THE GOLDEN DAGGER
(_Saturday, July 14; 12.45 a.m._)
We had to walk to Fifth Avenue to find a taxicab at that hour, and
even then there was five minutes’ wait until an unoccupied one came
by. The result was that it was fully twenty minutes before we turned
into Gramercy Park and drew up in front of the Bliss residence.
As we alighted another taxicab swung round the corner of Irving Place
and nearly skidded into us as its brakes were suddenly thrown on. The
door was flung open before the cab had come to a stand-still, and the
bulky figure of Sergeant Heath projected itself to the sidewalk. Heath
lived in East Eleventh Street and had managed to dress and reach the
museum almost simultaneously with our arrival.
“My word, Sergeant!” Vance hailed him. “We synchronize, don’t y’ know.
We arrive at the same destination at the same time, but from opposite
directions. Jolly idea.”
Heath acknowledged the somewhat enigmatical pleasantry with a grunt.
“What’s all the excitement anyway?” he asked Markham. “You didn’t give
me much of an earful over the phone.”
“An attempt has been made on Doctor Bliss’s life,” Markham told him.
Heath whistled softly.
“I certainly didn’t expect that, sir.”
“Neither did Mr. Vance.” The rejoinder was intended as a taunt.
We went up the stone steps to the vestibule, but before we could ring
the bell Brush opened the door. He placed his forefinger to his lips
and, leaning forward mysteriously, said in a stage whisper:
“Doctor Bliss requests that you gentlemen be very quiet so as not to
disturb the other members of the household.… He’s in his bedchamber
waiting for you.”
Brush was clad in a flannel robe and carpet slippers, but despite the
hot sultriness of the night he was visibly shivering. His face, always
pale, now appeared positively ghastly in the dim light.
We stepped into the hall, and Brush closed the door cautiously with
trembling hands. Suddenly Vance wheeled about and caught him by the
arm, spinning him round.
“What do you know about the occurrence here to-night?” he demanded in
a low tone.
The butler’s eyes bulged and his jaw sagged.
“Nothing--nothing,” he managed to stammer.
“Really, now! Then why are you so frightened?” Vance did not relax his
hold.
“I’m afraid of this place,” came the plaintive answer. “I want to
leave here. Strange things are going on----”
“So they are. But don’t fret; you’ll be able to look for another berth
before long.”
“I’m glad of that, sir.” The man seemed greatly relieved. “But what
_has_ happened to-night, sir?”
“If you’re ignorant of what has taken place,” returned Vance, “how do
you happen to be here at this hour awaiting our arrival and acting
like a villain in a melodrama?”
“I was told to wait for you, sir. Doctor Bliss came down-stairs to my
room----”
“Where is your room, Brush?”
“In the basement, at the rear, just off the kitchen.”
“Very good. Go on.”
“Well, sir, Doctor Bliss came to my room about half an hour ago. He
seemed very much upset, and frightened--if you know what I mean. He
told me to wait at the front door for you gentlemen--that you’d arrive
any minute. And he instructed me to make no noise and also to warn
you----”
“Then he went up-stairs?”
“At once, sir.”
“Where is Doctor Bliss’s room?”
“It’s the rear door on the second floor, just at the head of the
stairs. The forward door is the mistress’s bedchamber.”
Vance released the man’s arm.
“Did you hear any disturbance to-night?”
“None, sir. Everything has been quiet. Every one retired early, and I
myself went to bed before eleven.”
“You may go back to bed now,” Vance told him.
“Yes, sir.” And Brush went quickly away and disappeared through the
door at the rear of the hall.
Vance made a gesture for us to follow him and led the way up-stairs. A
small electric bulb was burning in the upper hall, but we did not need
it to find Doctor Bliss’s room, for his door was a few inches ajar and
a shaft of light fell diagonally across the floor outside.
Vance, without knocking, pushed the door inward and stepped into the
room. Bliss was sitting rigidly in a straight chair in the far corner,
leaning slightly forward, his eyes riveted on the door. In his hand
was a brutal-looking army revolver. At our entrance he leapt to his
feet, and brought the gun up simultaneously.
