This set him on a new train of thought, and with the picture of the Vergitilla Phyleas in his mind, he wended his way over to the public library, where he got out an encyclopedia in the reading-room and found a good deal of dry reading about moths in general. He managed to hold his attention to the uninteresting material, however, discovering, at least, certain things he had not known before concerning the difference between moths and butterflies, and particularly a certain point of differentiation between the moths themselves. As he closed the huge volume he sat and looked off into space. “I never realised,” he remarked to himself, “that there could be such a vast field of study in just the moth family itself.”
He returned the book to the rack and went over to the call counter, where he asked for “Bertram, on Moths,” a book which he had seen mentioned at the end of the encyclopedia article as a popular work upon the subject. Soon it was brought to him in its bright gilt-and-red cover, and he dropped into the nearest chair and turned first to the index. There, as was to be expected, he came upon the words Vergitilla Phyleas, and found a short article devoted to that particular member of the great moth family. It read:
Vergitilla Phyleas: One of the so-called giant moths, and one, in fact, whose wings in a few specimens in museums have measured as much as twelve inches from tip to tip. It has been seen alive only during certain parts of the year and at twenty-one-year intervals in the low regions of the American continents, and never west of the eastern boundary of Costa Rica nor east of the western boundary of Colombia. Its span of existence seems to be in the vicinity of thirty days, after which time it expires or else passes through an intermediate stage till the expiration of the next twenty-one years. At no latitude of Africa, Europe, or Asia has the Vergitilla ever been found. It is quite rare, not over fifty specimens being in existence, according to the author’s investigations. Most of these are in museums. On account of the giantism of the Vergitilla it has been confused in numerous instances with the slightly smaller Oralia Purpura whose wing colours and markings are appreciably similar to those of the Vergitilla Phyleas. The Oralia Purpura, however, occurs in many lands and latitudes, and has a far longer span of existence than that of the Vergitilla, the two factors mentioned accounting for the extreme value of the last-named moth. A Vergitilla Phyleas sold at a London auction as high as eleven thousand dollars in American money. See the monograph of Professor Hans Schwenmauer, of the University of California, on the subject of tropical and semi-tropical moths.
For several minutes Casperson studied the article. Then fumbling in his pockets for paper and pencil, he discovered that he had left his pencil at the old costume maker’s; but on top of that he found that in the excitement of Rufus Eldredge’s entrance that morning, he had stuck into his own pocket Malcolm’s fountain pen with which he had receipted the latter’s promissory note. So on the blank pages of a letter he had in his pocket he copied the article devoted by Bertram to the Vergitilla Phyleas, and as soon as it had dried he left the library.
Now he was quite decided as to what his next step was to be. Something seemed to have come into him — a strange tension — a realisation that he was tumbling upon something most queer, yet something which he could not fully grasp. And so, after consulting a street directory, he went straight to Professor Silvester’s residence in St. Clair Street, not very far from the Ernst Court laboratory where the grey-haired entomologist had met his death.
CHAPTER XIII
SILVESTER — MAN OF MYSTERY
ST. CLAIR STREET was a neat, trim thoroughfare with grass and trees along the sidewalk, and “semi-aristocratic” houses that showed in their construction a past age of building artistry. The one at which Casperson pressed the electric button was set back from the street in a yard of large elms, and the shades were all tightly drawn.
His ring was not answered; so he rang again, this time much longer. Now one of the window shades was drawn back slightly, and a very pale, girlish face peered from the darkened house. A second later the door was opened, and there stood looking out at him a girl in a black dress, not more than twenty years of age, dark-haired and with dark eyes under which were circles of grief, and around which were the red rims that meant weeping.
“Is this Miss Silvester, the daughter of Professor Silvester?” Casperson asked, feeling like a brute for intruding upon a person at such a time.
“Diana Silvester,” she informed him, in a low voice. She paused. “You are from the police station, too?”
He thought is best to ignore the question. “I realise that the detectives have been bothering you a good deal to-day, but I should like to ask a few questions — if possible.”
She stood aside politely and motioned him in. He found himself in a darkened parlour that was tastefully and expensively arranged: here and there were glimpses of white statuary; over in a corner stood a grand piano. He waited until she had seated herself, then he dropped into a near-by chair.
“Miss Silvester, I regret very much the sad thing that has happpened to your father. Have you any idea of the reason for his end?”
“There is no doubt in my mind,” she said, in a low, melodious voice, “that the Japanese caretaker, Ushi Yatsura, killed him. My father had many enemies over the world — at least he has always said so. He once voiced the strange suspicion that Ushi who answered his advertisement for a caretaker and house-boy, had been sent by some rival moth-collector in India whom he had made an enemy of, solely for the purpose of stealing his rarest specimens. My father had been all over the world previous to the time he settled down in Chicago and was married to my mother, who died shortly after my birth. He has given numerous lectures upon moths, and has maintained something of a collection. But when he decided, a few months ago, to create his laboratory or private museum over on Ernst Court, he began to send all over the world for moth specimens which he had collected and prepared in bygone years and which had been lent for indefinite periods to foreign museums. Case by case they came by express, and gradually he and Ushi set them up in the Ernst Court place.”
