The Winter Murder Case Read online

  THE WINTER MURDER CASE

  THE WINTER MURDER CASE

  S. S. Van Dine

  All the characters and events portrayed in this work are fictitious.

  THE WINTER MURDER CASE

  A Felony & Mayhem mystery

  PRINTING HISTORY

  First edition (Scribner’s): 1939

  Felony & Mayhem edition: 2021

  Copyright © 1939 by Charles Scribner’s Sons

  Copyright renewed 1954 by Claire R. Wright

  All rights reserved

  ISBN: 978-1-63194-207-5

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  Cataloging-in-Publication information for this book is available from the Library of Congress

  Stern Winter loves a dirge-like sound.

  —Wordsworth

  CONTENTS

  Preface

  1. An Appeal for Help

  2. Glamor in the Moonlight

  3. The Bourbon Glass

  4. The First Murder

  5. The Curse of the Emeralds

  6. A Woman’s Barb

  7. The Inquest

  8. Secret Plans

  9. An Abrupt Summons

  10. The Missing Key

  11. Farewell Soirêe

  12. Queen Istar’s Necklace

  13. The Second Murder

  14. Skating for Time

  15. Queries and Answers

  16. Final Curtain

  Appendix: Twenty Rules for Writing Detective Stories

  CHARACTERS OF THE BOOK

  PHILO VANCE

  JOHN F.-X. MARKHAM

  District Attorney of New York County

  ELLA GUNTHAR

  Companion to Joan Rexon

  CARRINGTON REXON

  Owner of the Rexon estate

  RICHARD REXON

  His son

  JOAN REXON

  His invalid daughter

  CARLOTTA NAESMITH

  Prominent society girl

  DOCTOR LOOMIS QUAYNE

  The Rexon family physician

  JACQUES BASSETT

  A friend of Richard Rexon

  ERIC GUNTHAR

  Father of Ella Gunthar Overseer on the Rexon estate

  MARCIA BRUCE

  The Rexon housekeeper

  OLD JED

  The Green Hermit Former overseer on the Rexon estate

  LIEUTENANT O’LEARY

  Lieutenant of the Winewood police

  LIEF WALLEN

  A guard on the Rexon estate

  GUY DARRUP

  Chief carpenter on the Rexon estate

  JOHN BRANDER

  Coroner

  HIGGINS

  The Rexon butler

  DAHLIA DUNHAM

  Political aspirant Guest at the Rexon estate

  SALLY ALEXANDER

  Singer and impersonator Guest at the Rexon estate

  BEATRICE MADDOX

  Famous aviatrix Guest at the Rexon estate

  STANLEY SYDES

  Treasure hunter Guest at the Rexon estate

  PAT MCORSAY

  Racing driver Guest at the Rexon estate

  CHUCK THROME

  Gentleman jockey Guest at the Rexon estate

  The icon above says you’re holding a copy of a book in the Felony & Mayhem “Vintage” category. These books were originally published prior to about 1965, and feature the kind of twisty, ingenious puzzles beloved by fans of Agatha Christie and John Dickson Carr. If you enjoy this book, you may well like other “Vintage” titles from Felony & Mayhem Press.

