THE COFFEE PERCOLATOR
(_Friday, July 13; 2.45 p.m._)
Markham resumed his seat. He was far too dismayed to resent Vance’s
good-natured irony. The murder of Kyle, which at first had appeared so
straightforward and simple, was becoming more and more involved.
Subtle and terrible undercurrents were beginning to make themselves
felt; and it was now clear to every one, I think, that the crime,
instead of being a mere brutal braining, was a sinister factor in a
deep, ramified plot. Even Heath had at last begun to sense the hidden
significations of the obvious clews to which he had at first pinned
his hope for a speedy solution.
“Yes,” he admitted, his cigar bobbing up and down between his thin
lips; “that pencil don’t mean anything in particular.… This case--as
you’d say, Mr. Vance--is getting a bit thick. Nobody with a brain is
going to smear the whole works with clews pointing to himself, if he’s
guilty.” He frowned at Markham. “What about that opium in the coffee,
Chief?”
Markham pursed his lips.
“I was just thinking about that. And it might be advisable to try to
find out at once who could have drugged Bliss.… What’s your opinion,
Vance?”
“A coruscatin’ idea.” Vance was smoking thoughtfully. “It’s most
essential to know who could have put the sleepin’ powder in the
doctor’s coffee, for there’s no doubt that the person who did it is
the one who sent Kyle on his long pilgrimage. In fact, the key to the
whole plot lies in the question of who had the opportunity to meddle
with that cup of coffee.”
Markham sat up decisively.
“Sergeant, get the butler. Bring him through the study so that the
people in the drawing-room won’t see him come in.”
Heath rose with alacrity and swung up the spiral stairs three steps at
a time. A minute or two later he reappeared at the study door,
unceremoniously urging Brush before him.
The man was palpably in a state of fright; his face was very pale and
he held his hands tightly clinched. He approached us unsteadily, but
bowed with instinctive correctness and stood quite erect, like a
well-trained servant waiting for orders.
“Sit down and relax, Brush.” Vance busied himself with lighting a
fresh cigarette. “I can’t blame you for being wrought up, don’t y’
know. A most tryin’ situation. If you’ll try to be calm you can help
us.… I say, stop fidgetin’!…”
“Yes, sir.” The man sat down on the edge of a chair, and gripped his
knees tensely with his hands. “Very good, sir. But I’m very much
upset. I’ve been in the employ of gentlemen for fifteen years, and
never before----”
“Oh, quite. I fully sympathize with your predicament.” Vance smiled
pleasantly. “Emergencies do arise, though. And this may be your great
opportunity to enlarge your field of activities. The fact is, Brush,
you may be able to lead us to the truth concerning this unfortunate
affair.”
“I hope so, sir.” The butler had perceptibly calmed down under Vance’s
casual attitude.
“Tell us, then, about the breakfast arrangements in the house.” Vance,
with Markham’s tacit consent, assumed the rôle of interrogator.
“Where does the family indulge in its morning coffee?”
“In the breakfast-room down-stairs.” Brush was now controlling himself
admirably. “There’s a small room at the front of the house in the
basement, which Mrs. Bliss had decorated in Egyptian style. Only
luncheon and dinner are served in the main dining-room up-stairs.”
“Ah! And does the family break its fast together?”
“Generally, sir. I call every one at eight; and at eight-thirty
breakfast is served.”
“And just who appears at this unearthly hour?”
“Doctor and Mrs. Bliss, and Mr. Salveter--and Mr. Hani.”
Vance’s eyebrows went up slightly.
“Does Hani eat with the family?”
“Oh, no, sir.” Brush seemed perplexed. “I don’t exactly understand Mr.
Hani’s status--if you know what I mean, sir. He is treated by Doctor
Bliss as a servant, and yet he calls the mistress by her first name.…
He has his meals in an alcove off the kitchen--he will not eat with me
and Dingle.” There was a certain resentment in his tone.
Vance sought to console him.
