“Oh, but the drama isn’t over,” Vance replied. “The curtain is about to go up on the next act.”
Heath lifted his eyes sharply.
“Yeah?” His tone was one of almost jeering incredulity, but his expression was searching and dubious. “And you’re going to show us how Skeel got out and bolted the door on the inside without Jessup’s help?”
“That is precisely what I intend to do, my sergeant.”
Heath opened his mouth to speak but thought better of it. Instead, he merely shrugged his shoulders and gave Markham a sly look.
“Let us repair to the public atrium,” proceeded Vance; and he led us into the little reception room diagonally opposite to the switchboard. This room as I have explained, was just beyond the staircase, and along its rear wall ran the little passageway to the side door. (A glance at the accompanying diagram will clarify the arrangement.)
Vance shepherded us ceremoniously to chairs and cocked his eye at the sergeant.
“You will be so good as to rest here until you hear me knock at the side door. Then come and open it for me.” He went toward the archway. “Once more I personate the departed Mr. Skeel; so picture me again en grande tenue—sartorially radiant.… The curtain ascends.”
He bowed and, stepping from the reception room into the main hall, disappeared round the corner into the rear passageway.
Heath shifted his position restlessly and gave Markham a questioning troubled look. “Will he pull it off, sir, do you think?” All jocularity had gone out of his tone.
“I can’t see how.” Markham was scowling. “If he does, though, it will knock the chief underpinning from your theory of Jessup’s guilt.”
“I’m not worrying,” declared Heath. “Mr. Vance knows a lot; he’s got ideas. But how in hell—?”
He was interrupted by a loud knocking on the side door. The three of us sprang up simultaneously and hurried round the corner of the main hall. The rear passageway was empty. There was no door or aperture of any kind on either side of it. It consisted of two blank walls; and at the end, occupying almost its entire width, was the oak door which led to the court. Vance could have disappeared only through that oak door. And the thing we all noticed at once—for our eyes had immediately sought it—was the horizontal position of the bolt handle. This meant that the door was bolted.
Heath was not merely astonished—he was dumbfounded. Markham had halted abruptly, and stood staring down the empty passageway as if he saw a ghost. After a momentary hesitation Heath walked rapidly to the door. But he did not open it at once. He went down on his knees before the lock and scrutinized the bolt carefully. Then he took out his pocket knife and inserted the blade into the crack between the door and the casing. The point halted against the inner moulding, and the edge of the blade scraped upon the circular bolt. There was no question that the heavy oak casings and mouldings of the door were solid and well fitted, and that the bolt had been securely thrown from the inside. Heath, however, was still suspicious and, grasping the doorknob, he tugged at it violently. But the door held firmly. At length he threw the bolt handle to a vertical position and opened the door. Vance was standing in the court, placidly smoking and inspecting the brickwork of the alley wall.
“I say, Markham,” he remarked, “here’s a curious thing. This wall, d’ ye know, must be very old. It wasn’t built in these latter days of breathless efficiency. The beauty-loving mason who erected it laid the bricks in Flemish bond instead of the Running—or Stretcher—bond of our own restless age. And up there a bit”—he pointed toward the rear yard—“is a Rowlock and Checkerboard pattern. Very neat and very pretty—more pleasing even than the popular English Cross bond. And the mortar joints are all V-tooled.… Fancy!”
Markham was fuming. “Damn it, Vance! I’m not building brick walls. What I want to know is how you got out here and left the door bolted on the inside.”
“Oh, that!” Vance crushed out his cigarette and reentered the building. “I merely made use of a bit of clever criminal mechanism. It’s very simple, like all truly effective appliances—oh, simple beyond words. I blush at its simplicity.… Observe!”