  ANTHONY BERKELEY

  The Poisoned Chocolates Case

  ELIZABETH DALY

  Unexpected Night

  Deadly Nightshade

  Murders in Volume 2

  The House without the Door

  Evidence of Things Seen

  Nothing Can Rescue Me

  Arrow Pointing Nowhere

  The Book of the Dead

  Any Shape or Form

  Somewhere in the House

  The Wrong Way Down

  Night Walk

  The Book of the Lion

  And Dangerous to Know

  Death and Letters

  The Book of the Crime

  NGAIO MARSH

  A Man Lay Dead

  Enter a Murderer

  The Nursing Home Murder

  Death in Ecstasy

  Vintage Murder

  Artists in Crime

  Death in a White Tie

  Overture to Death

  Death at the Bar

  Surfeit of Lampreys

  Death and the Dancing Footman

  Colour Scheme

  Died in the Wool

  Final Curtain

  Swing, Brother, Swing

  Night at the Vulcan

  Spinsters in Jeopardy

  Scales of Justice

  Death of a Fool

  Singing in the Shrouds

  False Scent

  Hand in Glove

  Dead Water

  Killer Dolphin

  Clutch of Constables

  When in Rome

  Tied Up in Tinsel

  Black as He’s Painted

  Last Ditch

  A Grave Mistake

  Photo Finish

  Light Thickens

  Collected Short Mysteries

  PATRCIA MOYES

  Dead Men Don’t Ski

  The Sunken Sailor

  Death on the Agenda

  Murder à la Mode

  Falling Star

  Johnny Under Ground

  Murder Fantastical

  Death and the Dutch Uncle

  Who Saw Her Die?

  Season of Snow and Sins

  The Curious Affair of the Third Dog

  Black Widower

  The Coconut Killings

  Who Is Simon Warwick?

  Angel Death

  A Six-Letter Word for Death

  Night Ferry to Death

  Black Girl, White Girl

  LENORE GLEN OFFORD

  Skeleton Key

  The Glass Mask

  The Smiling Tiger

  My True Love Lies

  The 9 Dark Hours

  S.S. VAN DINE

  The Benson Murder Case

  The Canary Murder Case

  The Greene Murder Case

  The Bishop Murder Case

  The Scarab Murder Case

  The Kennel Murder Case

  The Dragon Murder Case

  The Casino Murder Case

  The Garden Murder Case

  The Kidnap Murder Case

  The Gracie Allen Murder Case

  For more about these books, and other Felony & Mayhem titles, or to place an order, please visit our website at:

  www.FelonyAndMayhem.com

  THE WINTER MURDER CASE

  PREFACE

  IT WAS CHARACTERISTIC of Willard Huntington Wright, known to the great public as S. S. Van Dine, that when he died suddenly on April 11, 1939, he left The Winter Murder Case in the form in which it is published, complete to the last comma. Everything he ever did was done that way, accurately, thoroughly, and with consideration for other people. It was so with the entire series of the Philo Vance mysteries.

  He has himself told the story of becoming a writer of mysteries in an article called, “I Used to be a Highbrow, and Look at Me Now.” He had worked as a critic of literature and art, and as an editor, since he left Harvard in 1907. And this he had done with great distinction, but with no material reward to speak of—certainly no accumulation of money. When the war came it seemed to him that all he had believed in and was working for was rushing into ruin—and now, twenty-five years later, can anyone say he was wrong? There were other influences at work o
n him perhaps, but no one who knew Willard and the purity of his perceptions in art, and his devotion to what he thought was the meaning of our civilization as expressed in the arts, can doubt that the shattering disillusionment and ruin of the war was what brought him at last to a nervous breakdown which incapacitated him for several years. He would never have explained it so, or any other way. He made no explanations, or excuses, ever, and his many apologies were out of the kindness of a heart so concealed by reticence that only a handful ever knew how gentle it really was. So at last all that he had done and aimed to do seemed to have come to ruin, and he himself too.

  Only a gallant spirit could have risen up from that downfall, and gallantry alone would not have been enough. But Willard had also an intellect—even despair could not suppress it—which worked on anything at hand. One might believe that if his fate had been solitary confinement he would have emerged with some biological discovery based on the rats that infested his cell. Anyhow, his doctor finally met his demands for mental occupation with the concession that he read mysteries, which he had never read before. The result was, that as he had studied painting, literature and philosophy, he now involuntarily studied and then consciously analyzed the mystery story. And when he recovered he had mastered it.

  He was then heavily in debt, but he thought he saw the possibility of freeing himself from obligations a nature of his integrity could not ignore, or in fact endure, by what he had learned in his illness. He wrote out, at some ten thousand words each, the plots of his first three murder cases, thought through to the last detail, footnotes and all, and brought them to the Century Club to a lunch with an editor of the publishing house that has put all of them before the public.

