The Philo Vance Megapack - S.S. Van Dine

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few minutes—I couldn’t say exactly.”

      “Had he returned when the curtain went up on the second act?”

      Moriarty reflected. “I don’t believe he had. I think he came back a few minutes after the act began.”

      “Ten minutes?”

      “I couldn’t say. Certainly no more.”

      “Then, allowing for a ten-minute intermission, the colonel might have been away twenty minutes?”

      “Yes—it’s possible.”

      This ended the interview; and when Moriarty had gone, Vance lay back in his chair and smoked thoughtfully.

      “Surprisin’ luck!” he commented. “The Piccadilly Theatre, y’ know, is practically round the corner from Benson’s house. You grasp the possibilities of the situation, what?… The colonel invites an alderman to the Midnight Follies and gets box seats near an exit giving on an alley. At a little before half past twelve he leaves the box, sneaks out via the alley, goes to Benson’s, taps and is admitted, shoots his man, and hurries back to the theater. Twenty minutes would have been ample.”

      Markham straightened up but made no comment.

      “And now,” continued Vance, “let’s look at the indicat’ry circumst’nces and the confirmat’ry facts.… Miss St. Clair told us the colonel had lost heavily in a pool of Benson’s manipulation and had accused him of crookedness. He hadn’t spoken to Benson for a week; so it’s plain there was bad blood between ’em. He saw Miss St. Clair at the Marseilles with Benson; and, knowing she always went home at midnight, he chose half past twelve as a propitious hour; although originally he may have intended to wait until much later, say, one thirty or two, before sneaking out of the theater. Being an army officer, he would have had a Colt .45, and he was probably a good shot. He was most anxious to have you arrest someone—he didn’t seem to care who; and he even phoned you to inquire about it. He was one of the very few persons in the world whom Benson would have admitted, attired as he was. He’d known Benson int’mately for fifteen years, and Mrs. Platz once saw Benson take off his toupee and show it to him. Moreover, he would have known all about the domestic arrangements of the house; he no doubt had slept there many a time when showing his old pal the wonders of New York’s night life.… How does all that appeal to you?”

      Markham had risen and was pacing the floor, his eyes almost closed.

      “So that was why you were so interested in the colonel—asking people if they knew him and inviting him to lunch?… What gave you the idea, in the first place, that he was guilty?”

      “Guilty!” exclaimed Vance. “That priceless old dunderhead guilty! Really, Markham, the notion’s prepost’rous. I’m sure he went to the washroom that night to comb his eyebrows and arrange his tie. Sitting, as he was, in a box, the gels on the stage could see him, y’ know.”

      Markham halted abruptly. An ugly color crept into his cheeks, and his eyes blazed. But before he could speak, Vance went on, with serene indifference to his anger.

      “And I played in the most astonishin’ luck. Still, he’s just the kind of ancient popinjay who’d go to the washroom and dandify himself—I rather counted on that, don’t y’ know.… My word! We’ve made amazin’ progress this morning, despite your injured feelings. You now have five different people, any one of whom you can, with a little legal ingenuity, convict of the crime—in any event, you can get indictments against ’em.”

      He leaned his head back meditatively.

      “First, there’s Miss St. Clair. You were quite pos’tive she did the deed, and you told the major you were all ready to arrest her. My demonstration of the murderer’s height could be thrown out on the grounds that it was intelligent and conclusive and therefore had no place in a court of law. I’m sure the judge would concur. Secondly, I give you Captain Leacock. I actu’lly had to use physical force to keep you from jailing the chap. You had a beautiful case against him—to say nothing of his delightful confession. And if you met with any diff’culties, he’d help you out; he’d adore having you convict him. Thirdly, I submit Leander the Lovely. You had a better case against him than against almost any one of the others—a perfect wealth of circumst’ntial evidence—an embarras de richesse, in fact. And any jury would delight in convicting him. I would, myself, if only for the way he dresses. Fourthly, I point with pride to Mrs. Platz. Another perfect circumst’ntial case, fairly bulging with clues and inf’rences and legal whatnots. Fifthly, I present the colonel. I have just rehearsed your case against him; and I could elab’rate it touchin’ly, given a little more time.”

      He paused and gave Markham a smile of cynical affability.

      “Observe, please, that each member of this quintet meets all the demands of presumptive guilt: each one fulfills the legal requirements as to time, place, opportunity, means, motive, and conduct. The only drawback, d’ ye see, is that all five are quite innocent. A most discomposin’ fact, but there you are.… Now, if all the people against whom there’s the slightest suspicion are innocent, what’s to be done?… Annoyin’, ain’t it?”

      He picked up the alibi reports.

      “There’s pos’tively nothing to be done but to go on checking up these alibis.”

      I could not imagine what goal he was trying to reach by these apparently irrelevant digressions; and Markham, too, was mystified. But neither of us doubted for a moment that there was method in his madness.

      “Let’s see,” he mused. “The major’s is the next in order. What do you say to tackling it? It shouldn’t take long—he lives near here; and the entire alibi hinges on the evidence of the nightboy at his apartment house. Come!” He got up.

      “How do you know the boy is there now?” objected Markham.

      “I phoned a while ago and found out.”

      “But this is damned nonsense!”

      Vance now had Markham by the arm, playfully urging him toward the door. “Oh, undoubtedly,” he agreed. “But I’ve often told you, old dear, you take life much too seriously.”

      Markham, protesting vigorously, held back and endeavored to disengage his arm from the other’s grip. But Vance was determined; and after a somewhat heated dispute, Markham gave in.

      “I’m about through with this hocus-pocus,” he growled, as we got into a taxicab.

      “I’m through already,” said Vance.

      CHAPTER 23

      CHECKING AN ALIBI

      (Thursday, June 20; 10:30 A.M.)

      The Chatham Arms, where Major Benson lived, was a small exclusive bachelor apartment house in Forty-sixth Street, midway between Fifth and Sixth Avenues. The entrance, set in a simple and dignified façade, was flush with the street and only two steps above the pavement. The front door opened into a narrow hallway with a small reception room, like a cul-de-sac, on the left. At the rear could be seen the elevator; and beside it, tucked under a narrow flight of iron stairs which led round the elevator shaft, was a telephone switchboard.

      When we arrived, two youths in uniform were on duty, one lounging in the door of the elevator, the other seated at the switchboard.

      Vance halted Markham near the entrance.

      “One of these boys, I was informed over the telephone, was on duty the night of the thirteenth. Find out which one it was and scare him into submission by your exalted title of District Attorney. Then turn him over to me.”

      Vance

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