It was obvious that she had no intention of telling us anything concerning what she may have feared or suspected, and Vance rose listlessly to his feet.
“No, madam,” he responded. “I have quite exhausted my possibilities as an interrogator.… But I shall have to ask you to remain in your room for the present.”
Teeny McAdam rose also, with an exaggerated sigh of relief.
“Oh, I expected that. It’s so messy and inconvenient when any one dies.… But would it be against the rules and regulations if the tubby Trainor brought me a drink?”
“Certainly not.” Vance bowed gallantly. “I will be delighted to send you anything you desire—if the cellar affords it.”
“You are more than kind,” she returned sarcastically. “I’m sure Trainor can scratch me up a stinger.”
She thanked Vance facetiously, and left the room.
Vance sent for the butler again.
“Trainor,” he said, when the man entered, “Mrs. McAdam wants a stinger—and you’d better use two jiggers each of brandy and crème de menthe.”
“I understand, sir.”
As Trainor went from the room, Doctor Holliday appeared at the door.
“I have Mr. Stamm in bed,” he told Vance, “and the nurse is on her way. If you care to speak to him now it will be all right.”
The master bedroom was on the second floor, just at the head of the main stairs, and when we entered, ushered in by Doctor Holliday, Stamm stared at us with resentful bewilderment.
I could see, even as he lay in bed, that he was an unusually tall man. His face was lined and cadaverous. His piercing eyes were ringed with shadows, and his cheeks were hollow. He was slightly bald, but his eyebrows were heavy and almost black. Despite his pallor and his obviously weakened condition, it was evident he was a man of great endurance and physical vitality. He was the type of man that fitted conventionally into the stories of his romantic exploits in the South Seas.
“These are the gentlemen that wished to see you,” the doctor told him, by way of introduction.
Stamm looked from one to the other of us, turning his head weakly.
“Well, who are they, and what do they want?” His voice was low and peevish.
Vance explained who we were, and added:
“There has been a tragedy here on your estate tonight, Mr. Stamm; and we are here to investigate it.”
“A tragedy? What do you mean by a tragedy?” Stamm’s sharp eyes did not leave Vance’s face.
“One of your guests has, I fear, been drowned.”
Stamm suddenly became animated. His hands moved nervously over the silk spread, and he raised his head from the pillow, his eyes glaring.
“Some one drowned!” he exclaimed. “Where? And who?… I hope it was Greeff—he’s been pestering the life out of me for weeks.”
Vance shook his head.
“No, it was not Greeff—it was young Montague. He dived into the pool and didn’t come up.”
“Oh, Montague.” Stamm sank back on his pillow. “That vain ass!… How is Bernice?”
“She’s sleeping,” the doctor informed him consolingly. “She was naturally upset, but she will be all right in the morning.”
Stamm seemed relieved, and after a moment he moved his head wearily toward Vance.
“I suppose you want to ask questions.”
Vance regarded the man on the bed critically and, I thought, suspiciously. I admit that I myself got a distinct impression that Stamm was playing a part, and that the remarks he had made were fundamentally insincere. But I could not say specifically what had caused this impression. Presently Vance said:
“We understand that one of the guests you invited to your week-end party did not put in an appearance.”
“Well, what of it?” complained Stamm. “Is there anything so unusual about that?”
“No, not unusual,” Vance admitted, “but a bit interestin’. What was the lady’s name?”
Stamm hesitated and shifted his eyes.
“Ellen Bruett,” he said finally.
“Could you tell us something about her?”
“Very little,” the man answered ungraciously. “I haven’t seen her for a great many years. I met her on a boat going to Europe, and I ran across her again in Paris. I know nothing of her personally, except that she’s a pleasant sort, and extremely attractive. Last week I was surprised to receive a telephone call from her. She said she had just returned from the Orient and intimated that she would like to renew our acquaintance. I needed another woman for the party; so I asked her to join us. Friday morning she phoned me again to say she was leaving unexpectedly for South America.… That’s the extent of what I know about her.”
