The Garden Murder Case by S.S. Van Dine

Author:S.S. Van Dine
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Felony & Mayhem Press
Published: 2020-11-02T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TEN

The $10,000 Bet

(Saturday, April 14; 6:15 p. m.)

“A GOOD STORY,” Markham commented dryly when Kroon had gone.

“Yes, yes. Good. But reluctant.” Vance appeared disturbed.

“Do you believe it?”

“My dear Markham, I keep an open mind, neither believin’ nor disbelievin’. Prayin’ for facts. But no facts yet. Drama everywhere, but no substance. Kroon’s story is at least consistent. One of the reasons why I’m skeptical. Always distrust consistency. Too easy to manufacture. And Kroon’s shrewd no end.”

“Still,” put in Markham, “those cigarette butts which Heath found check with his story.”

“Yes. Oh, yes.” Vance nodded and sighed. “I don’t doubt he smoked two cigarettes on the stair landing. But he could have smoked them just as well if he’d done the johnnie in. At the moment I’m suspectin’ everyone here. Lot of angles protrudin’ from this case.”

“On the other hand,” objected Markham, “with that entrance from the main stairway to the door open to anybody, why couldn’t an outsider have killed Swift?”

Vance looked up at him with a melancholy air.

“Oh, Markham—my dear Markham! The legalistic intelligence at work. Ever lookin’ for loopholes. The prosecutin’ attorney hopin’ for the best. No. Oh, no. No outsider. Too many sound objections. The murder was too perfectly timed. Only someone present could have executed it so fittingly. Moreover, it was committed in yon vault. Only someone thoroughly familiar with the Garden household and the exact situation here this afternoon could have done it…”

There was a rustle in the passageway, and Madge Weatherby came rushing into the study, with Heath following and protesting vigorously. It was obvious that Miss Weatherby had dashed up the stairs before anyone could interfere with her.

“What’s the meaning of this?” she demanded imperiously. “You’re letting Cecil Kroon go, after what I’ve told you? And I”—she indicated herself with a dramatic gesture—“I am being held here, a prisoner.”

Vance rose wearily and offered her a cigarette. She brushed the proffered case aside and sat down rigidly.

“The fact is, Miss Weatherby,” said Vance, returning to his chair, “Mr. Kroon explained his brief absence this afternoon lucidly and with impellin’ logic. It seems that he was doing nothing more reprehensible than conferring with Miss Stella Fruemon and a brace of attorneys.”

“Ah!” The woman’s eyes glared with venom.

“Quite so. He was breaking off with the lady for ever and ever. Also getting a release from her and from her heirs, executors, administrators, and assigns, from the beginning of the world to the day of the date of these presents—I believe that is the correct legal phraseology. Really, y’ know, he never cared for her. He assured us she was quite a nuisance. Was rather vehement about it. No woman would ever dominate and blackmail him—or brave words to that effect. The Cézanne slogan modified: Pas une gonzesse ne me mettra le grappin dessus.”

“Is that the truth?” Miss Weatherby straightened in her chair.

“Yes, yes. No subterfuge. Kroon said you were jealous of Stella. Thought I’d relieve your mind.”

“Why didn’t he tell me, then?”

“There’s always the possibility you didn’t give him a chance.

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