“Poignant question. Situation very mysterious.” Vance rose slowly and bowed to the woman. “Thanks awfully—we’re most grateful. And we shall not hold you prisoner any longer. If we should need you later, we’ll communicate with you.”
When she had gone Markham grinned sourly. “The lady is well equipped with suspects. What do you make of this new accusation?”
Vance was frowning.
“Animosity shunted from Monsieur Kroon to La Graem. Yes. Queer situation. Logically speakin’, this new accusation is more reasonable than her first. It has its points… If only I could get that disconnected buzzer out of my mind. It must fit somewhere… And that second shot—the one we all heard.”
“Couldn’t it have been a mechanism of some kind?” suggested Markham. “It’s not difficult to effect a detonation by electric wires.”
Vance nodded apathetically.
“I’d thought of that. But there’s nothing about the buzzer to indicate that a gadget might have been attached to it. I looked carefully while the telephone man was working on it.”
Vance again moved to the buzzer and inspected it with care. Then he gave his attention to the bookshelves surrounding it. He took down a dozen or so volumes and scrutinized the empty shelves and the uprights. Finally he shook his head and returned to his chair.
“No. Nothing there. The dust behind the books is thick and shows no signs of recent disturbance. No powder marks anywhere. And no indications of a mechanism.”
“It could have been removed before the repair man arrived,” theorized Markham without enthusiasm.
“Yes, another possibility. I had thought of that too. But the opportunity was lacking. I came in here immediately after I had found the johnnie shot…” He took the cigarette from his lips and straightened up. “By Jove! Some one might have slipped in here when we all dashed upstairs after the shot. Remote chance, though. And yet… Another curious thing, Markham: three or four different people tried to storm this aerie while I was in the den with Garden. All of them wished to be with the corpse for post-mortem communion—that sort of morbid rigmarole. I wonder… However, it’s too late to work from that point now. Nothing to do but to jot down those facts for future reference.”
“Does the buzzer connect with any other room besides the den?”
Vance shook his head.
“No. That’s the only connection.”
“Didn’t you say there was some one in the den at the time you heard this shot?”
Vance’s gaze swept past Markham, and it was several moments before he answered.
“Yes. Zalia Graem was there. Ostensibly telephonin’.” His voice, I thought, was a little bitter; and I could see that his mind had gone off on a new line of thought.
Heath squinted and moved his head up and down. “Well, Mr. Vance, that gets us places.”
Vance stared at him.
“Does it really, Sergeant? Where? It merely fuddles up the case—until we get some more information along the same line.”
“We might get more information from the young woman herself,” Markham put in sarcastically.
“Oh, yes. Quite. Obvious procedure. But I have a few queries to put to Garden first. Pavin’ the way, as it were. I say, Sergeant, collect Floyd Garden and bring him here.”
Garden came into the room uneasily and looking slightly haggard.
“What a mess!” he sighed, sinking dismally into a chair. He packed his pipe shakily. “Any light on the case?”
“A few fitful illuminations,” Vance told him. “By the by, it seems that your guests walk in and out the front door without the formality of ringing or being announced. Is this practice custom’ry?”
“Oh, yes. But only when we’re playing the races. Much more convenient. Saves annoyance and interruptions.”
“And another thing: when Miss Graem was phoning in the den and you suggested that she tell the gentleman to call back later, did you actually know that it was a man she was talking to?”
Garden opened his eyes in mild surprise.
“Why, no. I was merely ragging her. Hadn’t the faintest idea. But, if it makes any difference, I’m sure Sneed could give you the information, if Miss Graem won’t. Sneed answered the phone, you know.”
“It’s of no importance.” Vance brushed the matter aside. “It might interest you to know, however, that the buzzer in this room failed to function because someone had carefully disconnected the wires.”
“The devil you say!”
“Oh, yes. Quite.” Vance fixed Garden with a significant look. “This buzzer, if I understand it correctly, is operated only from the den, and when we heard the shot, Miss Graem was in the den. Incidentally, the shot we all heard was not the shot that killed Swift. The fatal shot had been fired at least five minutes before that. Swift never even knew whether he had won or lost his bet.”