“Hani, you must realize, is a very old retainer of Mrs. Bliss’s
family--and he is also an official of the Egyptian Government.…”
“Oh, the arrangement suits Dingle and me perfectly, sir,” was the
evasive answer.
Vance did not pursue the subject, but asked:
“Does Mr. Scarlett ever breakfast with the Blisses?”
“Quite often, sir--especially when there’s work to be done in the
museum.”
“Did he come this morning?”
“No, sir.”
“Then, if Hani was in his room all the morning and Doctor Bliss was in
his study, Mrs. Bliss and Mr. Salveter must have breakfasted alone
together, what?”
“That’s correct, sir. Mrs. Bliss came down-stairs a little before half
past eight and Mr. Salveter a few minutes later. The doctor had told
me at eight o’clock on his way to the study that he had work to do and
the others should not wait for him.”
“And who informed you of Hani’s indisposition?”
“Mr. Salveter, sir. He told me that Mr. Hani had asked him to tell me
he wouldn’t be down for breakfast.… Their rooms, you see, face each
other on the third floor, and I have noticed that Mr. Hani always
leaves his door open at night.”
Vance nodded approvingly.
“You’re most limpid, Brush.… Therefore, as I understand it, at half
past eight this morning the disposition of the members of the house
was as follows:--Mrs. Bliss and Mr. Salveter were in the
breakfast-room down-stairs; Hani was in his bedroom on the third
floor; and Doctor Bliss was in his study. Mr. Scarlett was presumably
at home.… And where were you and Dingle?”
“Dingle was in the kitchen, and I was between the kitchen and the
breakfast-room, serving.”
“And to your knowledge there was no one else in the house?”
The butler appeared mildly surprised.
“Oh, no, sir. There could not have been any one else in the house.”
“But if you were down-stairs,” Vance persisted, “how do you know no
one came in the front door?”
“It was locked.”
“You are quite sure?”
“Positive, sir. One of my duties is to see that the latch is thrown
the last thing before retiring each night; and no one rang the bell or
used the door this morning before nine o’clock.”
“Very good.” Vance smoked meditatively for several moments. Then he
lay back lazily in his chair and closed his eyes. “By the by, Brush,
how and where is the morning coffee prepared?”
“The coffee?” The man gave a start of astonishment, but quickly
recovered himself. “The coffee is a fad of the doctor’s--if you
understand me, sir. He orders it from some Egyptian firm on Ninth
Avenue. It’s very black and damp, and somewhat burnt in the roasting.
It tastes like French coffee--if you know how French coffee tastes.”
“Unfortunately I do.” Vance sighed and made a wry face. “An
excruciatin’ beverage. No wonder the French fill it full of hot milk.…
And do you yourself drink this coffee, Brush?”
The butler looked a trifle disconcerted.
“No, sir. I can’t say that I care for the taste of it. Mrs. Bliss has
kindly given me and Dingle permission to make our own coffee in the
old-fashioned way.”
“Oh!” Vance half-closed his eyes. “So Doctor Bliss’s coffee is not
made in the old-fashioned way.”
“Well, sir, I may have used the wrong word, but it’s certainly not
made in the customary way.”
“Tell us about it.” Vance again relaxed. “There’s so much pother in
this world about the correct way to make coffee. People get positively
fanatical on the subject. I shouldn’t be surprised if one day we had a
civil war between the boilers and the non-boilers, or perhaps the
drippers and the percolaters. Silly notion… as if coffee were of any
importance. Now, tea, on the other hand.… But go ahead and unfold the
doctor’s ideas on the subject.”
Markham had begun beating an irritable tattoo with his foot, and Heath
was wagging his head with elaborate impatience. But Vance, by his
irrelevant loquacity, had produced exactly the effect he desired. He
had succeeded in allaying Brush’s nervousness and diverting his mind
from the direct object of the interrogation.
