Heath turned with annoyance and paced impatiently up and down the room.
“I say, officer,” put in Vance, “were both occupants of the coupé white men?”
“Sure they was, sir.” The officer answered emphatically, but with an air of deference which he had not shown to the Sergeant. Vance was standing beside Markham, and McLaughlin must have assumed that Vance was speaking for the District Attorney, as it were.
“And couldn’t there have been a third man in the coupé?” Vance proceeded. “A smaller man, let us say, whom you didn’t see—on his knees, and hidden from view, perhaps?”
“Well, there mighta been, sir,—I ain’t swearin’ there wasn’t. I didn’t open either one of the doors and look in. But there was plenty of room in the car for him to be sittin’ up. Why should he be lying on the floor?”
“I haven’t the remotest idea—except that he might have been hiding because he didn’t wish to be seen,” Vance returned apathetically.
“Gosh!” muttered McLaughlin. “You think there was three men in that car?”
“Really, McLaughlin, I don’t know,” Vance drawled. “It would simplify matters if we knew there had been three men in the car. I crave a small pussy-footed fellow.”
The Sergeant had stopped his pacing across the room and now stood near the desk, listening to Vance with an amused interest.
“I don’t getcha at all, Mr. Vance,” he muttered respectfully. “Two tough guys is enough for any snatch.”
“Oh, quite, Sergeant. As you say. Two are quite sufficient,” Vance returned somewhat cryptically. Again he addressed himself to McLaughlin. “By the by, officer, did you, by any chance, stumble upon a ladder during your nocturnal circuit in these parts last night?”
“I seen a ladder, if that’s what you mean,” the man admitted. “It was leanin’ up against that maple tree in the garden out here. I noticed it when it began to get light. But I figured it was only being used to prune the tree, or something. There certainly wasn’t any use in reportin’ a ladder in a gent’s yard, was there?”
“Oh, no,” Vance assured him indifferently. “Silly idea, going about reportin’ ladders—eh, what?… That ladder’s still in the yard, officer; only, this morning it was restin’ up against the house, under an open window.”
“Honest to God?” McLaughlin’s eyes grew bigger. “I hope it was O.-K. not to report it.”
“Oh, quite,” Vance encouraged him. “It wouldn’t have done a particle of good, anyway. Some one, don’t y’ know, moved it from the tree and placed it against the house while you were strollin’ up Broadway and round 87th Street. Probably doesn’t mean anything of any particular importance, however.… I say, did you ever notice a ladder in this yard before?”
The man shook his head ponderously.
“No, sir,” he said, with a certain vague emphasis. “Can’t say that I ever have. They generally keep that yard looking pretty neat and nice.”
“Thanks awfully.” Vance sauntered to the sofa and sat down lazily, stretching his legs out before him. It was obvious he had no other questions to put to the officer.
Heath straightened up and took the cigar from his mouth.
“That’s all, McLaughlin. Much obliged for coming down. Go on home and hit the hay. I may, and may not, want to see you again later.”
The officer saluted half-heartedly and went toward the door.
“Look here, Sergeant,” he said, halting and turning around. “Do you mind telling me what happened here last night? You got me worryin’ about that coupé.”
“Oh, nothing much happened, I guess. A phony snatch of some kind. It don’t look serious, but we have to check up. Young fella named Kaspar Kenting ain’t anywhere abouts. And there was a cockeyed ransom note.”
The officer seemed speechless for a moment. Then he half gasped.
“Honest? Jeez!”
“Do you know him, McLaughlin?”
“Sure I know him. I see him lots of times coming home at all hours of the mornin’. Half the time he’s pie-eyed.”
Heath showed no further inclination to talk, and McLaughlin went lumbering from the room. A moment later the front door shut noisily after him.
“What now, Mr. Vance?” Heath was again resting his weight against the desk, puffing vigorously on his cigar.
Vance drew in his legs, as if with great effort, and sighed.
