Читать книгу The Scarab Murder Case - Willard Huntington Wright - Страница 6

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TRACKS IN THE BLOOD

(Friday, July 13; 12.15 p. m.)

Scarlett had been watching Vance intently, a look of horrified amazement on his round bronzed face.

“I’m afraid you’re right, Vance,” he said, nodding with reluctance. “Doctor Bliss found that scarab on the site of the excavation of Intef’s tomb two years ago. He didn’t mention it to the Egyptian authorities; and when he returned to America he had it set in a scarf-pin. But surely its presence here can have no significance....”

“Really, now!” Vance faced Scarlett with a steady gaze. “I remember quite well the episode at Dirâ Abu ’n-Nega. I was particeps criminis, as it were, to the theft. But since there were other scarabs of Intef, as well as a cylindrical seal, in the British Museum, I turned my eyes the other way.... This is the first time I’ve had a close look at the scarab....”

Heath had started toward the front stairs.

“Say, you—Emery!” he bawled, addressing one of the two men on the landing. “Round up this guy Bliss, and bring ’im in here——”

“Oh, I say, Sergeant!” Vance hastened after him and put a restraining hand on his arm. “Why so precipitate? Let’s be calm.... This isn’t the correct moment to drag Bliss in. And when we want him all we have to do is to knock on that little door—he’s undoubtedly in his study, and he can’t run away. ... And there’s a bit of prelimin’ry surveying to be done first.”

Heath hesitated and made a grimace. Then:

“Never mind, Emery. But go out in the back yard, and see that nobody tries to make a getaway.... And you, Hennessey,”—he addressed the other man—“stand in the front hall. If any one tries to leave the house, grab ’em and bring ’em in—see?”

The two detectives disappeared with a stealth that struck me as highly ludicrous.

“Got something up your sleeve, sir?” the Sergeant asked, eying Vance hopefully. “This homicide, though, don’t look very complicated to me. Kyle gets bumped off by a blow over the head, and beside him is a scarf-pin belonging to Doctor Bliss.... That’s simple enough, ain’t it?”

“Too dashed simple, Sergeant,” Vance returned quietly, contemplating the dead man. “That’s the whole trouble....”

Suddenly he moved toward the statue of Anûbis, and leaning over, picked up a folded piece of paper which had lain almost hidden beneath one of Kyle’s outstretched hands. Carefully unfolding it, he held it toward the light. It was a legal-sized sheet of paper, and was covered with figures.

“This document,” he remarked, “must have been in Kyle’s possession when he passed from this world.... Know anything about it, Scarlett?”

Scarlett stepped forward eagerly and took the paper with an unsteady hand.

“Good Heavens!” he exclaimed. “It’s the report of expenditures we drew up last night. Doctor Bliss was working on this tabulation——”

“Uh-huh!” Heath grinned with vicious satisfaction. “So! Our dead friend here musta seen Bliss this morning—else how could he have got that paper?”

Scarlett frowned.

“I must say it looks that way,” he conceded. “This report hadn’t been made out when the rest of us knocked off last night. Doctor Bliss said he was going to draw it up before Mr. Kyle got here this morning.” He seemed utterly nonplussed as he handed the paper back to Vance. “But there’s something wrong somewhere.... You know, Vance, it’s not reasonable——”

“Don’t be futile, Scarlett.” Vance’s admonition cut him short. “If Doctor Bliss had wielded the statue of Sakhmet, why should he have left this report here to incriminate himself? ... As you say, something is wrong somewhere.”

“Wrong, is it!” Heath scoffed. “There’s that beetle—and now we find this report. What more do you want, Mr. Vance?”

“A great deal more.” Vance spoke softly. “A man doesn’t ordinarily commit murder and leave such obvious bits of direct evidence strewn all about the place.... It’s childish.”

Heath snorted.

“Panic—that’s what it was. He got scared and beat it in a hurry....”

Vance’s eyes rested on the little metal door of Doctor Bliss’s study.

“By the by, Scarlett,” he asked; “when did you last see that scarab scarf-pin?”