“Tut, tut, doctor!” Vance smiled whimsically. “Put the firearms away
and chant us the distressin’ rune.”
Bliss drew an audible sigh of relief, and placed the weapon on a small
table at his side.
“Thank you for coming, Mr. Vance,” he said in a strained tone. “And
you, Mr. Markham.” He acknowledged Heath’s and my presence with a
slight, jerky bow. “The thing you predicted has happened.… There’s a
murderer in this house!”
“Well, well! That would hardly come under the head of news.” (I could
not understand Vance’s attitude.) “We’ve known that fact since eleven
this morning.”
Bliss, too, was perplexed and, I imagine, somewhat piqued by Vance’s
negligent manner, for he stepped stiffly to the bed and, pointing at
the headboard, remarked irritably:
“And there’s the proof!”
The bed was an old Colonial piece, of polished mahogany, with a great
curving headboard rising at least four feet above the mattress. It
stood against the left-hand wall at a right angle to the door.
The object at which Bliss pointed with a quivering finger was an
antique Egyptian dagger, about eleven inches long, whose blade was
driven into the headboard just above the pillow. The direction of
penetration was on a line with the door.
We all moved forward and stood for several seconds staring at the
sinister sight. The dagger had undoubtedly been thrown with great
force to have entered the hard mahogany wood so firmly; and it was
obvious that if any one had been lying on the pillow at the time it
was hurled, he would have received the full brunt of it somewhere in
the throat.
Vance studied the position of the dagger, gauging its alignment and
angulation with the door, and then he reached out his hand to grasp
it. But Heath intercepted the movement.
“Use your handkerchief, Mr. Vance,” he admonished. “There’ll be
finger-prints----”
“Oh, no, there won’t, Sergeant.” Vance spoke with an impressive air of
knowledge. “Whoever threw that dagger was careful to avoid any such
incriminatin’ tokens.…” Whereupon he drew the blade, with considerable
difficulty, from the headboard, and took it to the table-lamp.
It was a beautiful and interesting piece of workmanship. Its handle
was ornamented with decorations of granulated gold and with strips of
cloisonné and semi-precious stones--amethysts, turquoises, garnets,
carnelians, and tiny cuttings of obsidian, chalcedony and felspar. The
haft was surmounted with a lotiform knob of rock crystal, and at the
hilt was a chain-scroll design in gold wire. The blade was of hardened
gold adorned with shallow central
[Illustration: DOCTOR BLISS’S BEDROOM]
grooves ending in an engraved palmette decoration.[*25]
“Late Eighteenth Dynasty,” murmured Vance, fingering the dagger and
studying its designs. “Pretty, but decadent. The rugged simplicity of
early Egyptian art went frightfully to pot during the opulent
renaissance following the Hyksos invasion.… I say, Doctor Bliss; how
did you come by this flamboyant gewgaw?”
Bliss was ill at ease, and when he answered his tone was apologetic
and embarrassed.
“The fact is, Mr. Vance, I smuggled that dagger out of Egypt. It was
an unusual and unexpected find, and purely accidental. It’s a most
valuable relic, and I was afraid the Egyptian Government would claim
it.”
“I can well imagine they’d want to keep it in their own country.”
Vance tossed the dagger to the table. “And where did you ordinarily
keep it?”
“Under some papers in one of my desk drawers in the study,” he replied
presently. “It was a rather personal item, and I thought it best not
to list it in the museum.”
“Most discreet.… Who besides yourself knew of its existence?”
“My wife, of course, and----” He broke off suddenly, and a peculiar
light came in his eyes.
“Come, come, doctor.” Vance spoke with annoyance. “This won’t do.
Finish your sentence.”
“It is finished. My wife was the only person I confided in.”
Vance accepted the statement without further argument.
“Still,” he said, “any one might have discovered it, what?”
Bliss nodded slowly.
“Provided he had been snooping through my desk.”
“Exactly. When did you last see the dagger in your desk drawer?”
