The Greatest Works of S. S. Van Dine (Illustrated Edition) - S.S. Van Dine

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shoulder at a particularly vital point may have been the purest accident.”

      “Quite true,” conceded Vance. “However, if the idea of premeditation is to be abrogated, we must account for the fact that the lights were on in the room when the butler entered immediately after the shooting.”

      Von Blon showed the keenest astonishment at this statement.

      “The lights were on? That’s most remarkable!” His brow crinkled into a perplexed frown, and he appeared to be assimilating Vance’s information. “Still,” he argued, “that very fact may account for the shooting. If the intruder had entered a lighted room he may have fired at the occupant lest his description be given to the police later.”

      “Oh, quite!” murmured Vance. “Anyway, let us hope we’ll learn the explanation when we’ve seen and spoken to Miss Ada.”

      “Well, why don’t we get to it?” grumbled Heath, whose ordinarily inexhaustible store of patience had begun to run low.

      “You’re so hasty, Sergeant,” Vance chided him. “Doctor Von Blon has just told us that Miss Ada is very weak; and anything we can learn beforehand will spare her just so many questions.”

      “All I want to find out,” expostulated Heath, “is if she got a look at the bird that shot her and can give me a description of him.”

      “That being the case, Sergeant, I fear you are doomed to have your ardent hopes dashed to the ground.”

      Heath chewed viciously on his cigar; and Vance turned again to Von Blon.

      “There’s one other question I’d like to ask, doctor. How long was it after Miss Ada had been wounded before you examined her?”

      “The butler’s already told us, Mr. Vance,” interposed Heath impatiently. “The doctor got here in half an hour.”

      “Yes, that’s about right.” Von Blon’s tone was smooth and matter-of-fact. “I was unfortunately out on a call when Sproot phoned, but I returned about fifteen minutes later, and hurried right over. Luckily I live near here—in East 48th Street.”

      “And was Miss Ada still unconscious when you arrived?”

      “Yes. She had lost considerable blood. The cook, however, had put a towel-compress on the wound, which of course helped.”

      Vance thanked him and rose.

      “And now, if you’ll be good enough to take us to your patient, we’ll be very grateful.”

      “As little excitement as possible, you understand,” admonished Von Blon, as he got up and led the way up-stairs.

      Sibella and Chester seemed undecided about accompanying us; but as I turned into the hall I saw a look of interrogation flash between them, and a moment later they too joined us in the upper hall.

      CHAPTER VI

       AN ACCUSATION

       Table of Contents

      (Tuesday, November 9; 4 p. m.)

      Ada Greene’s room was simply, almost severely, furnished; but there was a neatness about it, combined with little touches of feminine decoration, that reflected the care its occupant had bestowed upon it. To the left, near the door that led into the dressing-room communicating with Mrs. Greene’s chamber, was a single mahogany bed of simple design; and beyond it was the door that opened upon the stone balcony. To the right, beside the window, stood the dressing-table; and on the amber-colored Chinese rug before it there showed a large irregular brown stain where the wounded girl had lain. In the centre of the right wall was an old Tudor fireplace with a high oak-panelled mantel.

      As we entered, the girl in the bed looked at us inquisitively, and a slight flush colored her pale cheeks. She lay on her right side, facing the door, her bandaged shoulder supported by pillows, and her left hand, slim and white, resting upon the blue-figured coverlet. A remnant of her fear of the night before seemed still to linger in her blue eyes.

      Doctor Von Blon went to her and, sitting down on the edge of the bed, placed his hand on hers. His manner was at once protective and impersonal.

      “These gentlemen want to ask you a few questions, Ada,” he explained, with a reassuring smile; “and as you were so much stronger this afternoon I brought them up. Do you feel equal to it?”

      She nodded her head wearily, her eyes on the doctor.

       PLAN OF ADA’S BEDROOM.

      Vance, who had paused by the mantel to inspect the hand-carving of the quadræ, now turned and approached the bed.

      “Sergeant,” he said, “if you don’t mind, let me talk to Miss Greene first.”

      Heath realized, I think, that the situation called for tact and delicacy; and it was typical of the man’s fundamental bigness that he at once stepped aside.

      “Miss Greene,” said Vance, in a quiet, genial voice, drawing up a small chair beside the bed, “we’re very anxious to clear up the mystery about last night’s tragedy; and, as you are the only person who is in a position to help us, we want you to recall for us, as nearly as you can, just what happened.”

      The girl took a deep breath.

      “It—it was awful,” she said weakly, looking straight ahead. “After I had gone to sleep—I don’t know just what time—something woke me up. I can’t tell you what it was; but all of a sudden I was wide awake, and the strangest feeling came over me. . . .” She closed her eyes, and an involuntary shudder swept her body. “It was as though some one were in the room, threatening me. . . .” Her voice faded away into an awed silence.

      “Was the room dark?” Vance asked gently.

      “Pitch-dark.” Slowly she turned her eyes to him. “That’s why I was so frightened. I couldn’t see anything, and I imagined there was a ghost—or evil spirit—near me. I tried to call out, but I couldn’t make a sound. My throat felt dry and—and stiff.”

      “Typical constriction due to fright, Ada,” explained Von Blon. “Many people can’t speak when they’re frightened.—Then what happened?”

      “I lay trembling for a few minutes, but not a sound came from anywhere in the room. Yet I knew—I knew—somebody, or something, that meant to harm me was here. . . . At last I forced myself to get up—very quietly. I wanted to turn on the lights—the darkness frightened me so. And after a while I was standing up beside the bed here. Then, for the first time, I could see the dim light of the windows; and it made things seem more real somehow. So I began to grope my way toward the electric switch there by the door. I had only gone a little way when . . . a hand . . . touched me. . . .”

      Her lips were trembling, and a look of horror came into her wide-open eyes.

      “I—I was so stunned,” she struggled on, “I hardly know what I did. Again I tried to scream, but I couldn’t even open my lips. And then I turned and ran away from the—the thing—toward the window. I had almost reached it when I heard some one coming after me—a queer, shuffling sound—and I knew it was the end. . . . There was an awful noise, and something hot struck the back of my shoulder. I was suddenly nauseated; the light of the window disappeared, and I felt myself sinking down—deep. . . .”

      When she ceased speaking a tense silence fell on the room. Her account, for all its simplicity,

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