“Did you,” asked Vance, “by any chance, mention to her the names of the other guests you had invited?”
“I told her that Ruby Steele and Montague were coming. They had both been on the stage, and I thought she might know the names.”
“And did she?” Vance raised his cigarette deliberately to his lips.
“As I recall, she said she had met Montague once in Berlin.”
Vance walked to the window and back.
“Curious coincidence,” he murmured.
Stamm’s eyes followed him.
“What’s curious about it?” he demanded sourly.
Vance shrugged and halted at the foot of the bed.
“I haven’t the groggiest notion—have you?”
Stamm raised himself from the pillow and glared.
“What do you mean by that question?”
“I mean simply this, Mr. Stamm:”—Vance’s tone was mild—“every one we have talked to so far seems to have a peculiar arrière-pensée with regard to Montague’s death, and there have been intimations of foul play—”
“What about Montague’s body?” Stamm broke in. “Haven’t you found it yet? That ought to tell the story. He probably bashed his skull while doing a fancy dive to impress the ladies.”
“No, his body has not yet been found. It was too late to get a boat and grappling hooks to the pool tonight.…”
“You don’t have to do that,” Stamm informed him truculently. “There are two big gates in the stream just above the filter, and they can be closed. And there’s a turnstile lock in the dam. That lets the water drain from the pool. I drain it every year or so, to clean it out.”
“Ah! That’s worth knowing—eh, Sergeant?” Then to Stamm: “Are the gates and lock difficult to manipulate?”
“Four or five men can do the job in an hour.”
“We’ll attend to all that in the morning then.” Vance looked at the other thoughtfully. “And, by the by, one of Sergeant Heath’s men just reported that there was quite a noisy splash in the pool a little while ago—somewhere near the opposite side.”
“A part of that damned rock has fallen,” Stamm remarked. “It’s been loose for a long time.” Then he moved uneasily, and asked: “What difference does it make?”
“Mrs. McAdam seemed rather upset about it.”
“Hysteria,” snorted Stamm. “Leland has probably been telling her stories about the pool.… But what are you driving at, anyway?”
Vance smiled faintly.
“I’m sure I don’t know. But the fact that a man disappeared in the Dragon Pool tonight seems to have impressed several people in a most peculiar fashion. None of them seem wholly convinced that it was an accidental death.”
“Tommy-rot!”
Stamm drew himself up until he rested on his elbows, and thrust his head forward. A wild light came into his glaring eyes, and his face twitched spasmodically.
“Can’t a man get drowned without having a lot of policemen all over the place?” His voice was loud and shrill. “Montague—bah! The world’s better off without him. I wouldn’t give him tank space with my Guppies—and I feed them to the Scalares.”
Stamm became more and more excited, and his voice grew shriller.
“Montague jumped into the pool, did he? And he didn�
�t come up? Is that any reason to annoy me when I’m ill?…”
At this moment there came a startling and blood-chilling interruption. The door into the hall had been left open, and there suddenly came to us, from the floor above, a woman’s maniacal and terrifying scream.
CHAPTER V
THE WATER-MONSTER
(Sunday, August 12; 2 a. m.)
There was a second of tense startled silence. Then Heath swung round and rushed toward the door, his hand slipping into his outer coat pocket where he carried his gun. As he reached the threshold Leland stepped quickly up to him and placed a restraining hand on his shoulder.
“Do not bother,” he said quietly. “It is all right.”
“The hell it is!” Heath shot back, throwing off the other’s hand and stepping into the hallway.
Doors had begun to open along the hallway, and there were several smothered exclamations.
“Get back in your rooms!” bawled Heath. “And stay in ’em.” He planted himself aggressively outside the door, glowering down the corridor.
Evidently some of the guests, frightened by the scream, had come out to see what the trouble was. But confronted with the menacing attitude of the Sergeant and cowed by his angry command, they returned to their quarters, and we could hear the doors close again. The Sergeant, confused and indecisive, turned threateningly to Leland who was standing near the door with a calm but troubled look on his face.
