The Greatest Works of S. S. Van Dine (Illustrated Edition). S.S. Van Dine

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СКАЧАТЬ one understands my needs the way Ada does, Mr. Markham. What a relief it will be when the dear child gets well enough to care for me again! But I mustn’t complain. The nurse does the best she knows how, I suppose.—Please sit down, gentlemen . . . yet what wouldn’t I give if I could only stand up the way you can. No one realizes what it means to be a helpless paralytic.”

      Markham did not avail himself of the invitation, but waited until she had finished speaking and then said:

      “Please believe that you have my deepest sympathy, madam. . . . You sent for me, Doctor Von Blon said.”

      “Yes!” She looked at him calculatingly. “I wanted to ask you a favor.”

      She paused, and Markham bowed but did not answer.

      “I wanted to request you to drop this investigation. I’ve had enough worry and disturbance as it is. But I don’t count. It’s the family I’m thinking of—the good name of the Greenes.” A note of pride came into her voice. “What need is there to drag us through the mire and make us an object of scandalous gossip for the canaille? I want peace and quiet, Mr. Markham. I won’t be here much longer; and why should my house be overrun with policemen just because Julia and Chester have suffered their just deserts for neglecting me and letting me suffer here alone? I’m an old woman and a cripple, and I’m deserving of a little consideration.”

      Her face clouded, and her voice became harsh.

      “You haven’t any right to come here and upset my house and annoy me in this outrageous fashion! I haven’t had a minute’s rest since all this excitement began, and my spine is paining me so I can hardly breathe.” She took several stertorous breaths, and her eyes flashed indignantly. “I don’t expect any better treatment from my children—they’re hard and thoughtless. But you, Mr. Markham—an outsider, a stranger: why should you want to torture me with all this commotion? It’s outrageous—inhuman!”

      “I am sorry if the presence of the officers of the law in your house disturbs you,” Markham told her gravely; “but I have no alternative. When a crime has been committed it is my duty to investigate, and to use every means at my disposal to bring the guilty person to justice.”

      “Justice!” The old lady repeated the word scornfully. “Justice has already been done. I’ve been avenged for the treatment I’ve received these many years, lying here helpless.”

      There was something almost terrifying in the woman’s cruel and unrelenting hatred of her children, and in the cold-blooded satisfaction she seemed to take in the fact that two of them had been punished by death. Markham, naturally sympathetic, revolted against her attitude.

      “However much gratification you may feel at the murder of your son and daughter, madam,” he said coldly, “it does not release me from my duty to find the murderer.—Was there anything else you wished to speak to me about?”

      For a while she sat silent, her face working with impotent passion. The gaze she bent on Markham was almost ferocious. But presently the vindictive vigilance of her eyes relaxed, and she drew a deep sigh.

      “No; you may go now. I have nothing more to say. And, anyway, who cares about an old helpless woman like me? I should have learned by this time that nobody thinks of my comfort, lying here all alone, unable to help myself—a nuisance to every one. . . .”

      Her whining, self-pitying voice followed us as we made our escape.

      “Y’ know, Markham,” said Vance, as we came into the lower hall, “the Empress Dowager is not entirely devoid of reason. Her suggestion is deserving of consideration. The clarion voice of duty may summon you to this quest, but—my word!—whither shall one quest? There’s nothing sane in this house—nothing that lends itself to ordin’ry normal reason. Why not take her advice and chuck it? Even if you learn the truth, it’s likely to prove a sort of Pyrrhic vict’ry. I’m afraid it’ll be more terrible than the crimes themselves.”

      Markham did not deign to answer; he was familiar with Vance’s heresies, and he also knew that Vance himself would be the last person to throw over an unsolved problem.

      “We’ve got something to go on, Mr. Vance,” submitted Heath solemnly, but without enthusiasm. “There’s those foot-tracks, for instance; and we’ve got the missing gun to find. Dubois is up-stairs now taking finger-prints. And the reports on the servants’ll be coming along soon. There’s no telling what’ll turn up in a few days. I’ll have a dozen men working on this case before night.”

      “Such zeal, Sergeant! But it’s in the atmosphere of this old house—not in tangible clews—that the truth lies hidden. It’s somewhere in these old jumbled rooms; it’s peering out from dark corners and from behind doors. It’s here—in this very hall, perhaps.”

      His tone was fraught with troubled concern, and Markham looked at him sharply.

      “I think you’re right, Vance,” he muttered. “But how is one to get at it?”

      “’Pon my soul, I don’t know. How does one get at spectres, anyway? I’ve never had much intimate intercourse with ghosts, don’t y’ know.”

      “You’re talking rubbish!” Markham jerked on his overcoat, and turned to Heath. “You go ahead, Sergeant; and keep in touch with me. If nothing develops from your inquiries, we’ll discuss the next step.”

      And he and Vance and I went out to the waiting car.

      CHAPTER XII

       A MOTOR RIDE

       Table of Contents

      (November 12—November 25)

The inquiry was pushed according to the best traditions of the Police Department. Captain Carl Hagedorn, the firearms expert,¹⁴ made a minute scientific examination of the bullets. The same revolver, he found, had fired all three shots: the peculiar rifling told him this; and he was able to state that the revolver was an old Smith & Wesson of a style whose manufacture had been discontinued. But, while these findings offered substantiation to the theory that Chester Greene’s missing gun was the one used by the murderer, they added nothing to the facts already established or suspected. Deputy Inspector Conrad Brenner, the burglar-tools expert,¹⁵ had conducted an exhaustive examination of the scene for evidential signs of a forced entrance, but had found no traces whatever of a housebreaker.

      Dubois and his assistant Bellamy—the two leading finger-print authorities of the New York Police Department—went so far as to take finger-prints of every member of the Greene household, including Doctor Von Blon; and these were compared with the impressions found in the hallways and in the rooms where the shootings had occurred. But when this tedious process was over not an unidentified print remained; and all those that had been found and photographed were logically accounted for.

      Chester Greene’s galoshes were taken to Headquarters and turned over to Captain Jerym, who carefully compared them with the measurements and the patterns made by Snitkin. No new fact concerning them, however, was discovered. The tracks in the snow, Captain Jerym reported, had been made either by the galoshes given him or by another pair of the exact size and last. Beyond СКАЧАТЬ