Garden’s gaze was focused on Vance with wide-eyed awe. A smothered exclamation escaped his half-parted lips. Quickly he drew himself together and, standing up, let his eyes roam vaguely about the room.
“Good God, man!” He shook his head despondently. “This thing is getting hellish. I see your implication about the buzzer and the shot we heard. But I can’t see just how the trick was done.” He turned to Vance with an appealing look. “Are you sure about those disconnected wires and what you say was a second shot?”
“Quite sure.” Vance’s tone was casual. “Sad, what? By the by, Miss Weatherby tried to convince us that Miss Graem shot Swift.”
“Has she any grounds for such an accusation?”
“Only that Miss Graem had a grudge of some kind against Swift and detested him thoroughly, and that, at the supposed time of his demise, Miss Graem was absent from the drawing-room. Doubts that she was in the den phoning all the time. Thinks she was up here, busily engaged in murder.”
Garden drew rapidly on his pipe and seemed to be thinking.
“Of course, Madge knows Zalia pretty well,” he admitted with reluctance. “They go about a great deal together. Madge may know the inside story of the clash between Zalia and Woody. I don’t. Zalia might have thought she had sufficient cause to end Woody’s career. She’s an amazing girl. One never quite knows what she will do next.”
“Do you yourself regard Miss Graem as capable of a cold-blooded, skilfully planned murder?”
Garden pursed his lips and frowned. He coughed once or twice, as if to gain time; then he spoke.
“Damn it, Vance! I can’t answer that question. Frankly, I don’t know who is and who isn’t capable of murder. The younger set today are all bored to death, intolerant of every restraint, living beyond their means, digging up scandal, seeking sensations of every type. Zalia is little different from the rest, as far as I can see. She always seems to be stepping on the gas and exceeding the speed limits. How far she would actually go, I’m not prepared to say. Who is, for that matter? It may be merely a big circus parade with her, or it may be fundamental—a violent reaction from respectability. Her people are eminently respectable. She was brought up strictly—even forced into a convent for a couple of years, I believe. Then broke loose and is now having her fling…”
“A vivid, though not a sweet, character sketch,” murmured Vance. “One might say offhand that you are rather fond of her but don’t approve.”
Garden laughed awkwardly.
“I can’t say that I dislike Zalia. Most men do like her—though I don’t think any of them understand her. I know I don’t. There’s some impenetrable wall around her. And the curious thing is, men like her although she doesn’t make the slightest effort to gain their esteem or affection. She treats them shabbily—actually seems to be annoyed by their attentions.”
“A poisonous, passive Dolores, so to speak.”
“Yes, something like that, I should say. She’s either damned superficial or deep as hell—I can’t make up my mind which. As to her status in this present situation…well, I don’t know. It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if Madge was right about
her. Zalia has staggered me a couple of times—can’t exactly explain it. You remember, when you asked me about father’s revolver, I told you Zalia had discovered it in that desk and staged a scene with it in this very room. Well, Vance, my blood went cold at the time. There was something in the way she did it, and in the tone of her voice, that made me actually fear that she was fully capable of shooting up the party and then walking about the room to chuckle at the corpses. No reason for my feelings, perhaps; but, believe me, I was damned relieved when she put the gun back and shut the drawer… All I can say,” he added, “is that I don’t wholly understand her.”
“No. Of course not. No one can wholly understand another person. If any one could he’d understand everything. Not a comfortin’ thought… Thanks awfully for the recital of your fears and impressions. You’ll look after matters downstairs for a while, won’t you?”
Garden seemed to breathe more freely on being dismissed, and, with a mumbled acquiescence, moved toward the door.
“Oh, by the by,” Vance called after him. “One other little point I wish to ask you about.”
Garden waited politely.
“Why,” asked Vance, blowing a ribbon of smoke toward the ceiling, “didn’t you place Swift’s bet on Equanimity?”
