The Philo Vance Megapack. S.S. Van Dine

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      “Then,” he continued, “you served tea to the young lady and Mr. Benson. After a bit she departed, and Mr. Benson went upstairs to dress for dinner.… Y’ see, Mrs. Platz, I happen to know.”

      He lit another cigarette.

      “Did you notice the young lady particularly? If not, I’ll describe her to you. She was rather short—petite is the word. She had dark hair and dark eyes and she was dressed quietly.”

      A change had come over the woman. Her eyes stared; her cheeks were now gray; and her breathing had become audible.

      “Now, Mrs. Platz,” demanded Vance sharply, “what have you to say?”

      She drew a deep breath. “There wasn’t anybody here,” she said doggedly. There was something almost admirable in her obstinacy.

      Vance considered a moment. Markham was about to speak but evidently thought better of it and sat watching the woman fixedly.

      “Your attitude is understandable,” Vance observed finally. “The young lady, of course, was well known to you, and you had a personal reason for not wanting it known she was here.”

      At these words she sat up straight, a look of terror in her face. “I never saw her before!” she cried, then stopped abruptly.

      “Ah!” Vance gave her an amused leer. “You had never seen the young lady before—eh, what?… That’s quite possible. But it’s immaterial. She’s a nice girl, though, I’m sure—even if she did have a dish of tea with your employer alone in his home.”

      “Did she tell you she was here?” The woman’s voice was listless. The reaction to her tense obduracy had left her apathetic.

      “Not exactly,” Vance replied. “But it wasn’t necess’ry. I knew without her informing me.… Just when did she arrive, Mrs. Platz?”

      “About a half hour after Mr. Benson got here from the office.” She had at last given over all denials and evasions. “But he didn’t expect her—that is, he didn’t say anything to me about her coming; and he didn’t order tea until after she came.”

      Markham thrust himself forward. “Why didn’t you tell me she’d been here when I asked you yesterday morning?”

      The woman cast an uneasy glance about the room.

      “I rather fancy,” Vance intervened pleasantly, “that Mrs. Platz was afraid you might unjustly suspect the young lady.”

      She grasped eagerly at his words. “Yes sir—that was all. I was afraid you might think she—did it. And she was such a quiet, sweet-looking girl.… That was the only reason, sir.”

      “Quite so,” agreed Vance consolingly. “But tell me: did it not shock you to see such a quiet, sweet-looking young lady smoking cigarettes?”

      Her apprehension gave way to astonishment. “Why—yes, sir, it did.… But she wasn’t a bad girl—I could tell that. And most girls smoke nowadays. They don’t think anything of it, like they used to.”

      “You’re quite right,” Vance assured her. “Still young ladies really shouldn’t throw their cigarettes in tiled, gas-log fireplaces, should they, now?”

      The woman regarded him uncertainly; she suspected him of jesting. “Did she do that?” She leaned over and looked into the fireplace. “I didn’t see any cigarettes there this morning.”

      “No, you wouldn’t have,” Vance informed her. “One of the district attorney’s sleuths, d’ ye see, cleaned it all up nicely for you yesterday.”

      She shot Markham a questioning glance. She was not sure whether Vance’s remark was to be taken seriously; but his casualness of manner and pleasantness of voice tended to put her at ease.

      “Now that we understand each other, Mrs. Platz,” he was saying, “was there anything else you particularly noticed when the young lady was here? You will be doing her a good service by telling us, because both the district attorney and I happen to know she is innocent.”

      She gave Vance a long, shrewd look, as if appraising his sincerity. Evidently the results of her scrutiny were favorable, for her answer left no doubt as to her complete frankness.

      “I don’t know if it’ll help, but when I came in with the toast, Mr. Benson looked like he was arguing with her. She seemed worried about something that was going to happen and asked him not to hold her to some promise she’d made. I was only in the room a minute and I didn’t hear much. But just as I was going out he laughed and said it was only a bluff and that nothing was going to happen.”

      She stopped and waited anxiously. She seemed to fear that her revelation might, after all, prove injurious rather than helpful to the girl.

      “Was that all?” Vance’s tone indicated that the matter was of no consequence.

      The woman demurred.

      “That was all I heard; but…there was a small blue box of jewelry sitting on the table.”

      “My word!—a box of jewelry! Do you know whose it was?”

      “No, sir, I don’t. The lady hadn’t brought it, and I never saw it in the house before.”

      “How did you know it was jewelry?”

      “When Mr. Benson went upstairs to dress, I came in to clear the tea things away, and it was still sitting on the table.”

      Vance smiled. “And you played Pandora and took a peep—eh, what? Most natural—I’d have done it myself.”

      He stepped back and bowed politely.

      “That will be all, Mrs. Platz.… And you needn’t worry about the young lady. Nothing is going to happen to her.”

      When she had left us, Markham leaned forward and shook his cigar at Vance. “Why didn’t you tell me you had information about the case unknown to me?”

      “My dear chap!” Vance lifted his eyebrows in protestation. “To what do you refer specifically?”

      “How did you know this St. Clair woman had been here in the afternoon?”

      “I didn’t; but I surmised it. There were cigarette butts of hers in the grate; and, as I knew she hadn’t been here on the night Benson was shot, I thought it rather likely she had been here earlier in the day. And since Benson didn’t arrive from his office until four, I whispered into my ear that she had called sometime between four and the hour of his departure for dinner.… An element’ry syllogism, what?”

      “How did you know she wasn’t here that night?”

      “The psychological aspects of the crime left me in no doubt. As I told you, no woman committed it—my metaphysical hypotheses again; but never mind.… Furthermore, yesterday morning I stood on the spot where the murderer stood and sighted with my eye along the line of fire, using Benson’s head and the mark on the wainscot as my points of coinc’dence. It was evident to me then, even without measurements, that the guilty person was rather tall.”

      “Very СКАЧАТЬ