Greek Coffin Mystery (25 page)

“You mean,” said Ellery swiftly, “no one knew that Gilbert
Sloane
was Albert Grimshaw’s brother?”

“Exactly.” Sloane wiped his forehead again. “In the first place, I’ve never told a soul about having a brother, not even my wife. And Albert couldn’t have told any one, because while he knew he had a brother somewhere, he didn’t know that I was called Gilbert Sloane. Didn’t know
that,
in fact, even after I went to his room that night.”

“Funny,” muttered the Inspector.

“Isn’t it,” said Ellery. “Mr. Sloane, did your brother know you were connected with Georg Khalkis?”

“Oh, no! I’m sure he didn’t. In fact, he even asked me what I was doing, in a jeering sort of way, and I naturally put him off. I didn’t want him looking me up.”

“One thing more. Did you meet your brother somewhere that Thursday night and enter the hotel with him?”

“No. I was alone. I got into the lobby almost in the wake of Albert and another man who was bundled up …”

The Inspector uttered a little exclamation.

“… bundled up. I didn’t see this man’s face. I wasn’t following Albert all night, and didn’t know where he was coming from. But, seeing him, I asked at the desk for his room-number, got it, and followed Albert and his companion up. I waited in a branching corridor on the third floor for a while, hoping the other fellow would go away so that I could go in, talk to Albert, and get away from the place. …”

“Did you have the door of Room 314 under observation?” asked Ellery sharply.

“Well, yes and no. But I suppose Albert’s companion slipped out when I wasn’t looking. I waited for a few moments; then I went to the door of 314 and knocked. Albert opened the door for me after a few moments—”

“And the room was empty?”

“Yes. Albert didn’t mention having a previous visitor, and I assumed it must have been a hotel acquaintance of his who had left before I came in, while I was waiting.” Sloane sighed. “I was too anxious to get the hideous business over, and to get away, to ask questions. Then we said what I told you, and I left. I was very much relieved.”

The Inspector said suddenly: “That’s all.”

Sloane jumped to his feet. “Thank you, Inspector, thank you for your splendid consideration. You too, Mr. Queen. Not what I’ve been led to believe—these third degrees and things …” He touched his necktie and Velie’s shoulders quivered like the slope of Mount Vesuvius during an eruption. “I guess I—I’ll be getting along,” he said feebly. “Catch up on some work at the Galleries. Well …”

They kept silent, looking at him; Sloane muttered something, gave birth to a sound astonishingly like a giggle, and slipped out of the library. A few moments later they heard the slam of the front door.

“Thomas,” said Inspector Queen, “I want you to get me a complete transcript of the hotel register of the Benedict, showing who was stopping there on Thursday and Friday, the thirtieth and the first.”

“Then you think,” asked Ellery with amusement, as Velie left the study, “you think there’s something in that business of Grimshaw’s companion having been a guest at the hotel, as Sloane suggested?”

The Inspector’s pale face reddened. “And why not? Don’t you?”

Ellery sighed.

It was at this moment that Pepper, coat tails flying, burst in upon them, ruddy face made ruddier by the wind, eyes bright, demanding to see the fragment of the will they had fished from the furnace next door. Ellery sat by, musing, as Pepper and the Inspector examined the scrap by a stronger light over the desk. “Hard to tell,” said Pepper. “Offhand, I see no reason why this shouldn’t be the remains of the authentic document. The handwriting seems to be the same.”

“We’ll check that.”

“Of course.” Pepper took off his coat. “If we do establish this as a fragment of the last Khalkis testament,” he continued reflectively, “and couple that with Mr. Knox’s story, we’re going to find ourselves involved, I’m afraid, in one of those deuced testamentary tangles that make life so interesting for the Surrogate.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, unless we can prove that this will was signed by the testator under circumstances indicating duress, the Khalkis Galleries will go to the estate of Albert Grimshaw, deceased!”

They stared at each other. The Inspector said slowly: “I see. And with Sloane probably the nearest of Grimshaw’s kin …”

“Under suspicious circumstances,” murmured Ellery.

“You mean you think Sloane would feel safer inheriting through his wife?” asked Pepper.

“Wouldn’t you, Pepper, if you were in Sloane’s place?”

“There’s something in that,” muttered the Inspector. He shrugged his shoulders and related the substance of Sloane’s testimony a few moments before; and Pepper nodded. They looked again at the small burnt scrap in a sort of helplessness.

