The Philo Vance Megapack

by S. S. Van Dine

  He pointed to the foot of the casket, and I saw, for the first time, lying on the bottom, a metal cylinder about eighteen inches long.

  “That’s the tank. It can be placed horizontally across the breast-plate, without interfering with the operations of the diver.”

  As he started to lift out the oxygen tank we heard a clinking sound, as if the tank had come in contact with another piece of metal.

  Vance’s face became suddenly animated.

  “Ah! I wonder.…”

  He moved the tank to one side and reached down into the depths of that ancient coffin. When his hand came out he was holding a vicious-looking grappling-iron. It was fully two feet long and at one end were three sharp steel hooks. For a moment I did not grasp the significance of this discovery; but when Vance touched the prongs with his finger I saw that they were clotted with blood, and the horrible truth swept over me.

  Holding the grappling-iron toward Markham, he said in a curiously hushed voice:

  “The dragon’s claws—the same that tore Montague’s breast—and Greeff’s.”

  Markham’s fascinated eyes clung to the deadly instrument.

  “Still—I don’t quite see—”

  “This grapnel was the one missing factor in the hideous problem,” Vance interrupted. “Not that it would have mattered greatly, once we had found the diving suit and had explained the imprints in the pool. But it does clarify the situation, don’t y’ know.”

  He tossed the iron back into the casket and replaced the cover. At a sign from him Heath and Snitkin lifted the heavy oak lid back to the coffin and returned the ancient box, with its terrible and revelatory contents, to its original position on the lower tier.

  “We’re through here—for the present, at any rate,” Vance said, as we passed out into the sunlight. He locked the door of the vault and dropped the key back into his pocket. “We had better be returning to the house, now that we have the solution to the crimes.…”

  He paused to light a cigarette; then looked grimly at the District Attorney.

  “Y’ see, Markham,” he said, “there was, after all, a dragon involved in the case—a fiendish and resourceful dragon. He had vengeance and hate and ruthlessness in his heart. He could live under water, and he had talons of steel with which to tear his victims. But, above all, he had the shrewd calculating mind of man—and when the mind of man becomes perverted and cruel it is more vicious than that of any other creature on earth.”

  Markham nodded thoughtfully.

  “I’m beginning to understand. But there are too many things that need explaining.”

  “I think I can explain them all,” Vance replied, “now that the basic pattern is complete.”

  Heath was scowling deeply, watching Vance with a look which combined skepticism with admiration.

  “Well, if you don’t mind, Mr. Vance,” he said apologetically, “I’d like you to explain one thing to me right now.—How did the fellow in the diving suit get out of the pool without leaving footprints? You’re not going to tell me he had wings, too, are you?”

  “No, Sergeant.” Vance waved his hand toward the pile of lumber beside the vault. “There’s the answer. The point bothered me too until this afternoon; but knowing he could have left the pool only by walking, I realized that there must inevitably be a simple and rational explanation for the absence of footprints—especially when I knew that he was weighted down and wearing heavy diving shoes. When I approached the vault a few minutes ago, the truth suddenly dawned on me.” He smiled faintly. “We should have seen it long ago, for we ourselves demonstrated the method by doing exactly the same thing when we walked out over the bottom of the pool. The murderer placed one of these boards between the end of the cement walk and the edge of the pool,—the width of that stretch of flat ground is little more than the length of the timber. Then, when he had walked out of the pool over the board, he simply carried it back and threw it on the pile of lumber from which he had taken it.”

  “Sure!” Heath agreed with a kind of shamefaced satisfaction. “That’s what made that mark on the grass that looked like a heavy suit-case had been set there.”

  “Quite right,” nodded Vance. “It was merely the indentation made by one end of the heavy plank when the chappie in the diving suit stepped on it.…”

  Markham, who had been listening closely, interrupted.

  “The technical details of the crime are all very well, Vance, but what of the person who perpetrated these hideous acts? We should make some definite move immediately.”

  Vance looked up at him sadly and shook his head.

