The Scarab Murder Case

by S. S. Van Dine

  “My word!” Vance shook his head with commiserating incredulity. “Scarlett has put us infinitely forrader. He was most revealin’. We now have a definite foundation on which to stand when we chivy the members of the household.”

  “I’m glad you feel so confident.” Markham rose and regarded Vance sternly. “You can’t really believe—?” He broke off, as if he did not quite dare to articulate his thought.

  “Yes, I believe this crime was merely a means to an end,” Vance returned. “Its real object, I’m convinced, was to involve an innocent person and thus wash the slate clean of several annoyin’ elements.”

  Markham stood stock-still for several seconds.

  “I think I see what you mean,” he nodded. “It’s possible of course.”

  He walked up the museum and back again, his head clouded in cigar smoke.

  “See here;”—he stood looking grimly down at Vance—“I want to ask you a question. I recall your asking Salveter for a pencil… What make of pencil was used for that ‘upright’ which you found on top of the end cabinet?—Was it a Mongol No. 1?”

  Vance shook his head.

  “No. It was not a Mongol. It was a Koh-i-noor—an HB, a much harder lead than the No. 1 Mongol, which is very soft… Y’know, Mongols and Koh-i-noors look exactly alike: they’re both hexagonal and yellow. The Koh-i-noor is made by Hardtmuth in Czecho-Slovakia—one of the oldest firms in Europe. Originally the Koh-i-noors were Austrian pencils, but after the World War the old Austrian empire was divided—”

  “Never mind the kindergarten lesson in history.” Markham’s face became suddenly overcast. “So it wasn’t a Mongol that was used in the death trap…” He came closer to Vance. “Another question—and all your garrulousness about the Austrian Successor States can’t divert me: What make of pencil were those you looked at on Doctor Bliss’s desk in the study?”

  Vance sighed.

  “I feared you’d ask that question. And, y’know, I’m almost afraid to tell you—you’re so impulsive…”

  Markham glowered with exasperation and started toward Bliss’s study.

  “Oh, it won’t be necess’ry for you to trudge up the spiral stairs,” Vance called after him. “I’ll tell you… They were Koh-i-noors.”

  “Ah!”

  “But I say; are you goin’ to let that fact influence you?”

  There was a slight pause before Markham answered.

  “No… After all, the pencil is not a particularly convincing piece of evidence, especially as every one had access to the study.”

  Vance grinned and looked puckish.

  “Such broadmindedness in a district attorney is positively amazin’,” he said.

  Footnote

  *The irrigation to which Scarlett referred was the system that resulted in the Aswan Dam, the Asyût Weir, and the Esneh Barrage.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The Coffee Percolator

  (Friday, July 13; 2.45 p.m.)

  MARKHAM RESUMED HIS seat. He was far too dismayed to resent Vance’s good-natured irony. The murder of Kyle, which at first had appeared so straightforward and simple, was becoming more and more involved. Subtle and terrible undercurrents were beginning to make themselves felt; and it was now clear to every one, I think, that the crime, instead of being a mere brutal braining, was a sinister factor in a deep, ramified plot. Even Heath had at last begun to sense the hidden significations of the obvious clews to which he had at first pinned his hope for a speedy solution.

  “Yes,” he admitted, his cigar bobbing up and down between his thin lips; “that pencil don’t mean anything in particular… This case—as you’d say, Mr. Vance—is getting a bit thick. Nobody with a brain is going to smear the whole works with clews pointing to himself, if he’s guilty.” He frowned at Markham. “What about that opium in the coffee, Chief?”

  Markham pursed his lips.

  “I was just thinking about that. And it might be advisable to try to find out at once who could have drugged Bliss… What’s your opinion, Vance?”

  “A coruscatin’ idea.” Vance was smoking thoughtfully. “It’s most essential to know who could have put the sleepin’ powder in the doctor’s coffee, for there’s no doubt that the person who did it is the one who sent Kyle on his long pilgrimage. In fact, the key to the whole plot lies in the question of who had the opportunity to meddle with that cup of coffee.”

  Markham sat up decisively.

  “Sergeant, get the butler. Bring him through the study so that the people in the drawing-room won’t see him come in.”

