Philo Vance Omnibus Vol 1

by S. S. Van Dine

  "Go on." Markham had become interested. Heath, too, was watching Vance with close attention.

  "Perpend, then. Kyle was found dead directly in front of this end cabinet; and he had died as the result of having been struck over the head by the heavy diorite statue of Sakhmet. This statue, as we know, had been placed by Hani on the top of the cabinet. When I observed that the curtain of the cabinet had been only partly opened and then discovered that the first brass ring of the curtain—the ring on the extreme left end—was not on the rod, I began to speculate—especially as I was familiar with Doctor Bliss's orderly habits. Had the ring been off of the rod last night when Doctor Bliss came into the museum, you may rest assured he would have seen it. . . ."

  "Are you suggesting, Vance," asked Markham, "that the ring was deliberately taken off of the rod sometime this morning—and for a purpose?"

  "Yes! At some time between Doctor Bliss's phone call to Kyle last night and Kyle's arrival this morning, I believe that some one removed the ring from the rod—and, as you say, for a purpose!"

  "What purpose?" Heath put the question. His voice was aggressive and antagonistic.

  "That remains to be seen, Sergeant." Vance spoke with scarcely any modulation of tone. "I'll admit I have a rather definite theory about it. In fact, I had a theory about it the moment I saw the position in which Kyle's body lay and learned that Hani had placed the statue atop the end cabinet. The partly drawn curtain and the unstrung brass ring substantiated that theory."

  "I think I understand what's in your mind, Vance." Markham nodded slowly. "Was that why you inspected the top of the cabinet and got Hani to show you exactly where he had placed the statue?"

  "Precisely. And not only did I find what I was looking for, but Hani confirmed my suspicions when he pointed to the spot where he had set the statue. That spot was several inches back from the edge of the cabinet; but there was also a deep scratch at the very edge and a second outline of the statue's base in the dust, showing that the statue had been moved forward after Hani had put it in place."

  "But Doctor Bliss admitted he moved it last night before retiring," suggested Markham.

  "He said only that he had straightened the statue," Vance answered. "And the two impressions made in the dust by the front of the statue's base are exactly parallel, so that the adjustment to which Doctor Bliss referred could not have been the moving of the statue six inches forward."

  "I see what you mean. . . . Your theory is that some one moved the statue to the very edge of the cabinet after Doctor Bliss had straightened it. And it's not an unreasonable assumption."

  Heath, who had been listening sullenly with half-shut eyes, suddenly mounted one of the chairs in front of the cabinet and peered over the moulding.

  "I want to see this," he mumbled. Presently he descended and wagged his head heavily at Markham. "It's like Mr. Vance says, all right. . . . But what's all this hocus-pocus got to do with the case?"

  "That's what I'm endeavorin' to ascertain, Sergeant," smiled Vance. "It may have nothing to do with it. On the other hand. . . ."

  He leaned over and, with considerable effort, lifted the statue of Sakhmet. (As I have said, the statue was about two feet high. It was solidly sculptured and had a heavy thick base. I later lifted the statue to test it, and I should say it weighed at least thirty pounds.) Vance, stepping on a chair, placed the statue, with great precision, on top of the cabinet at the very edge of the moulding. Having carefully superimposed its base over the outlines in the dust, he drew the curtain shut. Then he took the free brass ring in his left hand, turned the corner of the curtain back until the ring reached the left-hand edge of the statue, tipped the statue to the right, and placed the ring just under the forward edge of the statue's base.

  Having done this, he reached into his coat pocket and drew forth the object he had found on the top of the cabinet. He held it up to us.

  "What I discovered, Markham," he explained, "was a three-inch section of a pencil, carefully cut and trimmed. I assumed that it was a home-made 'upright' such as is used in figure-4 traps. . . . Let us see if it works."