  “No, no—not immediately, Markham,” he said. “The thing is too obscure and complicated. There are too many unresolved factors in it—too many things to be considered. We have caught no one red-handed; and we must, therefore, avoid precipitancy in making an arrest. Otherwise, our entire case will collapse. It’s one thing to know who the culprit is and how the crimes were committed, but it’s quite another thing to prove the culprit’s guilt.”

  “How do you suggest that we go about it?”

  Vance thought a moment before answering. Then he said:

  “It’s a delicate matter. Perhaps it would be wise to make subtle suggestions and bold innuendos that may bring forth the very admission that we need. But certainly we must not take any direct action too quickly. We must discuss the situation before making a decision. We have hours ahead of us till nightfall.” He glanced at his watch. “We had better be going back to the house. We can settle the matter there and decide on the best course to pursue.”

  Markham acquiesced with a nod, and we set off through the shrubbery toward the car.

  As we came out into the East Road a car drove up from the direction of Spuyten Duyvil, and Stamm and two other men who looked like workers got out and approached us.

  “Anything new?” Stamm asked. And then, without waiting for an answer, he said: “I’m going down to get that rock out of the pool.”

  “We have some news for you,” Vance said, “—but not here. When you’ve finished the job,” he suggested, “come up to the house. We’ll be there.”

  Stamm lifted his eyebrows slightly.

  “Oh, all right. It’ll take me only an hour or so.” And he turned and disappeared down the cement path, the two workmen following him.

  We drove quickly to the house. Vance, instead of entering at the front door, walked directly round the north side of the house, to the terrace overlooking the pool.

  Leland was seated in a large wicker chair, smoking placidly and gazing out at the cliffs opposite. He barely greeted us as we came forward, and Vance, pausing only to light a fresh cigarette, sat down beside him.

  “The game’s up, Leland,” he said in a tone which, for all its casualness, was both firm and grim. “We know the truth.”

  Leland’s expression did not change.

  “What truth?” he asked, almost as if he felt no curiosity about the matter.

  “The truth about the murders of Montague and Greeff.”

  “I rather suspected you would find it out,” he returned calmly. (I was amazed at the man’s self-control.) “I saw you down at the pool a while ago. I imagine I know what you were doing there.… You have visited the vault also?”

  “Yes,” Vance admitted. “We inspected the coffin of Sylvanus Anthony Stamm. We found the diving equipment in it—and the three-pronged grappling-iron.”

  “And the oxygen tank?” Leland asked, without shifting his eyes from the cliffs beyond.

  Vance nodded.

  “Yes, the tank too.—The whole procedure is quite clear now. Everything about the crimes, I believe, is explained.”

  Leland bowed his head, and with trembling fingers attempted to repack his pipe.

  “In a way, I am glad,” he said, in a very low voice. “Perhaps it is better—for every one.”

  Vance regarded the man with a look closely akin to pity.

  “There’s one thing I don’t entirely understand, Mr. Lelan
d,” he said at length. “Why did you telephone the Homicide Bureau after Montague’s disappearance? You only planted the seed of suspicion of foul play, when the episode might have passed as an accident.”

  Leland turned his head slowly, frowned, and appeared to weigh the question that Vance had put to him. Finally he shook his head despondently.

  “I do not know—exactly—why I did that,” he replied.

  Vance’s penetrating eyes held the man’s gaze for a brief space of time. Then he asked:

  “What are you going to do about it, Mr. Leland?”

  Leland glanced down at his pipe, fumbled with it for a moment, and then rose.

  “I think I had better go up-stairs to Miss Stamm—if you don’t mind. It might be best if it were I who told her.” Vance nodded. “I believe you are right.”

  Leland had scarcely entered the house and closed the door when Markham sprang to his feet and started after him; but Vance stepped up quickly and put a firm restraining hand on the District Attorney’s shoulder.

  “Stay here, Markham,” he said, with grim and commanding insistence.