“Oh, much more, Sergeant,” he yawned in answer. “You haven’t the faintest idea of how much I’d really like to learn about a number of things.…”
“But see here, Vance,” interrupted Markham, “I first want to know what you meant by that statement you made as we were coming down the stairs. I can’t see it at all, and I’d bet money that fellow Kaspar is as safe as you or I.”
“I’m afraid you’d lose your wager, old dear.”
“But all the evidence points—” began Markham.
“Please, oh, please, Markham,” implored Vance. “Must we necessarily lean wherever a finger points? I say, let’s get the completed picture first. Then we can speak with more or less certainty about the indications. Can’t a johnnie hazard a guess without being quizzed by the great Prosecutor for the Common People?”
“Damn it, Vance!” Markham returned angrily; “drop the persiflage and get down to business. I want to know why you said what you did on the stairs, in the face of all the evidence to the contrary. Are you in possession of any facts to which I have not had access?”
“Oh, no—no,” replied Vance mildly, stretching out still further in the chair. “You’ve seen and heard everything I have. Only, we interpret the findin’s in different ways.”
“All right.” Markham made an effort to curb his impatience. “Let’s hear how you interpret these facts.”
“Pardon me, Chief,” put in Heath; “I didn’t hear what Mr. Vance said to you on the stairs. I don’t know what his ideas on the case are.”
Markham took the cigar from his mouth and looked at the Sergeant.
“Mr. Vance doesn’t believe that Kaspar Kenting was kidnapped merely for money or that he may have walked out and staged the kidnapping himself. He said he thinks that the fellow is already dead.”
Heath spun round abruptly to Vance.
“The hell you say!” he exclaimed. “How in the name of God did you get such an idea, Mr. Vance?”
Vance smoked a moment before replying. Then he spoke as if the explanation were of no importance:
“My word, Sergeant! It seems sufficiently indicated.”
He paused again and looked back meditatively to the District Attorney, who was standing before him, teetering impatiently on his toes.
“Do you really think, Markham, that your plotting Kaspar would have gone to the Jersey casino to indulge in a bit of gamblin’ on his big night—that is to say, on the night he intended to carry out his grand coup involvin’ fifty thousand dollars?”
“And why not?” Markham wanted to know.
“It’s quite obvious this criminal undertaking was carefully prepared in advance. The note itself is sufficient evidence of this, with its letters and words painstakingly cut out and all neatly pasted on a piece of disguised paper.”
“The criminal undertaking, as you call it, need not necessarily have been prepared very far in advance,” objected Markham. “Kaspar would have had time to do his cutting and pasting when he returned from the casino.”
“Oh, no, I don’t think so,” Vance returned at once. “I took a good look at the desk and the wastepaper basket. No evidence whatever of such activity. Moreover, the johnnie’s phone call in the wee hours of the morning shows a certain amount of expectation on his part of getting the matter of his financial difficulties settled.”
“Go on,” said Markham, as Vance paused once more.
“Very good,” continued Vance. “Why should Kaspar Kenting have taken three hours to change to street clothes after he had returned from his pleasant evening of desult’ry gambling? A few minutes would have sufficed. And anot
her question: Why should he wait until bright daylight before going forth? The darkness would have been infinitely safer and better suited to his purpose.”
“How do you know he didn’t go much earlier—before it was daylight?” demanded Markham.
“But, my dear fellow,” explained Vance, “the ladder was still leanin’ against the tree around dawn, when McLaughlin saw it, and therefore was not placed against the window until after sun-up. I’m quite sure that, had Kaspar planned a disappearance, he would have placed the ladder at the window ere he departed—eh, what?”
“I see what you mean, Mr. Vance,” Heath threw in eagerly. “And Mrs. Kenting herself told us that she heard some one in the room at six o’clock this morning.”
