the motive!” he urged. “A man doesn’t shoot his brother for a handful of jewels.”
“Certainly not,” agreed Vance. “The jewels were a mere addendum. There was a vital motive—rest assured. And, I fancy, when you get your report from the expert accountant, all—or at least a goodly part—will be revealed.”
“So that was why you wanted his books examined?”
Markham stood up resolutely.
“Come: I’m going to see this thing through.”
Vance did not move at once. He was intently studying a small antique candlestick of oriental design on the mantel.
“I say!” he muttered. “That’s a dev’lish fine copy!”
19. The boy was Jack Prisco, of 621 Kelly Street.
20. Obviously Mrs. Platz.
CHAPTER XXIV
THE ARREST
(Thursday, June 20; noon.)
On leaving the apartment, Markham took with him the pistol and the case of jewels. In the drug store at the corner of Sixth Avenue he telephoned Heath to meet him immediately at the office, and to bring Captain Hagedorn. He also telephoned Stitt, the public accountant, to report as soon as possible.
“You observe, I trust,” said Vance, when we were in the taxicab headed for the Criminal Courts Building, “the great advantage of my methods over yours. When one knows at the outset who committed a crime, one isn’t misled by appearances. Without that foreknowledge, one is apt to be deceived by a clever alibi, for example. . . . I asked you to secure the alibis because, knowing the Major was guilty, I thought he’d have prepared a good one.”
“But why ask for all of them? And why waste time trying to disprove Colonel Ostrander’s?”
“What chance would I have had of securing the Major’s alibi, if I had not injected his name surreptitiously, as it were, into a list of other names? . . . And had I asked you to check the Major’s alibi first, you’d have refused. I chose the Colonel’s alibi to start with because it seemed to offer a loop-hole,—and I was lucky in the choice. I knew that if I could puncture one of the other alibis, you would be more inclined to help me test the Major’s.”
“But if, as you say, you knew from the first that the Major was guilty, why, in God’s name, didn’t you tell me, and save me this week of anxiety?”
“Don’t be ingenuous, old man,” returned Vance. “If I had accused the Major at the beginning, you’d have had me arrested for scandalum magnatum and criminal libel. It was only by deceivin’ you every minute about the Major’s guilt, and drawing a whole school of red herrings across the trail, that I was able to get you to accept the fact even to-day. And yet, not once did I actu’lly lie to you. I was constantly throwing out suggestions, and pointing to significant facts, in the hope that you’d see the light for yourself; but you ignored all my intimations, or else misinterpreted them, with the most irritatin’ perversity.”
Markham was silent a moment.
“I see what you mean. But why did you keep setting up these straw men and then knocking them over?”
“You were bound, body and soul, to circumst’ntial evidence,” Vance pointed out. “It was only by letting you see that it led you nowhere that I was able to foist the Major on you. There was no evidence against him,—he naturally saw to that. No one even regarded him as a possibility: fratricide has been held as inconceivable—a lusus naturæ—since the days of Cain. Even with all my finessing you fought every inch of the way, objectin’ to this and that, and doing everything imag’nable to thwart my humble efforts. . . . Admit, like a good fellow, that, had it not been for my assiduousness, the Major would never have been suspected.”
Markham nodded slowly.
“And yet, there are some things I don’t understand even now. Why, for instance, should he have objected so strenuously to my arresting the Captain?”
Vance wagged his head.
“How deuced obvious you are! Never attempt a crime, my Markham,—you’d be instantly apprehended. I say, can’t you see how much more impregnable the Major’s position would be if he showed no int’rest in your arrests—if, indeed, he appeared actu’lly to protest against your incarc’ration of a victim. Could he, by any other means, have elim’nated so completely all possible suspicion against himself? Moreover, he knew very well that nothing he could say would swerve you from your course. You’re so noble, don’t y’ know.”
“But he did give me the impression once or twice that he thought Miss St. Clair was guilty.”
“Ah! There you have a shrewd intelligence taking advantage of an opportunity. The Major unquestionably planned the crime so as to cast suspicion on the Captain. Leacock had publicly threatened his brother in connection with Miss St. Clair; and the lady was about to dine alone with Alvin. When, in the morning, Alvin was found shot with an army Colt, who but the Captain would be suspected? The Major knew the Captain lived alone, and that he would have diff’culty in establishing an alibi. Do you now see how cunning he was in recommending Pfyfe as a source of information? He knew that if you interviewed Pfyfe, you’d hear of the threat. And don’t ignore the fact that his suggestion of Pfyfe was an apparent afterthought: he wanted to make it appear casual, don’t y’ know.—Astute devil, what?”
Markham, sunk in gloom, was listening closely.
“Now for the opportunity of which he took advantage,” continued Vance. “When you upset his calculations by telling him you knew whom Alvin dined with, and that you had almost enough evidence to ask for an indictment, the idea appealed to him. He knew no charmin’ lady could ever be convicted of murder in this most chivalrous city, no matter what the evidence; and he had enough of the sporting instinct in him to prefer that no one should actu’lly be punished for the crime. Cons’quently, he was willing to switch you back to the lady. And he played his hand cleverly, making it appear that he was most reluctant to involve her.”
“Was that why, when you wanted me to examine his books and to ask him to the office to discuss the confession, you told me to intimate that I had Miss St. Clair in mind?”
“Exactly!”
“And the person the Major was shielding——”
“Was himself. But he wanted you to think it was Miss St. Clair.”
“If you were certain he was guilty, why did you bring Colonel Ostrander into the case?”
“In the hope that he could supply us with faggots for the Major’s funeral pyre. I knew he was acquainted intimately with Alvin Benson and his entire camarilla; and I knew, too, that he was an egregious quidnunc who might have got wind of some enmity between the Benson boys, and have suspected the truth. And I also wanted to get a line on Pfyfe, by way of elim’nating every remote counter possibility.”
“But we already had a line on Pfyfe.”
“Oh, I don’t mean material clues. I wanted to learn about Pfyfe’s nature—his psychology, y’ know,—particularly his personality as a gambler. Y’ see, it was the crime of a calculating, cold-blooded gambler; and no one but a man of that particular type could possibly have committed it.”
Markham apparently was not interested just now in Vance’s theories.
“Did you believe the Major,” he asked, “when he said his brother had lied to him about the presence of the jewels in the safe?”
“The wily Alvin prob’bly never