Pepper said: “The first thing to do is to see Woodruff and compare this fragment with his office copy. That ought to establish, with a comparison of handwritings …”

They all turned swiftly at the sound of a light step in the hall, outside the study-door. Mrs. Vreeland, attired in a shimmering black gown, stood in the doorway in an attitude suggestive of pose. As Pepper hastily thrust the scrap into his pocket, the Inspector said easily: “Come in, Mrs. Vreeland. Did you want to see me?”

She replied in almost a whisper. “Yes,” peering up and down the hall outside. Then she came in quickly and shut the door behind her. There was something furtive in her manner—a repressed emotion the men could not define, but which heightened the color of her cheeks and the sparkle in her large eyes, and set her breast to rising and falling in long surges of breath. Somehow, there was malice in that handsome face—little dagger-points in those bold eyes.

The Inspector offered her a chair, but she refused, choosing to stand straight against the closed door, her manner openly cautious—as if she were straining to catch sounds from the hall outside. The Inspector’s eyes narrowed, Pepper frowned, and even Ellery watched her with interest.

“Well, what is it, Mrs. Vreeland?”

“Just this, Inspector Queen,” she whispered. “I’ve been withholding something …”

“Yes?”

“I have a story to tell—a story that ought to prove
very
interesting to you.” Her moist black lashes swept down over her eyes, concealed them; when they swept up again, the eyes were hard as ebony. “On Wednesday night, a week ago—”

“The day after the funeral?” asked the Inspector swiftly.

“Yes. On Wednesday night last, very late, I couldn’t sleep,” she murmured. “Insomnia—I suffer often from insomnia, you know. I got out of bed and went to my window. My bedroom window overlooks the court at the rear of the house. And I happened to see a man sneaking down the court to the gate of the graveyard. He went into the graveyard, Inspector Queen!”

“Indeed,” said the Inspector gently. “This is very interesting, Mrs. Vreeland. Who was the man?”

“Gilbert Sloane!”

It came out with an intensity that was—unquestionably—venomous. She held them with her staring black eyes, something that was almost a voluptuous leer curving her lips. In that moment the woman was horrible—and earnest. The Inspector blinked, and Pepper clenched one fist exultantly. Only Ellery was unmoved—studying the woman as if she were a bacterium under the lens of a microscope.

“Gilbert Sloane. You’re sure of this, Mrs. Vreeland?”

“Positive.” The word lashed out like a whip.

The Inspector drew his thin shoulders up. “Now this is, as you say, a very serious matter, Mrs. Vreeland. You must be careful to give exact information. Tell me just what you saw—no more and no less. When you looked out of the window, did you see where Mr. Sloane was coming from?”

“He appeared from the shadows below my window. I couldn’t tell whether he walked out of the shadows of this house or not, but I suppose he came from the Khalkis basement. At least, I got that impression.”

“How was he dressed?”

“In a felt hat and overcoat.”

“Mrs. Vreeland.” Ellery’s voice twisted her head about. “This was very late?”

“Yes. I don’t know exactly what hour. But it must have been a good deal past midnight.”

“The courtyard is extremely dark,” said Ellery gently, “in the wee hours.”

Two cords in her neck strained outward. “Oh, I see what you think! You think I really didn’t know him! But it was he, I tell you!”

“Did you actually catch a glimpse of his face, Mrs. Vreeland?”

“No, I didn’t. But it was Gilbert—I’d know him anywhere, any time, under any circumstances …” She bit her lip. Pepper nodded sagely, and the Inspector looked grim.

“Then, if it became necessary, you would swear,” said the old man, “that you saw Gilbert Sloane that night in the court, going into the graveyard.”

“Yes. I would.” She glared sidewise at Ellery.

“Did you stay by the window after he disappeared into the graveyard?” asked Pepper.

“Yes. He reappeared in about twenty minutes. He walked quickly, looking about him as if he didn’t want to be seen, and jumped into the shadows directly under my window. I’m sure he went into this house.”

“You saw nothing else?” persisted Pepper.

“My God,” she said bitterly, “wasn’t that enough?”

The Inspector stirred, his sharp nose aimed squarely at her breast. “When you first saw him going into the graveyard, Mrs. Vreeland—was he carrying anything?”

“No.”