He took from his pocket a tiny pair of tweezers to the end of which was tied a piece of purple twine about four feet long. Placing the tweezers over the vertical bolt handle, he turned them at a very slight angle to the left and then ran the twine under the door so that about a foot of it projected over the sill. Stepping into the court, he closed the door. The tweezers still held the bolt handle as in a vise, and the string extended straight to the floor and disappeared under the door into the court. The three of us stood watching the bolt with fascinated attention. Slowly the string became taut, as Vance gently pulled upon the loose end outside, and then the downward tug began slowly but surely to turn the bolt handle. When the bolt had been thrown and the handle was in a horizontal position, there came a slight jerk on the string. The tweezers were disengaged from the bolt handle and fell noiselessly to the carpeted floor. Then as the string was pulled from without, the tweezers disappeared under the crack between the bottom of the door and the sill.
“Childish, what?” commented Vance, when Heath had let him in. “Silly, too, isn’t it? And yet, Sergeant dear, that’s how the deceased Tony left these premises last Monday night.… But let’s go into the lady’s apartment, and I’ll tell you a story. I see that Mr. Spively has returned from his promenade; so he can resume his telephonic duties and leave us free for a causerie.”
“When did you think up that hocus-pocus with the tweezers and string?” demanded Markham irritably, when we were seated in the Odell living room.
“I didn’t think it up at all, don’t y’ know,” Vance told him carelessly, selecting a cigarette with annoying deliberation. “It was Mr. Skeel’s idea. Ingenious lad—eh, what?”
“Come, come!” Markham’s equanimity was at last shaken. “How can you possibly know that Skeel used this means of locking himself out?”
“I found the little apparatus in his evening clothes yesterday morning.”
“What!” cried Heath belligerently. “You took that outa Skeel’s room yesterday during the search without saying anything about it?”
“Oh, only after your ferrets had passed it by. In fact, I didn’t even look at the gentleman’s clothes until your experienced searchers had inspected them and relocked the wardrobe door. Y’ see, Sergeant, this little thingumbob was stuffed away in one of the pockets of Skeel’s dress waistcoat, under the silver cigarette case. I’ll admit I went over his evening suit rather lovin’ly. He wore it, y’ know, on the night the lady departed this life, and I hoped to find some slight indication of his collaboration in the event. When I found this little eyebrow plucker, I hadn’t the slightest inkling of its significance. And the purple twine attached to it bothered me frightfully, don’t y’ know. I could see that Mr. Skeel didn’t pluck his eyebrows; and even if he had been addicted to the practice, why the twine? The tweezers are a delicate little gold affair—just what the ravishin’ Margaret might have used; and last Tuesday morning I noticed a small lacquer tray containing similar toilet accessories on her dressing table near the jewel case. But that wasn’t all.”
He pointed to the little vellum wastebasket beside the escritoire, in which lay a large crumpled mass of heavy paper.
“I also noticed that piece of discarded wrapping-paper stamped with the name of a well-known Fifth Avenue novelty shop; and this morning, on my way downtown, I dropped in at the shop and learned that they make a practice of tying up their bundles with purple twine. Therefore, I concluded that Skeel had taken the tweezers and the twine from this apartment during his visit here that eventful night.… Now, the question was: Why should he have spent his time tying strings to eyebrow pluckers? I confess, with maidenly modesty, that I couldn’t find an answer. But this morning when you told of arresting Jessup and emphasized the rebolting of the side door after Skeel’s departure, the fog lifted, the sun shone, the birds began to sing. I became suddenly
mediumistic; I had a psychic seizure. The whole modus operandi came to me—as they say—in a flash.… I told you, Markham old thing, it would take spiritualism to solve this case.”
CHAPTER 26
RECONSTRUCTING THE CRIME
(Monday, September 17; noon)
When Vance finished speaking, there was several minutes’ silence. Markham sat deep in his chair glaring into space. Heath, however, was watching Vance with a kind of grudging admiration. The cornerstone in the foundation of his case against Jessup had been knocked out, and the structure he had built was tottering precariously. Markham realized this, and the fact played havoc with his hopes.
“I wish your inspirations were more helpful,” he grumbled, turning his gaze upon Vance. “This latest revelation of yours puts us back almost to where we started from.”
