The Philo Vance Megapack

by S. S. Van Dine

  “Which stairs, doctor?”

  “I couldn’t determine. The footsteps might have been coming down from the third floor, or they might have been ascending from the first floor. They were very quiet, and if I had not been wide awake and keyed up I wouldn’t have noticed them. As it was, I couldn’t be sure, though at one time I imagined I heard a slight creak as if a board were a little loose under the carpet.”

  “And then?”

  “I lay speculating on who it might be, for I knew the other members of the house had retired early. I did not exactly worry about the sounds until I heard them approach my own door and suddenly halt. Then your warning, Mr. Vance, swept over me with full force, and I felt that some terrible unknown danger was lurking on the threshold. I was, I admit, temporarily paralyzed with fright: I could feel the roots of my hair tingle, and my body broke out in cold perspiration.”

  He took a deep breath, as if to rid himself of a haunting memory.

  “Just then the door began to open slowly and softly. The light in the hall had been turned out and the room here was in almost pitch darkness, so I was unable to see anything. But I could hear the gentle swish of the door as it swung open, and I could feel the mild current of air that came in from the hall.…”

  A tremor ran over his body, and his eyes glowed unnaturally.

  “I would have called out, but my throat seemed constricted, and I did not want to imperil Mrs. Bliss, who might have answered my call and run unwittingly into something dangerous and deadly.… And then the blinding ray of a flash-light was thrown directly into my eyes, and I instinctively lurched to the far side of the bed. At that moment I heard a swift, brushing sound followed by a dull wooden detonation near my head. And immediately I became conscious of footsteps retreating—”

  “In which direction?” Vance again interrupted.

  “I’m not sure—they were very faint. I was aware only of their stealthy retreat.…”

  “What did you do after that, doctor?”

  “I waited several minutes. Then I cautiously closed the door and switched on the lights. It was at that moment I realized what had made the noise at the head of the bed, for the first thing I saw was the dagger. And I knew that I had been the object of a murderous attack.”

  Vance nodded and, picking up the dagger, weighed it on the palm of his hand.

  “Yes,” he mused; “it’s blade-heavy and could easily have been thrown accurately even by an amateur.… A peculiar form of assassination, though,” he went on, almost to himself. “Much simpler and surer for the wielder to have sneaked to the bed and thrust it into his intended victim’s ribs.… Most peculiar! Unless, of course—” He stopped and glanced thoughtfully at the bed. Presently he shrugged his shoulders, and looked at Bliss. “After discovering the dagger, I opine, you telephoned to me.”

  “Within five minutes. I listened at the door a while and then went down to the study and called your number. After that I roused Brush and told him to watch for you at the front door. I came back up-stairs,—I’d armed myself with my revolver while in the study,—and awaited your arrival.”

  Mrs. Bliss had been watching her husband with a look of deep anxiety during his recital.

  “I heard the sound of the dagger striking the headboard,” she said in a low, fearful voice. “My bed is against the other side of the wall. It startled me and woke me up, but I didn’t give it a second thought, and went to sleep again. She threw her head back and glared at Vance. “This is shameful and outrageous! You insist upon my husband staying in this house that harbors a murderer—a murderer who is plotting against him—and you do nothing to protect him.”

  “But nothing has happened to him, Mrs. Bliss,” Vance replied with gentle sternness. “He has lost an hour’s sleep, but really, y’ know, that’s not a serious catastrophe. And I can assure you that no further danger will beset him.” He looked straight into the woman’s eyes, and I was conscious that some understanding passed between them in that moment of mutual scrutiny.

  “I do hope you find the guilty person,” she said with slow, tragic emphasis. “I can bear the truth—now.”

  “You are very courageous, madam,” Vance murmured. “And in the meantime you can best help us by retiring to your room and waiting there until you hear from us. You can trust me.”

  “Oh, I know I can!” There was a catch in her voice. Then she bent impulsively, touched her lips to Bliss’s forehead, and returned to her room.

  Vance’s eyes followed her with a curious expression: I could not determine if it was one of regret or sorrow or admiration. When the door had closed after her he strolled to the table and replaced the dagger on it.