  He tipped the statue forward and propped the piece of pencil under the rear edge of the statue's base. He took his hands away, and the statue stood leaning toward us, perilously balanced. For a moment it seemed as if it might topple over of its own accord, but the prepared pencil was apparently the exact length necessary to tilt the statue forward without quite upsetting its equilibrium.

  "So far my theory checks." Vance stepped down from the chair. "Now, we will proceed with the experiment."

  He moved the chair to one side, and arranged the two sofa pillows over the spot where Kyle's head had lain at the foot of Anûbis. Then he straightened up, and faced the District Attorney.

  "Markham," he said sombrely, "I present you with a possibility. Regard the position of that curtain; consider the position of the loose brass ring—under the edge of the statue; observe the tilting attitude of Our Lady of Vengeance; and then picture the arrival of Kyle this morning. He had been informed that the new treasures were in the end cabinet, with the curtain drawn. He told Brush not to disturb Doctor Bliss because he was going into the museum to inspect the contents of the recent shipment."

  He paused and deliberately lighted a cigarette. By his slow, lazy movements I knew that his nerves were tense.

  "I am not suggesting," he continued, "that Kyle met his end as the result of a death trap. In fact, I do not even know if my reconstructed trap will work. But I am advancing the theory as a possibility; for if the defense attorneys can show that Kyle could have been murdered by some one other than Doctor Bliss—that is, by an absent person—then your case against him would receive a decided setback. . . ."

  He stepped over to the statue of Anûbis. Lifting up the lower left-hand corner of the curtain, he stood close against the west wall of the museum.

  "Let us say that Kyle, after taking his position before this end cabinet, reached out and drew the curtain aside. Now, what would have happened—provided the death trap had actually been set? . . ."

  He gave the curtain a sharp jerk to the right. It moved over the rod until it was caught and held half-way across by the brass ring that had been inserted beneath Sakhmet's base. The jar dislodged the statue from its perilously balanced position. It toppled forward and fell with a terrific thud upon the sofa pillows, in the exact spot where Kyle's head had lain.

  There were several moments of silence. Markham continued to smoke, his eyes focussed on the fallen statue. He was frowning and thoughtful. Heath, however, was frankly astounded. Apparently he had not considered the possibility of a death trap, and Vance's demonstration had everted, to a great extent, all his set theories. He glared at the statue of Sakhmet with perplexed amazement, his cigar held tightly between his teeth.

  Vance was the first to speak.

  "The experiment seems to have worked, don't y' know. Really, I think I've demonstrated the possibility of Kyle's having been killed while alone in the museum. . . . Kyle was rather short in stature, and there was sufficient distance between the top of the cabinet and Kyle's head for the statue to have gained a deadly momentum. The width of the cabinet is only a little over two feet, so that it would have been inevitable that the statue would hit him on the head, provided he had been standing in front of it. And he obviously would have stood directly in front of it when he pulled the curtain. The weight of the statue is sufficient to have caused the terrific fracture of his skull; and the position of the statue across the back of his head is wholly consistent with his having been killed by a carefully planned trap."

  Vance made a slight gesture of emphasis.

  "You must admit, Markham, that the demonstration I've just given you makes plausible the guilt of any absent person, and consequently removes one of your strongest counts against Doctor Bliss—namely, proximity and opportunity. . . . And this fact, taken in connection with the opium found in the coffee, gives him a convincing, though not an absolute, alibi."
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  "Yes. . . ." Markham spoke with deliberate and pensive slowness. "The negative clews you have found tend to counteract the direct clews of the scarab and the financial report and the bloody footprints. There's no doubt about it: the doctor could present a strong defense. . . ."

  "A reasonable doubt, as it were—eh, what?" Vance grinned. "A beautiful phrase—meaningless, of course, but typically legal. As if the mind of man were ever capable of being reasonable! . . . And don't overlook the fact, Markham, that, if the doctor had merely intended to brain Kyle with the statue of Sakhmet, the evidences of the death trap would not have been present. If his object was only to kill Kyle, why should the whittled pencil—in the shape of an 'upright'—have been on top of the cabinet?"

