The Dragon Murder Case Page 4

  “I do!” the woman declared sententiously, extending her arms in a studied gesture of emphasis. “And I know I’m right, though it’s true I do not know how he did it. But he has strange powers. He’s an Indian—did you know that?—an Indian! He can tell when people have passed a certain tree, by looking at the bark. He can track people over the whole of Inwood by broken twigs and crushed leaves. He can tell by the moss on stones how long it has been since they were moved or walked over. He can tell by looking at the ashes of fires how long the flames have been out. He can tell by smelling a garment or a hat, to whom it belongs. And he can read strange signs and tell by the scent of the wind when the rain is coming. He can do all manner of things of which white men know nothing. He knows all the secrets of these hills, for his people have lived in them for generations. He’s an Indian—a subtle, scheming Indian!” As she spoke her voice rose excitedly and an impressive histrionic eloquence informed her speech.

  “But, my dear young lady,” Vance protested pleasantly, “the qualities and characteristics which you ascribe to Mr. Leland are not what one would call unusual, except in a comparative sense. His knowledge of woodcraft and his sensitivity to odors are really not a convincing basis for a criminal accusation. Thousands of boy scouts would constantly be in jeopardy if that were the case.”

  The woman’s eyes became sullen, and she compressed her lips into a line of anger. After a moment she extended her hands, palms upward, in a gesture of resignation, and gave a mirthless laugh.

  “Be stupid, if you want to,” she remarked with forced and hollow lightness. “But some day you’ll come to me and tell me how right I was.”

  “It will be jolly good fun, anyway,” smiled Vance. “Forsan et haec olim meminisse juvabit, as Vergil put it… In the meantime, I must be most impolite and ask that you be good enough to wait in your room until such time as we shall wish to question you further. We have several little matters to attend to.”

  Without a word she turned and swept majestically from the room.

  Footnote

  * This is not to be confused with Lower Bolton Road, otherwise known as River Road, which turns off Dyckman Street near the New York Central Hudson River railroad tracks and passes below the Memorial Hospital.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The Splash in the Pool (Sunday, August 12; 1.15 a.m.)

  DURING RUBY STEELE’S diatribe Leland had stood smoking placidly, watching the woman with stoical dignity. He did not seem in the least disturbed by her accusation, and when she had left the room, he shrugged mildly and gave Vance a weary smile.

  “Do you wonder,” he asked, with a touch of irony, “why I telephoned the police and insisted that they come?”

  Vance studied him listlessly.

  “You anticipated being accused of having manœuvred Montague’s disappearance—eh, what?”

  “Not exactly. But I knew there would be all manner of rumors and whisperings, and I thought it best to have the matter over with at once, and to give the authorities the best possible chance of clarifying the situation and fixing the blame. However, I did not expect any such scene as we have just gone through. Needless to tell you, all Miss Steele has just said is a hysterical fabrication. She told but one truth—and that was only half a truth. My mother was an Algonkian Indian—the Princess White Star, a proud and noble woman, who was separated from her people when a child and reared in a southern convent. My father was an architect, the scion of an old New York family, many years my mother’s senior. They are both dead.”

  “You were born here?” asked Vance.

  “Yes, I was born in Inwood, on the site of the old Indian village, Shorakapkok; but the house has long since gone. I live here because I love the place. It has many happy associations of my childhood, before I was sent to Europe to be educated.”

  “I suspected your Indian blood the moment I saw you,” Vance remarked, with non-committal aloofness. Then he stretched his legs and took a deep inhalation on his cigarette. “But suppose you tell us, Mr. Leland, just what preceded the tragedy tonight. I believe you mentioned the fact that Montague himself suggested the swim.”

  “That is true.” Leland moved to a straight chair by the table and sat down. “We had dinner about half-past seven. There had been numerous cocktails beforehand, and during dinner Stamm brought out some heavy wines. After the coffee there was brandy and port, and I think every one drank too much. As you know, it was raining and we could not go outdoors. Later we went to the library, and there was more drinking—this time Scotch highballs. There was a little music of a rowdy nature. Young Tatum played the piano and Miss Steele sang. But that did not last long—the drinking had begun to take effect, and every one was uneasy and restless.”