“Where’d that scream come from?” he demanded. “And what does it mean?”
Before Leland could answer Stamm raised himself to a semi-recumbent position and glowered at Vance.
“For the love of God,” he complained irritably, “will you gentlemen get out of here! You’ve done enough damage already.… Get out, I tell you! Get out!” Then he turned to Doctor Holliday. “Please go up to mother, doctor, and give her something. She’s having another attack—what with all this upheaval round the house.”
Doctor Holliday left the room, and we could hear him mounting the stairs.
Vance had been unimpressed by the whole episode. He stood smoking casually, his eyes resting dreamily on the man in bed.
“Deuced sorry to have upset your household, Mr. Stamm,” he murmured. “Every one’s nerves are raw, don’t y’ know. Hope you’ll be better in the morning.… We’ll toddle down-stairs—eh, what, Markham?”
Leland looked at him gratefully and nodded.
“I am sure that would be best,” he said, leading the way.
We went out of the room and descended the stairs. Heath, however, remained in the hall for a moment glaring up toward the third floor.
“Come, Sergeant,” Vance called to him. “You’re overwrought.”
Heath finally took his hand from his coat pocket and followed us reluctantly.
Again in the drawing-room, Vance settled into a chair and, looking at Leland inquiringly, waited for an explanation.
Leland took out his pipe again and slowly packed it.
“That was Stamm’s mother, Matilda Stamm,” he said when he had got his pipe going. “She occupies the third floor of the house. She is a little unbalanced.…” He made a slight but significant gesture toward his forehead. “Not dangerous, you understand, but erratic—given occasionally to hallucinations. She has queer attacks now and then, and talks incoherently.”
“Sounds like mild paranoia,” Vance murmured. “Some hidden fear, perhaps.”
“That is it, I imagine,” Leland returned. “A psychiatrist they had for her years ago suggested a private sanitarium, but Stamm would not hear of it. Instead he turned the third floor over to her, and there is some one with her all the time. She is in excellent physical health and is perfectly rational most of the time. But she is not permitted to go out. However, she is well taken care of, and the third floor has a large balcony and a conservatory for her diversion. She spends most of her time cultivating rare plants.”
“How often do her attacks come?”
“Two or three times a year, I understand, though she is always full of queer ideas about people and things. Nothing to worry about, though.”
“And the nature of these attacks?”
“They vary. Sometimes she talks and argues with imaginary people. At other times she becomes hysterical and babbles of events that occurred when she was a girl. Then, again, she will suddenly take violent dislikes to people, for no apparent reason, and proceed to berate and threaten them.”
Vance nodded.
“Typical,” he mused. Then, after several deep inhalations on his Régie, he asked in an offhand manner: “On which side of the house are Mrs. Stamm’s balcony and conservat’ry?”
Leland’s eyes moved quickly toward Vance, and he lifted his head.
“On the northeast corner,” he answered with a slightly rising inflection, as if his answer were purposely incomplete.
“Ah!” Vance took his cigarette slowly from his mouth. “Overlooking the pool, eh?”
Leland nodded. Then, after a brief hesitation, he said: “The pool has a curious hold on her fancy. It is the source of many of her hallucinations. She sits for hours gazing at it abstractedly, and the German woman who looks after her—a capable companion-nurse named Schwarz—tells me that she never goes to bed without first standing in rapt attention for several minutes at the window facing the pool.”
“Very interestin’.… By the by, Mr. Leland, do you know when the pool was constructed?”
Leland frowned thoughtfully.
“I cannot say exactly. I know it was built by Stamm’s grandfather—that is to say, he built the dam to broaden the water of the stream. But I doubt if he had anything in mind except a scenic improvement. It was Stamm’s father—Joshua Stamm—who put in the retaining wall on this side of the pool, to keep the water from straying too far up the hill toward the house. And it was Stamm himself who installed the filter and the gates, when he first began to use the pool for swimming. The water was not particularly free from rubbish, and he wanted some way of filtering the stream that fed it, and also of closing off the inflow, so that the pool could be cleaned out occasionally.”