The Inspector turned away to conceal his disappointment. Ellery drawled: “Why haven’t you come forward with this pretty tale before, Mrs. Vreeland?”

Again she glared at him, detecting in his detached, judicious, and slightly acid attitude a note of suspicion. “I don’t see that that’s important!”

“Ah, but it is, Mrs. Vreeland.”

“Well—I didn’t recall it until just now.”

“Hmm,” said the Inspector. “That’s all, Mrs. Vreeland?”

“Yes.”

“Then please don’t repeat the story to any one,
any one.
You may go now.”

Some iron skeleton within her rusted and crumbled on the instant—her tension collapsed and suddenly she looked old. Going slowly to the door, she whispered: “But aren’t you going to do anything about it?”

“Please go now, Mrs. Vreeland.”

She turned the knob of the door in a tired way and went out without a backward glance. The Inspector closed the door after her and rubbed his hands together in a curious washing motion. “Well,” he said briskly, “that’s a horse of a different color. The wench was telling the truth, by heaven! And it’s beginning to look as if—”

“You will observe,” said Ellery, “that the lady did not actually see the gentleman’s physiognomy.”

“You think she’s lying?” asked Pepper.

“I think she told what she conceives to be the truth. Feminine psychology is a subtle thing.”

“But you’ll admit,” said the Inspector, “that there’s a good chance it
was
Sloane?”

“Oh, yes,” said Ellery wearily, waving his hand.

“There’s one thing we ought to do right this minute^’ said Pepper, clicking his jaws together. “And that’s to go through Mr. Sloane’s rooms upstairs.”

“I quite agree with you,” replied the Inspector grimly. “Coming, El?”

Ellery sighed and followed the Inspector and Pepper from the room, without too much hope on his features. As they emerged into the corridor, they caught sight of Delphina Sloane’s slight figure hurrying along, at the front of the hall, looking back with flushed face and feverish eyes. She disappeared through the door leading into the drawing-room.

The Inspector stopped in his tracks. “I hope she wasn’t listening,” he said in alarm. Then, shaking his head, he led the way along the corridor to the staircase, and they mounted to the upper floor. At the head of the stairs the old man paused, looked about, then skirted the stairway railing to his left. He knocked upon a door. Mrs. Vreeland appeared at once. “You’d oblige me, Madame,” whispered the Inspector, “if you’d go downstairs to the drawing-room and keep Mrs. Sloane busy until we come back.” He winked and she nodded breathlessly. She closed the door of her room and ran down the stairs. “At least,” said the old man contentedly, “we shan’t be interrupted. Come along, boys.”

The private apartment of the Sloanes on the upper floor was divided into two rooms—a sitting-room and a bedroom.

Ellery refused to participate in the search; he stood idly by watching the Inspector and Pepper go through the bedroom—through drawers, wardrobe and closets. The Inspector was very circumspect; he allowed nothing to escape him; he dropped to his old knees and probed beneath the rug, tapped the walls, explored the interior of the closet. But all for nothing. There was no scrap of anything which either he or Pepper considered worth looking at twice.

“Whereupon they returned to the sitting-room and began all over again. Ellery leaned against a wall, watching; he took a cigaret from his case, stuck it between his thin lips, struck a match—and shook the light out without igniting the cigaret. This was no place to smoke. He put cigaret and burnt match carefully into a pocket.

It was not until failure loomed imminent that the discovery was made. It was made by a very inquisitive Pepper poking about the carved old desk in a corner of the room. He had rifled every drawer without finding anything of moment; but, on standing over the desk and staring hypnotically down at it, a large tobacco-humidor seemed to draw his eye, and he lifted the lid. The jar was filled with pipe-tobacco. “This would be a good place,” he muttered … and stopped short as his hands, dipping and sifting in the moist tobacco, met some cold metallic object.

“By God!” he exclaimed softly. The Inspector, fussing about the fireplace, raised his head, wiped a soot-smudge from his cheek and ran over to the desk. Ellery’s nonchalance vanished, and he hurried over in the Inspector’s wake.

In Pepper’s trembling hand, to which clung a few shreds of tobacco, reposed a key.

The Inspector snatched it from the Assistant District Attorney. “This looks—” he began. His lips clamped together and he tucked the key into a vest pocket. “I think this is plenty, Pepper. Let’s get out of here. If this key fits where I think it does, by heaven, there’ll be merry hell popping!”