OCR Text |
Show I The KENNEL MURDER CASE I By S. S. Van Dine Copyright by W. IT. Wright Tv . SYNOPSIS Phllo Vance, crime expert, la called to lnvestiKate the aniipoMt Buleule of Archer Coe. With Luwtrict Attorney Mflrkham, he goes to Coe'a house. They find Wrede, a friend of Coe'a, there; &lao a Siifnor Grassi, a kuchi. The door of the death chamber la bolted from th Inalde. They force It. Coe la aeated, revolvor In hla rlsrht hand and a bullet bul-let hoi In hla temple. CHAPTER I Continued 2 There was a straight wimlsor clialr belilncl the desk, and I could not help wondering why Coe had selected the armchair at the side of the desk, facing fac-ing the door. Was It because lie had considered It more comfortable for Ms last resting place In tills life? The nswer to this passing speculation of mlno did not come for many hours; and when It did come, as a result of Vance's deductions, It constituted one f the vital links In the evidential chain of tills strange and perplexing case. doe's body was clothed In a green Silk-wool dressing gown which came Dearly to his ankles; but on his feet, which were extended straight in front of him, was a pair of high, heavy street shoes, laced and tied. Again a question flashed through my mind: Why did Coe not wear bedroom slippers slip-pers with his dressing gown? The answer to this question also was to prove a vital point In the solution of the tragedy. Vance went Immediately to the body, touched the dead man's hand, and bent forward over the wound In the forehead. fore-head. Tiien he walked back to the . floor with Its hanging bolt, scrutinized It for a moment, ran his eye around the heavy oak framework and lintel, and turned slowly back to tiie room. A frown wrinkled his brow. Very deliberately de-liberately he readied In his pocket and took out another cigarette. When he had lighted It, he strolled to the west wall of the room and stood gazing at R faded Ninth century Chinese painting. In the meantime the rest of us had pressed round the body of Coe, and Stood Inspecting It In silence. Wrede and GrnssI seemed appalled In the actual presence of death. Wrede spoke to Markham. "I trust I did right In advising Cam-ble Cam-ble to call you before breaking In the floor. I realize now that If there had remained a spark of life " "Oh, he was quite dead hours ago," Vance Interrupted, without turning from the painting. "Your decision has worked out perfectly." Markham swung about. "What do you mean by that, Vance?" "Merely that, If the door had been broken In, and the room overrun with rolieitous friends, and the. body handled han-dled for signs of life, and all the locked-In evidence probably destroyed, we would have had a deuced difficult time arrivln' at any sensible solution of what really went on here last night." "Well, It's pretty plain to me what went on here last night." It was Heath who projected himself, a bit belligerently, into the talk. "This guy locked himself In, and blew his brains out. And even you, Mr. Vance, can't make anything original outa that." Vance turned' slowly and shook his head. "Tut, tut. Sergeant," he said pleasantly. pleas-antly. "It's not I who am going to spoil your simple and beautiful theory." "Xo?" Heath was still belligerent. "Then who Is?" "The corpse," answered Vance mildly. Before Heath could reply, Markham, who had been watching Vance closely, turned quickly to Wrede and Grassi. "I will ask you gentlemen to wait downstairs. . . . Hennessey, please go to the drawing room and see that these gentlemen do not leave it until I give them permission. . . . You understand," un-derstand," he added to Wrede and Grassi, "that it will be necessary to question you about this affair after we have had the verdict of the medical medi-cal examiner." Wrede showed his resentment at JIarkham's peremptory manner; but Grassi, with a polite smile, merely bowed; and the two, followed by Hennessey, Hen-nessey, passed out of the room and down the stairs. "And you," said Markham to Gamble, "wait at the front door and bring Doctor Doc-tor Doremus here the moment he arrives." ar-rives." Gamble shot a haunted look at the body, and went out. Markham closed the door, and then wheeled about, facing Vance, who now stood behind Coe's desk gazing down moodily at the dead man's hand clutching clutch-ing the revolver. "What's