The Philo Vance Megapack
Page 48
Markham nodded.
“That’s reasonable enough. Anyway, I’ve passed the combative stage. I think I’ll drift for a while on the stream of your theory and see what happens.”
“What irks me is the disquietin’ feeling that positively nothing will happen unless we force the issue. The lad who maneuvered those two obits had real bean in him.”
As he spoke Spotswoode entered the room and looked about as if searching for someone. Catching sight of Markham, he came briskly forward, with a look of inquisitive perplexity.
“Forgive me for intruding, sir,” he apologized, nodding pleasantly to Vance and me, “but a police officer was here this afternoon inquiring as to my whereabouts last night. It struck me as strange, but I thought little of it until I happened to see the name of Tony Skeel in the headlines of a ‘special’ tonight and read he had been strangled. I remember you asked me regarding such a man in connection with Miss Odell, and I wondered if, by any chance, there could be any connection between the two murders, and if I was, after all, to be drawn into the affair.”
“No, I think not,” said Markham. “There seemed a possibility that the two crimes were related; and, as a matter of routine, the police questioned all the close friends of Miss Odell in the hope of turning up something suggestive. You may dismiss the matter from your mind. I trust,” he added, “the officer was not unpleasantly importunate.”
“Not at all.” Spotswoode’s look of anxiety disappeared. “He was extremely courteous but a bit mysterious. Who was this man Skeel?”
“A half-world character and ex-burglar. He had some hold on Miss Odell, and, I believe, extorted money from her.”
A cloud of angry disgust passed over Spotswoode’s face. “A creature like that deserves the fate that overtook him.”
We chatted on various matters until ten o’clock, when Vance rose and gave Markham a reproachful look.
“I’m going to try to recover some lost sleep. I’m temperamentally unfitted for a policeman’s life.”
Despite this complaint, however, nine o’clock the next morning found him at the district attorney’s office. He had brought several newspapers with him, and was reading, with much amusement, the first complete accounts of Skeel’s murder. Monday was generally a busy day for Markham and he arrived at the office before half past eight in an effort to clean up some pressing routine matters before proceeding with his investigation of the Odell case. Heath, I knew, was to come for a conference at ten o’clock. In the meantime there was nothing for Vance to do but read the newspapers; and I occupied myself in like manner.
Punctually at ten Heath arrived, and from his manner it was plain that something had happened to cheer him immeasurably. He was almost jaunty, and his formal, self-satisfied salutation to Vance was like that of a conqueror to a vanquished adversary. He shook hands with Markham with more than his customary punctility.
“Our troubles are over, sir,” he said, and paused to light his cigar. “I’ve arrested Jessup.”
It was Vance who broke the dramatic silence following this astounding announcement.
“In the name of Heaven—what for?”
Heath turned deliberately, in no wise abashed by the other’s tone.
“For the murder of Margaret Odell and Tony Skeel.”
“Oh, my aunt! Oh, my precious aunt!” Vance sat up and stared at him in amazement. “Sweet angels of Heaven, come down and solace me!”
Heath’s complacency was unshaken. “You won’t need no angels, or aunts either, when you hear what I’ve found out about this fellow. I’ve got him tied up in a sack, ready to hand to the jury.”
The first wave of Markham’s astonishment had subsided. “Let’s have the story, Sergeant.”
Heath settled himself in a chair. He took a few moments to arrange his thoughts.
“It’s like this, sir. Yesterday afternoon I got to thinking. Here was Skeel murdered, same like Odell, after he’d promised to squeal; and it certainly looked as though the same guy had strangled both of ’em. Therefore, I concluded that there musta been two guys in the apartment Monday night—the Dude and the murderer—just like Mr. Vance has been saying all along. Then I figured that they knew each other pretty well, because not only did the other fellow know where the Dude lived, but he musta been wise to the fact that the Dude was going to squeal yesterday. It looked to me, sir, like they had pulled the Odell job together—which is why the Dude didn’t squeal in the first place. But after the other fellow lost his nerve and threw the jewelry away, Skeel thought he’d play safe by turning state’s evidence, so he phoned you.”
The sergeant smoked a moment.