“How did the pool get its name?” asked Vance casually.
Leland gave a slight shrug.
“Heaven only knows. From some old Indian tradition, probably. The Indians hereabouts originally called it by various terms—Amangaming, Amangemokdom Wikit, and sometimes Amangemokdomipek—but as a rule the shorter word, Amangaming, was used, which means, in the Lenape dialect of the Algonkians, the ‘place of the water-monster.’183 When I was a child my mother always referred to the pool by that name, although at that time it was pretty generally known as the Dragon Pool, which is a fairly accurate transliteration of its original name. Many tales and superstitions grew up around it. The water-dragon—Amangemokdom184 or, sometimes, Amangegach—was used as a bogy with which to frighten recalcitrant children.…”
Markham got to his feet impatiently and looked at his watch.
“This is hardly the hour,” he complained, “for a discussion of mythology.”
“Tut, tut, old dear,” Vance chided him pleasantly. “I say, these ethnological data are most fascinatin’. For the first time tonight we seem to be getting a little forrader. I’m beginning to understand why nearly every one in the house is filled with doubts and misgivings.”
He smiled ingratiatingly and turned his attention again to Leland.
“By the by,” he went on, “is Mrs. Stamm given to such distressin’ screams during her cloudy moments?”
Again Leland hesitated, but finally answered: “Occasionally—yes.”
“And do these screams usually have some bearing on her hallucinations regarding the pool?”
Leland inclined his head.
“Yes—always.” Then he added: “But she is never coherent as to the exact cause of her perturbation. I have been present when Stamm has tried to get an explanation from her, but she has never been lucid on the subject. It is as if she feared something in the future which her m
omentarily excited mind could not visualize. An inflamed and confused projection of the imagination, I should say—without any definite mental embodiment.…”
At this moment the curtains parted, and Doctor Holliday’s troubled face looked into the room.
“I am glad you gentlemen are still here,” he said. “Mrs. Stamm is in an unusual frame of mind, and insists on seeing you. She is having one of her periodical attacks—nothing serious, I assure you. But she seems very much excited, and she refused to let me give her something to quiet her.… I really don’t feel that I should mention these facts to you, but in the circumstances—”
“I have explained Mrs. Stamm’s condition to these gentlemen,” Leland put in quietly.
The doctor appeared relieved.
“That being the case,” he went on, “I can tell you quite frankly that I am a little worried. And, as I say, she insists that she see the police—as she calls you—at once.” He paused as if uncertain. “Perhaps it might be best—if you do not mind. Since she has this idea, a talk with you might bring about the desired reaction.… But I warn you that she is a bit hallucinated, and I trust that you will treat her accordingly.…”
Vance had risen.
“We quite understand, doctor,” he said assuringly, adding significantly: “It might be better for all of us if we talked with her.”
We retraced our way up the dimly lighted stairs, and at the second-story hallway turned upward to Mrs. Stamm’s quarters.
On the third floor the doctor led the way down a wide passage, toward the rear of the house, to an open door through which a rectangular shaft of yellow light poured into the gloom of the hall. The room into which we were ushered was large and crowded with early Victorian furniture. A dark green shabby carpet covered the floor, and on the walls was faded green paper. The overstuffed satin-covered chairs had once been white and chartreuse green, but were now gray and dingy. An enormous canopied bed stood at the right of the door, draped in pink damask; and similar damask, with little of its color left, formed the long overdrapes at the window. The Nottingham-lace curtains beneath were wrinkled and soiled. Opposite the bed was a fireplace, on the hearth of which lay a collection of polished conch shells; and beside it stood a high spool what-not overladen with all manner of hideous trifles of the period. Several large faded oil paintings were suspended about the walls on wide satin ribbons which were tied in bows at the moulding.
The Philo Vance Megapack Page 165
