TRACKS IN THE BLOOD
(_Friday, July 13; 12.15 p.m._)
Scarlett had been watching Vance intently, a look of horrified
amazement on his round bronzed face.
“I’m afraid you’re right, Vance,” he said, nodding with reluctance.
“Doctor Bliss found that scarab on the site of the excavation of
Intef’s tomb two years ago. He didn’t mention it to the Egyptian
authorities; and when he returned to America he had it set in a
scarf-pin. But surely its presence here can have no significance.…”
“Really, now!” Vance faced Scarlett with a steady gaze. “I remember
quite well the episode at Dirâ Abu ’n-Nega. I was _particeps
criminis_, as it were, to the theft. But since there were other
scarabs of Intef, as well as a cylindrical seal, in the British
Museum, I turned my eyes the other way.… This is the first time I’ve
had a close look at the scarab.…”
Heath had started toward the front stairs.
“Say, you--Emery!” he bawled, addressing one of the two men on the
landing. “Round up this guy Bliss, and bring ’im in here----”
“Oh, I say, Sergeant!” Vance hastened after him and put a restraining
hand on his arm. “Why so precipitate? Let’s be calm.… This isn’t the
correct moment to drag Bliss in. And when we want him all we have to
do is to knock on that little door--he’s undoubtedly in his study, and
he can’t run away.… And there’s a bit of prelimin’ry surveying to be
done first.”
Heath hesitated and made a grimace. Then:
“Never mind, Emery. But go out in the back yard, and see that nobody
tries to make a getaway.… And you, Hennessey,”--he addressed the other
man--“stand in the front hall. If any one tries to leave the house,
grab ’em and bring ’em in--see?”
The two detectives disappeared with a stealth that struck me as highly
ludicrous.
“Got something up your sleeve, sir?” the Sergeant asked, eying Vance
hopefully. “This homicide, though, don’t look very complicated to me.
Kyle gets bumped off by a blow over the head, and beside him is a
scarf-pin belonging to Doctor Bliss.… That’s simple enough, ain’t it?”
“Too dashed simple, Sergeant,” Vance returned quietly, contemplating
the dead man. “That’s the whole trouble.…”
Suddenly he moved toward the statue of Anûbis, and leaning over,
picked up a folded piece of paper which had lain almost hidden beneath
one of Kyle’s outstretched hands. Carefully unfolding it, he held it
toward the light. It was a legal-sized sheet of paper, and was covered
with figures.
“This document,” he remarked, “must have been in Kyle’s possession
when he passed from this world.… Know anything about it, Scarlett?”
Scarlett stepped forward eagerly and took the paper with an unsteady
hand.
“Good Heavens!” he exclaimed. “It’s the report of expenditures we drew
up last night. Doctor Bliss was working on this tabulation----”
“Uh-huh!” Heath grinned with vicious satisfaction. “So! Our dead
friend here musta seen Bliss this morning--else how could he have got
that paper?”
Scarlett frowned.
“I must say it looks that way,” he conceded. “This report hadn’t been
made out when the rest of us knocked off last night. Doctor Bliss said
he was going to draw it up before Mr. Kyle got here this morning.” He
seemed utterly nonplussed as he handed the paper back to Vance. “But
there’s something wrong somewhere.… You know, Vance, it’s not
reasonable----”
“Don’t be futile, Scarlett.” Vance’s admonition cut him short. “If
Doctor Bliss had wielded the statue of Sakhmet, why should he have
left this report here to incriminate himself?… As you say, something
is wrong somewhere.”
“Wrong, is it!” Heath scoffed. “There’s that beetle--and now we find
this report. What more do you want, Mr. Vance?”
“A great deal more.” Vance spoke softly. “A man doesn’t ordinarily
commit murder and leave such obvious bits of direct evidence strewn
all about the place.… It’s childish.”
Heath snorted.
“Panic--that’s what it was. He got scared and beat it in a hurry.…”
Vance’s eyes rested on the little metal door of Doctor Bliss’s study.
“By the by, Scarlett,” he asked; “when did you last see that scarab
scarf-pin?”