  “But you can’t do this thing, Vance!” Markham protested, trying to throw off the other’s hold. “You have no right to contravene justice this way. You’ve done it before—and it was outrageous!”196

  “Please believe me, Markham,” Vance returned sternly, “it’s the best thing.” Then his eyes opened wide, and a look of astonishment came into them. “Oh, my word!” he said. “You don’t yet understand.… Wait—wait.” And he forced Markham back into his chair.

  A moment later Stamm, in his bathing suit, emerged from one of the cabañas and crossed the coping of the filter to the windlass beyond. The two men he had brought with him from Spuyten Duyvil had already attached the rope to the drum and stood at the hand-cranks, awaiting Stamm’s orders. Stamm picked up the loose end of the coiled rope and, throwing it over his shoulder, waded into the shallow water along the foot of the cliff until he came to the submerged rock. We watched him for some time looping the rope over the rock and endeavoring to dislodge it with the assistance of the men operating the winch. Twice the rope slipped, and once a stake anchoring the winch was dislodged.

  It was while the men were repairing this stake that Leland returned softly to the terrace and sat down again beside Vance. His face was pale and set, and a great sadness had come into his eyes. Markham, who had started slightly when Leland appeared, now sat looking at him curiously. Leland’s eyes moved indifferently toward the pool where Stamm was struggling with the heavy rope.

  “Bernice has suspected the truth all along,” Leland remarked to Vance, in a voice barely above a whisper.… “I think, though,” he added, “she feels better, now that you gentlemen understand everything.… She is very brave.…”

  Across the sinister waters of the Dragon Pool, there came to us a curious rumbling and crackling sound, like sharp, distant thunder. As I instinctively glanced toward the cliffs I saw the entire pinnacle of the rocky projection we had examined the day before, topple and slide downward toward the spot where Stamm was standing breast-deep in the water.

  The whole terrible episode happened so quickly that the details of it are, even today, somewhat confused in my mind. But as the great mass of rock slid down the cliff, a shower of small stones in its wake, I caught a fleeting picture of Stamm glancing upward and then striving frantically to get out of the path of the crashing boulder, which the rainstorm earlier in the afternoon must have loosened. But his arms had become entangled in the rope which he was attempting to fasten about the rock in the pool, and he was unable to disengage himself. I got a momentary glimpse of his panic-stricken face just before the great mass of rock caught him and pinned him beneath the waters.

  Simultaneously with the terrific splash, a fearful, hysterical shriek rang out from the balcony high above our heads; and I knew that old Mrs. Stamm had witnessed the tragedy.

  We all sat in stunned silence for several seconds. Then I was conscious of Leland’s soft voice.

  “A merciful death,” he commented.

  Vance took a long, deep inhalation on his cigarette.

  “Merciful—and just,” he said.

  The two men at the windlass had entered the water and were wading rapidly toward the place where Stamm had been buried; but it was only too obvious that their efforts would be futile. The great mass of rock had caught Stamm squarely, and there could be no hope of rescue.

  The first sudden shock of the catastrophe past, we rose to our feet, almost with one accord. It was then that the hall door opened and Doctor Holliday, pale and upset, lumbered out on the terrace.

  “Oh, there you are, Mr. Leland.” He hesitated, as if he did not know exactly how to proceed. Then he blurted out:

  “Mrs. Stamm’s dead. Sudden shock—she saw it happen. You had better break the news to her daughter.”

  CHAPTER XXI

  THE END OF THE CASE

  (Monday, August 13; 10 p. m.)

  Late that night Markham and Heath and I were sitting with Vance on his roof-garden, drinking champagne and smoking.

  We had remained at the Stamm estate only a short time after Stamm’s death. Heath had stayed on to supervise the detail work which closed the case. The pool had been drained again, and Stamm’s body had been taken from beneath the rock boulder. It was mutilated beyond recognition. Leland, with Miss Stamm’s assistance, had taken charge of all the domestic affairs.