“Well, sir,” the man explained, “the coffee is made in a kind of
percolator like a large samovar----”
“And where is this outlandish machine situated?”
“It always stands on the end of the breakfast-table.… It has a spirit
lamp under it to keep the coffee hot after it has--has----”
“‘Trickled’ is probably the word.”
“Trickled, sir. The percolator is in two sections--one fits into the
other like a French coffee pot. You first lay a piece of filter paper
over the holes and then put in the pulverized coffee--which Dingle
grinds fresh every morning. Then there’s a small plate which you set
over the coffee--Doctor Bliss calls it the water-distributor. When
that’s in place you pour boiling water into the top of the samovar,
and the coffee drips into the bottom. It is drawn off by a little
spigot.”
“Very interestin’.… And if one lifts off the top section of this
apparatus one would have direct access to the liquid itself, what?”
Brush was frankly puzzled by this question.
“Yes, sir--but that isn’t necessary because the spigot----”
“I can visualize the process perfectly, Brush. I was just wonderin’
how one might go about doctorin’ the coffee before it was drawn off.”
“Doctoring the coffee?” The man appeared genuinely amazed.
“Just a passin’ fancy.” Vance spoke with utter negligence. “And now,
Brush, to return to this morning’s breakfast.--You say that Mrs. Bliss
and Mr. Salveter were the only persons present. How much of the time
were you actually in the breakfast-room during the repast?”
“Very little, sir. I merely brought in the breakfast and retired at
once to the kitchen. Mrs. Bliss always serves the coffee herself.”
“Did Hani go breakfastless this morning?”
“Not exactly, sir. Mrs. Bliss asked me to take him a cup of coffee.”
“At what time was this?”
Brush thought a moment.
“At about quarter of nine, I should say, sir.”
“And you of course took it to him.”
“Certainly, sir. Mrs. Bliss had already prepared it when she called
me.”
“And what about the doctor’s breakfast?”
“Mrs. Bliss suggested that I take his coffee and toast to the study. I
would not have disturbed him myself unless he rang for me.”
“And when was this suggestion made by Mrs. Bliss?”
“Just before she and Mr. Salveter left the breakfast-room.”
“At about nine, I think you said.”
“Yes, sir--perhaps a few minutes before.”
“Did Mrs. Bliss and Mr. Salveter leave the breakfast-room together?”
“I couldn’t say, sir. The fact is, Mrs. Bliss called me in just as she
had finished breakfast, and told me to take some coffee and toast to
the doctor. When I returned to the breakfast-room to get the coffee,
she and Mr. Salveter had gone.”
“And had Mrs. Bliss prepared the coffee for the doctor?”
“No, sir. I drew it myself.”
“When?”
“The toast was not quite ready, sir; but I drew the coffee within five
minutes after Mrs. Bliss and Mr. Salveter had gone up-stairs.”
“And during those five minutes you were, I presume, in the kitchen?”
“Yes, sir. That is to say, except when I was in the rear hall
telephoning--the usual daily orders to the tradespeople.”
Vance roused himself from his apparent lethargy and crushed out his
cigarette.
“The breakfast-room, then, was empty for about five minutes between
the time when Mrs. Bliss and Mr. Salveter went up-stairs and the time
when you went in to draw Doctor Bliss’s coffee?”
“Just about five minutes, sir.”
“Now, focus your brain on those five minutes, Brush.--Did you hear any
sound in the breakfast-room during that time?”
The butler looked critically at Vance, and made an attempt at
concentration.
“I wasn’t paying much attention, sir,” he replied at length. “And I
was telephoning most of the time. But I can’t recall hearing any
sound. As a matter of fact, no one could have been in the
breakfast-room during those five minutes.”
“Mrs. Bliss or Mr. Salveter might have returned for some reason,”
Vance suggested.
“It’s possible, sir,” Brush admitted dubiously.
“Moreover, could not Hani have come down-stairs in the interim?”