“Your father, I take it, had an income sufficient to allow him to devote his life to this specialty?”
She nodded. “Well — yes — apparently. But I have no way of knowing the size of his estate. He may be nearly penniless, for all I know just now. In former years we lived somewhat lavishly, but I have noticed that he had a tendency in recent years to curtail many expenditures.”
“Miss Silvester, do you know anything of a specimen known as the Vergitilla Phyleas which was not among those on the walls of his laboratory?”
“The giant tropical moth?” she queried, evidently comprehending.
He nodded.
“That is the one, then, which he got down between Costa Rica and Colombia somewhere. He spent about nine weeks hunting it, on his trip for the Johnsonian Institute, of Washington, D.C. He is an accredited member of that scientific society. He has not spoken much of the specimen, except to tell me that its appearances were about twenty-one years apart, and that its span of existence was but a few weeks. Also, he informed me that his quest was successful. Had it not been, he would never have lived long enough to make another attempt to secure it.”
“When did he return from his last trip?” asked Casperson. “And when did he leave?” He paused. “And another question: has he been visited of late by a tall, well-groomed man with dark hair? Also, have there been any attempts, since he secured the Vergitilla, to break into this house or the Ernst Court laboratory?”
The girl paused, thinking over his four rapidly fired questions. Then she answered them in the order they were given. “Father returned from his last trip about a month or three weeks ago: he had been gone about six weeks, which places his departure around two and a half months previous to the present date.” She stopped a moment, then went on: “As to a tall, well-groomed man, such a one has called here several times. I have shown him into father’s study, and they have talked for long periods. One of his visits took place yesterday mornin
g.” Again she paused to reflect. “And as to the fourth question, I believe that the laboratory was once broken into by hoodlums in the neighbourhood. We are not far, you know, from the so-called Geary Alley gang. But no attempts to break in here have ever been made. But last night — ” She stopped and made no effort to continue.
“And last night,” said Casperson, leaning forward. “What happened?”
“Last night father started for the laboratory at around nine o’clock to work on some specimen cards. He returned to the house a minute or two later, all excited. He said he had seen a man well shrouded in a raincoat and wearing a felt hat watching this house from a point across the street; that the man had almost concealed himself back of an elm trunk, but father nevertheless had caught sight of him.”
“And what did your father do?”
“He was nervous and excitable. He paced back and forth and went upstairs to my front room, probably to look out of the darkened windows. Later he lighted the gas and still later came down. He stood about for a while, thinking, and finally, much worried, left the house. There’s the whole incident.”
Casperson reflected a moment.
“Can you conceive of why the Vergitilla was locked up in a tight steel drawer instead of being hung upon the walls with the rest of the specimens? What would its value be?”
“As to its value, I cannot say,” she replied, looking into his eyes. “Those things are invaluable to collectors, but to you and to me, perhaps, one would not be worth fifty dollars. I only know that of late father — poor father! — had been under the impression that people were after him — were trying to get something from him. And he was going to discharge Ushi soon for the reason, as I told you, that he suspected more every day that Ushi was sent there by some certain rival collector in India to steal the Vergitilla Phyleas, for father had been publicly selected by the Johnsonian Institute, a full year before, as the man who should go to South America to capture the Vergitilla if it appeared at the end of its twenty-one-year cycle. And it hides, you know, under the leaves, and only comes out at night, when it is nearly invisible.”
Casperson was interested. “That might account for why he kept it locked up, if he suspected Ushi. But Ushi didn’t get away with it, although it certainly does appear that he killed his employer and fled.”
For a while they sat there in the darkened parlour, neither speaking. The girl dabbed her eyes several times with her handkerchief, and finally Casperson, realising that there was nothing more he wished to ask, rose from his chair, made his apologies, and went into the street.
He walked back to his Dearborn Avenue lodgings, still unaware of the fact that the keen-faced man with the bearing of a private detective clung to his footsteps, noting every turn of his course by the use of a pencil stub and a card in his coat pocket. Entering his room, Casperson, sat an hour thinking on the two intersecting trains of incidents: the mystery of the Vergitilla Phyleas, and the unfortunate complication it had made in his own life through drawing him away from the Eldredge dance just as the fifty-thousand-dollar diamond necklace had disappeared.
Reflecting upon his own woes, for the time he forgot the mystery of the dead moth-collector. Again he recollected Rufus Eldredge’s declaration that Shirley, after her dance with him, had danced in turn with Malcolm, with Jack Hennly, with a Mr. Cawthorne, with Niccolo di Paoli, and with her own father. It was obvious, then, that since the necklace had been stolen, the theft must have been perpetrated by one of the four people between himself and her father. Somehow the thought would not “down” that her father might have done the thing himself, in sheer rage at not being able to lower him, Casperson, in the eyes of his daughter.
Taking pencil and paper, Casperson worked upon the problem. When he had finished he smiled wearily at his analytical work. It read:
Dance No.
Name.
Facts and Motives.
5.