the meaning of all these mysterious Innuendos?" he demanded testily. "Not Innuendos, Markham," Vance returned quietly, keeping his eyes on Coe's hand. "Merely speculations. I'm rather interested In certain aspects as-pects of this fnscinatin' crime." "Crime?" Markham gave a mirthless mirth-less smile. "It was all very well for us to theorize before we got here and I was inclined to agree with you that u,tclde seemed Incompatible with Coe's temperament but facts, after all. form the only reasonable basis for a decision. And the facts here seem pretty cleancut. That door was bolted on the Inside; there's no other means of entrance or exit to this room ; Coe Is sitting here with a revolver in his hand, and a hole In his right temple. There are no signs of a struggle; the windows and shades are down, and the lights burning. . . . Ilow, in Heaven's name, could It have been anything but suicide?" "I'm sure I don't know." Vance shrugged wearily. "But it wasn't suicide sui-cide really, don't y' know." He frowned again. "And that's the weird part of It. Y' see, Markham, it should have been suicide and it wasn't. There's something diabolical and humorous hu-morous about this case. Humorous In a grim, salirical sense. Some one miscalculated somewhere the murderer mur-derer was silting in a game with the cards stacked against him. . . . Positively Pos-itively amazin' I" "Hut the facts," protested Markham. Mark-ham. "Oh, your facts are quite correct. As you lawyers say. they're irresistible. But you have overlooked additional facts." "For Instance?" "Regard yon bedroom slippers." Vance pointed to t he foot of the bed where a pair of soft red slippers were neatly arranged. "And then regard these heavy boots which the corpse is wearing. And yet he has on his dressing dress-ing gown, and is sitting in his easy chair. A bit incongruous, what? Why did the hedonistic and luxury-loving Coe not change his footwear to something some-thing more relaxing for this great moment mo-ment In his life. And note that haste was not a factor. His robe is neatly buttoned ; and the girdle is tied in an admirable bow-knot. We can hardly assume that he suddenly decided on suicide half-way through his changing from street clothes to negligee. And yet, Markham. something must have stopped him something must have compelled him to sit down, stretch his logs out, and close his eyes before he had finished the operation of making himself sartorially comfortable." "Your reasoning is not altogether convincing," Markham countered. "A man might conceivably wear heavy shoes with a dressing gown." "Perhaps." Vance nodded. "I shan't he narrow-minded in these matters. But, assuming Coe Is a suicide, why should he have chosen this chair facing fac-ing the door? A man bent on doing a workmanlike job of shooting himself would Instinctively sit up straight, where he could perhaps brace his arms and steady his hand. If he were going to sit by the desk at all he would, I think, have chosen the straight chair where he could rest both elbows on the top and thus insure a steady, accurate ac-curate aim." "His arm Is on the end of the desk," put In Heath. "Oh, quite and In a rather awkward awk-ward position eh, what? Considering Consider-ing how low the easy chair Is, Coe could not possibly have had his elbow on the desk when he pulled the trigger. trig-ger. If so, the shot would have gone over his head. His arm was necessarily neces-sarily lower than the desk when the gun was fired if he fired it Therefore, There-fore, we must assume that after the bullet had entered his brain, he lifted his right arm to the desk and arranged ar-ranged it neatly In Its present position." posi-tion." "Maybe yes and maybe no," muttered mut-tered Heath, after a pause during which he studied the body and raised his own right hand to his forehead. Then he added aggressively: "But you can't get away from that bolted door." Vance sighed. "I wish I could get away from it. It bothers me horribly. If It wasn't for the fact that the door was bolted on the Inside, I'd be more inclined to agree that It was suicide. A man of Coe's intelligence wouldn't plan suicide sui-cide and then deliberately make it difficult diffi-cult for anyone to reach his body. What could he have gained by securely secure-ly bolting the door on the inside so