“Oh, don’t be pessimistic. Let us face the future with a bright eye.… Want to hear my theory?—it’s fairly bulging with possibilities.” He arranged himself comfortably in his chair. “Skeel needed money—no doubt his silk shirts were running low—and after his unsuccessful attempt to extort it from the lady a week before her demise, he came here last Monday night. He had learned she would be out, and he intended to wait for her; for she had probably refused to receive him in the custom’ry social way. He knew the side door was bolted at night, and, as he didn’t want to be seen entering the apartment, he devised the little scheme of unbolting the door for himself under cover of a futile call at half past nine. The unbolting accomplished, he returned via the alleyway, and let himself into the apartment at some time before eleven. When the lady returned with an escort, he quickly hid in the clothes closet, and remained there until the escort had departed. Then he came forth, and the lady, startled by his sudden appearance, screamed. But, on recognizing him, she told Spotswoode, who was now hammering at the door, that it was all a mistake. So Spotswoode ran along and played poker. A financial discussion between Skeel and the lady—probably a highly acrimonious tiff—ensued. In the midst of it the telephone rang, and Skeel snatched off the receiver and said the Canary was out. The tiff was resumed; but presently another suitor appeared on the scene. Whether he rang the bell or let himself in with a key I can’t say—probably the latter, for the phone operator was unaware of his visit. Skeel hid himself a second time in the closet and luckily took the precaution of locking himself in. Also, he quite naturally put his eye to the keyhole to see who the second intruder was.”
Vance pointed to the closet door.
“The keyhole, you will observe, is on a line with the davenport; and as Skeel peered out into the room he saw a sight that froze his blood. The new arrival—in the midst, perhaps, of some endearing sentence—seized the lady by the throat and proceeded to throttle her.… Imagine Skeel’s emotions, my dear Markham. There he was, crouching in a dark closet, and a few feet from him stood a murderer in the act of strangling a lady! Pauvre Antoine! I don’t wonder he was petrified and speechless. He saw what he imagined to be maniacal fury in the strangler’s eyes; and the strangler must have been a fairly powerful creature, whereas Skeel was slender and almost undersized.… No, merci. Skeel wasn’t having any. He lay doggo. And I can’t say that I blame the beggar, what?”
He made a gesture of interrogation.
“What did the strangler do next? Well, well; we’ll probably never know, now that Skeel, the horrified witness, has gone to his Maker. But I rather imagine he got out that black document box, opened it with a key he had taken from the lady’s handbag, and extracted a goodly number of incriminating documents. Then, I fancy, the fireworks began. The gentleman proceeded to wreck the apartment in order to give the effect of a professional burglary. He tore the lace on the lady’s gown and severed the shoulder strap; snatched her orchid corsage and threw it in her lap; stripped off her rings and bracelets; and tore the pendant from its chain. After that he upset the lamp, rifled the escritoire, ransacked the Boule cabinet, broke the mirror, overturned the chairs, tore the draperies.… And all the time Skeel kept his eye glued to the keyhole with fascinated horror, afraid to move, terrified lest he be discovered and sent to join his erstwhile inamorata, for by now he was no doubt thoroughly convinced that the man outside was a raving lunatic. I can’t say that I envy Skeel his predicament; it was ticklish, y’ know. Rather! And the devastation went on. He could hear it even when the operations had passed from out his radius of vision. And he himself was caught like a rat in a trap, with no means of escape. A harrowin’ situation—my word!”
Vance smoked a moment and then shifted his position slightly.
“Y’ know, Markham, I imagine that the worst moment in the whole of Skeel’s checkered career came when that mysterious wrecker tried to open the closet door behind which he was crouching. Fancy! There he was cornered, and not two inches from him stood, apparently, a homicidal maniac trying to get to him, rattling that thin barricade of white pine.… Can you picture the blighter’s relief when the murderer finally released the knob and turned away? It’s a wonder he didn’t collapse from the reaction. But he didn’t. He listened and watched in a sort of hypnotic panic, until he heard the invader leave the apartment. Then, weak-kneed and in a cold sweat, he came forth and surveyed the battlefield.”