“Last night.” The man had begun to pace restlessly up and down. “It
was beastly hot in the study, and Doctor Bliss took off his collar and
four-in-hand and laid ’em on the table. The scarab pin was sticking in
the cravat.”
“Ah!” Vance’s gaze did not shift from the little door. “The pin lay on
the table during the conference, eh?… And, as you told me, Hani and
Mrs. Bliss and Salveter and yourself were present.”
“Right.”
“Any one, then, might have seen it and taken it?”
“Well--yes,… I suppose so.”
Vance thought a moment.
“Still, this report… most curious!… I could bear to know how it got in
Kyle’s hands. You say it hadn’t been completed when the conference
broke up?”
“Oh, no.” Scarlett seemed hesitant about answering. “We all turned in
our figures, and Doctor Bliss said he was going to add ’em up and
present them to Kyle to-day. Then he telephoned Kyle--in our
presence--and made an appointment with him for eleven this morning.”
“Is that all he said to Kyle on the phone?”
“Practically… though I believe he mentioned the new shipment that came
yesterday----”
“Indeed? Very interestin’.… And what did Doctor Bliss say about the
shipment?”
“As I remember--I really didn’t pay much attention--he told Kyle that
the crates had been unpacked, and added that he wanted Kyle to inspect
their contents.… You see, there was some doubt whether Kyle would
finance another expedition. The Egyptian Government had been somewhat
snooty, and had retained most of the choicest items for the Cairo
Museum. Kyle didn’t like this, and as he had already put oodles of
money in the enterprise, he was inclined to back out. No _kudos_ for
him, you understand.… In fact, Kyle’s attitude was the cause of the
conference. Doctor Bliss wanted to show him the exact cost of the
former excavations and try to induce him to finance a continuation of
the work.…”
“And the old boy refused to do it,” supplemented Heath; “and then the
doctor got excited and cracked him over the head with that black
statue.”
“You _will_ insist that life is so simple, Sergeant,” sighed Vance.
“I’d sure hate to think it was as complex as you make it, Mr. Vance.”
Heath’s retort came very near to an expression of dignified sarcasm.
The words were scarcely out of his mouth when the main door was opened
quietly and a middle-aged, dark-complexioned man in native Egyptian
costume appeared at the head of the front stairs. He surveyed us with
inquisitive calm, and slowly and with great deliberation of movement,
descended into the museum.
“Good-morning, Mr. Scarlett,” he said, with a sardonic smile. He
glanced at the murdered man. “I observe that tragedy has visited this
household.”
“Yes, Hani.” Scarlett spoke with a certain condescension. “Mr. Kyle
has been murdered. These gentlemen”--he made a slight gesture in our
direction--“are investigating the crime.”
Hani bowed gravely. He was of medium height, somewhat slender, and
gave one the impression of contemptuous aloofness. There was a
distinct glint of racial animosity in his close-set eyes. His face was
relatively short--he was markedly dolichocephalic--and his straight
nose had the typical rounded extremity of the true Copt. His eyes were
brown--the color of his skin--and his eyebrows bushy. He wore a
close-cut, semi-gray beard, and his lips were full and sensual. His
head was covered by a soft dark tarbûsh bearing a pendant tassel of
blue silk, and about his shoulders hung a long kaftan of red-and-white
striped cotton, which fell to his ankles and barely revealed his
yellow-leather babûshes.
He stood for a full minute looking down at Kyle’s body, without any
trace of repulsion or even regret. Then he lifted his head and
contemplated the statue of Anûbis. A queer devotional expression came
over his face; and presently his lips curled in a faint sardonic
smile. After a moment he made a sweeping gesture with his left hand
and, turning slowly, faced us. But his eyes were not on us--they were
fixed on some distant point far beyond the front windows.
“There is no need for an investigation, gentlemen,” he said, in a
sepulchral tone. “It is the judgment of Sakhmet. For many generations
the sacred tombs of our forefathers have been violated by the
treasure-seeking Occidental. But the gods of old Egypt were powerful
gods and protected their children. They have been patient. But the
despoilers have gone too far. It was time for the wrath of their
vengeance to strike. And it has struck. The tomb of Intef-o has been
saved from the vandal. Sakhmet has pronounced her judgment, just as
she did when she slaughtered the rebels at Henen-ensu[*9] to protect
her father, Rê, against their treason.”