Wilk Casperson.
Supposed to have stolen necklace, but didn’t.
6.
Malcolm Eldredge.
Hard to believe that her own brother could steal necklace, but … that unfortunate matter of the stolen money and the necessity of making it up … not looking very good.
7.
Jack Hennly.
Well-known millionaire clubman and polo player … plenty of rich relatives … wouldn’t steal anything for the price of it, for he can’t spend his own millions. But could be a kleptomaniac.
8.
Mr. Cawthorne.
Don’t know him, except having heard him mentioned at Eldredge’s as a clubman. In all likelihood, no motive exists.
9.
Niccolo di Paoli.
Musician, very well known. Receives very high prices for public appearance. No motive.
10.
Ruf us Eldredge.
Her father. Might have done it to throw me out of the running. Thinks I nearly ruined his good name, and he night retaliate. Funny world, and funny things happen.
For a long time Casperson lay on his bed, studying the analytical results which were shown by the paper he had just drawn up. At length he arose and took a seat in the window again. He smiled bitterly. In about three hours it would be six o’clock, and that was the hour at which Rufus Eldredge had stated that the necklace must be returned to his residence. The sight of the ‘phone on his wall, however, made him think again of MacTavish, and in doubt as to the latter’s arrival at the appointed hour he decided to call the plain-clothes man up and read him the description of the Vergitilla Phyleas and tell him of the facts he had gleaned at Diana Silvester’s. So he drew the scrap of paper from his pocket and stepped over to the ‘phone.
But he stopped short in his progress across the room. To his amazement, the finer strokes of the pen had vanished completely — had faded into nothingness. In other words, the written description of the Vergitilla Phyleas was disappearing!
CHAPTER XIV
A VISITOR VIA ROOF-TOPS
ONE thing shot into Casperson’s mind with startling force: the card handed to him the night before at the ball had been written by no one else but Malcolm Eldredge, for from this same pen, accidentally carried off from the latter’s room, had come the copy of the material concerning moths. This being so, it could mean but one thing: Malcolm had sent the decoy card in order to throw suspicion by getting him, Casperson, out of the place at the psychological moment.
Casperson drew out the cheque the other had given him. Here though, no fading, magic, invisible ink had been used; indeed the ink used was purple, instead of the light blue such as came from the fountain-pen. Here was the plain, even, bold handwriting of a business man, not the eccentric, disguised, erratic handwriting which had been deliberately used on the decoy card.
He shook his head with a sigh. Malcolm Eldredge must have been desperate indeed to decoy a man who had befriended him as he, Casperson, had done, with the intention of throwing suspicion upon him as soon as the theft of the necklace had actually been discovered. Yet Casperson feared that a man short in his accounts, inundated with debts to cover the shortage, with an irate, irascible father, unable to borrow the amount necessary to make good the loans that temporarily covered his defalcations, might not stop at throwing suspicion on a rank outsider to his own circle who was trying to marry one of its girls — in this instance Malcolm’s own sister.
For a few unhappy minutes he sat staring down at the fading writing on the back of the envelope. Then a sudden peculiar idea struck him with force, and stepping to the telephone on the wall, he dropped a nickel and asked for Lake Drive 3339. He recognised the methodical voice of Brayley on the wire, and he lost no time in asking for Miss Eldredge.
“Who shall I say is calling?” asked the butler.
“Never mind the name, please,” replied Casperson uneasily, wondering whether Brayley had had orders to cut him off if he called. “Just call her, Miss Eldredge.”
A pause ensued, in which his heart pounded a bit, but soon he heard
the voice that he longed for.
“Shirley, I want to ask you something. In the excitement of this morning I had no chance to ask you any questions at all; but now that things are cooling down I am getting a better grip on the situation. No sign of the necklace, I suppose?”
A pause followed his question. Then her words came softly: “Wait a minute, please, till I look down the hall.” A moment of silence; then her voice again, this time very low: “I was looking to see whether father was in hearing distance: but he’s locked in his library at the end of the house. He has forbidden me to talk to you on the ‘phone of this house. As to the necklace, Wilk, not a sign — yet.”
“What does Malcolm think about this affair?”
“He’s very cheerful about it. Says I look prettier without the necklace; tells both father and me to forget it — that it’s not worth a second thought, considering that we’re rich, have our health and liberty, and all that. Malcolm is the one person that seems to be quite happy about it all.”
“I see.” Casperson paused. “Shirley, you recall that I was made up as a yellow moth last night. Was anyone else supposed to be there, so far as you know from talking in advance to your friends, who was to come garbed as a butterfly or a moth?”
“Yes, Wilk, there was. In fact, he came in the hall at around ten-thirty, about in time to get the dance he had arranged with me long ahead. I first thought it was you, but when he got nearer I found that he wore a yellow cloth bag over his head instead of grease paint, as you did.”
“No, it was not I, you may be sure,” Casperson said. “I was downstairs in the gentlemen’s dressing-room trying to get the grease paint off my face with cold cream. But this other moth — who was he? I have the best reason in the world for asking. I will tell you in time what my reason is.”
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