“I never put much stock in Mannix and Cleaver and the doc. They weren’t the kind to do a job like that, and they certainly weren’t the kind that would be mixed up with a jailbird like Skeel. So I stood all three of ’em to one side and began looking around for a bad egg—somebody who’d have been likely to be Skeel’s accomplice. But first I tried to figure out what you might call the physical obstacles in the case—that is, the snags we were up against in our reconstruction of the crime.”
Again he paused.
“Now, the thing that’s been bothering us most is that side door. How did it get unbolted after six o’clock? And who bolted it again after the crime? Skeel musta come in by it before eleven, because he was in the apartment when Spotswoode and Odell returned from the theater; and he probably went out by it after Cleaver had come to the apartment at about midnight. But that wasn’t explaining how it got bolted again on the inside. Well, sir, I studied over this for a long time yesterday and then I went up to the house and took another look at the door. Young Spively was running the switchboard, and I asked him where Jessup was, for I wanted to ask him some questions. And Spively told me he’d quit his job the day before—Saturday afternoon!”
Heath waited to let this fact sink in.
“I was on my way downtown before the idea came to me. Then it hit me sudden-like; and the whole case broke wide open. Mr. Markham, nobody but Jessup coulda opened that side door and locked it again—nobody. Figure it out for yourself, sir—though I guess you’ve pretty well done it already. Skeel couldn’t’ve done it. And there wasn’t nobody else to do it.”
Markham had become interested and leaned forward.
“After this idea had hit me,” Heath continued, “I decided to take a chance; so I got outa the subway at the Penn Station and phoned Spively for Jessup’s address. Then I got my first good news: Jessup lived on Second Avenue, right around the corner from Skeel! I picked up a coupla men from the local station and went to his house. We found him packing up his things, getting ready to go to Detroit. We locked him up, and I took his fingerprints and sent ’em to Dubois. I thought I might get a line on him that way, because crooks don’t generally begin with a job as big as the Canary prowl.”
Heath permitted himself a grin of satisfaction.
“Well, sir, Dubois nailed him up! His name ain’t Jessup at all. The William part is all right, but his real moniker is Benton. He was convicted of assault and battery in Oakland in 1909 and served a year in San Quentin when Skeel was a prisoner there. He was also grabbed as a lookout in a bank robbery in Brooklyn in 1914, but didn’t come to trial—that’s how we happen to have his fingerprints at Headquarters. When we put him on the grill last night, he said he changed his name after the Brooklyn racket and enlisted in the army. That’s all we could get outa him; but we didn’t need any more. Now, here are the facts: Jessup has served time for assault and battery. He was mixed up in a bank robbery. Skeel was a fellow prisoner of his. He’s got no alibi for Saturday night when Skeel was killed and he lives round the corner. He quit his job suddenly Saturday afternoon. He’s husky and strong and could easily have done the business. He was planning his getaway when we nabbed him. And—he’s the only person who could’ve unbolted and rebolted that side door Monday night.… Is that a case, or ain’t it, Mr. Markham?”
Markham sat several minutes in thought.
“That’s easy. Mr. Vance here suggested it the first day. You remember he asked Jessup about his feelings for Odell; and Jessup turned red and got nervous.”
“Oh, Lord!” exclaimed Vance. “Am I to be made responsible for any part of this priceless lunacy?… True, I pried into the chap’s emotions toward the lady; but that was before anything had come to light. I was bein’ careful—tryin’ to test each possibility as it arose.”