  Vance and Markham and I had not finished dinner until nearly ten o’clock, and shortly afterward Sergeant Heath joined us. It was still hot and sultry, and Vance had produced a bottle of his 1904 Pol Roger.

  “An amazin’ crime,” he remarked, lying back lethargically in his chair. “Amazin’—and yet simple and rational.”

  “That may be true,” Markham returned. “But there are many details of it which are still obscure to me.”

  “Once its basic scheme is clear,” Vance said, “the various shapes and colors of the mosaic take their places almost automatically.”

  He emptied his glass of champagne.

  “It was easy enough for Stamm to plan and execute the first murder. He brought together a house-party of warring elements, on any member of which suspicion might fall if criminality were proved in connection with Montague’s disappearance. He felt sure his guests would go swimming in the pool and that Montague, with his colossal vanity, would take the first dive. He deliberately encouraged the heavy drinking, and he himself pretended to overindulge. But as a matter of fact, he was the only member of the party, with the possible exception of Leland and Miss Stamm, who did no drinking.”

  “But Vance—”

  “Oh, I know. He gave the appearance of having drunk heavily all day. But that was only part of his plan. He was probably never more sober in his life than when the rest of the party left the house for the swimming pool. During the entire evening he sat on the davenport in the library, and surreptitiously poured his liquor into the jardinière holding the rubber-plant.”

  Markham looked up quickly.

  “That was why you were so interested in the soil of that plant?”

  “Exactly. Stamm had probably emptied two quarts of whisky into the pot. I took up a good bit of the soil on my finger; and it was well saturated with alcohol.”

  “But Doctor Holliday’s report—”

  “Oh, Stamm was actually in a state of acute alcoholism when the doctor examined him. You remember the quart of Scotch he ordered from Trainor, just before the others went down to the pool. When he himself came back to the library, after the murder, he undoubtedly drank the entire bottle; and when Leland found him his state of alcoholic collapse was quite genuine. Thus he gave the whole affair an air of verisimilitude.”

  Vance lifted the champagne from the wine cooler and poured himself another glass. When he had taken a few sips he lay back again in his chair.

  “What Stamm did,” he continued, “was to hide his diving outfit and the grapnel in his car in the garage e
arlier in the day. Then, feigning a state of almost complete drunken insensibility, he waited till every one had gone to the pool. Immediately he went to the garage, and drove—or perhaps coasted—down the East Road to the little cement path. He donned his diving suit, which he put on over his dinner clothes, and attached the oxygen tank—a matter of but a few minutes. Then he put the board in place, and entered the pool. He was reasonably sure that Montague would take the first dive; and he was able to select almost the exact spot in the pool toward which Montague would head. He had his grapnel with him, so that he could reach out in any direction and get his victim. The water in the pool is quite clear and the flood-lights would give him a good view of Montague. The technique of the crime for an experienced diver like Stamm was dashed simple.”

  Vance made a slight gesture with his hand.

  “There can be little doubt as to exactly what happened. Montague took his dive, and Stamm, standing on the sloping basin opposite the deep channel, simply hooked him with the grappling-iron—which accounts for the wounds on Montague’s chest. The force of the dive, I imagine, drove Montague’s head violently against the metal oxygen tank clamped to the breast-plate of Stamm’s helmet, and fractured his skull. With his victim stunned and perhaps unconscious, Stamm proceeded to choke him under the water until he was quite limp. It was no great effort for Stamm to drag him to the car and throw him in. Next Stamm replaced the board, doffed his diving suit, hid it in the old coffin in the vault, and drove to the pot-holes, where he dumped Montague’s body. Montague’s broken bones were the result of the rough way in which Stamm chucked him into the rock pit; and the abrasions on his feet were undoubtedly caused by Stamm’s dragging him over the cement walk to the parked car. Afterward Stamm drove the car back to the garage, returned cautiously to the library, and proceeded to consume the quart of whisky.”

  Vance took a long inhalation on his cigarette, exhaling the smoke slowly.

  “It was an almost perfect alibi.”

  “But the time element, Vance—” Markham began.