The Greatest Murder Mysteries of S. S. Van Dine - 12 Titles in One Volume (Illustrated Edition). S.S. Van Dine
got up, obviously relieved that the subject of the revolver had been disposed of, and went to the bell-cord beside the archway. But he arrested his hand in the act of reaching for it.
“I’ll fetch her myself,” he said, and hurried from the room.
Markham turned to Vance with a smile.
“Your prophecy about the non-reappearance of the gun has, I note, been temporarily verified.”
“And I’m afraid that fancy weapon with the hair-trigger never will appear—at least, not until this miserable business is cleaned up.” Vance was unwontedly sober; his customary levity had for the moment deserted him. But before long he lifted his eyebrows mockingly, and gave Heath a chaffing look.
“Perchance the Sergeant’s predacious neophyte made off with the revolver—became fascinated with the scrollwork, or entranced with the pearl handle.”
“It’s quite possible the revolver disappeared in the way Greene said it did,” Markham submitted. “In any event, I think you unduly emphasized the matter.”
“Sure he did, Mr. Markham,” growled Heath. “And, what’s more, I can’t see that all this repartee with the family is getting us anywheres. I had ’em all on the carpet last night when the shooting was hot; and I’m telling you they don’t know nothing about it. This Ada Greene is the only person round here I want to talk to. There’s a chance she can give us a tip. If her lights were on when the burglar got in her room, she maybe got a good look at him.”
“Sergeant,” said Vance, shaking his head sadly, “you’re getting positively morbid on the subject of that mythical burglar.”
Markham inspected the end of his cigar thoughtfully.
“No, Vance. I’m inclined to agree with the Sergeant. It appears to me that you’re the one with the morbid imagination. I let you inveigle me into this inquiry too easily. That’s why I’ve kept in the background and left the floor to you. Ada Greene’s our only hope of help here.”
“Oh, for your trusting, forthright mind!” Vance sighed and shifted his position restlessly. “I say, our psychic Chester is taking a dashed long time to fetch Sibella.”
At that moment there came a sound of footsteps on the marble stairs, and a few seconds later Sibella Greene, accompanied by Chester, appeared in the archway.
CHAPTER V
HOMICIDAL POSSIBILITIES
(Tuesday, November 9; 3.30 p. m.)
Sibella entered with a firm, swinging gait, her head held high, her eyes sweeping the assemblage with bold interrogation. She was tall and of slender, athletic build, and, though she was not pretty, there was a cold, chiselled attractiveness in her lineaments that held one’s attention. Her face was at once vivid and intense; and there was a hauteur in her expression amounting almost to arrogance. Her dark, crisp hair was bobbed but not waved, and the severity of its lines accentuated the overdecisive cast of her features. Her hazel eyes were wide-spaced beneath heavy, almost horizontal eyebrows; her nose was straight and slightly prominent, and her mouth was large and firm, with a suggestion of cruelty in its thin lips. She was dressed simply, in a dark sport suit cut extremely short, silk-wool stockings of a heather mixture, and low-heeled mannish Oxfords.
Chester presented the District Attorney to her as an old acquaintance, and permitted Markham to make the other introductions.
“I suppose you know, Mr. Markham, why Chet likes you,” she said, in a peculiarly plangent voice. “You’re one of the few persons at the Marylebone Club that he can beat at golf.”
She seated herself before the centre-table, and crossed her knees comfortably.
“I wish you’d get me a cigarette, Chet.” Her tone made the request an imperative.
Vance rose at once and held out his case.
“Do try one of these Régies, Miss Greene,” he urged in his best drawing-room manner. “If you say you don’t like them, I shall immediately change my brand.”
“Rash man!” Sibella took a cigarette and permitted Vance to light it for her. Then she settled back in her chair and gave Markham a quizzical look. “Quite a wild party we pulled here last night, wasn’t it? We’ve never had so much commotion in the old mansion. And it was just my luck to sleep soundly through it all.” She made an aggrieved moue. “Chet didn’t call me till it was all over. Just like him—he has a nasty disposition.”
Somehow her flippancy did not shock me as it might have done in a different type of person. But Sibella struck me as a girl who, though she might feel things keenly, would not permit any misfortune to get the better of her; and I put her apparent callousness down to a dogged, if perverted, courageousness.
Markham, however, resented her attitude.
“One cannot blame Mr. Greene for not taking the matter lightly,” he reproved her. “The brutal murder of a defenseless woman and the attempted murder of a young girl hardly come under the head of diversion.”
Sibella looked at him reproachfully. “You know, Mr. Markham, you sound exactly like the Mother Superior of the stuffy convent I was confined in for two years.” She became suddenly grave. “Why draw a long face over something that’s happened and can’t be helped? Anyway, Julia never sought to brighten her little corner. She was always crabbed and faultfinding, and her good deeds wouldn’t fill a book. It may be unsisterly to say it, but she’s not going to be missed so dreadfully. Chet and I are certainly not going to pine away.”
“And what about the brutal shooting of your other sister?” Markham was with difficulty controlling his indignation.
Sibella’s eyelids narrowed perceptibly, and the lines of her face became set. But she erased the expression almost at once.
“Well, Ada’s going to recover, isn’t she?” Despite her effort, she was unable to keep a certain hardness out of her voice. “She’ll have a nice long rest, and a nurse to wait on her. Am I expected to weep copiously because of baby sister’s escape?”
Vance, who had been closely watching this clash between Sibella and Markham, now took a hand in the conversation.
“My dear Markham, I can’t see what Miss Greene’s sentiments have to do with the matter. Her attitude may not be strictly in accord with the prescribed conduct for young ladies on such occasions, but I feel sure she has excellent reasons for her point of view. Let us give over moralizing, and seek Miss Greene’s assistance instead.”
The girl darted him an amused, appreciative glance; and Markham made a gesture of indifferent acquiescence. It was plain that he regarded the present inquiry as of little importance.
Vance gave the girl an engaging smile.
“It’s really my fault, Miss Greene, that we are intruding here,” he apologized. “It was I, d’ ye see, that urged Mr. Markham to look into the case after your brother had expressed his disbelief in the burglar theory.”
She nodded understandingly. “Oh, Chet sometimes has excellent hunches. It’s one of his very few merits.”
“You, too, I gather, are sceptical in regard to the burglar?”
“Sceptical?” She gave a short laugh. “I’m downright suspicious. I don’t know any burglars, though I’d dearly love to meet one; but I simply can’t bring my flighty brain to picture them going about their fascinating occupation the way our little entertainer did last night.”
“You positively thrill me,” declared Vance. “Y’ see, our minority ideas coincide perfectly.”
“Did Chet give you any intelligible explanation for his opinion?” she asked.
“I’m