“Well, that was a lucky question of yours, just the same.” Heath turned back to Markham. “As I see it: Jessup was stuck on Odell, and she told him to trot along and sell his papers. He got all worked up over it, sitting there night after night, seeing these other guys calling on her. Then Skeel comes along, and, recognizing him, suggests burglarizing Odell’s apartment. Skeel can’t do the job without help, for he has to pass the phone operator coming and going; and as he’s been there before, he’d be recognized. Jessup sees a chance of getting even with Odell and putting the blame on someone else; so the two of ’em cook up the job for Monday night. When Odell goes out, Jessup unlocks the side door, and the Dude lets himself into the apartment with his own key. Then Odell and Spotswoode arrive unexpectedly. Skeel hides in the closet, and after Spotswoode has gone, he accidentally makes a noise, and Odell screams. He steps out, and when she sees who he is, she tells Spotswoode it’s a mistake. Jessup now knows Skeel has been discovered, and decides to make use of the fact. Soon after Spotswoode has gone, he enters the apartment with a passkey. Skeel, thinking it’s somebody else, hides again in the closet; and then Jessup grabs the girl and strangles her, intending to let Skeel get the credit for it. But Skeel comes out of hiding and they talk it over. Finally they come to an agreement, and proceed with their original plan to loot the place. Jessup tries to open the jewel case with the poker, and Skeel finishes the job with his chisel. Then they go out. Skeel leaves by the side door, and Jessup rebolts it. The next day Skeel hands the swag to Jessup to keep till things blow over; and Jessup gets scared and throws it away. Then they have a row. Skeel decides to tell everything, so he can get out from under; and Jessup, suspecting he’s going to do it, goes round to his house Saturday night and strangles him like he did Odell.”
Heath made a gesture of finality and sank back in his chair.
“Clever—deuced clever,” murmured Vance. “Sergeant, I apologize for my little outburst a moment ago. Your logic is irreproachable. You’ve reconstructed the crime beautifully. You’ve solved the case.… It’s wonderful—simply wonderful. But it’s wrong.”
“It’s right enough to send Mr. Jessup to the chair.”
“That’s the terrible thing about logic,” said Vance. “It so often leads one irresistably to a false conclusion.”
He stood up and walked across the room and back, his hands in his coat pockets. When he came abreast of Heath he halted.
“I say, Sergeant; if somebody else could have unlocked that side door and then rebolted it again after the crime, you’d be willing to admit that it would weaken your case against Jessup—eh, what?”
Heath was in a generous mood.
“Sure. Show me someone else who coulda done that, and I’ll admit that maybe I’m wrong.”
“Skeel could have done it, Sergeant. And he did do it—without anyone knowing it.”
“Skeel! This ain’t the age of miracles, Mr. Vance.”
Vance swung about and faced Markham. “Listen! I’m telling you Jessup’s innocent.” He spoke with a fervor that amazed me. “And I’m going to prove it to you—some way. My theory is pretty complete; it’s deficient only in one or two small points; and, I’ll confess, I haven’t yet been able to put a name to the culprit. But it’s the right theory, Markham, and it’s diametrically opposed to the sergeant’s. Therefore, you’ve got to give me an opportunity to demonstrate it before you proceed against Jessup. Now, I can’t demonstrate it here; so you and Heath must come over with me to the Odell house. It won’t take over an hour. But if it took a week, you’d have to come just the same.”
He stepped nearer to the desk.
“I know that it was Skeel, and not Jessup, who unbolted that door before the crime and rebolted it afterward.”
Markham was impressed.
“You know this—you know it for a fact?”
“Yes! And I know how he did it!”
CHAPTER 25
VANCE DEMONSTRATES
(Monday, September 17; 11:30 A.M.)
Half an hour later we entered the little apartment house in 71st Street. Despite the plausibility of Heath’s case against Jessup, Markham was not entirely satisfied with the arrest; and Vance’s attitude had sown further seeds of doubt in his mind. The strongest point against Jessup was that relating to the bolting and unbolting of the side door; and when Vance had asserted that he was able to demonstrate how Skeel could have manipulated his own entrance and exit, Markham, though only partly convinced, had agreed to accompany him. Heath, too, was interested, and, though supercilious, had expressed a willingness to go along.
Spively, scintillant in his chocolate-colored suit, was at the switchboard and stared at us apprehensively. But when Vance suggested pleasantly that he take a ten-minute walk round the block, he appeared greatly relieved and lost no time in complying.
The officer on guard outside of the Odell apartment came forward and saluted.
“How goes it?” asked Heath. “Any visitors?”
“Only one—a toff who said he’d known the Canary and wanted to see the apartment. I told him to get an order from you or the district attorney.”
“That was correct, Officer,” said Markham; then, turning to Vance: “Probably Spotswoode, poor devil.”
“Quite,” murmured Vance. “So persistent! Rosemary and all that.… Touchin’.”