  “And Stamm?”

  “Stamm especially indulged. I have rarely seen him drink so much, though he has managed for years to punish liquor pretty systematically. He was taking Scotch straight, and after he had downed at least half a bottle I remonstrated with him. But he was in no condition to listen to reason. He became sullen and quiet, and by ten o’clock he was ignoring every one and dozing off. His sister, too, tried to bring him back to his senses, but without any success.”

  “At just what time did you go for your swim?”

  “I do not know exactly, but it was shortly after ten. It stopped raining about that time, and Montague and Bernice stepped out on the terrace. They came back almost immediately, and it was then that Montague announced that the rain had ceased and suggested that we all take a swim. Every one was willing—every one, that is, but Stamm. He was in no condition to go anywhere or do anything. Bernice and Montague urged him to join us, thinking perhaps that the water would sober him. But he was ugly and ordered Trainor to bring him another bottle of Scotch...”

  “Trainor?”

  “That is the butler’s name... Stamm was sodden and helpless, so I told the others to leave him alone, and we all went down to the cabañas. I myself pushed the switch in the rear hallway, that turns on the lights on the stairs down to the pool and also the flood-lights at the pool. Montague was the first to appear in his bathing suit, but the rest of us were ready a minute or so later... Then came the tragedy—”

  “I say, just a moment, Mr. Leland,” Vance interrupted, leaning over and breaking the ashes of his cigarette in the fireplace. “Was Montague the first in the water?”

  “Yes. He was waiting at the spring-board—posing, I might say—when the rest of us came out of the cabañas. He rather fancied himself and his figure, and I imagine there was a certain amount of vanity in his habit of always hurrying to the pool and taking the first plunge when he knew all eyes would be on him.”

  “And then?”

  “He took a high swan dive, beautifully timed and extremely graceful—I’ll say that much for the chap. We naturally waited for him to come up before following suit. We waited an interminable time—it was probably not more than a minute, but it seemed much longer. And then Mrs. McAdam gave a scream, and we all went quickly, with one accord, to the very edge of the pool and strained our eyes across the water in every direction. By this time we knew something had happened. No man could stay under water voluntarily as long as that. Miss Stamm clutched my arm, but I threw her off and, running to the end of the spring-board, dived in as near as possible at the point where Montague had disappeared.”

  Leland compressed his lips, and his gaze shifted.

  “I swam downward,” he continued, “till I came to the bottom of the pool, and searched round as best I could. I came up for air and went down again, and again I came up. A man was in the water just beside me, and I thought for a moment it was Montague. But it was only Tatum, who had joined me in the water. He too had dived in, in an effort to find Montague. Greeff also, in a bungling kind of way—he is not a very good swimmer—helped us look for the poor fellow... But it was no go. We spent at least twenty minutes in the effort. Then we gave it up...”

  “Exactly how did you feel about the situation?” Vance asked, withou
t looking up. “Did you have any suspicions then?”

  Leland hesitated and pursed his lips, as if trying to recall his exact emotions. Finally he replied:

  “I cannot say just how I did feel about it. I was rather overwhelmed. But still there was something—I do not know just what—in the back of my mind. My instinct at that moment was to get to a telephone and report the affair to the police. I did not like the turn of events—they struck me as too unusual... Perhaps,” he added, lifting his eyes to the ceiling with a far-away look, “I remembered—unconsciously—too many tales about the old Dragon Pool. My mother told me many strange stories when I was a child—”

  “Yes, yes. Quite a romantic and legend’ry spot,” Vance murmured, with a tinge of sarcasm in his words. “But I’d much rather know just what the women were doing and how they affected you when you joined them after your heroic search for Montague.”