“But he was not well, sir. I took him his coffee----”
“So you told us.… I say, Brush, was Hani in bed when you presented him
with this abominable coffee?”
“He was lying down--on the sofa.”
“Dressed?”
“He had on that striped robe he usually wears round the house.”
Vance was silent for several moments. Presently he turned to Markham.
“It’s not what one would call a crystalline situation,” he commented.
“The samovar containing the coffee seems to have been in an almost
indecent state of exposure this morning. Observe that Mrs. Bliss and
Salveter were alone with it during breakfast, and that either one of
’em might have lingered behind for a few moments at the conclusion of
the meal, or perhaps returned. Also, Hani could have descended to the
breakfast-room as soon as Mrs. Bliss and Salveter came up-stairs. In
fact, every one in the house had an opportunity to meddle with the
coffee before Brush took the doctor’s breakfast to him.”
“It looks that way.” Markham considered the matter morosely for a
while. Then he addressed himself to the butler. “Did you notice
anything unusual about the coffee you drew for Doctor Bliss?”
“Why no, sir.” Brush sought unsuccessfully to hide his astonishment at
the question. “It seemed perfectly all right, sir.”
“The usual color and consistency?”
“I didn’t see anything wrong with it, sir.” The man’s apprehension was
growing, and again an unhealthy pallor overspread his sallow features.
“It might have been a little strong,” he added nervously. “But Doctor
Bliss prefers his coffee very strong.”
Vance got to his feet and yawned.
“I could bear to have a peep at this breakfast-room and its weird
percolator. A bit of observation might help us, don’t y’ know.”
Markham readily acceded.
“We’d better go through the doctor’s study,” said Vance, “so as not to
rouse the curiosity of the occupants of the drawing-room.…”
Brush led the way silently. He looked ghastly, and as he ascended the
spiral stairs ahead of us I noticed that he held tightly to the iron
railing. I could not figure him out. At times he appeared to be
entirely dissociated from the tragic events of the forenoon; but at
other times I got the distinct impression that some racking secret or
suspicion was undermining his poise.
The breakfast-room extended, except for a small hallway, across the
entire front of the house; but it was no more than eight feet deep.
The front windows, which gave on the areaway of the street, were paned
with opaque glass and heavily curtained. The room was fitted in exotic
fashion and decorated with Egyptian designs. The breakfast-table was
at least twelve feet long and very narrow, inlaid and painted in the
decadent, rococo-esque style of the New Empire--not unlike the baroque
furniture found in the tomb of Tut-ankh-Amûn.
On the end of the table stood the coffee samovar. It was of polished
copper and about two feet high, elevated on three sprawling legs.
Beneath it was an alcohol lamp.
Vance, after one glance, paid scant attention to it, much to my
perplexity. He seemed far more interested in the arrangement of the
lower rooms. He put his head in the butler’s pantry between the
breakfast-room and the kitchen, and stood for several moments in the
main doorway looking up and down the narrow hallway which led from the
rear stairs to the front of the house.
“A simple matter for any one to come to the breakfast-room without
being seen,” he observed. “I note that the kitchen door is behind the
staircase.”
“Yes, sir--quite so, sir.” Brush’s agreement was almost eager.
Vance appeared not to notice his manner.
“And you say you took the doctor’s coffee to him about five minutes
after Mrs. Bliss and Mr. Salveter had gone up-stairs.… What did you do
after that, Brush?”
“I went in to tidy up the drawing-room, sir.”
“Ah, yes--so you told us.” Vance was running his finger over the
inlaid work of one of the chairs. “And I believe you said Mrs. Bliss
left the house shortly after nine. Did you see her go?”
“Oh, yes, sir. She stopped at the drawing-room door on her way out and
said she was going shopping, and that I should so inform Doctor Bliss
in case he asked for her.”
“You’re sure she went out?”
Brush’s eyes opened wide: the question seemed to startle him.
“Quite sure, sir,” he replied with much emphasis. “I opened the front
door for her.… She walked toward Fourth Avenue.”