“Last night.” The man had begun to pace restlessly up and down. “It was beastly hot in the study, and Doctor Bliss took off his collar and four-in-hand and laid ’em on the table. The scarab pin was sticking in the cravat.”

“Ah!” Vance’s gaze did not shift from the little door. “The pin lay on the table during the conference, eh? ... And, as you told me, Hani and Mrs. Bliss and Salveter and yourself were present.”

“Right.”

“Any one, then, might have seen it and taken it?”

“Well—yes, ... I suppose so.”

Vance thought a moment.

“Still, this report ... most curious! ... I could bear to know how it got in Kyle’s hands. You say it hadn’t been completed when the conference broke up?”

“Oh, no.” Scarlett seemed hesitant about answering. “We all turned in our figures, and Doctor Bliss said he was going to add ’em up and present them to Kyle to-day. Then he telephoned Kyle—in our presence—and made an appointment with him for eleven this morning.”

“Is that all he said to Kyle on the phone?”

“Practically ... though I believe he mentioned the new shipment that came yesterday——”

“Indeed? Very interestin’.... And what did Doctor Bliss say about the shipment?”

“As I remember—I really didn’t pay much attention—he told Kyle that the crates had been unpacked, and added that he wanted Kyle to inspect their contents.... You see, there was some doubt whether Kyle would finance another expedition. The Egyptian Government had been somewhat snooty, and had retained most of the choicest items for the Cairo Museum. Kyle didn’t like this, and as he had already put oodles of money in the enterprise, he was inclined to back out. No kudos for him, you understand.... In fact, Kyle’s attitude was the cause of the conference. Doctor Bliss wanted to show him the exact cost of the former excavations and try to induce him to finance a continuation of the work....

“And the old boy refused to do it,” supplemented Heath; “and then the doctor got excited and cracked him over the head with that black statue.”

“You will insist that life is so simple, Sergeant,” sighed Vance.

“I’d sure hate to think it was as complex as you make it, Mr. Vance.” Heath’s retort came very near to an expression of dignified sarcasm.

The words were scarcely out of his mouth when the main door was opened quietly and a middle-aged, dark-complexioned man in native Egyptian costume appeared at the head of the front stairs. He surveyed us with inquisitive calm, and slowly and with great deliberation of movement, descended into the museum.

“Good-morning, Mr. Scarlett,” he said, with a sardonic smile. He glanced at the murdered man. “I observe that tragedy has visited this household.”

“Yes, Hani.” Scarlett spoke with a certain condescension. “Mr. Kyle has been murdered. These gentlemen”—he made a slight gesture in our direction—“are investigating the crime.”

Hani bowed gravely. He was of medium height, somewhat slender, and gave one the impression of contemptuous aloofness. There was a distinct glint of racial animosity in his close-set eyes. His face was relatively short—he was markedly dolichocephalic—and his straight nose had the typical rounded extremity of the true Copt. His eyes were brown—the color of his skin—and his eyebrows bushy. He wore a close-cut, semi-gray beard, and his lips were full and sensual. His head was covered by a soft dark tarbûsh bearing a pendant tassel of blue silk, and about his shoulders hung a long kaftan of red-and-white striped cotton, which fell to his ankles and barely revealed his yellow-leather babûshes.

He stood for a full minute looking down at Kyle’s body, without any trace of repulsion or even regret. Then he lifted his head and contemplated the statue of Anûbis. A queer devotional expression came over his face; and presently his lips curled in a faint sardonic smile. After a moment he made a sweeping gesture with his left hand and, turning slowly, faced us. But his eyes were not on us—they were fixed on some distant point far beyond the front windows.

“There is no need for an investigation, gentlemen,” he said, in a sepulchral tone. “It is the judgment of Sakhmet. For many generations the sacred tombs of our forefathers have been violated by the treasure-seeking Occidental. But the gods of old Egypt were powerful gods and protected their children. They have been patient. But the despoilers have gone too far. It was time for the wrath of their vengeance to strike. And it has struck. The tomb of Intef-o has been saved from the vandal. Sakhmet has pronounced her judgment, just as she did when she slaughtered the rebels at Henen-ensu^[9] to protect her father, Rê, against their treason.”