The man gave a start, and his jaw dropped. He barely rescued his pipe from falling to the floor.
“You didn’t place it, don’t y’ know,” Vance went on dulcetly, gazing at Garden with dreamy, half-closed eyes. “Rather interestin’ point, in view of the fact that your cousin was not destined to live long enough to collect the wager, even if Equanimity had won. And, in the circumstances, had you placed it, you would now be saddled with a ten-thousand-dollar debt—since Swift is no longer able to settle.”
“God Almighty, stop it, Vance!” Garden exploded. He sank limply into a chair. “How the hell do you know I didn’t place Woode’s bet?”
Vance regarded the man with searching eyes.
“No bookie would take a bet of that size five minutes before post time. He couldn’t absorb it. He would have to lay a lot of it off—he might even have to place some of it out of town—Chicago or Detroit. He’d need time, don’t y’ know. A ten-thousand-dollar bet would usually have to be placed at least an hour before the race was run. I’ve done a bit of hobnobbin’ with bookies and race-track men.”
“But Hannix—”
“Don’t make a Wall-Street financier of Hannix for my benefit,” Vance admonished quietly. “I know these gentlemen of the chalk and eraser as well as you do. And another thing: I happened to be sitting in a strategic position near your table when you pretended to place Swift’s bet. You very deftly pulled the cord taut over the plunger of the telephone when you picked up the receiver. You were talking into a dead phone.”
Garden drew himself together and capitulated with a weary shrug.
“All right, Vance,” he said. “I didn’t place the bet. But if you think, for one moment, that I had any suspicion that Woody was going to be shot this afternoon, you’re wrong.”
“My dear fellow!” Vance sighed with annoyance. “I’m not thinkin’. Higher intelligence not at work at the moment. Mind a blank. Only tryin’ to add up a few figures. Ten thousand dollars is a big item. It changes our total—eh, what?… But you haven’t told me why you didn’t place the bet. You could have placed it. You had sufficient indication that Swift was going to wager a large sum on Equanimity, and it would only have been necess’ry to inform him that the bet had to be placed early.”
Garden rose angrily, but beneath his anger was a great perturbation.
“I didn’t want him to lose the money,” he asserted aggressively. “I knew what it would mean to him.”
“Yes, yes. The Good Samaritan. Very touchin’. But suppose Equanimity had won, and your cousin had survived—what about the pay-off?”
“I was fully prepared to run that risk. It wasn’t a hell of a lot. What did the old oat-muncher pay, anyway?—less than two to one. A dollar and eighty cents to the dollar, to be exact. I would have been out eighteen thousand dollars. But there wasn’t a chance of Equanimity’s coming in—I was quite certain of that. I took the chance for Woody’s sake. I was being decent—or weak—I don’t know which. If the horse had won, I’d have paid Woody myself—and he would never have known that it wasn’t Hannix’s money.”
Vance looked at the man thoughtfully.
“Thanks for the affectin’ confession,” he murmured at length. “I think that will be all for the moment.”
As he spoke, two men with a long coffin-like wicker basket bustled into the passageway. Heath was at the door in two strides.
“The Public Welfare boys after the body,” he announced over his shoulder.
Vance stood up.
“I say, Sergeant, have them go down the outside stairway. No use returning through the apartment.” He addressed Garden again. “Would you mind showing them the way?”
Garden nodded morosely and went out on the roof. A few moments later the two carriers, with Garden leading the way, disappeared through the garden gate with their grim burden.
CHAPTER XI
THE SECOND REVOLVER
(Saturday, April 14; 6:25 P.M.)
Markham regarded Vance with dismal concern. “What’s the meaning of Garden’s not placing that bet?”
Vance sighed.
“What’s the meaning of anything? Yet, it’s from just such curious facts as this that some provisional hypothesis may evolve.”
“I certainly can’t figure out what bearing Garden’s conduct has on the case, unless—”
Vance interrupted him quickly.
