthar?" The Lieutenant was becoming more belligerent.
"Well, I did--and I didn't. I mean, I didn't come into the house exactly."
"What did you come for?"
"To talk with the Squire." He looked uneasily at Rexon. "You see, Mr. Richard wanted I should come up here and promise the Squire I wouldn't drink no more if he'd let me keep my job. So I come up here first thing in the morning. But the Squire wasn't down yet. Later Mr. Richard come down to me where I was busy at the pavilion an' told me to go up again. I didn't want to, but Mr. Richard he wouldn't let me off. So I come up. I had a bottle with me, an' I took another drink on my way. Just to buck me up, you know. An' when I come up to the house I stopped to make up what I would say. Then I thought the Squire wouldn't like it if he could smell the liquor on me. I was outside for a bit, changing my mind this way an' that. But I didn't come in. I went back to the pavilion. After lunch Mr. Richard come down again to ask me--"
"That's enough." O'Leary interrupted the recital impatiently.
"I think, Lieutenant," Vance interposed mildly, "the doctor's theory is more plausible. However, I have known medical men who, when they did not like a diagnosis which could not be proven all the way, would substitute a more acceptable alternative based on the same principal factors."
"A discerning observation," commented Quayne dryly.
"We start then, with the admissible assumption that the guard, having frustrated an attempt to enter the Gem Room from outside, is deliberately murdered. That there is an eye witness to this murder seems not too preposterous. We know definitely that access to the room is later effected by means of Mr. Rexon's key. We likewise know, beyond a doubt, that one Bassett, with sufficient and understandable reason to be interested in the emeralds, falls victim to a second murder."
Vance paused to light a fresh Régie.
"We find, ourselves confronted," he resumed, "with more unknown quantities than I care to cope with in a single problem: Who witnessed that first hypothetical murder? Who managed to procure the key to the Gem Room and appropriate the emeralds? Finally, who finished Bassett, and why?"
He puffed thoughtfully on his cigarette and looked about.
"Offhand," he continued, "Bassett seems the logical choice for the second factor of the puzzle." The others nodded in agreement. "If only we had found the emeralds on him--or in his room..."
"Has a thorough search been made?" asked Carrington Rexon hopefully.
Before Vance could answer, the doctor spoke again. "My dear Rexon," he said, almost as if to a child. "The man was not so simple as to have left them carelessly about. He might have wrapped them securely in a packet and mailed them off somewhere."
"A reasonable suggestion," agreed Vance. "On the other hand, I am compellingly driven to the conclusion that Bassett could not have taken the emeralds at all."
There was a murmur of surprised dissent.
"Why not, Mr. Vance?" It was O'Leary who asked the question.
"For the simple reason, Lieutenant, that he wouldn't have had the time. Mr. Rexon has told us that he heard the beginning of the noon siren just as he was struck and lost consciousness. Is that correct, old friend?"
"Absolutely, Vance. I am positive of it."
"But," interposed the doctor, "I wasn't called till after half-past twelve. I presume that no one knew of Mr. Rexon's predicament until then."
"Quite right, doctor," Vance told him. "And yet, I persist in the opinion that Bassett could not have managed it...Habit dulls our awareness of the repetitious act or sound. How many of us are conscious of the striking of a clock unless we are waiting for it? We let time glide past us unnoticed. But let a man have a train to catch or a timed appointment to keep, and the tick of his watch acquires significance for him...Is that psychologically correct, Doctor Quayne?"
"Undoubtedly," agreed Quayne. He placed a hand on the shoulder of the woman beside him; but she seemed lost in her own thoughts.
"Very well, then...Bassett joined us on the veranda almost before the echo of the siren died away. You may have noticed him."
"Can't say that I did." The doctor coughed negligently.
"Possibly not. Aloof sort of johnnie. Remained at one end of the veranda--alone. Queer thing is that I wouldn't have noticed the siren. Hadn't noticed it on other days. Habit, as I say, dulls our senses, don't y' know. But though I w
as unconscious of the fact at the moment, the sound was forcibly called to my attention. By yourself, doctor. Do you recall?"
"It's quite possible. I remember I was in a hurry. I'd stayed longer than I intended."
"Exactly. But the important thing is--you couldn't know, doctor, because you left us immediately--that Bassett remained on the veranda for the next half hour at least....Does that establish my contention?"
Again there was a subdued murmuring among the others.
"Of necessity eliminating Bassett from that phase of our little problem play, whom can we enter in his stead?...Sydes was undoubtedly speaking the truth here."
"That may be, Mr. Vance," O'Leary conceded. "But what of Eric Gunthar? I'm about ready to call time, sir."
Gunthar squirmed in his chair. Young Rexon came forward.
"If you will permit me, sir, I think I can bear out Gunthar's statements. You can depend on it, he's told you the truth."
"Yes, Lieutenant," supplemented Vance. "Let me say this for Gunthar: He's been weak. He's been foolish. He's let his normal ego and competency run to aggressiveness. Hence his enemies. Then he began drinking too much. To bolster his confidence. Not wise. No. Result: both he and his daughter are in devilish hot water. However, I'm not believin' he's guilty. And I think you will agree with me shortly, Lieutenant. A few more short minutes, please..."
He looked at O'Leary, got a grudging nod from him. Then he faced young Rexon.
"What about yourself, Mr. Richard? Could you have taken your father's emeralds and wrapped them securely in a packet--?"
He was interrupted by a half-smothered shriek from Marcia Bruce. She suddenly rose from her place on the sofa.
"Oh, my God!" she moaned as she ran from the room.
Quayne looked after her in astonishment.
Vance's question had left us all equally stunned. Young Rexon stood white and speechless facing his accuser.
"From what I've observed and heard," Vance went on relentlessly, "and leaving the question of motive aside for the moment, you seem to have had every opportunity--"
Carrington Rexon leaped from his chair and pounded the desk with his fist.
"See here, Vance!" he thundered. "This has gone far enough! If you're going to make a farce of it, I prefer to say be damned to the emeralds, and drop the matter right now."
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