He paused and drew a deep breath.
“But Anûbis will never guide a sacrilegious giaour to the Halls of
Osiris--however reverently he may plead.…”
Both Hani’s manner and his words were impressive; and as he spoke I
remembered, with an unpleasant feeling, the recent tragedy of Lord
Carnarvon and the strange tales of ancient sorcery that sprang up to
account for his death on supernatural grounds.
“Quite unscientific, don’t y’ know.” Vance’s voice, cynical and
drawling, brought me quickly back to the world of reality. “I
seriously question the ability of that piece of black igneous rock to
accomplish a murder unless wielded by ordin’ry human hands.… And if
you _must_ talk tosh, Hani, we’d be tremendously obliged if you’d do
it in the privacy of your bedchamber. It’s most borin’.”
The Egyptian shot him a look of hatred.
“The West has much to learn from the East regarding matters of the
soul,” he pronounced oracularly.
“I dare say.” Vance smiled blandly. “But the soul is not now under
discussion. The West, which you despise, is prone to practicality; and
you’d do well to forgo the metempsychosis for the nonce and answer a
few questions which the District Attorney would like to put to you.”
Hani bowed his acquiescence; and Markham, taking his cigar from his
mouth, fixed a stern look upon him.
“Where were you all this forenoon?” he asked.
“In my room--up-stairs. I was not well.”
“And you heard no sounds in the museum here?”
“It would have been impossible for me to hear any sound in this room.”
“And you saw no one enter or leave the house?”
“No. My room is at the rear, and I did not leave it until a few
moments ago.”
Vance put the next question.
“Why did you leave it then?”
“I had work to do here in the museum,” the man replied sullenly.
“But I understand you heard Doctor Bliss make an appointment with Mr.
Kyle for eleven this morning.” Vance was watching Hani sharply. “Did
you intend to interrupt the conference?”
“I had forgotten about the appointment.” The answer did not come
spontaneously. “If I had found Doctor Bliss and Mr. Kyle in conference
I would have returned to my room.”
“To be sure.” Vance’s tone held a tinge of sarcasm. “I say, Hani,
what’s your full name?”
The Egyptian hesitated, but only for a second. Then he said:
“Anûpu Hani.”[*10]
Vance’s eyebrows went up, and there was irony in the slow smile that
crept to the corners of his mouth.
“‘Anûpu’,” he repeated. “Most allurin’. _Anûpu_, I believe, was the
Egyptian form for Anûbis, what? You would seem to be identified with
that unpleasant-lookin’ gentleman in the corner, with the jackal’s
head.”
Hani compressed his thick lips and made no response.
“It really doesn’t matter, y’ know,” Vance remarked lightly.… “By the
by, wasn’t it you who placed the small statue of Sakhmet atop the
cabinet yonder?”
“Yes. It was unpacked yesterday.”
“And was it you who drew the curtain across the end cabinet?”
“Yes--at Doctor Bliss’s request. The objects in it were in great
disarray. We had not yet had time to arrange them.”
Vance turned thoughtfully to Scarlett.
“Just what was said by Doctor Bliss to Mr. Kyle over the phone last
night?”
“I think I’ve told you everything, old man.” Scarlett appeared both
puzzled and startled at Vance’s persistent curiosity on this point.
“He simply made the appointment for eleven o’clock, saying he’d have
the financial report ready at that time.”
“And what did he say about the new shipment?”
“Nothing, except that he was desirous of having Mr. Kyle see the
items.”
“And did he mention their whereabouts?”
“Yes; I recall that he said they had been placed in the end
cabinet--the one with the closed curtains.”
Vance nodded with a satisfaction I did not then understand.
“That accounts probably for Kyle’s having come early to inspect
the--what shall I say?--loot.”
He faced Hani again with an engaging smile.
“And is it not true that you and the others at the conference last
night heard this phone call?”