  “I was just wonderin’, doctor,” he said. “Don’t you lock or bolt your door at night?”

  “Always,” was the immediate reply. “It makes me nervous to sleep with an unlocked door.”

  “But what about tonight?”

  “That is what puzzles me.” Bliss’s forehead was knit in perplexity. “I’m sure I locked it when I first came to my room. But, as I told you, I got up later and opened the door to get some air. The only explanation I can think of is that when I went back to bed I forgot to relock the door. It’s possible of course, for I was very much upset.…”

  “It couldn’t have been unlocked from the outside?”

  “No, I’m sure it couldn’t. The key was in the lock, just as you see it now.”

  “What about finger-prints on the outside knob?” Heath queried. “That cut glass would take ’em easy.”

  “My word, Sergeant!” Vance shook his head despairingly. “The concocter of this plot knows better than to leave his visitin’ card wherever he goes.…”

  Bliss sprang to his feet.

  “An idea has just struck me,” he exclaimed. “There was a gold-and-cloisonné sheath to that dagger; and if the sheath should not be in my desk drawer now, perhaps—perhaps—”

  “Yes, yes. Quite.” Vance nodded. “I see your point. The sheath might still be in the frustrated assassin’s possession. An excellent clew.… Sergeant, would you mind going with Doctor Bliss to the study to ascertain if the sheath was taken with the dagger? No use worryin’ ourselves about it if it’s still in the drawer.”

  Heath went promptly to the hall, followed by Bliss. We could hear them descending to the first floor.

  “What do you make of this, Vance?” Markham asked, when we were alone. “It looks pretty serious to me.”

  “I make a great deal of it,” Vance returned sombrely. “And it is pretty serious. But, thank Heaven, the coup was not very brilliant. The whole thing was frightfully botched.”

  “Yes, I can see that,” Markham agreed. “Imagine any one hurling a knife six feet or more when he could have dealt a single thrust in a vital spot.”

  “Oh, that?” Vance lifted his eyebrows. “I wasn’t thinking of the technic of the knife-thrower. There were other points about the affair still less intelligent. I can’t understand it altogether. Perhaps too much panic. Anyway we may get a definite key to the plot through the doctor’s suggestion about the sheath.”

  Bliss and Heath were heard returning up the stairs.

  “Well, it’s gone,” the Sergeant informed us, as the two stepped into the room.

  “No doubt taken with the dagger,” Bliss supplemented.

  “Suppose I send for a couple of the boys and give the house the once-over,” Heath suggested.

  “That’s not necess’ry, Sergeant,” Vance told him. “I’ve a feelin’ it won’t be hard to find.”

  Markham was becoming annoyed at Vance’s vagueness.

  “I suppose,” he said, with a tinge of sarcasm, “you can tell us exactly where we can find the sheath.”

  “Yes, I rather think so.” Vance spoke with thoughtful seriousness. “However, I’ll verify my theory later.… In the meantime”—he addressed himself to Bliss—“I’d be greatly obliged if you’d remain in your room until we finish our investigation.”

  Bliss bowed in acquiesc
ence.

  “We’re going to the drawing-room for a while,” Vance continued. “There’s a little work to be done there.”

  He moved toward the hall, then stopped as if on sudden impulse and, going to the table, slipped the dagger into his pocket. Bliss closed the door after us, and we could hear the key turn in the lock. Markham and Heath and I started down the stairs, Vance bringing up the rear.

  We had descended but a few steps when a calm, flat voice from the upper hall arrested us.

  “Can I be of any assistance, effendi?”

  The unexpected sound in that dim quiet house startled us, and we instinctively turned. At the head of the stairs leading to the third floor stood the shadowy figure of Hani, his flowing kaftan a dark mass against the palely lighted wall beyond.

  “Oh, rather!” Vance answered cheerfully. “We were just repairin’ to the drawing-room to hold a little conversational séance. Do join us, Hani.”

  CHAPTER 18

  A LIGHT IN THE MUSEUM

  (Saturday, July 14; 1:15 A.M.)

