The Philo Vance Megapack

by S. S. Van Dine

  “The personages of this particular house-party,” he said at length, “are not above gaining their ends at any cost.”

  Vance inclined his head.

  “That remark is more promising,” he commented. “Suppose you tell us briefly of these people.”

  “There are few enough of them,” Leland began. “Besides Stamm and his sister, there is a Mr. Alex Greeff, a reputed stock-broker, who unquestionably has some designs on the Stamm fortune. Then there is Kirwin Tatum, a dissipated and disreputable young ne’er-do-well, who, as far as I can make out, exists wholly by sponging on his friends. Incidentally, he has made something of an ass of himself over Bernice Stamm.…”

  “And Greeff—what are his sentiments toward Miss Stamm?”

  “I cannot say. He poses as the family’s financial adviser, and I know that Stamm has invested rather heavily at his suggestion. But whether or not he wishes to marry the Stamm fortune is problematical.”

  “Thanks no end.… And now for the other members of the party.”

  “Mrs. McAdam—they call her Teeny—is the usual type of widow, talkative, gay, and inclined to overindulgence. Her past is unknown. She is shrewd and worldly, and has a practical eye on Stamm—always making a great fuss over him, but obviously with some ulterior motive. Young Tatum whispered to me confidentially, in a moment of drunken laxity, that Montague and this McAdam woman once lived together.”

  Vance clicked his tongue in mock disapproval.

  “I begin to sense the potentialities of the situation. Most allurin’.… Any one else to complicate this delightful social mélange?”

  “Yes, a Miss Steele. Ruby is her first name. She is an intense creature, of indeterminate age, who dresses fantastically and is always playing a part of some kind. She paints pictures and sings and talks of her ‘art.’ I believe she was once on the stage.… And that completes the roster—except for Montague and myself. Another woman was invited, so Stamm told me, but she sent in her regrets at the last minute.”

  “Ah! Now that’s most interestin’. Did Mr. Stamm mention her name?”

  “No, but you might ask him when the doctor gets him in shape.”

  “What of Montague?” Vance asked. “A bit of gossip regarding his proclivities and background might prove illuminatin’.”

  Leland hesitated. He knocked the ashes out of his pipe and refilled it. When he had got it going again he answered with a show of reluctance:

  “Montague was what you might call a professional handsome-man. He was an actor by profession, but he never seemed to get very far—although he was featured in one or two motion pictures in Hollywood. He always lived well, at one of the fashionable and expensive hotels. He attended first nights and was a frequenter of the east-side night-clubs. He had a decidedly pleasant manner and was, I understand, most attractive to women.…” Leland paused, packed his pipe, and added: “I really know very little about the man.”

  “I recognize the type.” Vance regarded his cigarette. “However, I shouldn’t say the gathering was altogether unusual, or that the elements involved were necess’rily indicative of deliberate tragedy.”

  “No,” Leland admitted. “But it impressed me as noteworthy that practically every one present at the party tonight might have had an excellent motive for putting Montague out of the way.”

  Vance lifted his eyebrows interrogatively.

  “Yes?” he urged.

  “Well, to begin with, Stamm himself, as I have said, might have been violently opposed to Montague’s marrying his sister. He is very fond of her, and he certainly has intelligence enough to realize that the match would have been a sorry misalliance.—Young Tatum is certainly in a state of mind to murder any rival for Miss Stamm’s affections.—Greeff is a man who would stop at nothing, and Montague’s marrying into the Stamm family might easily have wrecked his financial ambition to control the fortune. Or, perhaps he actually hoped to marry Bernice himself.—Then again, there was unquestionably something between Teeny McAdam and Montague—I noticed it quite plainly after Tatum had told me of their former relationship. She may have resented his deflection to another woman. Nor is she the kind that would tolerate being thrown over. Furthermore, if she really has any matrimonial designs on Stamm, she may have been afraid that Montague would spoil her prospects by telling Stamm of her past.”

  “And what about the tense bohémienne, Miss Steele?”