  “The women?” There was a mild note of surprise in Leland’s voice, and he looked penetratingly at Vance. “Oh, I see—you wish to know how they acted after the tragedy... Well, Miss Stamm was crouched down on the top of the wall at the edge of the water, with her hands pressed to her face, sobbing convulsively. I do not think she even noticed me—or any one else, for that matter. I got the impression that she was more frightened than anything else.—Miss Steele was standing close beside Bernice, with her head thrown back, her arms outstretched in a precise gesture of tragic supplication...”

  “It sounds rather as if she were rehearsing for the rôle of Iphigeneia at Aulis... And what about Mrs. McAdam?”

  “Funny thing about her,” Leland ruminated, frowning at his pipe. “She was the one who screamed when Montague failed to come to the surface; but when I got out of the water, she was standing back from the bank, under one of the flood-lights, as cold and calm as if nothing had happened. She was looking out across the pool in a most detached fashion, as if there was no one else present. And she was half smiling, in a hard, ruthless sort of way. ‘We could not find him,’ I muttered, as I came up to her: I do not know why I should have addressed her rather than the others. And without moving her eyes from the opposite side of the pool, she said, to no one in particular: ‘So that’s that.’”

  Vance appeared unimpressed.

  “So you came to the house here and telephoned?”

  “Immediately. I told the others they had better get dressed and return to the house at once, and after I had telephoned I went back to my cabaña and got into my clothes.”

  “Who notified the doctor about Stamm’s condition?”

  “I did,” the other replied. “I did not enter the library when I first came here to telephone, but when I had got into my clothes I went at once to Stamm, hoping his mind would have cleared sufficiently for him to realize the terrible thing that had happened. But he was unconscious, and the bottle on the tabouret by the davenport was empty. I did my best to arouse him, but did not succeed.”

  Leland paused, frowned with uncertainty, and then continued:

  “I had never before seen Stamm in a state of complete insensibility through overindulgence in liquor, although I had seen him pretty far gone on several occasions. The state of the man shocked me. He was scarcely breathing, and his color was ghastly. Bernice came into the room at that moment and, on seeing her brother sprawled out on the davenport, exclaimed, ‘He’s dead, too. Oh, my God!’ Then she fainted before I could reach her. I intrusted her to Mrs. McAdam—who showed an admirable competency in handling the situation—and went immediately to the telephone to summon Doctor Holliday. He has been the Stamm family physician for many years and lives in 207th Street, near here. Luckily he was at home and hurried over.”

  Just then a door slammed noisily somewhere at the rear of the house, and heavy footsteps crossed the front hall and approached the drawing-room. Detective Hennessey appeared at the door, his mouth partly open and his eyes protruding with excitement.

  He greeted Markham perfunctorily and turned quickly to the Sergeant.

  “Something’s happened down there at the pool,” he announced, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. “I was standing by the spring-board like you told me to do, smoking a cigar, when I heard a funny rumbling noise up at the top of the rock cliff opposite. And pretty soon there was a hell of a splash in the pool—sounded like a ton of bricks had been dumped off the cliff into the water... I waited a coupla minutes, to see if anything else’d happen, and then I thought I’d better come up and tell you.”

  “Did you see anything?” demanded Heath aggressively.

  “Nary a thing, Sergeant.” Hennessey spoke with emphasis. “It’s dark over there by the rocks, and I didn’t go round over the filter ledge, because you told me to keep off that low stretch at the other end.”

  “I told him to keep off,” the Sergeant explained to Markham, “because I wanted to go over that ground again for footprints in the daylight tomorrow.” Then he turned back to Hennessey. “Well, what do you think the noise was?” he asked with the gruffness of exasperation.

  “I’m not thinkin’,” Hennessey retorted. “I’m simply tellin’ you all I know.”

  Leland rose and took a step toward the Sergeant.

  “If you will pardon me, I think I can offer a reasonable explanation of what this man heard in the pool. Several large pieces of rock, at the top of the cliff, are loosened where the strata overlap, and I have always had a fear that one of them might come crashing down into the pool. Only this morning Mr. Stamm and I went up to the top of the bluff and inspected those rocks. In fact, we even attempted to pry one of them loose, but could not do so. It is quite possible that the heavy rain tonight may have dislodged the earth that was holding it.”