“And Mr. Salveter?”
“He came down-stairs fifteen or twenty minutes later, and went out.”
“Did he say anything to you?”
“Only, ‘I’ll be back for lunch.’”
Vance sighed deeply and looked at his watch.
“Lunch!… My word! I’m positively famished.” He gave Markham a doleful
look. “It’s nearly three o’clock… and I’ve had nothing to-day but tea
and muffins at ten.… I say; must one starve to death simply because a
silly crime has been committed?”
“I can serve you gentlemen----” Brush began, but Vance cut him short.
“An excellent idea. Tea and toast would sustain us. But let us speak
to Dingle first.”
Brush bowed and went to the kitchen. A few moments later he reappeared
with a corpulent, placid woman of about fifty.
“This is Dingle, sir,” he said. “I took the liberty of informing her
of Mr. Kyle’s death.”
Dingle regarded us stolidly and waited, unperturbed, her hands on her
generous hips.
“Good-afternoon, Dingle.” Vance sat on the edge of the table. “As
Brush has told you, a serious accident has happened in this house.…”
“An accident, is it?” The woman nodded her head sagely. “Maybe.
Anyhow, you couldn’t knock me over with a feather. What surprises me
is that something didn’t happen long ago--what with young Mr. Salveter
living in the house, and Mr. Scarlett hanging around, and the doctor
fussing with his mummies day and night. But I certainly didn’t expect
anything to happen to Mr. Kyle,--he was a very nice and liberal
gentleman.”
“To whom did you expect something to happen, Dingle?”
The woman set her face determinedly.
“I’m not saying--it’s none of my business. But things here ain’t
according to nature.…” Again she wagged her head shrewdly. “Now, I’ve
got a young good-looking niece who wants to marry a man of fifty, and
I says to her----”
“I’m sure you gave her excellent advice, Dingle,” Vance interrupted;
“but we’d much prefer to hear your views on the Bliss family.”
“You’ve heard ’em.” The woman’s jaws went together with a click, and
it was obvious that neither threats nor wheedling could get any more
out of her on the subject.
“Oh, that’s quite all right.” Vance treated her refusal as of no
importance. “But there’s one other matter we’d like to know about. It
won’t compromise you in the slightest to tell us.--Did you hear any
one in this room after Mrs. Bliss and Mr. Salveter had gone up-stairs
this morning--that is, during the time you were making the toast for
the doctor’s breakfast?”
“So that’s it, is it?” Dingle squinted and remained silent for several
moments. “Maybe I did and maybe I didn’t,” she said at length. “I
wasn’t paying any particular attention.… Who could’ve been in here?”
“I haven’t the faintest notion.” Vance smiled engagingly. “That’s what
we’re tryin’ to find out.”
“Is it, now?” The woman’s eyes drifted to the percolator. “Since you
ask me,” she returned, with a malevolence I could not understand at
the time, “I’ll tell you that I thought I heard some one drawing a cup
of coffee.”
“Who did you think it was?”
“I thought it was Brush. But at that moment he came out of the rear
hall and asked me how the toast was getting along. So I knew it wasn’t
him.”
“And what did you think then?”
“I didn’t do any thinking.”
Vance nodded abruptly and turned to Brush.
“Maybe we could have that toast and tea now.”
“Certainly, sir.” He started toward the kitchen, waving Dingle before
him; but Markham halted them.
“Bring me a small container of some kind, Brush,” he ordered. “I want
to take away the rest of the coffee in this percolator.”
“There ain’t no coffee in it,” Dingle informed him aggressively. “I
cleaned that pesky contraption out and polished it at ten o’clock this
morning.”
“Thank Heaven for that,” sighed Vance. “Y’ know, Markham, if you had
any of that coffee to analyze, you’d be farther away from the truth
than ever.”
With this cryptic remark he slowly lighted a cigarette and began
inspecting one of the stencilled figures on the wall.