  A hard look came into Leland’s face as he hesitated. Then he said, with a certain sinister resolution:

  “I trust her least of them all. There was some definite friction between her and Montague. She was constantly making unpleasant remarks about him—in fact, she ridiculed him openly, and rarely addressed an ordinarily civil word to him. When Montague suggested the swim in the pool she walked with him to the cabañas, talking earnestly. I could not make out what was said, but I got a decided impression that she was berating him for something. When we came out in our bathing suits and Montague was about to take the first dive, she walked up to him with a leer and said, in a tone which I could not help overhearing, ‘I hope you never come up.’ And when Montague failed to appear her remark struck me as significant.… Perhaps now you can realize—”

  “Quite—oh, quite,” Vance murmured. “I can see all the possibilities you put forth. A sweet little conclave—eh, what?” He looked up sharply. “And what about yourself, Mr. Leland? Were you, by any chance, interested in Montague’s demise?”

  “Perhaps more than any of the others,” Leland answered with grim frankness. “I disliked the man intensely, and I considered it an outrage that he was to marry Bernice. I not only told her so, but I also expressed my opinion to her brother.”

  “And why,” pursued Vance dulcetly, “should you take the matter so much to heart?”

  Leland shifted his position on the edge of the table and took his pipe slowly from his mouth.

  “Miss Stamm is a very fine and unusual young woman.” He spoke with slow deliberation, as if carefully choosing his words. “I admire her greatly. I have known her since she was a child, and during the past few years we have become very good friends. I simply did not think that Montague was good enough for her.” He paused and was about to continue, but changed his mind.

  Vance had been watching the man closely.

  “You’re quite lucid, don’t y’ know, Mr. Leland,” he murmured, nodding slowly and looking vaguely at the ceiling. “Yes—quite so. I apprehend that you had an excellent motive for doing away with the dashing Mr. Montague.…”

  At this moment there came an unexpected interruption. The portières of the drawing-room had been left parted, and suddenly we heard rapid footsteps on the stairs. We turned toward the door, and a moment later a tall, spectacular woman thrust herself excitedly into the room.

  She was perhaps thirty-five years old, with an unusually pallid face and crimson lips. Her dark hair was parted in the middle and smoothed back over her ears into a knot at the back of her neck. She wore a long black chiffon gown which seemed to have been cut in one piece and moulded to her figure. The only touches of color in her costume were supplied by her jade jewelry. She wore long pendant jade earrings, a triple jade bead necklace, jade bracelets, several jade rings, and a large carved jade brooch.

  As she entered the room her eyes were fixed blazingly on Leland, and she took a few steps toward him. There was a tiger-like menace in her attitude. Then she cast a quick glance at the rest of us, but immediately brought her gaze back to Leland, who stood regarding her with quizzical imperturbability. Slowly she raised her arm and pointed at him, at the same time leaning toward him and narrowing her eyes.

  “There’s the man!” she cried passionately, in a deep resonant voice.

  Vance had risen lazily to his feet and reached for his monocle. Adjusting it, he regarded the woman mildly but critically.

  “Thanks awfully,” he drawled. “We have met Mr. Leland informally. But we haven’t yet had the pleasure—”

  “My name is Steele,” s
he cut in almost viciously. “Ruby Steele. And I could hear some of the things that were being said about me by this man. They are all lies. He is only trying to shield himself—to focus suspicion on others.”

  She turned her fiery eyes from Vance back to Leland and again lifted an accusing finger.

  “He’s the man that’s responsible for Sanford Montague’s death. It was he who planned and accomplished it. He hated Monty, for he himself is in love with Bernice Stamm. And he told Monty to keep away from Bernice, or he would kill him. Monty told me that himself. Ever since I came to this house yesterday morning, I have had a clutching feeling here”—she pressed her hands dramatically against her bosom—“that some terrible thing was going to happen—that this man would carry out his threat.” She made a theatrical gesture of tragedy, interlocking her fingers and carrying them to her forehead. “And he has done it!… Oh, he is sly! He is shrewd—”

  “Just how, may I ask,” put in Vance, in a cool, unemotional voice, “did Mr. Leland accomplish this feat?”