  This editor knew little about mystery stories, which had not been much in vogue since Sherlock Holmes, but he knew Willard Wright. He knew from far back in Harvard that whatever this man did would be done well, and the reasonable terms—granting the writer’s talent—that Willard proposed were quickly accepted.

  It is now thirteen years since Philo Vance stepped out into the world to solve The Benson Murder Case and, with that and the eleven others that followed, to delight hundreds of thousands of readers soon hard pressed by the anxieties and afflictions of a tragic decade. Each of these famous cases was set forth, as were the first three, in a long synopsis—about ten thousand words—letter perfect and complete to that point in its development. After the first three of these synopses, the publisher never saw another, nor wanted to, for he knew beyond peradventure that the finished book would be another masterpiece in its kind. Nor did he ever see the second stage of development, but only the third, the final manuscript—and that he read with the interest and pleasure of any reader, and with no professional anxieties. But this second stage in the infinitely painstaking development of the story was some 30,000 words long, and it lacked only the final elaboration of character, dialogue, and atmosphere. The Winter Murder Case represents this stage in S. S. Van Dine’s progress to its completion, and if the plot moves faster to its culmination than in the earlier books, it is for that reason.

  They say now that Philo Vance was made in the image of S. S. Van Dine, and although Willard smoked not Régies but denicotined cigarettes, there were resemblances. Both were infinitely neat in dress, equally decorous and considerate in manner, and Vance had Willard’s amazingly vast and accurate knowledge of a thousand arts and subjects, and his humorously sceptical attitude toward life and society. But in fact the resemblance would stand for only those with a superficial knowledge of Willard Huntington Wright. Vance in so far as he was Wright, was perhaps the form under which a gallant, gentle man concealed a spirit almost too delicate and sensitive for an age so turbulent and crude as this. Willard was not one to wear his heart upon his sleeve—but there were daws enough to peck, as there always are, and they found it where his friends always knew it to be, near the surface, and quick to respond.

  As for the principles upon which he based his writing, and which brought new life into the craft of detective literature, they were succinctly set down by him in his famous twenty rules which are to be found at the back of this volume.

  CHAPTER ONE

  An Appeal for Help

  (Tuesday, January 14; 11 a.m.)

  “HOW WOULD YOU like a brief vacation in ideal surroundings—winter sports, pleasing company, and a veritable mansion in which to relax? I have just such an invitation for you, Vance.”

  Philo Vance drew on his cigarette and smiled. We had just arrived at District Attorney Markham’s office in answer to a facetious yet urgent call. Vance looked at him and sighed.

  “I suspect you. Speak freely, my dear Rhadamanthus.”

  “Old Carrington Rexon’s worried.”

  “Ah!” Vance drawled. “No spontaneous goodness of heart in life. Sad. So, I’m asked to enjoy myself in the Berkshires only because Carrington Rexon’s worried. A detective on the premises would soothe his harassed spirits. I’m invited. Not flatterin’. No.”

  “Don’t be cynical, Vance.”

  “But why should Carrington Rexon’s worries concern me? I’m not in the least worried.”

  “You will be,” said Markham with feigned viciousness. “Don’t deny you dote on the sufferings of others, you sadist. You live for crime and suffering. And you adore worrying. You’d die of ennui if all were peaceful.”

  “Tut, tut,” returned Vance. “Not sadistic. No. Always strivin’ for peace and calm. My charitable, unselfish nature.”

  “As I thought! Old Rexon’s worry does appeal to you. I detect the glint in your eye.”

  “Charming place, the Rexon estate,” Vance observed thoughtfully. “But why, Markham, with his millions, his leisure, his two adored and adoring offspring, his gorgeous estate, his fame, and his vigor—why should he be worrying? Quite unreasonable.”