“True, Sergeant; but that’s not the important thing,” Vance answered casually. “As a matter of fact, I don’t think it was Kaspar at all whom Mrs. Kenting says she heard in her husband’s room at that hour this morning.… And, by the by, Markham, here’s still another question to be considered: Why was the communicatin’ door between Kaspar’s room and his wife’s left unlocked, if the gentleman contemplated carrying out a desperate and important plot that night? He would certainly not have left that door unlocked if he planned any such action. He would have guarded against any unwelcome intrusion on the part of his wife, who had merely to turn the knob and walk in and spoil all the fun, as it were.… And, speakin’ of the door, you remember the lady opened it at six, right after hearin’ some one walkin’ in the room in what she described as soft slippers. But when she went into the room there was no one there. Ergo: Whoever it was she heard must have left the room hurriedly when she first knocked and called to her husband. And don’t forget that it is his heavy blucher shoes that are gone—not his slippers. If it had been Kaspar she heard, imitatin’ a slipper-shod gentleman, and if Kaspar had quickly gone out the hall door and down the front stairs, she would certainly have heard him, as she was very much on the alert at that moment. And, also, if he’d scrambled through the window and down the ladder with his heavy shoes on, he could hardly have done so without a sound. But the tellin’ question in this connection is: Why, if the soft-footed person in the master bedroom was Kaspar, did he wait till his wife knocked on the door and called to him before he made a precipitate getaway? He could have left at any time during the three hours after he had come home from his highballs and roulette-playin’. All of which, I rather think, substantiates the assumption that it was another person that the lady heard at six o’clock this morning.”
Markham’s head moved slowly up and down. His cigar had gone out, but he paid no attention to it.
“I’m beginning to see what you mean, Vance; and I can’t say your conclusions leave me happy. But what I want to know is—”
“Just a moment, Markham old dear. Just a wee moment.” Vance raised his hand to indicate that he had something further to say. “If it had been Kaspar that Mrs. Kenting heard at six o’clock, he would hardly have had time, before he scooted off at his wife’s knock, to collect his comb and toothbrush and pajamas. Why should the chappie have bothered to take them, in the first place? True, they are things he could well make use of on his hypothetical jaunt for the purpose of getting hold of brother Kenyon’s lucre, but he would hardly go to that trouble on so vital and all-important a venture,—the toilet articles would be far too trivial and could easily be bought wherever he was going, if he was finicky about such details. Furthermore, if so silly a plot had been planned by him he would have equipped himself surreptitiously beforehand and would have had the beautifyin’ accessories waitin’ for him wherever he had decided to go, rather than grabbin’ them up at the last minute.”
Markham made no comment, and after a moment or two Vance resumed.
“Carryin’ the supposition a bit forrader, he would have realized that the absence of these necess’ry articles would be highly suspicious and would point too obviously to the impression he would have wished to avoid—namely, his own wilful participation in the attempt to extort the fifty thousand dollars. I’d say, y’ know, that these items for the gentleman’s toilet were collected and taken away—in order to give just this impression—by the soft-footed person heard by Mrs. Kenting.… No, no, Markham. The comb and the toothbrush and the pajamas and the shoes are only textural details—like the cat, the shawl-fringe, the posies, the ribbon, and the bandanna in Manet’s Olympia.…”
“Manufactured evidence—that’s your theory, is it?” Markham spoke without any show of aggressiveness or antagonism.
“Exactly,” nodded Vance. “Far too many leadin’ clues. Really, the culprit overdid it. An embarras de richesses. Whole structure does a bit of topplin’ of its own weight. Very thorough. Too dashed thorough. Nothing left to the imagination.”
Markham took a few steps up the room, turned, and then walked back.
“You think it’s a real kidnapping then?”
“It could be,” murmured Vance. “But that doesn’t strike me as wholly consistent either. Too many counter-indications. But I’m only advancin’ a theory. For instance, if Kaspar was allowed time to change his suit and shoes—as we know he did—he had time to call out, or to make a disturbance of some kind which would have upset all the kind-hearted villain’s plans. Hanging up his dinner jacket so carefully, transferring things from his pockets, and putting away his oxfords in the closet, all indicate leisure in the process—a leisure which the kidnappers would hardly have permitted. Kidnappers are not benevolent persons, Markham.”