  The woman swung toward him disdainfully.

  “The technique of crime,” she replied throatily, and with exaggerated hauteur, “is not within my province. You should be able to find out how he did it. You’re policemen, aren’t you? It was this man who telephoned to you. He’s sly, I tell you! He thought that if anything suspicious were discovered when poor Monty’s body was found, you’d eliminate him as the murderer because he had telephoned to you.”

  “Very interestin’,” nodded Vance, with a touch of irony. “So you formally accuse Mr. Leland of deliberately planning Mr. Montague’s death?”

  “I do!” the woman declared sententiously, extending her arms in a studied gesture of emphasis. “And I know I’m right, though it’s true I do not know how he did it. But he has strange powers. He’s an Indian—did you know that?—an Indian! He can tell when people have passed a certain tree, by looking at the bark. He can track people over the whole of Inwood by broken twigs and crushed leaves. He can tell by the moss on stones how long it has been since they were moved or walked over. He can tell by looking at the ashes of fires how long the flames have been out. He can tell by smelling a garment or a hat, to whom it belongs. And he can read strange signs and tell by the scent of the wind when the rain is coming. He can do all manner of things of which white men know nothing. He knows all the secrets of these hills, for his people have lived in them for generations. He’s an Indian—a subtle, scheming Indian!” As she spoke her voice rose excitedly and an impressive histrionic eloquence informed her speech.

  “But, my dear young lady,” Vance protested pleasantly, “the qualities and characteristics which you ascribe to Mr. Leland are not what one would call unusual, except in a comparative sense. His knowledge of woodcraft and his sensitivity to odors are really not a convincing basis for a criminal accusation. Thousands of boy scouts would constantly be in jeopardy if that were the case.”

  The woman’s eyes became sullen, and she compressed her lips into a line of anger. After a moment she extended her hands, palms upward, in a gesture of resignation, and gave a mirthless laugh.

  “Be stupid, if you want to,” she remarked with forced and hollow lightness. “But some day you’ll come to me and tell me how right I was.”

  “It will be jolly good fun, anyway,” smiled Vance. “Forsan et haec olim meminisse juvabit, as Vergil put it.… In the meantime, I must be most impolite and ask that you be good enough to wait in your room until such time as we shall wish to question you further. We have several little matters to attend to.”

  Without a word she turned and swept majestically from the room.

  CHAPTER III

  THE SPLASH IN THE POOL

  (Sunday, August 12; 1.15 a. m.)

  During Ruby Steele’s diatribe Leland had stood smoking placidly, watching the woman with stoical dignity. He did not seem in the least disturbed by her accusation, and when she had left the room, he shrugged mildly and gave Vance a weary smile.

  “Do you wonder,” he asked, with a touch of irony, “why I telephoned the police and insisted that they come?”

  Vance studied him listlessly.

  “You anticipated being accused of having manoeuvred Montague’s disappearance—eh, what?”

  “Not exactly. But I knew there would be all manner of rumors and whisperings, and I thought it best to have the matter over with at once, and to give the authorities the best possible chance of clarifying the situation and fixing the blame. However, I did not expect any such scene as we have just gone through. Needless to tell you, all Miss Steele has just said is a hysterical fabrication. She told but one truth—and that was only half a truth. My mother was an Algonkian Indian—the Princess White Star, a proud and noble woman, who was separated from her people when a child and reared in a southern convent. My father was an architect, the scion of an old New York family, many years my mother’s senior. They are both dead.”

  “You were born here?” asked Vance.

  “Yes, I was born in Inwood, on the site of the old Indian village, Shorakapkok; but the house has long since gone. I live here because I love the place. It has many happy associations of my childhood, before I was sent to Europe to be educated.”

  “I suspected your Indian blood the moment I saw you,” Vance remarked, with non-committal aloofness. Then he stretched his legs and took a deep inhalation on his cigarette. “But suppose you tell us, Mr. Leland, just what preceded the tragedy tonight. I believe you mentioned the fact that Montague himself suggested the swim.”