  Heath rose with alacrity and swung up the spiral stairs three steps at a time. A minute or two later he reappeared at the study door, unceremoniously urging Brush before him.

  The man was palpably in a state of fright; his face was very pale and he held his hands tightly clinched. He approached us unsteadily, but bowed with instinctive correctness and stood quite erect, like a well-trained servant waiting for orders.

  “Sit down and relax, Brush.” Vance busied himself with lighting a fresh cigarette. “I can’t blame you for being wrought up, don’t y’know. A most tryin’ situation. If you’ll try to be calm you can help us… I say, stop fidgetin’!…”

  “Yes, sir.” The man sat down on the edge of a chair, and gripped his knees tensely with his hands. “Very good, sir. But I’m very much upset. I’ve been in the employ of gentlemen for fifteen years, and never before—”

  “Oh, quite. I fully sympathize with your predicament.” Vance smiled pleasantly. “Emergencies do arise, though. And this may be your great opportunity to enlarge your field of activities. The fact is, Brush, you may be able to lead us to the truth concerning this unfortunate affair.”

  “I hope so, sir.” The butler had perceptibly calmed down under Vance’s casual attitude.

  “Tell us, then, about the breakfast arrangements in the house.” Vance, with Markham’s tacit consent, assumed the role of interrogator. “Where does the family indulge in its morning coffee?”

  “In the breakfast-room down-stairs.” Brush was now controlling himself admirably. “There’s a small room at the front of the house in the basement, which Mrs. Bliss had decorated in Egyptian style. Only luncheon and dinner are served in the main dining-room up-stairs.”

  “Ah! And does the family break its fast together?”

  “Generally, sir. I call every one at eight; and at eight-thirty breakfast is served.”

  “And just who appears at this unearthly hour?”

  “Doctor and Mrs. Bliss, and Mr. Salveter—and Mr. Hani.”

  Vance’s eyebrows went up slightly.

  “Does Hani eat with the family?”

  “Oh, no, sir.” Brush seemed perplexed. “I don’t exactly understand Mr. Hani’s status—if you know what I mean, sir. He is treated by Doctor Bliss as a servant, and yet he calls the mistress by her first name… He has his meals in an alcove off the kitchen—he will not eat with me and Dingle.” There was a certain resentment in his tone.

  Vance sought to console him.

  “Hani, you must realize, is a very old retainer of Mrs. Bliss’s family—and he is also an official of the Egyptian Government…”

  “Oh, the arrangement suits Dingle and me perfectly, sir,” was the evasive answer.

  Vance did not pursue the subject, but asked:

  “Does Mr. Scarlett ever breakfast with the Blisses?”

  “Quite often, sir—especially when there’s work to be done in the museum.”

  “Did he come this morning?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Then, if Hani was in his room all the morning and Doctor Bliss was in his study, Mrs. Bliss and Mr. Salveter must have breakfasted alone together, what?”

  “That’s correct, sir. Mrs. Bliss came down-stairs a little before half past eight and Mr. Salveter a few minutes later. The doctor had told me at eight o’clock on his way to the study that he had work to do and the others should not wait for him.”

  “And who informed you of Hani’s
indisposition?”

  “Mr. Salveter, sir. He told me that Mr. Hani had asked him to tell me he wouldn’t be down for breakfast… Their rooms, you see, face each other on the third floor, and I have noticed that Mr. Hani always leaves his door open at night.”

  Vance nodded approvingly.

  “You’re most limpid, Brush… Therefore, as I understand it, at half past eight this morning the disposition of the members of the house was as follows:—Mrs. Bliss and Mr. Salveter were in the breakfast-room down-stairs; Hani was in his bedroom on the third floor; and Doctor Bliss was in his study. Mr. Scarlett was presumably at home… And where were you and Dingle?”

  “Dingle was in the kitchen, and I was between the kitchen and the breakfast-room, serving.”

  “And to your knowledge there was no one else in the house?”

  The butler appeared mildly surprised.

  “Oh, no, sir. There could not have been any one else in the house.”

  “But if you were down-stairs,” Vance persisted, “how do you know no one came in the front door?”

  “It was locked.”

  “You are quite sure?”