that.it would have to be broken in? The act of shooting would have been over In a second ; and there was no danger of his being disturbed in his own bedroom. Had he killed himself he would have wanted Gamble or someone else to find him at the earliest earli-est possible moment. He would certainly cer-tainly not have placed deliberate difficulties diffi-culties in their way." "But," argued Markham, "your very theory contradicts itself. Who but Coe could have bolted the door on the Inside?" "No one, apparently," answered Vance with a dispirited sigh. "And that's what makes the affair so dashed appealin'. The situation reads thus: A man is murdered ; then he rises and bolts the door after the slayer has departed de-parted ; and later he arranges himself him-self In an easy chair so as to make it appear like suicide." "That's a swell theory!" grunted Heath disgustedly. "Anyway, we'll know more about it when Doc Doremus Dore-mus gets here. And my bet Is he's going go-ing to wash the whole case up by calling call-ing It suicide." "And my bet Is, Sergeant." Vance replied mildly, "that he's going to do nothing of the sort. I have an irre sisllble feelin' that Doctor Doremus will Inform us that It Is not suicide." Ilealh screwed his face Into a ques tinning frown and studied Vance. Then he snorted. "Well, we'll see," he mumbled. Vance paid scant attention. lis eyes were moving over the desk. At one side of the blotter lay a quarto volume of "Li Tal Ming Ts'u T'ou l"u," by llsiang Yuun-p'ien. "You see, Markham," he said. "Coe was apparently dreaming of his latest acquisition in peach-bloom shortly be fore he departed this life. And it Is rather safe to assume that a man contemplating con-templating suicide does not indulge his acquisitiveness and investigate til e history his-tory of his ceramic wares Just before sending a bullet into his brain." Markham wailed without answering. "ind here's something else rather significant." Vance pointed to a small pile of blank note paper in the middle of the blotter. "This paper is lying a little on the bias, in the position that a right-handed man would place it if he contemplated writing on it. And, also, note that at the head of the first page Is yesterday's date Wednesday, Wednes-day, October 10 " "Ain't that natural?" put in Heath. "All those birds who commit suicide writer letters first." "But, Sergeant," smiled Vance, "the letter isn't written. Coe got no farther far-ther than the date." "Can't a guy change his mind?" Heath persisted. Vance nodded. "Oh, quite. But, in that case, the pen would, in all probability, be In the holder set. And you will observe that a P' !yl ft "You're a "rutally Unfeeling Woman, Wom-an, Miss Lake," He Said Through Set Jaws. the pen container is empty, and that there is no pen visible on the desk." "Maybe It's In his pocket." "Maybe." Vance stepped back and bending over, ran his gaze over the floor round the desk. Then he knelt down and looked under the desk. Presently Pres-ently he reached out his arm and, from beneath the right-hand tier of drawers, drew forth a fountain pen. Rising, he held the pen out. "Coe dropped the pen, and it rolled under the desk." He placed It beside the note paper. "Men don't ordinarily drop fountain pens In the middle of writing something and then fail to pick them up." Heath glowered in silence, and Markham Mark-ham asked : "You think Coe was interrupted in the midst of writing something?" "Interrupted? ... In a way per haps. Vance himseir seemed puzziea. 'Still there are no signs of a struggle, strug-gle, and he is reclining on an easy chair at the end of the desk. Furthermore, Further-more, his features are quite serene ; his eyes are closed peacefully and the door was bolted on the Inside. . . . Very strange, Markham." He walked to the shaded window and back, smoking leisurely. Suddenly Sudden-ly he stopped and lifted his head, looking look-ing Markham straight in the eyes. "Interrupted yes! That's it! But not by any outside agency not by an Intruder. He was Interrupted by something some-thing more subtle more deadly. He was interrupted while he was alone. Something happened something sinister sin-ister intruded and he stopped writing, writ-ing, dropped the pen, forgot it. rose, and seated himself in that easy chair. Then came the end, swift and unexpected