“Yes--we all heard it.” The Egyptian had become morose; but I noticed
that he was studying Vance surreptitiously from the corner of his eye.
“And--I take it--,” mused Vance, “any one who knew Kyle might have
surmised that he would come early to inspect the items in that end
cabinet.… Eh, Scarlett?”
Scarlett shifted uneasily and looked at the great figure of the serene
Kha-ef-Rê.
“Well--since you put it that way--yes.… Fact is, Vance, Doctor Bliss
suggested that Mr. Kyle come early and have a peep at the treasures.”
These ramifications had begun to irritate Sergeant Heath.
“Pardon me, Mr. Vance,” he blurted, with ill-concealed annoyance; “but
do you happen to be the defense attorney for this Doctor Bliss? If you
aren’t working hard to alibi him, I’m the Queen of Sheba.”
“You’re certainly not Solomon, Sergeant,” returned Vance. “Don’t you
care to weigh all the possibilities?”
“Weigh hell!” Heath was losing his temper. “I want a heart-to-heart
talk with this guy who wore that beetle-pin and drew up that report. I
know clean-cut evidence when I see it.”
“I don’t doubt that for a moment,” Vance spoke dulcetly. “But even
clean-cut evidence may have various interpretations.…”
Snitkin threw open the door noisily at this point, and Doctor Doremus,
the Medical Examiner, tripped jauntily down the stairs. He was a thin,
nervous man, with a seamed, prematurely old face which carried a look
at once crabbed and jocular.
“Good-morning, gentlemen,” he greeted us breezily. He shook hands
perfunctorily with Markham and Heath, and squaring off, gave Vance an
exaggeratedly disgruntled look.
“Well, well!” he exclaimed, tilting his straw hat at an even more
rakish angle. “Wherever there’s a murder I find you, sir.” He glanced
at his wristwatch. “Lunch time, by George!” His flashing gaze moved
about the museum and came to rest on one of the anthropoid mummy
cases. “This place don’t look healthy.… Where’s the body, Sergeant?”
Heath had been standing before the prostrate body of Kyle. He now
moved aside and pointed to the dead man.
“That’s him, doc.”
Doremus came forward and peered indifferently at the corpse.
“Well, he’s dead,” he pronounced, cocking his eye at Heath.
“Honest to Gawd?” The Sergeant was good-naturedly sarcastic.
“That’s the way it strikes me--though since Carrel’s experiments you
never can tell.… Anyway, I’ll stand by my decision.” He chuckled, and
kneeling down, touched one of Kyle’s hands. Then he moved one of the
dead man’s legs sidewise. “And he’s been dead for about two hours--not
longer, maybe less.”
Heath took out a large handkerchief and, with great care, lifted the
black statue of Sakhmet from Kyle’s head.
“I’m saving this for finger-prints.… Any signs of a struggle, doc?”
Doremus turned the body over and made a careful inspection of the
face, the hands, and the clothes.
“Don’t see any,” he returned laconically. “Was struck from the rear,
I’d say. Fell forward, arms outstretched. Didn’t move after he’d hit
the floor.”
“Any chance, doctor, of his having been dead when the statue hit him?”
asked Vance.
“Nope.” Doremus rose and teetered on his toes impatiently. “Too much
blood for that.”
“Simple case of assault, then?”
“Looks like it.… I’m no wizard, though.” The doctor had become
irritable. “The autopsy will settle that point.”
“Can we have the _post-mortem_ report immediately?” Markham made the
request.
“As soon as the Sergeant gets the body to the mortuary.”
“It’ll be there by the time you’ve finished lunch, doc,” said Heath.
“I ordered the wagon before I left the Bureau.”
“That being that, I’ll run along.” Again Doremus shook hands with
Markham and Heath, and throwing a friendly salutation to Vance, walked
briskly out of the room.
I had noticed that ever since Heath had placed the statue of Sakhmet
to one side he had stood staring impatiently at the small pool of
blood. As soon as Doremus had departed he knelt down and became
doggedly interested in something on the floor. He took out his
flash-light, which Vance had returned to him, and focussed it on the
edge of the blood-pool at the point where I had noted the outward
smear. Then, after a moment, he moved a short distance away, and again
shot his light on a faint smudge which stained the yellow wood floor.