  “Positive, sir. One of my duties is to see that the latch is thrown the last thing before retiring each night; and no one rang the bell or used the door this morning before nine o’clock.”

  “Very good.” Vance smoked meditatively for several moments. Then he lay back lazily in his chair and closed his eyes. “By the by, Brush, how and where is the morning coffee prepared?”

  “The coffee?” The man gave a start of astonishment, but quickly recovered himself. “The coffee is a fad of the doctor’s—if you understand me, sir. He orders it from some Egyptian firm on Ninth Avenue. It’s very black and damp, and somewhat burnt in the roasting. It tastes like French coffee—if you know how French coffee tastes.”

  “Unfortunately I do.” Vance sighed and made a wry face. “An excruciatin’ beverage. No wonder the French fill it full of hot milk… And do you yourself drink this coffee, Brush?”

  The butler looked a trifle disconcerted.

  “No, sir. I can’t say that I care for the taste of it. Mrs. Bliss has kindly given me and Dingle permission to make our own coffee in the old-fashioned way.”

  “Oh!” Vance half-closed his eyes. “So Doctor Bliss’s coffee is not made in the old-fashioned way.”

  “Well, sir, I may have used the wrong word, but it’s certainly not made in the customary way.”

  “Tell us about it.” Vance again relaxed. “There’s so much pother in this world about the correct way to make coffee. People get positively fanatical on the subject. I shouldn’t be surprised if one day we had a civil war between the boilers and the non-boilers, or perhaps the drippers and the percolaters. Silly notion…as if coffee were of any importance. Now, tea, on the other hand… But go ahead and unfold the doctor’s ideas on the subject.”

  Markham had begun beating an irritable tattoo with his foot, and Heath was wagging his head with elaborate impatience. But Vance, by his irrelevant loquacity, had produced exactly the effect he desired. He had succeeded in allaying Brush’s nervousness and diverting his mind from the direct object of the interrogation.

  “Well, sir,” the man explained, “the coffee is made in a kind of percolator like a large samovar—”

  “And where is this outlandish machine situated?”

  “It always stands on the end of the breakfast-table… It has a spirit lamp under it to keep the coffee hot after it has—has—”

  “‘Trickled’ is probably the word.”

  “Trickled, sir. The percolator is in two sections—one fits into the other like a French coffee pot. You first lay a piece of filter paper over the holes and then put in the pulverized coffee—which Dingle grinds fresh every morning. Then there’s a small plate which you set over the coffee—Doctor Bliss calls it the water-distributor. When that’s in place you pour boiling water into the top of the samovar, and the coffee drips into the bottom. It is drawn off by a little spigot.”

  ‘Very interestin’… And if one lifts off the top section of this apparatus one would have direct access to the liquid itself, what?”

  Brush was frankly puzzled by this question. “Yes, sir—but that isn’t necessary because the spigot—”

  “I can visualize the process perfectly, Brush. I was just wonderin’ how one might go about doctorin’ the coffee before it was drawn off.”

  “Doctoring the coffee?” The man appeared genuinely amazed.

  “Just a passin’ fancy.” Vance spoke with utter negligence. “And now, Brush, to return to this morning’s breakfast.—You say that Mrs. Bliss and Mr. Salveter were the only persons present. How much of the time were you actually in the breakfast-room during the repast?”

  “Very little, sir. I merely brought in the breakfast and retired at once to the kitchen. Mrs. Bliss always serves the coffee herself.”

  “Did Hani go breakfastless this morning?”

  “Not exactly, sir. Mrs. Bliss asked me to take him a cup of coffee.”

  “At what time was this?”

  Brush thought a moment.

  “At about quarter of nine, I should say, sir.”

  “And you of course took it to him.”

  “Certainly, sir. Mrs. Bliss had already prepared it when she called me.”

  “And what about the doctor’s breakfast?”

  “Mrs. Bliss suggested that I take his coffee and toast to the study. I would not have disturbed him myself unless he rang for me.”

  “And when was this suggestion made by Mrs. Bliss?”

  “Just before she and Mr. Salveter left the breakfast-room.”

  “At about nine, I think you said.”

  “Yes, sir—perhaps a few minutes before.”