  “Still, he wants you up there instanter.”

  “As you said.” Vance settled deeper into his chair. “His emeralds, I opine, are to blame for his qualms.”

  Markham looked across at the other shrewdly.

  “Don’t be clairvoyant. I detest soothsayers. Especially when their guesses are so obvious. Of course, it’s his damned emeralds.”

  “Tell me all. Leave no precious stone unturned. Could you bear it?”

  Markham lighted a cigar. When he had it going he said:

  “No need to tell you of Rexon’s famous emerald collection. You probably know how it’s safeguarded.”

  “Yes,” said Vance. “I inspected it some years ago. Inadequately protected, I thought.”

  “The same today. Thank Heaven the place isn’t in my jurisdiction: I’d be worrying about it constantly. I once tried to persuade Rexon to transfer the collection to some museum.”

  “Not nice of you, Markham. Rexon loves his gewgaws fanatically. He’d wither away if bereft of his emeralds… Oh, why are collectors?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know. I didn’t make the world.”

  “Regrettable,” sighed Vance. “What is toward?”

  “An unpredictable situation at the Rexon estate. The old boy’s apprehensive. Hence his desire for your presence.”

  “More light, please.”

  “Rexon Manor,” continued Markham, “is at present filled with guests as a result of young Richard Rexon’s furlough: the chap has just returned from Europe where he has been studying medicine intensively in the last-word European colleges and hospitals. The old man’s giving a kind of celebration in the boy’s honor—”

  “I know. And hoping for an announcement of Richard’s betrothal to the blue-blooded Carlotta Naesmith. Still, why his anxiety?”

  “Rexon being a widower, with an invalid daughter, asked Miss Naesmith to arrange a house party and celebration. She did—with a vengeance. Mostly café society: weird birds, quite objectionable to old Rexon’s staid tastes. He doesn’t understand this new set; is inclined to distrust them. He doesn’t suspect them, exactly, but their proximity to his precious emeralds gives him the jitt
ers.”

  “Old-fashioned chap. The new generation is full of incredible possibilities. Not a lovable and comfortable lot. Does Rexon point specifically?”

  “Only at a fellow named Bassett. And, strangely enough, he’s not of Miss Naesmith’s doing. Acquaintance of Richard’s, in fact. Friendship started abroad—in Switzerland, I believe. Came over on the boat with him this last trip. But the old gentleman admits he has no grounds for his uneasiness. He’s just nervous, in a vague way, about the whole situation. Wants perspicacious companionship. So he phoned me and asked for help, indicating you.”

  “Yes. Collectors are like that. Where can he turn in his hour of uncertainty? Ah, his old friend Markham! Equipped with all the proper gadgets for just such delicate observation. Gadget Number One: Mr. Philo Vance. Looks presentable in a dinner coat. Won’t drink from his finger-bowl. Could mingle and observe, without rousing suspicion. Discretion guaranteed. Excellent way of detecting a lurking shadow—if any.” Vance smiled resignedly. “Is that the gist of the worried Rexon’s runes by long-distance phone?”

  “Substantially, yes,” admitted Markham. “But expressed more charitably. You know damned well that old Rexon likes you, and that if he thought you’d care for the house party, you’d have been more than welcome.”

  “You shame me, Markham,” Vance returned with contrition. “I’m fond of Rexon, just as you are. A lovable man… So, he craves my comfortin’ presence. Very well, I shall strive to smooth his furrowed brow.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Glamor in the Moonlight

  (Wednesday, January 15; 9 p.m.)

  MARKHAM NOTIFIED CARRINGTON Rexon, and we left New York the following afternoon in Vance’s Hispano-Suiza.

  It was a cold, clear day, and fresh snow had fallen during the night. The drive to Winewood in the Berkshires would ordinarily have taken about five hours, but the roads north of the city were deep in snow, and we were late in arriving at the Rexon estate. Darkness had settled early, but the night was white with stars, and the moon was luminous.