unex-pected before he could change his shoes. . . . Don't you see? Those shoes are another indication of that terrible Interruption." "And the gun?" asked Heath contemptuously. con-temptuously. "I doubt if Coe saw the gun, Sergeant." Ser-geant." CHAPTER II A Startling Discovery. At this moment the front door downstairs down-stairs opened and shut with a bang, and we could hear a rather strident feminine voice address the butler. "Morning, Gamble. Take my clubs and tell Liang to rustle me up some tea and muffins." There there came a sound of footsteps foot-steps on the stairs, and Gamble's appealing ap-pealing voice said. "But, Miss Lake, I beg of you just a moment, please." "Tea and muflins," came Miss Lake's voice curtly; and the footsteps continued con-tinued up the stairs. Markham and Heath and I stepped toward the door just as the young woman readied the upper landing. Miss Hilda Lake was a short, some what stocklly built woman of about thirty, strong, resilient and athletic-looking. athletic-looking. Her blue-gray eyes were steady and, I thought, a trifle hard; her nose was small and too broad for beauty; and her lips were full though unemotional. Her yellow-brown hair was cut short and combed straight back from a broad, low forehead. She wore a tweed suit and heavy tan oxfords ox-fords with rubber soles. A white shirtwaist shirt-waist with a green four-In-liand added a final touch of mannishness to her appearance. As she readied the head of the stairs and saw Markham, she came forward with a swinging stride and held out her hand. "Greetings," she said. "What brings you here so early? Business with uncle. I suppose." She ran her eyes appralsingly over Heath and me as she spoke, and frowned. Then before Markham could answer she added: "Anything wrong?" "Something seriously wrong. Miss Lake," Markham replied, trying to bar her way into the room. "If you will be so good as to wait " But the young woman, with an aggressive ag-gressive gesture, brushed past us and entered the room. The moment she caught sight of Archer Coe she went swiftly to him and knelt down, putting her arm about him. "Hey ! Don't touch that body !" Heath stepped quickly up to her and put his hand on her shoulder none too gently, pulling her to her feet. She swung toward him angrily, her feet wide apart. Markham stepped diplomatically into the breach. "Nothing must be touched, Miss Lake," he explained, "until the medical medi-cal examiner arrives." She regarded Markham calculatingly. calculat-ingly. "Is It also against the law to tell me what's happened?" she asked. "We know little more than you do," Markham returned mildly. "We have just arrived, and we found your uncle's body exactly as you see it." She turned and contemplated the inert figure In the armchair. "Well, what do you think has happened?" hap-pened?" She put the question in a hard, even tone. "There Is every appearance of suicide. sui-cide. . . ." "Suicide?" She turned back to Markham coldly. "I wouldn't call It that." Vance, who had been standing at the rear of the room near the bed, came forward. "Neither would I, Miss Lake," he said. She moved her head slightly and lifted her eyebrows. "Ah ! Good morning, Mr. Vance. In the excitement of the moment I didn't see you. . . . You are quite right-it's right-it's not suicide." Her eyes narrowed. "It's been a long time since you called. Ceramics and corpses would seem to be the only attractions this house holds for you." (I thought I detected a note of resentment in her voice). Vance ignored the unfriendly criticism. criti-cism. "Why do you repudiate the suicide theory?" he asked with pronounced courtesy. "Very simple," she replied. "Uncle was too great an egotist to deprive the world of his presence." "But egotism," Vance submitted, "is often the cause of suicide. Boredom, don't y' know the inability to find a responsive appreciation. Suicide gives the egotist his one supreme moment of triumph." Vance spoke with academic aloofness. "Uncle Archer needed no supreme moments," Hilda Lake returned contemptuously. con-temptuously. "He had such moments every time he acquired a Chinese knicknack. An utterly, worthless piece of soft Chun porcelain in a silk nest, which was of no use to any human being, gave him a greater thrill than I would get out of beating Bobby Jones. I don't