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

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      “I don’t wonder she’d grasp at any chance to shake the atmosphere of her surroundings. And, Markham, I’ve come to the conclusion that girl knows something that would be highly valuable to our inquiry. It’s quite possible, don’t y’ know, that she’s now reached a point where she’ll tell us what’s on her mind.”

      As he spoke the Sergeant was announced, and Markham briefly explained the situation to him.

      “It looks to me,” said Heath gloomily, but with interest, “like it was our only chance of getting a lead. We haven’t learned anything ourselves that’s worth a damn, and unless somebody spills a few suggestions we’re up against it.”

      Ten minutes later Ada Greene was ushered into the office. Though her pallor had gone and her arm was no longer in a sling, she still gave one the impression of weakness. But there was none of the tremulousness or shrinking in her bearing that had heretofore characterized her.

      She sat down before Markham’s desk, and for a while frowned up at the sunlight, as if debating how to begin.

      “It’s about Rex, Mr. Markham,” she said finally. “I really don’t know whether I should have come here or not—it may be very disloyal of me. . . .” She gave him a look of appealing indecision. “Oh, tell me: if a person knows something—something bad and dangerous—about some one very close and very dear, should that person tell, when it might make terrible trouble?”

      “That all depends,” Markham answered gravely. “In the present circumstances, if you know anything that might be helpful to a solution of the murder of your brother and sister, it’s your duty to speak.”

      “Even if the thing were told me in confidence?” she persisted. “And the person were a member of my family?”

      “Even under those conditions, I think.” Markham spoke paternally. “Two terrible crimes have been committed, and nothing should be held back that might bring the murderer to justice—whoever he may be.”

      The girl averted her troubled face for a moment. Then she lifted her head with sudden resolution.

      “I’ll tell you. . . . You know you asked Rex about the shot in my room, and he told you he didn’t hear it. Well, he confided in me, Mr. Markham; and he did hear the shot. But he was afraid to admit it lest you might think it funny he didn’t get up and give the alarm.”

      “Why do you think he remained in bed silent, and pretended to every one he was asleep?” Markham attempted to suppress the keen interest the girl’s information had roused in him.

      “That’s what I don’t understand. He wouldn’t tell me. But he had some reason—I know he did!—some reason that terrified him. I begged him to tell me, but the only explanation he gave was that the shot was not all he heard. . . .”

      “Not all!” Markham spoke with ill-concealed excitement. “He heard something else that, you say, terrified him? But why shouldn’t he have told us about it?”

      “That’s the strange part of it. He got angry when I asked him. But there’s something he knows—some awful secret; I feel sure of it. . . . Oh, maybe I shouldn’t have told you. Maybe it will get Rex into trouble. But I felt that you ought to know because of the frightful things that have happened. I thought perhaps you could talk to Rex and make him tell you what’s on his mind.”

      Again she looked beseechingly at Markham, and there was the anxiety of a vague fear in her eyes.

      “Oh, I do wish you’d ask him—and try to find out,” she went on, in a pleading tone. “I’d feel—safer if—if . . .”

      Markham nodded and patted her hand.

      “We’ll try to make him talk.”

      “But don’t try at the house,” she said quickly. “There are people—things—around; and Rex would be too frightened. Ask him to come here, Mr. Markham. Get him away from that awful place, where he can talk without being afraid that some one’s listening. Rex is home now. Ask him to come here. Tell him I’m here, too. Maybe I can help you reason with him. . . . Oh, do this for me, Mr. Markham!”

      Markham glanced at the clock and ran his eye over his appointment-pad. He was, I knew, as anxious as Ada to have Rex on the carpet for a questioning; and, after a momentary hesitation, he picked up the telephone-receiver and had Swacker put him through to the Greene mansion. From what I heard of the conversation that ensued, it was plain that he experienced considerable difficulty in urging Rex to come to the office, for he had to resort to a veiled threat of summary legal action before he finally succeeded.

      “He evidently fears some trap,” commented Markham thoughtfully, replacing the receiver. “But he has promised to get dressed immediately and come.”

      A look of relief passed over the girl’s face.

      “There’s one other thing I ought to tell you,” she said hurriedly; “though it may not mean anything. The other night, in the rear of the lower hall by the stairs, I picked up a piece of paper—like a leaf torn from a note-book. And there was a drawing on it of all our bedrooms up-stairs with four little crosses marked in ink—one at Julia’s room, one at Chester’s, one at Rex’s, and one at mine. And down in the corner were several of the queerest signs, or pictures. One was a heart with three nails in it; and one looked like a parrot. Then there was a picture of what seemed to be three little stones with a line under them. . . .”

      Heath suddenly jerked himself forward, his cigar half-way to his lips.

      “A parrot, and three stones! . . . And say, Miss Greene, was there an arrow with numbers on it?”

      “Yes!” she answered eagerly. “That was there, too.”

      Heath put his cigar in his mouth and chewed on it with vicious satisfaction.

      “That means something, Mr. Markham,” he proclaimed, trying to keep the agitation out of his voice. “Those are all symbols—graphic signs, they’re called—of Continental crooks, German or Austrian mostly.”

      “The stones, I happen to know,” put in Vance, “represent the idea of the martyrdom of Saint Stephen, who was stoned to death. They’re the emblem of Saint Stephen, according to the calendar of the Styrian peasantry.”

      “I don’t know anything about that, sir,” answered Heath. “But I know that European crooks use those signs.”

      “Oh, doubtless. I ran across a number of ’em when I was looking up the emblematic language of the gypsies. A fascinatin’ study.” Vance seemed uninterested in Ada’s discovery.

      “Have you this paper with you, Miss Greene?” asked Markham.

      The girl was embarrassed and shook her head.

      “I’m so sorry,” she apologized. “I didn’t think it was important. Should I have brought it?”

      “Did you destroy it?” Heath put the question excitedly.

      “Oh, I have it safely. I put it away. . . .”

      “We gotta have that paper, Mr. Markham.” The Sergeant had risen and come toward the District Attorney’s desk. “It may be just the lead СКАЧАТЬ