He paused and drew a deep breath.

“But Anûbis will never guide a sacrilegious giaour to the Halls of Osiris—however reverently he may plead....”

Both Hani’s manner and his words were impressive; and as he spoke I remembered, with an unpleasant feeling, the recent tragedy of Lord Carnarvon and the strange tales of ancient sorcery that sprang up to account for his death on supernatural grounds.

“Quite unscientific, don’t y’ know.” Vance’s voice, cynical and drawling, brought me quickly back to the world of reality. “I seriously question the ability of that piece of black igneous rock to accomplish a murder unless wielded by ordin’ry human hands.... And if you must talk tosh, Hani, we’d be tremendously obliged if you’d do it in the privacy of your bedchamber. It’s most borin’.”

The Egyptian shot him a look of hatred.

“The West has much to learn from the East regarding matters of the soul,” he pronounced oracularly.

“I dare say.” Vance smiled blandly. “But the soul is not now under discussion. The West, which you despise, is prone to practicality; and you’d do well to forgo the metempsychosis for the nonce and answer a few questions which the District Attorney would like to put to you.”

Hani bowed his acquiescence; and Markham, taking his cigar from his mouth, fixed a stern look upon him.

“Where were you all this forenoon?” he asked.

“In my room—upstairs. I was not well.”

“And you heard no sounds in the museum here?”

“It would have been impossible for me to hear any sound in this room.”

“And you saw no one enter or leave the house?”

“No. My room is at the rear, and I did not leave it until a few moments ago.”

Vance put the next question.

“Why did you leave it then?”

“I had work to do here in the museum,” the man replied sullenly.

“But I understand you heard Doctor Bliss make an appointment with Mr. Kyle for eleven this morning.” Vance was watching Hani sharply. “Did you intend to interrupt the conference?”

“I had forgotten about the appointment.” The answer did not come spontaneously. “If I had found Doctor Bliss and Mr. Kyle in conference I would have returned to my room.”

“To be sure.” Vance’s tone held a tinge of sarcasm. “I say, Hani, what’s your full name?”

The Egyptian hesitated, but only for a second. Then he said:

“Anûpu Hani.”^[10]

Vance’s eyebrows went up, and there was irony in the slow smile that crept to the corners of his mouth.

“‘Anûpu’,” he repeated. “Most allurin’. Anûpu, I believe, was the Egyptian form for Anûbis, what? You would seem to be identified with that unpleasant-lookin’ gentleman in the corner, with the jackal’s head.”

Hani compressed his thick lips and made no response.

“It really doesn’t matter, y’ know,” Vance remarked lightly.... “By the by, wasn’t it you who placed the small statue of Sakhmet atop the cabinet yonder?”

“Yes. It was unpacked yesterday.”

“And was it you who drew the curtain across the end cabinet?”

“Yes—at Doctor Bliss’s request. The objects in it were in great disarray. We had not yet had time to arrange them.”

Vance turned thoughtfully to Scarlett.

“Just what was said by Doctor Bliss to Mr. Kyle over the phone last night?”

“I think I’ve told you everything, old man.” Scarlett appeared both puzzled and startled at Vance’s persistent curiosity on this point. “He simply made the appointment for eleven o’clock, saying he’d have the financial report ready at that time.”

“And what did he say about the new shipment?”

“Nothing, except that he was desirous of having Mr. Kyle see the items.”

“And did he mention their whereabouts?”

“Yes; I recall that he said they had been placed in the end cabinet—the one with the closed curtains.”

Vance nodded with a satisfaction I did not then understand.

“That accounts probably for Kyle’s having come early to inspect the—what shall I say?—loot.”

He faced Hani again with an engaging smile.

“And is it not true that you and the others at the conference last night heard this phone call?”