Vance glanced about him.
“Not a pretty sight—eh, what? And there on the davenport reclined the lady’s strangled body. That corpse was Skeel’s dominant horror. He staggered to the table to look at it, and steadied himself with his right hand—that’s how you got your fingerprints, Sergeant. Then the realization of his own position suddenly smote him. Here he was alone with a murdered person. He was known to have been intimate with the lady; and he was a burglar with a record. Who would believe that he was innocent? And though he had probably recognized the man who had negotiated the business, he was in no position to tell his story. Everything was against him—his sneaking in, his presence in the house at half past nine, his relations with the girl, his profession, his reputation. He hadn’t a chance in the world.… I say, Markham, would you have credited his tale?”
“Never mind that,” retorted Markham. “Go on with your theory.” He and Heath had been listening with rapt interest.
“My theory from this point on,” resumed Vance, “is what you might term self-developing. It proceeds on its own inertia, so to speak.—Skeel was confronted by the urgent problem of getting away and covering up his tracks. His mind in this emergency became keen and highly active; his life was forfeit if he didn’t succeed. He began to think furiously. He could have left by the side door at once without being seen; but then, the door would have been unbolted. And this fact, taken in connection with his earlier visit that night, would have suggested his manner of unbolting the door.… No, that method of escape wouldn’t do—decidedly it wouldn’t do. He knew he was likely, in any event, to be suspected of the murder, in view of his shady association with the lady and his general character. Motive, place, opportunity, time, means, conduct, and his own record—all were against him. Either he must cover up his tracks, don’t y’ know, or else his career as a Lothario was at an end. A sweet dilemma! He realized, of course, that if he could get out and leave that side door bolted on the inside, he’d be comparatively safe. No one could then explain how he had come in or gone out. It would establish his only possible alibi—a negative one, to be sure; but, with a good lawyer, he could probably make it hold. Doubtless he searched for other means of escape, but found himself confronted with obstacles on every hand. The side door was his only hope. How could it be worked?”
Vance rose and yawned.
“That’s my caressin’ theory. Skeel was caught in a trap, and with his shrewd, tricky brain he figured his way out. He may have roamed up and down these two rooms for hours before he hit on his plan; and it’s not unlikely that he appealed to the Deity with an occasional ‘Oh, my God!’ As for his using the tweezers, I’m inclined to think the mechanism of the idea came to him almost immediately—Y’ know, Sergeant, this locking of a door on the i
nside is an old trick. There are any number of recorded cases of it in the criminal literature of Europe. Indeed, in Professor Hans Gross’s handbook of criminology there’s a whole chapter on the devices used by burglars for illegal entries and exits.36 But all such devices have had to do with the locking, not the bolting, of doors. The principle, of course, is the same, but the technic is different. To lock a door on the inside, a needle, or strong slender pin, is inserted through the bow of the key and pulled downward with a string. But on the side door of this house there is no lock and key; nor is there a bow in the bolt handle.—Now, the resourceful Skeel, while pacing nervously about, looking for something that might offer a suggestion, probably espied the tweezers on the lady’s dressing table—no lady nowadays is without these little eyebrow pluckers, don’t y’ know—and immediately his problem was solved. It remained only to test the device. Before departing, however, he chiseled open the jewel case which the other chap had merely dented, and found the solitaire diamond ring that he later attempted to pawn. Then he erased, as he thought, all his fingerprints, forgetting to wipe off the inside doorknob of the closet and overlooking the hand mark on the table. After that he let himself out quietly and rebolted the side door the same as I did, stuffing the tweezers in his waistcoat pocket and forgetting them.”
Heath nodded his head oracularly.
“A crook, no matter how clever he is, always overlooks something.”
“Why single out crooks for your criticism, Sergeant?” asked Vance lazily. “Do you know of anybody in this imperfect world who doesn’t always overlook something?” He gave Heath a benignant smile. “Even the police, don’t y’ know, overlooked the tweezers.”
The Philo Vance Megapack Page 49