“Well, what do you think happened?” Markham asked in a subdued, worried tone.
“Really, I don’t know.” Vance studied the tip of his cigarette with concern. “We do know, however, that Kaspar had an engagement last night which kept him out until three this morning; and that upon his return here he telephoned to some one and then changed to street clothes. It might therefore be assumed that he made some appointment to be kept between three and six and saw no necessity of going to bed in the interval. This would also account for the leisurely changing of his attire; and it is highly possible he went quietly out through the front door when he fared forth to keep his early-morning rendezvous. Assumin’ that this theory is correct, I’d say further that he expected to return anon, for he left all the lights on. And one more thing: I think it safe to assume that the door from his bedroom into the hall was unlocked this morning—otherwise, Mrs. Kenting would have remembered unlocking it when she ordered coffee and went downstairs.”
“And even if everything you say is true,” argued Markham, “what could have happened to him?”
Vance sighed deeply.
“All we actually know at the moment, my dear Markham,” he answered, “is that the johnnie did not come back. He seems to have disappeared. At any rate, he isn’t here.”
“Even so,”—Markham drew himself up with a slight show of annoyance—“why do you take it for granted that Kaspar Kenting is already dead?”
“I don’t take it for granted.” Vance, too, drew himself up and spoke somewhat vigorously. “I said merely that I feared the johnnie is already dead. If he did not, as it were, kidnap himself, d’ ye see, and if he wasn’t actually kidnapped as the term is commonly understood, then the chances are he was murdered when he went forth to keep his appointment. His disappearance and the elaborate clues arranged hereabouts to make it appear like a deliberate self-abduction, imply a connection between his appointment and the evidence we observed in his room. Therefore, it’s more than likely, don’t y’ know, that if he were held alive and later released, he could relate enough—whom he had the appointment with, for instance—to lead us to the guilty person or persons. His immediate death would have been the only safe course.”
As Vance spoke Heath had come forward and stood close to Markham.
“Your theory, Mr. Vance, sounds reasonable enough the way you tell it,” the Sergeant commented doggedly. “But still and all—”
Vance had risen and was breaking his cigarette in an ash tray.
&nb
sp; “Why argue about the case, Sergeant,” he interrupted, “when, as yet, there is so little evidence to go on?… Let’s dawdle about a bit longer and learn more about things.”
“Learn what, and about what things?” Markham almost barked.
Vance was in one of his most dulcet moods.
“Really, if we knew, Markham, we wouldn’t have to learn, would we? But Kenyon Kenting, I ween, harbors a number of fruitful items:—I’m sure a bit of social intercourse with the gentleman would be most illuminatin’. And then there’s your friend, Mr. Fleel, the trusted Justinian of the Kenting household: I’ve a feelin’ he might be prevailed upon to suggest a few details here and there and elsewhere. And Mrs. Kenting herself might cast a few more rays of light into the darkness. And let’s not overlook old Mrs. Falloway—Mrs. Kenting’s mother, y’ know—who I think lives here. Exceptional old dowager. I met her once or twice before she became an invalid. Fascinatin’ creature, Markham; bulgin’ with original ideas, and shrewd no end. And it could be that even the butler Weem would be willin’ to spin a yarn or two—he appears displeased and restive enough to give vent to some unflatterin’ family confidences.… Really, y’ know, I think all these seemingly trivial matters should be attended to ere we depart.”
“Don’t worry about such things, Vance,” Markham advised him gravely. “They are all routine matters, and they’ll be taken care of at the proper time.”
“Oh, Markham—my dear Markham!” Vance was lighting another cigarette. “The present time is always the proper time.” He took a few inhalations and blew the smoke forth indolently. “Really, I’m rather interested in the case, don’t y’ know. It has most amazin’ possibilities. And as long as you’ve deprived me of attendin’ the dog show today, I think I’ll do a bit of snoopin’ here and about.”
“All right,” Markham acquiesced. “What is it you wish to focus your prodigious powers on first?”
The Philo Vance Megapack Page 229