“Yes—we all heard it.” The Egyptian had become morose; but I noticed that he was studying Vance surreptitiously from the corner of his eye.

“And—I take it—,” mused Vance, “any one who knew Kyle might have surmised that he would come early to inspect the items in that end cabinet.... Eh, Scarlett?”

Scarlett shifted uneasily and looked at the great figure of the serene Kha-ef-Rê.

“Well—since you put it that way—yes.... Fact is, Vance, Doctor Bliss suggested that Mr. Kyle come early and have a peep at the treasures.”

These ramifications had begun to irritate Sergeant Heath.

“Pardon me, Mr. Vance,” he blurted, with ill-concealed annoyance; “but do you happen to be the defense attorney for this Doctor Bliss? If you aren’t working hard to alibi him, I’m the Queen of Sheba.”

“You’re certainly not Solomon, Sergeant,” returned Vance. “Don’t you care to weigh all the possibilities?”

“Weigh hell!” Heath was losing his temper. “I want a heart-to-heart talk with this guy who wore that beetle-pin and drew up that report. I know clean-cut evidence when I see it.”

“I don’t doubt that for a moment,” Vance spoke dulcetly. “But even clean-cut evidence may have various interpretations....”

Snitkin threw open the door noisily at this point, and Doctor Doremus, the Medical Examiner, tripped jauntily down the stairs. He was a thin, nervous man, with a seamed, prematurely old face which carried a look at once crabbed and jocular.

“Good-morning, gentlemen,” he greeted us breezily. He shook hands perfunctorily with Markham and Heath, and squaring off, gave Vance an exaggeratedly disgruntled look.

“Well, well!” he exclaimed, tilting his straw hat at an even more rakish angle. “Wherever there’s a murder I find you, sir.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “Lunch time, by George!” His flashing gaze moved about the museum and came to rest on one of the anthropoid mummy cases. “This place don’t look healthy.... Where’s the body, Sergeant?”

Heath had been standing before the prostrate body of Kyle. He now moved aside and pointed to the dead man.

“That’s him, doc.”

Doremus came forward and peered indifferently at the corpse.

“Well, he’s dead,” he pronounced, cocking his eye at Heath.

“Honest to Gawd?” The Sergeant was good-naturedly sarcastic.

“That’s the way it strikes me—though since Carrel’s experiments you never can tell.... Anyway, I’ll stand by my decision.” He chuckled, and kneeling down, touched one of Kyle’s hands. Then he moved one of the dead man’s legs sidewise. “And he’s been dead for about two hours—not longer, maybe less.”

Heath took out a large handkerchief and, with great care, lifted the black statue of Sakhmet from Kyle’s head.

“I’m saving this for finger-prints.... Any signs of a struggle, doc?”

Doremus turned the body over and made a careful inspection of the face, the hands, and the clothes.

“Don’t see any,” he returned laconically. “Was struck from the rear, I’d say. Fell forward, arms outstretched. Didn’t move after he’d hit the floor.”

“Any chance, doctor, of his having been dead when the statue hit him?” asked Vance.

“Nope.” Doremus rose and teetered on his toes impatiently. “Too much blood for that.”

“Simple case of assault, then?”

“Looks like it.... I’m no wizard, though.” The doctor had become irritable. “The autopsy will settle that point.”

“Can we have the post-mortem report immediately?” Markham made the request.

“As soon as the Sergeant gets the body to the mortuary.”

“It’ll be there by the time you’ve finished lunch, doc,” said Heath. “I ordered the wagon before I left the Bureau.”

“That being that, I’ll run along.” Again Doremus shook hands with Markham and Heath, and throwing a friendly salutation to Vance, walked briskly out of the room.

I had noticed that ever since Heath had placed the statue of Sakhmet to one side he had stood staring impatiently at the small pool of blood. As soon as Doremus had departed he knelt down and became doggedly interested in something on the floor. He took out his flash-light, which Vance had returned to him, and focussed it on the edge of the blood-pool at the point where I had noted the outward smear. Then, after a moment, he moved a short distance away, and again shot his light on a faint smudge which stained the yellow wood floor. Once more he shifted his position—this time toward the little spiral stairs. A grunt of satisfaction escaped him now, and rising, he walked, in a wide circle, to the stairs themselves. There he again knelt down and ran the beam of his flash-light over the lower steps. On the third step the ray of light suddenly halted, and the Sergeant’s face shot forward in an attitude of intense concentration.