Once more he shifted his position--this time toward the little spiral
stairs. A grunt of satisfaction escaped him now, and rising, he
walked, in a wide circle, to the stairs themselves. There he again
knelt down and ran the beam of his flash-light over the lower steps.
On the third step the ray of light suddenly halted, and the Sergeant’s
face shot forward in an attitude of intense concentration.
A grin slowly overspread his broad features, and straightening up, he
brought a gaze of triumph to bear on Vance.
“I’ve got the case tied up in a sack now, sir,” he announced.
“I take it,” replied Vance, “you’ve found the spoor of the murderer.”
“I’ll say!” Heath nodded with the deliberate emphasis of finality.
“It’s just like I told you.…”
“Don’t be too positive, Sergeant.” Vance’s face had grown sombre. “The
obvious explanation is often the wrong one.”
“Yeah?” Heath turned to Scarlett. “Listen, Mr. Scarlett, I got a
question to ask you--and I want a straight answer.” Scarlett bristled,
but the Sergeant paid no attention to his resentment. “What kind of
shoes does this Doctor Bliss generally wear round the house?”
Scarlett hesitated, and looked appealingly to Vance.
“Tell the Sergeant whatever you know,” Vance advised him. “This is no
time for reticence. You can trust me. There’s no question of
disloyalty now. The truth, d’ ye see, is all that matters.”
Scarlett cleared his throat nervously.
“Rubber tennis shoes,” he said, in a low voice. “Ever since his first
expedition in Egypt he has had weak feet--they troubled him
abominably. He got relief by wearing white canvas sneakers with rubber
soles.”
“Sure he did.” Heath walked back toward the body of Kyle. “Step over
here a minute, Mr. Vance. I got something to show you.”
Vance moved forward, and I followed him.
“Take a look at that footprint,” the Sergeant continued, pointing
toward the smear at the edge of the pool of blood where Kyle’s head
had lain. “It don’t show up much till you get close to it… but, once
you spot it, you’ll notice that it has marks of a rubber-soled shoe,
with crossings like a checker-board on the sole and round spots on the
heel.”
Vance bent over and inspected the footprint in the blood.
“Quite right, Sergeant.” He had become very grave and serious.
“And now look here,” Heath went on, pointing to two other smudges on
the floor half-way to the iron stairs.
Vance leaned over the spots, and nodded.
“Yes,” he admitted. “Those marks were probably made by the murderer.…”
“And once more, sir.” Heath went to the stairs and flashed his
pocket-light on the third step.
Vance adjusted his monocle and looked closely. Then he rose and stood
still for a moment, his chin resting in the palm of his hand.
“How about it, Mr. Vance?” the Sergeant demanded. “Is that evidence
enough for you?”
Markham stepped to the foot of the circular stairway, and placed his
hand on Vance’s shoulder.
“Why this stubbornness, old friend?” he asked in a kindly voice. “It
begins to look like a clear case.”
Vance lifted his eyes.
“A clear case--yes! But a clear case of what?… It doesn’t make sense.
Does a man of Bliss’s mentality brutally murder a man with whom he is
known to have had an appointment, and then leave his scarab-pin and a
financial report, which no one else could have produced, on the scene
of the crime, to involve himself? And, lest that evidence wasn’t
enough, is he going to leave bloody footprints, of a distinctive and
personal design, leading from the body to his study?… Is it
reasonable?”
“It may not be reasonable,” Markham conceded; “but these things are
nevertheless facts. And there’s nothing to be done but confront Doctor
Bliss with them.”
“I suppose you’re right.” Vance’s eyes again drifted toward the little
metal door at the head of the spiral stairs. “Yes… the time has come
to put Bliss on the carpet.… But I don’t like it, Markham. There’s
something awry.… Maybe the doctor himself can enlighten us. Let me
fetch him--I’ve known him for several years.”
Vance turned and ascended the stairs, taking care not to step on the
telltale footprint the Sergeant had discovered.