  "You're perfectly right," Markham admitted. "A shrewd defense attorney could make a shambles of the case I have against the doctor."

  "And consider your direct evidence for a moment." Vance seated himself and crossed his legs. "The scarab pin, which was found beside the body, could have been palmed by any one at the conference last night, and deliberately placed beside the murdered body. Or, if the doctor had been put to sleep by the opium in his coffee, it would have been an easy matter for the murderer to have taken the pin from the desk this morning—the door into the study, y' know, was never locked. And what would have been simpler than to have taken the financial report at the same time, and slipped it into Kyle's dead hand? . . . As for the bloody footprints: any member of the household could have taken the tennis shoe from Doctor Bliss's bedroom and made the prints in the blood and then chucked the shoe in the waste-basket while the doctor slept under the influence of the opiate. . . . And that closed east window on the court: doesn't that closed window, with its drawn shade, indicate that someone in the study didn't want the neighbors next door to see what was going on?"

  Vance took a slow draw on his cigarette and blew out a long spiral of smoke.

  "I'm no Demosthenes, Markham, but I'd take Doctor Bliss's case in any court, and guarantee him an acquittal."

  Markham had begun walking up and down, his hands behind his back.

  "The presence of this death trap and of the opium in the coffee cup," he conceded at length, "casts an entirely new light on the case. It throws the affair wide open and makes possible and even plausible some one else's guilt." He stopped suddenly and looked sharply at Heath. "What's your opinion, Sergeant?"

  Heath was obviously in a quandary.

  "I'm going cuckoo," he confessed, after a pause. "I thought we had the damn affair sewed up in an air-tight bag, and now Mr. Vance pulls a lot of his subtle stuff and hands the doc a loophole." He gave Vance a belligerent glare. "Honest to Gawd, Mr. Vance, you shoulda been a lawyer." His contempt was devastating.

  Markham could not help smiling, but Vance shook his head sadly and looked at the Sergeant with an exaggeratedly injured air.

  "Oh, I say, Sergeant; must you be insultin'?" he protested whimsically. "I'm only tryin' to save you and Mr. Markham from making a silly blunder. And what thanks do I get? I'm told I should have been a lawyer! Alack and welladay!"

  "Let's forgo the cynicism." Markham was too upset to fall in with Vance's frivolous attitude. "You've made your point. And, in doing so, you've saddled me with a serious and weighty problem."

  "Still and all," pursued Heath, "there's plenty of evidence against Bliss."

  "Quite true, Sergeant." Vance had again become thoughtful. "But I'm afraid that evidence will not bear the closest scrutiny."

  "You think, I take it," said Markham, "that the evidence was deliberately planted—that the actual murderer maliciously placed these clews so that they would point to Doctor Bliss."

  "Is such a technic so unusual?" asked Vance. "Hasn't many a murderer sought to throw suspicion on some one else? Isn't criminal history filled with cases of innocent men being convicted on convincing circumstantial evidence? And is it not entirely possible that the misleading evidence in such cases was deliberately planted by the real culprits?"

  "Still," Markham returned, "I can't afford, at this stage of the game, to ignore entirely the indicatory evidence pointing to Doctor Bliss. I must be able to prove a plot against him before I can completely exonerate him."

  "And the arrest?"

  Markham hesitated. He realized, I think, the hopelessness of his case now that Vance had unearthed so many contradictory bits of evidence.

  "It's impossible, of course," he concluded, "to order the doctor's arrest at present, in view of the extenuating factors you've brought to light. . . . But," he added grimly, "I'm certainly not going to ignore altogether the evidence against him."

  "And just what does one do in such legalistically complicated circumstances?"

  Markham smoked for a while in troubled silence.

  "I'm going to keep Bliss under close surveillance," he pronounced finally. Then he turned to Heath. "Sergeant, you may order your men to release the doctor. But make arrangements to have him followed day and night."