Heath told the officer to go for a half-hour’s stroll; and we were left alone.
“And now, Sergeant,” said Vance cheerfully, “I’m sure you know how to operate a switchboard. Be so kind as to act as Spively’s understudy for a few minutes—there’s a good fellow.… But, first, please bolt the side door—and be sure that you bolt it securely, just as it was on the fatal night.”
Heath grinned good-naturedly.
“Sure thing.” He put his forefinger to his lips mysteriously, and crouching, tiptoed down the hall like a burlesque detective in a farce. After a few moments he came tiptoeing back to the switchboard, his finger still on his lips. Then, glancing surreptitiously about him with globular eyes, he put his mouth to Vance’s ear.
“His-s-st!” he whispered. “The door’s bolted. Gr-r-r.…” He sat down at the switchboard. “When does the curtain go up, Mr. Vance?”
“It’s up, Sergeant.” Vance fell in with Heath’s jocular mood. “Behold! The hour is half past nine on Monday night. You are Spively—not nearly so elegant; and you forgot the moustache—but still Spively. And I am the bedizened Skeel. For the sake of realism, please try to imagine me in chamois gloves and a pleated silk shirt. Mr. Markham and Mr. Van Dine here represent ‘the many-headed monster of the pit.’—And, by the bye, Sergeant, let me have the key to the Odell apartment; Skeel had one, don’t y’ know.”
Heath produced the key and handed it over, still grinning.
“A word of stage direction,” Vance continued. “When I have departed by the front door, you are to wait exactly three minutes, and then knock at the late Canary’s apartment.”
He sauntered to the front door and, turning, walked back toward the switchboard. Markham and I stood behind Heath in the little alcove, facing the front of the building.
“Enter Mr. Skeel!” announced Vance. “Remember, it’s half past nine.” Then, as he came abreast of the switchboard: “Dash it all! You forgot your lines, Sergeant. You should have told me that Miss Odell was out. But it doesn’t matter.… Mr. Skeel continues to the lady’s door…thus.”
He walked past us, and
we heard him ring the apartment bell. After a brief pause, he knocked on the door. Then he came back down the hall.
“I guess you were right,” he said, quoting the words of Skeel as reported by Spively; and went on to the front door. Stepping out into the street, he turned toward Broadway.
For exactly three minutes we waited. None of us spoke. Heath had become serious, and his accelerated puffing on his cigar bore evidence of his state of expectancy. Markham was frowning stoically. At the end of the three minutes Heath rose and hurried up the hall, with Markham and me at his heels. In answer to his knock, the apartment door was opened from the inside. Vance was standing in the little foyer.
“The end of the first act,” he greeted us airly. “Thus did Mr. Skeel enter the lady’s boudoir Monday night after the side door had been bolted, without the operator’s seeing him.”
Heath narrowed his eyes but said nothing. Then he suddenly swung round and looked down the rear passageway to the oak door at the end. The handle of the bolt was in a vertical position, showing that the catch had been turned and that the door was unbolted. Heath regarded it for several moments; then he turned his eyes toward the switchboard. Presently he let out a gleeful whoop.
“Very good, Mr. Vance—very good!” he proclaimed, nodding his head knowingly. “That was easy, though. And it don’t take psychology to explain it. After you rang the apartment bell, you ran down this rear hallway and unbolted the door. Then you ran back and knocked. After that you went out the front entrance, turned toward Broadway, swung round across the street, came in the alley, walked in the side door, and quietly let yourself into the apartment behind our backs.”
“Simple, wasn’t it?” agreed Vance.
“Sure.” The sergeant was almost contemptuous. “But that don’t get you nowhere. Anybody coulda figured it out if that had been the only problem connected with Monday night’s operations. But it’s the rebolting of that side door, after Skeel had gone, that’s been occupying my mind. Skeel might’ve—might’ve, mind you—got in the way you did. But he couldn’t have got out that way, because the door was bolted the next morning. And if there was someone here to bolt the door after him, then that same person could’ve unbolted the door for him earlier, without his doing the ten-foot dash down the rear hall to unbolt the door himself at half past nine. So I don’t see that your interesting little drama helps Jessup out any.”