The Kennel Murder Case by S. S. Van Dine

Author:S. S. Van Dine
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Felony & Mayhem Press
Published: 2019-08-29T16:00:00+00:00

Signor Eduàrdo Grassi.

Dear Sir,

In confirmation of our recent conversation, I hereby agree to sell to you, as a representative of the Museum of Antiquities at Milan, the following pieces in my private collection:…

Then came a detailed list of forty or fifty items, including many of Archer Coe’s most famous and valuable specimens of Chinese art. The price of these items, which followed in a separate paragraph, caused Heath to suck in his breath; and I must admit that even I was astonished at the high figure. At the end of the letter was Archer Coe’s sprawling signature. The date at the head of the document was October 10.

Vance refolded the letter and put it in his pocket.

“We shall keep this for the present,” he told Grassi. “It will be perfectly safe, and it will be returned to you anon. It may have some bearing on the case, and the authorities may wish to refer to it.”

I had expected Grassi to protest, but instead he bowed in polite acquiescence.

“And now,” Vance concluded, “I shall again ask you to wait in your own quarters until we send for you.”

Grassi went out, with obvious relief.

“Sergeant,” Vance said, “could you get me a sheet of that note-paper on Archer Coe’s desk? And his fountain-pen?”

The Sergeant went upstairs and returned shortly with the paper and the pen.

Vance compared the paper with the letter he had taken from Grassi, and made several marks on the paper with Archer Coe’s pen. After an inspection of both he said:

“It is certainly Coe’s note-paper; and Archer’s pen wrote the letter… Most significant.”

He returned Grassi’s letter to his pocket, and ordered Gamble to take lunch to Miss Lake and Grassi.

“And now, Markham,” he said, “we have chivied all the inmates. What do you say to emulating the voracious Doremus and seeking food? Eggs Bénédict are in order, with an asparagus-tip salad, and a soufflé au Cacao. I know a French restaurant in the neighborhood—”

Heath, with a grimace, interrupted him.

“I’m sticking here,” he announced. “I got work to do, and the reporters’ll be swarming around like flies before long. I’ll get my victuals later.”

Markham had risen.

“I’ll either be back or phone you later,” he told the Sergeant.

Vance went toward the front door.

“Cheer up, old dear,” he exhorted Markham. “It’s not nearly so black as it seems. The clouds are beginning to disperse. We have all the data now, and it’s simply a matter of arranging them and interpreting them correctly.”

“I wish I could feel so optimistic,” grumbled Markham, following Vance into the vestibule.

Vance halted and, turning, regarded the perplexed Heath.

“Oh, by the by, Sergeant,” he said; “one or two little favors,—there’s a good fellow. Will you check up at once—this afternoon, if possible—on the—shall I say alibis?—of Miss Lake and Signor Grassi. Grassi says he dined last night with Doctor Montrose of the Metropolitan Museum, took a wrong train, and ended at the Crestview Country Club at eleven.—Miss Lake, according to her tale as reported by Grassi, dined at Arrowhead Inn

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