“No. Puzzlin’ situation. But everything we have learned so far might mean something. Provided, of course, we could read the meanin’. Emotion may be the key.”
“Don’t be so damned occult,” snapped Markham. “What’s on your mind?”
“My dear Markham! You’re too flatterin’. Nothing whatever. I’m seekin’ for something tangible. The other gun, for instance. The one that went off somewhere when the chappie was already dead. It should be here or hereabouts…” He turned to Heath. “I say, Sergeant, could you and Snitkin take a look for it? Suggested itiner’ry: the roof-garden and the flowerbeds, the terrace, the public stairs, the lower hallway. Then the apartment proper. Assumption: any one present may have had it. Follow up all the known local migrations of every one downstairs. If it’s here it’ll probably be in some tempor’ry hidin’-place, awaitin’ further disposal. Don’t ransack the place. And don’t be too dashed official. Sweetness and light does it.”
Heath grinned. “I know what you mean, Mr. Vance.”
“And, Sergeant, before you start reconnoitrin’, will you fetch Hammle. You’ll probably find him at the bar downstairs, ingesting a Scotch-and-soda.”
When Heath had gone, Vance turned to Markham.
“Hammle may have some good counsel to offer, and he may not. I don’t like the man—sticky sort. We might as well get rid of him—at least tempor’rily. The place is frightfully cluttered…”
Hammle strutted pompously into the study and was cursorily presented to Markham. Through the window, in the gathering dusk, I could catch glimpses of Heath and Snitkin moving along the flower boxes.
Vance waved Hammle to a chair and studied him a moment with a melancholy air, as if endeavoring to find an excuse for the man’s existence.
The interview was brief and, as it turned out, of peculiar significance. The significance lay, not so much in what Hammle said, as in the result of the curiosity which Vance’s questions aroused in the man. It was this curiosity which enabled him later to supply Vance with important information.
“It is not our desire to keep you here any longer than necess’ry, Mr. Hammle,”—Vance began the interview with marked distaste—“but it occurred to me to ask you if you have any ideas that might be helpful to us in solving Swift’s murder.”
Hammle coughed impressively and appeared to give the matter considerable
thought.
“No, I have none,” he at length admitted. “None whatever. But of course one can never tell about these things. The most insignificant facts can really be interpreted seriously, provided one has given them sufficient thought. As for myself, now, I haven’t duly considered the various approaches to the subject.”
“Of course,” Vance agreed, “there hasn’t been a great deal of time for serious thought concerning the situation. But I thought there might be something in the relationships of the various people here this afternoon—and I am assuming that you are fairly familiar with them all—that might inspire you to make a suggestion.”
“All I can say,” returned Hammle, carefully weighing his words, “is that there were many warring elements in the gathering—that is to say, many peculiar combinations. Oh, nothing criminal.” He waved his hand quickly in deprecation. “I would have you understand that absolutely. But there was a combination of this and that, which might lead to— well, to anything.”
“To murder, for instance?”
Hammle frowned. “Now, murder is a very, very serious business.” His tone bordered on the sententious. “But, Mr. Vance, you can take it from me, in all solemnity, I wouldn’t put even murder past any of those present today. No, by Gad!”
“That’s an amazin’ indictment,” muttered Vance; “but I’m glad to have your opinion and we’ll consider it… By the by, didn’t you notice anything irregular in Garden’s placing Swift’s large bet on Equanimity at the last minute?”
Hammle’s countenance went quickly blank. He presented Vance momentarily with a perfect “poker face.” Then, unable to withstand the direct scrutiny of Vance’s cold gaze, he puckered up his mouth into a shrewd smile.
“Why deny it?” he chuckled. “The laying of that bet was not only irregular—it was damned near impossible. I don’t know a book-maker in New York who would take such an amount when there was not even enough time to throw some ‘come-back money’ into the totalizator. A swell time this Hannix would have had trying to balance his book with a cloudburst like that at the last minute! The whole transaction struck me as damned peculiar. Couldn’t imagine what Garden was up to.”
The Philo Vance Megapack Page 215
