The Gracie Allen Murder Case by S.S. Van Dine

Author:S.S. Van Dine
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Felony & Mayhem Press
Published: 2021-03-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

News of an Owl

(Monday, May 20; 11 a.m.)

AT ELEVEN O’CLOCK Vance went to the Domdaniel. He had no difficulty about seeing Mirche. After a delay of only five minutes, Mirche came into the reception hall where we were waiting. He greeted Vance effusively, though he gave me the impression that he was acting out a rehearsed part.

“To what am I indebted for this unexpected visit, sir?” he asked smoothly.

“I merely wanted a chat with you anent the poor fellow who was found dead here Saturday night.” Vance spoke with a casual pleasantness.

“Oh, yes.” If Mirche was surprised, he disguised the fact successfully. “Of course, if it’s about his family, we will be very glad to see what can be done… Naturally, I should like to avoid any scandal—the public is sensitive about such matters. A most unfortunate incident. But suppose we go into my office.”

He led the way along the terrace, and opening the door, stood aside to let us precede him. Vance seated himself in one of the large leather chairs, and Mirche sat down half facing him.

“The police have naturally been asking a great many questions about the affair,” Mirche began. “But I was hoping the whole thing had been settled by now.”

“These things are most distressin’, I know,” said Vance. “But there are one or two points about the situation that rather interest me.”

“I’m greatly surprised that you should be interested, Mr. Vance.” Mirche was cool and suave. “After all, the man was only a dishwasher here. I had dismissed him just before the dinner hour. A question of pay—he didn’t think he was getting enough. I don’t see why he should have come back, unless he thought better of the matter and wished to be reinstated. Most unfortunate he should die in my office. But he didn’t seem to be a particularly robust fellow, and I suppose one can never tell when the heart will give out… By the way, Mr. Vance, have they found out just what did cause his death?”

“No, I don’t believe so,” answered Vance noncommittally. “However, that isn’t the point that interests me at the moment. The fact is, Mr. Mirche, there was an officer in the street outside Saturday night, and he insists he didn’t see this dishwasher of yours enter the office here, after he was last seen coming out of it at about six o’clock.”

“Probably didn’t notice him,” said Mirche indifferently.

“No—oh, no. The officer—who, by the by, knew young Allen—is quite positive the man did not enter your office from the balcony all evening.”

Mirche looked up and spread his hands.

“I must still insist, Mr. Vance—”

“Is it possible the fellow could have come in here some other way?” Vance paused momentarily and looked about him. “He might, don’t y’ know, have come through that little door in the wall at the rear.”

Mirche did not speak for a moment. He stared shrewdly at Vance, and the muscles in his body seemed to tighten. If I have ever seen a living picture of a man thinking rapidly, Mirche was that picture.

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