  “That is true.” Leland moved to a straight chair by the table and sat down. “We had dinner about half-past seven. There had been numerous cocktails beforehand, and during dinner Stamm brought out some heavy wines. After the coffee there was brandy and port, and I think every one drank too much. As you know, it was raining and we could not go outdoors. Later we went to the library, and there was more drinking—this time Scotch highballs. There was a little music of a rowdy nature. Young Tatum played the piano and Miss Steele sang. But that did not last long—the drinking had begun to take effect, and every one was uneasy and restless.”

  “And Stamm?”

  “Stamm especially indulged. I have rarely seen him drink so much, though he has managed for years to punish liquor pretty systematically. He was taking Scotch straight, and after he had downed at least half a bottle I remonstrated with him. But he was in no condition to listen to reason. He became sullen and quiet, and by ten o’clock he was ignoring every one and dozing off. His sister, too, tried to bring him back to his senses, but without any success.”

  “At just what time did you go for your swim?”

  “I do not know exactly, but it was shortly after ten. It stopped raining about that time, and Montague and Bernice stepped out on the terrace. They came back almost immediately, and it was then that Montague announced that the rain had ceased and suggested that we all take a swim. Every one was willing—every one, that is, but Stamm. He was in no condition to go anywhere or do anything. Bernice and Montague urged him to join us, thinking perhaps that the water would sober him. But he was ugly and ordered Trainor to bring him another bottle of Scotch.…”

  “Trainor?”

  “That is the butler’s name.… Stamm was sodden and helpless, so I told the others to leave him alone, and we all went down to the cabañas. I myself pushed the switch in the rear hallway, that turns on the lights on the stairs down to the pool and also the flood-lights at the pool. Montague was the first to appear in his bathing suit, but the rest of us were ready a minute or so later.… Then came the tragedy—”

  “I say, just a moment, Mr. Leland,” Vance interrupted, leaning over and breaking the ashes of his cigarette in the fireplace. “Was Montague the first in the water?”

  “Yes. He was waiting at the spring-board—posing, I might say—when the rest of us came out of the cabañas. He rather fancied himself and his figure, and I imagine there was a certain amount of vanity in his habit of always hurrying to the
pool and taking the first plunge when he knew all eyes would be on him.”

  “And then?”

  “He took a high swan dive, beautifully timed and extremely graceful—I’ll say that much for the chap. We naturally waited for him to come up before following suit. We waited an interminable time—it was probably not more than a minute, but it seemed much longer. And then Mrs. McAdam gave a scream, and we all went quickly, with one accord, to the very edge of the pool and strained our eyes across the water in every direction. By this time we knew something had happened. No man could stay under water voluntarily as long as that. Miss Stamm clutched my arm, but I threw her off and, running to the end of the spring-board, dived in as near as possible at the point where Montague had disappeared.”

  Leland compressed his lips, and his gaze shifted.

  “I swam downward,” he continued, “till I came to the bottom of the pool, and searched round as best I could. I came up for air and went down again, and again I came up. A man was in the water just beside me, and I thought for a moment it was Montague. But it was only Tatum, who had joined me in the water. He too had dived in, in an effort to find Montague. Greeff also, in a bungling kind of way—he is not a very good swimmer—helped us look for the poor fellow.… But it was no go. We spent at least twenty minutes in the effort. Then we gave it up.…”

  “Exactly how did you feel about the situation?” Vance asked, without looking up. “Did you have any suspicions then?”

  Leland hesitated and pursed his lips, as if trying to recall his exact emotions. Finally he replied:

  “I cannot say just how I did feel about it. I was rather overwhelmed. But still there was something—I do not know just what—in the back of my mind. My instinct at that moment was to get to a telephone and report the affair to the police. I did not like the turn of events—they struck me as too unusual.… Perhaps,” he added, lifting his eyes to the ceiling with a far-away look, “I remembered—unconsciously—too many tales about the old Dragon Pool. My mother told me many strange stories when I was a child—”