  Hani joined us in the drawing room. He was very calm and dignified, and his inscrutable eyes rested impassively on Vance like those of an ancient Egyptian priest meditating before the shrine of Osiris.

  “How do you happen to be up and about at this hour?” Vance asked casually. “Another attack of gastritis?”

  “No, effendi.” Hani spoke in slow, measured tones. “I rose when I heard you talking to Brush. I sleep with my door open always.”

  “Perhaps, then, you heard Sakhmet when she returned to the house tonight.”

  “Did Sakhmet return?” The Egyptian lifted his head slightly in mild interest.

  “In a manner of speaking.… But she’s a most inefficient deity. She bungled everything again.”

  “Are you sure she did not intentionally bungle things?” Despite the droning quality of Hani’s voice, there was a significant note in it.

  Vance regarded him for a moment. Then:

  “Did you hear footsteps on the stairs or along the second-floor corridor shortly after midnight?”

  The man shook his head slowly.

  “I heard nothing. But I was asleep for at least an hour before you arrived; and the soft tread of footsteps on the deep carpet would scarcely have been sufficient to rouse me.”

  “Doctor Bliss himself,” Vance explained, “came down-stairs and telephoned to me. You did not hear him either?”

  “The first sound I perceived was when you gentlemen came into the front hall and talked to Brush. Your voices, or perhaps the door opening, awakened me. Later I could hear your muffled tones in Doctor Bliss’s bedroom, which is just below mine; but I could not distinguish anything that was said.”

  “And of course you were not aware that any one turned off the light in the second-story hall round midnight.”

  “Had I not been asleep I would certainly have noticed it, as the light shines dimly up the stairs into my room. But when I awoke the light was on as usual.” Hani frowned slightly. “Who would have turned the hall light off at that hour?”

  “I wonder.…” Vance did not take his eyes from the Egyptian. “Doctor Bliss has just told us that it was some one who had designs on his life.”

  “Ah!” The exclamation was like a sigh of relief. “But the attempt, I gather, was not successful.”

  “No. It was quite a fiasco. The technic, I might say, was both stupid and hazardous.”

  “It was not Sakhmet.” Hani’s pronouncement was almost sepulchral.

  “Really, now!” Vance smiled slightly. “She is still reclinin’, then, by the side of the great west wind of heaven.140… I’m jolly glad to be able to rule her out. And since no occult force was at work, perhaps you can suggest who would have had a motive to cut the doctor’s throat.”

  “I am the Goddess Sakhmet, and I take my seat upon the side of the great west (wind?) of the skies.”

  “There are many who would not weep if he were to quit this life; but I know of none who would take it upon himself to precipitate that departure.”

  Vance lighted a Régie and sat down.

  “Why, Hani, did you imagine you might be of service to us?”

  “Like you, effendi,” came the soft reply, “I expected that something distressing, and perhaps violent, would happen in this house tonight. And when I heard you enter and go to Doctor Bliss’s room, it occurred to me that the looked-for event had come to pass. So I waited on the upper landing until you came out.”

  “Most considerate and thoughtful of you,” Vance murmured, and took several puffs on his cigarette. After a moment he asked: “If Mr. Salveter had emerged from his room tonight after you had gone to bed, would you have known of the fact?”

  The Egyptian hesitated, and his eyes contracted.

  “I think I would. His room is directly opposite mine—”

  “I’m familiar with the arrangement.”

  “It does not seem probable that Mr. Salveter could have unlocked his door and come out without my being cognizant of it.”

  “It’s possible though, is it not?” Vance was insistent. “If you were asleep, and Mr. Salveter had good reason for not disturbing you, he might have emerged so cautiously that you would have slept on in complete ignorance of his act.”

  “It is barely possible,” Hani admitted unwillingly. “But I am quite sure that he did not leave his room after retiring.”

  “Your wish, I fear, is father to your assurance,” Vance sighed. “However, we sha’n’t belabor the point.”

  Hani was watching Vance with lowering concern.

  “Did Doctor Bliss suggest that Mr. Salveter left his room tonight?”

