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

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СКАЧАТЬ inf’nitely prefer good manners to righteousness.”

      As he finished speaking Swacker announced Major Benson, who wanted to see Markham at once.

      The Major was accompanied by a pretty young woman of about twenty-two with yellow bobbed hair, dressed daintily and simply in light blue crêpe de Chine. But for all her youthful and somewhat frivolous appearance, she possessed a reserve and competency of manner that immediately evoked one’s confidence.

      Major Benson introduced her as his secretary, and Markham placed a chair for her facing his desk.

      “Miss Hoffman has just told me something that I think is vital for you to know,” said the Major; “and I brought her directly to you.”

      He seemed unusually serious, and his eyes held a look of expectancy colored with doubt.

      “Tell Mr. Markham exactly what you told me, Miss Hoffman.”

      The girl raised her head prettily, and related her story in a capable, well-modulated voice.

      “About a week ago—I think it was Wednesday—Mr. Pfyfe called on Mr. Alvin Benson in his private office. I was in the next room, where my typewriter is located. There’s only a glass partition between the two rooms, and when anyone talks loudly in Mr. Benson’s office I can hear them. In about five minutes Mr. Pfyfe and Mr. Benson began to quarrel. I thought it was funny, for they were such good friends; but I didn’t pay much attention to it, and went on with my typing. Their voices got very loud, though, and I caught several words. Major Benson asked me this morning what the words were; so I suppose you want to know, too. Well, they kept referring to a note; and once or twice a check was mentioned. Several times I caught the word ‘father-in-law’, and once Mr. Benson said ‘nothing doing’. . . . Then Mr. Benson called me in and told me to get him an envelope marked ‘Pfyfe-Personal’ out of his private drawer in the safe. I got it for him, but right after that our bookkeeper wanted me for something, so I didn’t hear any more. About fifteen minutes later, when Mr. Pfyfe had gone, Mr. Benson called me to put the envelope back. And he told me that if Mr. Pfyfe ever called again, I wasn’t, under any circumstances, to let him into the private office unless he himself was there. He also told me that I wasn’t to give the envelope to anybody—not even on a written order. . . . And that is all, Mr. Markham.”

      During her recital I had been as much interested in Vance’s actions as in what she had been saying. When first she had entered the room, his casual glance had quickly changed to one of attentive animation and he had studied her closely. When Markham had placed the chair for her, he had risen and reached for a book lying on the table near her; and, in doing so, he had leaned unnecessarily close to her in order to inspect—or so it appeared to me—the side of her head. And during her story he had continued his observation, at times bending slightly to the right or left to better his view of her. Unaccountable as his actions had seemed, I knew that some serious consideration had prompted the scrutiny.

      When she finished speaking Major Benson reached in his pocket, and tossed a long manilla envelope on the desk before Markham.

      “Here it is,” he said. “I got Miss Hoffman to bring it to me the moment she told me her story.”

      Markham picked it up hesitantly, as if doubtful of his right to inspect its contents.

      “You’d better look at it,” the Major advised. “That envelope may very possibly have an important bearing on the case.”

      Markham removed the elastic band, and spread the contents of the envelope before him. They consisted of three items—a cancelled check for $10,000 made out to Leander Pfyfe and signed by Alvin Benson; a note for $10,000 to Alvin Benson signed by Pfyfe, and a brief confession, also signed by Pfyfe, saying the check was a forgery. The check was dated March 20th of the current year. The confession and the note were dated two days later. The note—which was for ninety days—fell due on Friday, June 21st, only three days off.

      For fully five minutes Markham studied these documents in silence. Their sudden introduction into the case seemed to mystify him. Nor had any of the perplexity left his face when he finally put them back in the envelope.

      He questioned the girl carefully, and had her repeat certain parts of her story. But nothing more could be learned from her; and at length he turned to the Major.

      “I’ll keep this envelope a while, if you’ll let me. I don’t see its significance at present, but I’d like to think it over.”

      When Major Benson and his secretary had gone, Vance rose and extended his legs.

      “À la fin!” he murmured. “ ‘All things journey: sun and moon, morning, noon, and afternoon, night and all her stars.’ Videlicet: we begin to make progress.”

      “What the devil are you driving at?” The new complication of Pfyfe’s peccadilloes had left Markham irritable.

      “Int’restin’ young woman, this Miss Hoffman—eh, what?” Vance rejoined irrelevantly. “Didn’t care especially for the deceased Benson. And she fairly detests the aromatic Leander. He has prob’bly told her he was misunderstood by Mrs. Pfyfe, and invited her to dinner.”

      “Well, she’s pretty enough,” commented Markham indifferently. “Benson, too, may have made advances—which is why she disliked him.”

      “Oh, absolutely.” Vance mused a moment. “Pretty—yes; but misleadin’. She’s an ambitious gel, and capable, too—knows her business. She’s no ball of fluff. She has a solid, honest streak in her—a bit of Teutonic blood, I’d say.” He paused meditatively. “Y’ know, Markham, I have a suspicion you’ll hear from little Miss Katinka again.”

      “Crystal-gazing, eh?” mumbled Markham.

      “Oh, dear no!” Vance was looking lazily out of the window. “But I did enter the silence, so to speak, and indulged in a bit of craniological contemplation.”

      “I thought I noticed you ogling the girl,” said Markham. “But since her hair was bobbed and she had her hat on, how could you analyse the bumps?—if that’s the phrase you phrenologists use.”

      “Forget not Goldsmith’s preacher,” Vance admonished. “Truth from his lips prevailed, and those who came to scoff remained et cetera. . . . To begin with, I’m no phrenologist. But I believe in epochal, racial, and heredit’ry variations in skulls. In that respect I’m merely an old-fashioned Darwinian. Every child knows that the skull of the Piltdown man differs from that of the Cromagnard; and even a lawyer could distinguish an Aryan head from a Ural-Altaic head, or a Maylaic from a Negrillo. And, if one is versed at all in the Mendelian theory, heredit’ry cranial similarities can be detected. . . . But all this erudition is beyond you, I fear. Suffice it to say that, despite the young woman’s hat and hair, I could see the contour of her head and the bone structure in her face; and I even caught a glimpse of her ear.”

      “And thereby deduced that we’d hear from her again,” added Markham scornfully.

      “Indirectly—yes,” admitted Vance. Then, after a pause: “I say, in view of Miss Hoffman’s revelation, do not Colonel Ostrander’s comments of yesterday begin to take on a phosph’rescent aspect?”

      “Look here!” said Markham impatiently. “Cut out these circumlocutions, and get to the point.”

      Vance turned slowly from the window, and regarded him pensively.

      “Markham—I СКАЧАТЬ