think uncle killed himself." him-self." "Forgive me." Vance bowed. "You are unquestionably right. But neither Mr. Markham nor Sergeant Heath agrees with us. They are quite ready to dismiss the case as suicide." She looked from Markham to Heath with a hard, cold smile. "And why not?" she asked. "It would be so easy and would save a lot of bally scandal." Markham was piqued by the woman's wom-an's attitude. "Who, Miss Lake," he asked in his typical courtroom manner, "would have any reason for desiring your uncle's death?" "1, for one," she answered unhesitatingly, unhesi-tatingly, looking Markham straight In the eye. "He Irritated me beyond words. There was no sympathy between be-tween us. ne stood in the way of everything I wanted to do; and he was able to make life pretty miserable for me because he held the purse-strings. purse-strings. A nice cold arctic day it was for me when he was appointed my guardian and I was made dependent on him." (Her voice became bitter. There was a clouded angry look In her eyes, and her square Jaw was set slightly forward). "His death at any time these past ten years would have been a godsend to me. Now that he's out of the way I'll get my patrimony and be able to do what I want to do without Interference." Markham and Heath regarded her In amazed Indignation. There was something some-thing Icily venomous in her manner a calculating hatred more potent and devastating even than her words. It was Vance's languid and indifferent voice that broke the momentary silence that followed her tirade. "My word! Really, y' know, Miss Lake, you're dashed refresliin' In your frankness. . , . Are we to accept your comments as a confession of murder?" mur-der?" "Not at present," was the even reply. re-ply. "But If the authorities are set on calling it suicide, I may come forward for-ward later and claim the credit for his demise by way of upholding the honor of the family. You see, I regard a good healthy Justifiable murder In higher esteem than a paltry suicide." The blood was mounting to Mark-ham's Mark-ham's cheeks: he was becoming angry at Hilda Lake's apparent flippancy. "Who besides yourself," he asked, trying to control his feelings, "would have had reason to murder your uncle?" The woman looked up at the celling with meditative shrewdness and sat down on the edge of the desk. "Any number of persons." She spoke indifferently. "De mortuls and all that kind of rot but, after all, the fact that Uncle Archer is dead doesn't make him any more admirable. And there are several people who would prefer him dead to alive." Heath had stood solemnly by during this astonishing conversation, puffing at a long black cigar and studying the woman with puzzled belligerence. At this point he spoke sourly. "If you think your uncle was such a wash-out and you were so glad to find he'd been croaked, why did you run over to him and kneel down, and pretend to be worried?" Hilda Lake gave the sergeant a withering, with-ering, yet whimsical, look. "My dear Mr. Policeman, I simply wanted to make sure he was dead." Markham stepped forward. "Tou're a brutally unfeeling woman, Miss Lake," he said through set jaws. Vance proffered her his cigarette case. "No, thanks." She was now looking down at Archer Coe's body. "I rarely smoke. Bad for the wind upsets the nerves. . . . Yes," she mused, as If reverting to her conversation with Markham, "there won't be any great mourning at dear uncle's passing." Markham returned to the point "Would you care to name anyone In particular who might be pleased with Mr. Coe's death?" "That wouldn't be cricket," she returned. re-turned. "But I'll say this much : there are several Chinese gentlemen whom uncle has swindled and tricked out of rare treasures, who will be delighted to learn that his collecting days are over. And you probably know yourself, your-self, Mr. Markham, that there were many unpleasant rumors after uncle's return from China last year gossip about his desecrating graveyards and removing funerary urns and figures. He received several threatening letters." let-ters." Markham nodded. "Yes, I remember. He showed me one or two of them. . . . Do you seriously seri-ously believe an outraged Oriental killed him?" "Certainly not. The Chinese have more sense than to kill anyone for a piece of bric-a-brac." TO BE CONTINUED. |