  “Oh, to the contr’ry,” Vance assured him. “The doctor said quite emphatically that any attempt to connect Mr. Salveter with the stealthy steps outside of his door at midnight would be a grave error.”

  “Doctor Bliss is wholly correct,” the Egyptian declared.

  “And yet, Hani, the doctor insisted that a would-be assassin was prowlin’ about the house. Who else could it have been?”

  “I cannot imagine.” Hani appeared almost indifferent.

  “You do not think that it could have been Mrs. Bliss?”

  “Never!” The man’s tone had become quickly animated. “Meryt-Amen would have had no reason to go into the hall. She has access to her husband’s room through a communicating door—”

  “So I observed a while ago,—she joined our pour-parler in the doctor’s room. And I must say, Hani, that she was most anxious for us to find the person who had made the attempt on her husband’s life.”

  “Anxious—and sad, effendi.” A new note crept into Hani’s voice. “She does not yet understand the things that have happened today. But when she does—”

  “We won’t speculate along those lines now,” Vance cut in brusquely. He reached in his pocket and drew out the golden dagger. “Did you ever see that?” he asked, holding the weapon toward the Egyptian.

  The man’s eyes opened wide as he stared at the glittering, jewelled object. At first he appeared fascinated, but the next moment his face clouded, and the muscles of his jowls worked spasmodically. A smouldering anger had invaded him.

  “Where did that Pharaonic dagger come from?” he asked, striving to control his emotion.

  “It was brought from Egypt by Doctor Bliss,” Vance told him.

  Hani took the dagger and held it reverently under the table-lamp.

  “It could only have come from the tomb of Ai. Here on the crystal knob is faintly engraved the king’s cartouche. Behold: Kheper-kheperu-Rê Iry-Maët—”

  “Yes, yes. The last Pharaoh of the Eighteenth Dynasty. The doctor found the dagger during his excavations in the Valley of the Tombs of the Kings.” Vance was watching the other intently. “You are quite positive you have never seen it before?”

  Hani drew himself up proudly.

  “Had I seen it, I would have reported it to my Government. It would no longer be in the possession of an alien desecrator, b
ut in the country where it belongs, cared for by loving hands at Cairo.… Doctor Bliss did well to keep it hidden.”

  There was a bitter hatred in his words, but suddenly his manner changed.

  “May I be permitted to ask when you first saw this royal dagger?”

  “A few minutes ago,” Vance answered. “It was projectin’ from the headboard of the doctor’s bed—just behind the place where his head had lain a second earlier.”

  Hani’s gaze travelled past Vance to some distant point, and his eyes became shrewdly thoughtful.

  “Was there no sheath to this dagger?” he asked.

  “Oh, yes.” There was a flicker in the corners of Vance’s eyes. “Gold and cloisonné—though I haven’t seen it. The fact is, Hani, we’re deuced interested in the sheath. It’s disappeared—lying perdu somewhere hereabouts. We’re going to make a bit of a search for it ere long.”

  Hani nodded his head understandingly.

  “And if you find it, are you sure you’ll know more than you do now?”

  “It may at least verify my suspicions.”

  “The sheath would be an easy object to hide securely,” Hani reminded him.

  “I really don’t anticipate any difficulty in putting my hands on it.” Vance rose and confronted the man. “Could you perhaps suggest where we might best start our search?”

  “No, effendi,” Hani returned, after a perceptible hesitation. “Not at this moment. I would need time to think about it.”

  “Very well. Suppose you go to your room and indulge in some lamaic concentration. You’re anything but helpful.”

  Hani handed the dagger back, and turned toward the hall.

  “And be so good,” Vance requested, “as to knock on Mr. Salveter’s door and tell him we would like to see him here at once.”

  Hani bowed, and disappeared.

  “I don’t like that bird,” Heath grumbled, when the Egyptian was out of hearing. “He’s too slippery. And he knows something he’s not telling. I’d like to turn my boys loose on him with a piece of rubber hose—they’d make him come across.… I wouldn’t be surprised, Mr. Vance, if he threw the dagger himself. Did you notice the way he held it, laying out flat in the palm of his hand with the point toward the fingers?—just like those knife-throwers in vaudeville.”