  “Did Mrs. Bliss and Mr. Salveter leave the breakfast-room together?”

  “I couldn’t say, sir. The fact is, Mrs. Bliss called me in just as she had finished breakfast, and told me to take some coffee and toast to the doctor. When I returned to the breakfast-room to get the coffee, she and Mr. Salveter had gone.”

  “And had Mrs. Bliss prepared the coffee for the doctor?”

  “No, sir. I drew it myself.”

  “When?”

  “The toast was not quite ready, sir; but I drew the coffee within five minutes after Mrs. Bliss and Mr. Salveter had gone up-stairs.”

  “And during those five minutes you were, I presume, in the kitchen?”

  “Yes, sir. That is to say, except when I was in the rear hall telephoning—the usual daily orders to the tradespeople.”

  Vance roused himself from his apparent lethargy and crushed out his cigarette.

  “The breakfast-room, then, was empty for about five minutes between the time when Mrs. Bliss and Mr. Salveter went up-stairs and the time when you went in to draw Doctor Bliss’s coffee?”

  “Just about five minutes, sir.”

  “Now, focus your brain on those five minutes, Brush.—Did you hear any sound in the breakfast-room during that time?”

  The butler looked critically at Vance, and made an attempt at concentration.

  “I wasn’t paying much attention, sir,” he replied at length. “And I was telephoning most of the time. But I can’t recall hearing any sound. As a matter of fact, no one could have been in the breakfast-room during those five minutes.”

  “Mrs. Bliss or Mr. Salveter might have returned for some reason,” Vance suggested.

  “It’s possible, sir,” Brush admitted dubiously.

  “Moreover, could not Hani have come down-stairs in the interim?”

  “But he was not well, sir. I took him his coffee—”

  “So you told us… I say, Brush, was Hani in bed when you presented him with this abominable coffee?

  “He was lying down—on the sofa.”

  “Dressed?”

  “He had on that striped robe he usually wears round the house.”

  Vance was silent for several moments. Presently he turned to Markh
am.

  “It’s not what one would call a crystalline situation,” he commented. “The samovar containing the coffee seems to have been in an almost indecent state of exposure this morning. Observe that Mrs. Bliss and Salveter were alone with it during breakfast, and that either one of ’em might have lingered behind for a few moments at the conclusion of the meal, or perhaps returned. Also, Hani could have descended to the breakfast-room as soon as Mrs. Bliss and Salveter came up-stairs. In fact, every one in the house had an opportunity to meddle with the coffee before Brush took the doctor’s breakfast to him.”

  “It looks that way.” Markham considered the matter morosely for a while. Then he addressed himself to the butler. “Did you notice anything unusual about the coffee you drew for Doctor Bliss?”

  “Why no, sir.” Brush sought unsuccessfully to hide his astonishment at the question. “It seemed perfectly all right, sir.”

  “The usual color and consistency?”

  “I didn’t see anything wrong with it, sir.” The man’s apprehension was growing, and again an unhealthy pallor overspread his sallow features. “It might have been a little strong,” he added nervously. “But Doctor Bliss prefers his coffee very strong.”

  Vance got to his feet and yawned.

  “I could bear to have a peep at this breakfast-room and its weird percolator. A bit of observation might help us, don’t y’know.”

  Markham readily acceded.

  “We’d better go through the doctor’s study,” said Vance, “so as not to rouse the curiosity of the occupants of the drawing-room…”

  Brush led the way silently. He looked ghastly, and as he ascended the spiral stairs ahead of us I noticed that he held tightly to the iron railing. I could not figure him out. At times he appeared to be entirely dissociated from the tragic events of the forenoon; but at other times I got the distinct impression that some racking secret or suspicion was undermining his poise.

  The breakfast-room extended, except for a small hallway, across the entire front of the house; but it was no more than eight feet deep. The front windows, which gave on the areaway of the street, were paned with opaque glass and heavily curtained. The room was fitted in exotic fashion and decorated with Egyptian designs. The breakfast-table was at least twelve feet long and very narrow, inlaid and painted in the decadent, rococo-esque style of the New Empire—not unlike the baroque furniture found in the tomb of Tut-ankh-Amûn.