  Vance nodded.

  “At least that explanation is a pleasin’ bit of rationality,” he observed lightly.

  “Maybe so, Mr. Vance,” Heath conceded reluctantly. Hennessey’s tale had disturbed him. “But what I want to know is why it should happen on this particular night.”

  “As Mr. Leland has told us, he and Mr. Stamm attempted to pry the rock loose today—or should I say yesterday? Perhaps they did loosen it, and that would account for its having shifted and fallen after the rain.”

  Heath chewed viciously on his cigar for a moment. Then he waved Hennessey out of the room.

  “Go back and take up your post,” he ordered. “If anything else happens down at the pool, hop up here and report pronto.”

  Hennessey disappeared—reluctantly, I thought.

  Markham had sat through the entire proceedings with an air of tolerant boredom. He had taken only a mild interest in Vance’s questioning, and when Hennessey had left us, he got to his feet.

  “Just what is the point in all this discussion, Vance?” he asked irritably. “The situation is normal enough. Admittedly it has certain morbid angles, but all of this esoteric stuff seems to me the result of nerves. Every one’s on edge, and I think the best thing for us to do is to go home and let the Sergeant handle the matter in the routine way. How could there be anything premeditated in connection with Montague’s possible death when he himself suggested going swimming and then dived off the spring-board and disappeared while every one was looking on?”

  “My dear Markham,” protested Vance, “you’re far too logical. It’s your legal training, of course. But the world is not run by logic. I infinitely prefer to be emotional. Think of the masterpieces of poetry that would have been lost to humanity if their creators had been pure logicians—the Odyssey, for instance, the Ballade des dames du temps jadis, the Divina Commedia, Laus Veneris, the Ode on a Grecian Urn—”

  “But what do you propose to do now?” Markham cut in, annoyed.

  “I propose,” answered Vance, with an exasperating smile, “to inquire of the doctor concerning the condition of our host.”

  “What could Stamm have to do with it?” protested Markham. “He seems less concerned in the affair than any of the other people here.”

  Heath, impatient, had risen and starte
d for the door.

  “I’ll get the doc,” he rumbled. And he went out into the dim hallway.

  A few minutes later he returned, followed by an elderly man with a closely cropped gray Vandyke. He was clad in a black baggy suit with a high, old-fashioned collar several sizes too large for him. He was slightly stout and moved awkwardly; but there was something in his manner that inspired confidence.

  Vance rose to greet him, and after a brief explanation of our presence in the house, he said:

  “Mr. Leland has just told us of Mr. Stamm’s unfortunate condition tonight, and we’d like to know how he’s coming along.”

  “He’s following the normal course,” the doctor replied, and hesitated. Presently he went on: “Since Mr. Leland informed you of Mr. Stamm’s condition I won’t be violating professional ethics in discussing the case with you. Mr. Stamm was unconscious when I arrived. His pulse was slow and sluggish, and his breathing shallow. When I learned of the amount of whisky he had taken since dinner I immediately gave him a stiff dose of apomorphine—a tenth of a grain. It emptied his stomach at once, and after the reaction he went back to sleep normally. He had consumed an astonishing amount of liquor—it was one of the worst cases of acute alcoholism I have ever known. He is just waking up now, and I was about to telephone for a nurse when this gentleman”—indicating Heath—“told me you wished to see me.”

  Vance nodded understandingly.

  “Will it be possible for us to talk to Mr. Stamm at this time?”

  “A little later, perhaps. He is coming round all right, and, once I get him up-stairs to bed, you may see him... But you understand, of course,” the doctor added, “he will be pretty weak and played out.”

  Vance murmured his thanks.

  “Will you let us know when it is convenient to have us talk to him?”

  The doctor inclined his head in assent.

  “Certainly,” he said, and turned to go.