  "That suits me, sir." Heath started toward the front stairs.

  "And Sergeant," Markham called; "tell Doctor Bliss he is not to leave the house until I have seen him."

  Heath disappeared on his errand.

  10. THE YELLOW PENCIL

  (Friday, July 13, 2:30 P.M.)

  Markham slowly lighted a fresh cigar and sat down heavily on one of the folding chairs near the inlaid coffer, facing Vance.

  "The situation is beginning to look serious—and complex," he said, with a weary sigh.

  "More serious than you think," Vance returned. "And far more complex. . . . I assure you, Markham, that this murder is one of the most astounding and subtle criminal plots you have ever been faced with. Superficially it appears simple and direct—it was intended to appear that way, d'ye see—and your first reading of the clews was exactly what the murderer counted on."

  Markham regarded Vance shrewdly.

  "You have an idea of what that plot is?" His words were more a statement than a question.

  "Yes . . . oh, yes." Vance at once became aloof. "An idea? . . . Quite. But not what you'd term a blindin' illumination. I immediately suspected a plot; and all the subsequent findings verified my theory. But I've only a nebulous idea regardin' it. And the precise object of the plot is totally obfuscated. However, since I know that the surface indications are deliberately misleading, there's a chance of getting at the truth."

  Markham sat up aggressively.

  "What's on your mind?"

  "Oh, my dear chap! You flatter me abominably." Vance smiled blandly. "My mind is beclouded and adumbrated. It is shot with mist and mizzle, with vapor and haze and steam; it is cirrous and nubiferous, cumulous and vaporous; it is filled with woolpacks, mare's-tails, colt's-tails, cat's-tails, frost smoke, and spindrift. 'The lowring element scowls o'er the darkened landscip.' . . . My mind, in fact, is nephological—"

  "Spare me your meteorological vocabulary. Remember, I'm only an ignorant District Attorney." Markham's sarcasm was measured by his exasperation. "Perhaps, however, you can suggest our next step. I frankly admit that, aside from cross-examining the members of the Bliss household, I can't see any means of approach to this problem; for, if Bliss isn't guilty, the crime was obviously committed by some one who was not only intimate with the domestic situation here but who had access to the house."

  "I think, don't y' know," suggested Vance, "that we should first acquaint ourselves with the conditions and relationships existing in the ménage. It would give us a certain equipment, what? And it might indicate some fertile line of inquiry." He bent forward in his chair. "Markham, the solution of this problem depends almost entirely on our finding the motive. And there are sinister ramifications to that motive. Kyle's murder was no ordin'ry crime. It was planned with a finesse and a cunning amounting to genius. Only a tremendous incentive could have produced it. There's fanaticism behind this crime—a powerful, devastating idée fixe that is cruel and unspeakably ruthless. The actual murder was merely a prelimin'ry to
something far more devilish—it was the means to an end. And that ultimate object was infinitely more terrible and despicable than Kyle's precipitous demise. . . . A nice, clean, swift murder can sometimes be justified, or at least extenuated. But the criminal in this instance did not stop with murder: he used it as a weapon to crush and ruin an innocent person. . . ."

  "Granted what you say is true,"—Markham rose uneasily and leaned against the shelves containing the shawabtis—"how can we discover the interrelationships of this household without interviewing its members?"

  "By questioning the one man who stands apart from the actual inmates."

  "Scarlett?"

  Vance nodded.

  "He undoubtedly knows more than he has told us. He has been with the Bliss expedition for two years. He has lived in Egypt, and is acquainted with the family history. . . . Why not have him in here for a brief causerie before tackling the members of the establishment? There are several points I could endure to know ere the investigation proceeds."

  Markham was watching Vance closely. Presently he moved his head up and down slowly.

  "You've something in mind, Vance, and it's neither nimbus, cumulus, stratus, nor cirrus. . . . Very well. I'll get Scarlett here and let you question him."