A grin slowly overspread his broad features, and straightening up, he brought a gaze of triumph to bear on Vance.

“I’ve got the case tied up in a sack now, sir,” he announced.

“I take it,” replied Vance, “you’ve found the spoor of the murderer.”

“I’ll say!” Heath nodded with the deliberate emphasis of finality. “It’s just like I told you....”

“Don’t be too positive, Sergeant.” Vance’s face had grown sombre. “The obvious explanation is often the wrong one.”

“Yeah?” Heath turned to Scarlett. “Listen, Mr. Scarlett, I got a question to ask you—and I want a straight answer.” Scarlett bristled, but the Sergeant paid no attention to his resentment. “What kind of shoes does this Doctor Bliss generally wear round the house?”

Scarlett hesitated, and looked appealingly to Vance.

“Tell the Sergeant whatever you know,” Vance advised him. “This is no time for reticence. You can trust me. There’s no question of disloyalty now. The truth, d’ ye see, is all that matters.”

Scarlett cleared his throat nervously.

“Rubber tennis shoes,” he said, in a low voice. “Ever since his first expedition in Egypt he has had weak feet—they troubled him abominably. He got relief by wearing white canvas sneakers with rubber soles.”

“Sure he did.” Heath walked back toward the body of Kyle. “Step over here a minute, Mr. Vance. I got something to show you.”

Vance moved forward, and I followed him.

“Take a look at that footprint,” the Sergeant continued, pointing toward the smear at the edge of the pool of blood where Kyle’s head had lain. “It don’t show up much till you get close to it ... but, once you spot it, you’ll notice that it has marks of a rubber-soled shoe, with crossings like a checker-board on the sole and round spots on the heel.”

Vance bent over and inspected the footprint in the blood.

“Quite right, Sergeant.” He had become very grave and serious.

“And now look here,” Heath went on, pointing to two other smudges on the floor half-way to the iron stairs.

Vance leaned over the spots, and nodded.

“Yes,” he admitted. “Those marks were probably made by the murderer....”

“And once more, sir.” Heath went to the stairs and flashed his pocket-light on the third step.

Vance adjusted his monocle and looked closely. Then he rose and stood still for a moment, his chin resting in the palm of his hand.

“How about it, Mr. Vance?” the Sergeant demanded. “Is that evidence enough for you?”

Markham stepped to the foot of the circular stairway, and placed his hand on Vance’s shoulder.

“Why this stubbornness, old friend?” he asked in a kindly voice. “It begins to look like a clear case.”

Vance lifted his eyes.

“A clear case—yes! But a clear case of what? ... It doesn’t make sense. Does a man of Bliss’s mentality brutally murder a man with whom he is known to have had an appointment, and then leave his scarab-pin and a financial report, which no one else could have produced, on the scene of the crime, to involve himself? And, lest that evidence wasn’t enough, is he going to leave bloody footprints, of a distinctive and personal design, leading from the body to his study? ... Is it reasonable?”

“It may not be reasonable,” Markham conceded; “but these things are nevertheless facts. And there’s nothing to be done but confront Doctor Bliss with them.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Vance’s eyes again drifted toward the little metal door at the head of the spiral stairs. “Yes ... the time has come to put Bliss on the carpet.... But I don’t like it, Markham. There’s something awry.... Maybe the doctor himself can enlighten us. Let me fetch him—I’ve known him for several years.”

Vance turned and ascended the stairs, taking care not to step on the telltale footprint the Sergeant had discovered.

[9]	The ancient Egyptian name of Heracleopolis.

[10]	This unusual name, I learned later, was the result of his father’s interest in Egyptian mythology while in Maspero’s service.