The Greatest Murder Mysteries of S. S. Van Dine - 12 Titles in One Volume (Illustrated Edition). S.S. Van Dine

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      “Was she alone?”

      “No, sir. There was a gentleman with her.”

      “Do you know who he was?”

      “I don’t know his name, sir. But I have seen him several times before when he has called on Miss Odell.”

      “You could describe him, I suppose.”

      “Yes, sir. He’s tall and clean-shaven except for a very short gray moustache, and is about forty-five, I should say. He looks—if you understand me, sir—like a man of wealth and position.”

      Markham nodded. “And now, tell me: did he accompany Miss Odell into her apartment, or did he go immediately away?”

      “He went in with Miss Odell, and stayed about half an hour.”

      Markham’s eyes brightened, and there was a suppressed eagerness in his next words.

      “Then he arrived about eleven, and was alone with Miss Odell in her apartment until about half past eleven. You’re sure of these facts?”

      “Yes, sir, that’s correct,” the man affirmed.

      Markham paused and leaned forward.

      “Now, Jessup, think carefully before answering: did any one else call on Miss Odell at any time last night?”

      “No one, sir,” was the unhesitating reply.

      “How can you be so sure?”

      “I would have seen them, sir. They would have had to pass the switchboard in order to reach this apartment.”

      “And don’t you ever leave the switchboard?” asked Markham.

      “No, sir,” the man assured him vigorously, as if protesting against the implication that he would desert a post of duty. “When I want a drink of water, or go to the toilet, I use the little lavatory in the reception-room; but I always hold the door open and keep my eye on the switchboard in case the pilot-light should show up for a telephone call. Nobody could walk down the hall, even if I was in the lavatory, without my seeing them.”

      One could well believe that the conscientious Jessup kept his eye at all times on the switchboard lest a call should flash and go unanswered. The man’s earnestness and reliability were obvious; and there was no doubt in any of our minds, I think, that if Miss Odell had had another visitor that night, Jessup would have known of it.

      But Heath, with the thoroughness of his nature, rose quickly and stepped out into the main hall. In a moment he returned, looking troubled but satisfied.

      “Right!” he nodded to Markham. “The lavatory door’s on a direct unobstructed line with the switchboard.”

      Jessup took no notice of this verification of his statement, and stood, his eyes attentively on the District Attorney, awaiting any further questions that might be asked him. There was something both admirable and confidence-inspiring in his unruffled demeanor.

      “What about last night?” resumed Markham. “Did you leave the switchboard often, or for long?”

      “Just once, sir; and then only to go to the lavatory for a minute or two. But I watched the board the whole time.”

      “And you’d be willing to state on oath that no one else called on Miss Odell from ten o’clock on, and that no one, except her escort, left her apartment after that hour?”

      “Yes, sir, I would.”

      He was plainly telling the truth, and Markham pondered several moments before proceeding.

      “What about the side door?”

      “That’s kept locked all night, sir. The janitor bolts it when he leaves, and unbolts it in the morning. I never touch it.”

      Markham leaned back and turned to Heath.

      “The testimony of the janitor and Jessup here,” he said, “seems to limit the situation pretty narrowly to Miss Odell’s escort. If, as seems reasonable to assume, the side door was bolted all night, and if no other caller came or went through the front door, it looks as if the man we wanted to find was the one who brought her home.”

      Heath gave a short mirthless laugh.

      “That would be fine, sir, if something else hadn’t happened around here last night.” Then, to Jessup: “Tell the District Attorney the rest of the story about this man.”

      Markham looked toward the operator with expectant interest; and, Vance, lifting himself on one elbow, listened attentively.

      Jessup spoke in a level voice, with the alert and careful manner of a soldier reporting to his superior officer.

      “It was just this, sir. When the gentleman came out of Miss Odell’s apartment at about half past eleven, he stopped at the switchboard and asked me to get him a Yellow Taxicab. I put the call through, and while he was waiting for the car, Miss Odell screamed and called for help. The gentleman turned and rushed to the apartment door, and I followed quickly behind him. He knocked; but at first there was no answer. Then he knocked again, and at the same time called out to Miss Odell and asked her what was the matter. This time she answered. She said everything was all right, and told him to go home and not to worry. Then he walked back with me to the switchboard, remarking that he guessed Miss Odell must have fallen asleep and had a nightmare. We talked for a few minutes about the war, and then the taxicab came. He said good night, and went out, and I heard the car drive away.”

      It was plain to see that this epilogue of the departure of Miss Odell’s anonymous escort completely upset Markham’s theory of the case. He looked down at the floor with a baffled expression, and smoked vigorously for several moments. At last he asked:

      “How long was it after this man came out of the apartment that you heard Miss Odell scream?”

      “About five minutes. I had put my connection through to the taxicab company, and it was a minute or so later that she screamed.”

      “Was the man near the switchboard?”

      “Yes, sir. In fact, he had one arm resting on it.”

      “How many times did Miss Odell scream? And just what did she say when she called for help?”

      “She screamed twice, and then cried ‘Help! Help!’ ”

      “And when the man knocked on the door the second time, what did he say?”

      “As near as I can recollect, sir, he said: ‘Open the door, Margaret! What’s the trouble?’ ”

      “And can you remember her exact words when she answered him?”

      Jessup hesitated, and frowned reflectively.

      “As I recall, she said: ‘There’s nothing the matter. I’m sorry I screamed. Everything’s all right, so please go home, and don’t worry.’ . . . Of course, that may not be exactly what she said, but it was something very close to it.”

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