“This morning. I was searching for some foolscap paper on which to
check my report for poor Kyle.…”
“And who, to your knowledge, has been in your study since we left the
house this afternoon?”
Bliss pondered, and shortly a startled expression came over his face.
“I’d rather not say.”
“We can’t do anything to help you, doctor, if you take that attitude,”
Vance said severely. “Was it Mr. Salveter who was in the study?”
Bliss paused for several seconds. Then he set his jaw.
“Yes!” The word fairly burst from his lips. “I sent him to the study
after dinner to-night to get me a memorandum book.…”
“And where did you keep the book?”
“In the desk.” This information was given reluctantly. “But any
attempt to connect Salveter----”
“We’re not attemptin’ just now to connect any one with this episode,”
Vance interrupted. “We’re merely tryin’ to accumulate all the
information possible.… However, you must admit, doctor,” Vance added,
“that young Mr. Salveter is--how shall I put it?--rather interested in
Mrs. Bliss----”
“What’s that?” Bliss stiffened and glared at Vance ferociously. “How
dare you intimate such a thing? My wife, sir----”
“No one has criticised Mrs. Bliss,” Vance said mildly. “And one A.M.
is hardly the time for indignant pyrotechnics.”
Bliss sank into his chair and covered his face with his hands.
“It may be true,” he conceded in a despairing voice. “I’m too old for
her--too much absorbed in my work.… But that doesn’t mean that the boy
would attempt to kill me.”
“Perhaps not.” Vance spoke indifferently. “But who, then, do you
suspect of endeavorin’ to sever your carotid?”
“I don’t know--I don’t know.” The man’s voice rose pitifully.
At this moment the door leading into the front apartment opened, and
Mrs. Bliss stood on the threshold, a long flowing robe of oriental
pattern draped about her. She was perfectly calm, and her eyes were
steady, if a bit brilliant, as they took in the scene before her.
“Why have you gentlemen returned at this hour?” she inquired
imperiously.
“An attempt has been made on your husband’s life, madam,” Markham
answered sombrely; “and he telephoned to us----”
“An attempt on his life? Impossible!” She spoke with over-emphasis,
and her face turned perceptibly pale. Then she went to Bliss and put
her arms about him in an attitude of affectionate protection. Her eyes
were blazing as she lifted them to Vance. “What absurdity is this? Who
would want to take my husband’s life?”
“Who, indeed?” Vance met her gaze calmly. “If we knew, we could at
least arrest the person for assault with a deadly weapon--I believe
that’s the phrase.”
“A deadly weapon?” She frowned with obvious distress. “Oh, tell me
what happened!”
Vance indicated the dagger on the table.
“All we know thus far is that yon golden dagger was projectin’ from
the head of the bed when we arrived. We were on the point of asking
your husband for a full account of the affair when you appeared--a
charming Nefret-îti--at the door.… Perhaps,” he went on, turning to
Bliss, “the doctor will recount the entire episode for us now.”
“There’s really little to tell.” Bliss sat up and began nervously to
make creases in the folds of his dressing-gown. “I came here to my
room shortly after dinner, and went to bed. But I couldn’t sleep, and
got up. Just then Salveter passed my door on his way up-stairs and I
asked him to fetch the memorandum book from the study,--I thought I
might take my mind off the dreadful events of the day----”
“One moment, doctor,” Vance interposed. “Was your door open?”
“Yes. I had opened it when I arose, in order to get a little more air
in the room,--the atmosphere was stifling.… Then I went over a few old
notes and entries relating to last winter’s excavations. But I
couldn’t keep my mind on them, and finally I closed the door, switched
off the lights, and lay down again on the bed.”
“That would have been about what time?”
“Between half past ten and eleven, I should say.… I dozed
intermittently till midnight--I could see the time by that clock with
the luminous dial--and then became unaccountably restless. I got to
thinking about poor Kyle, and all inclination to sleep left me.
However, I was dog-tired physically, and lay quite still.… About a
quarter past twelve--the house was very quiet, you understand--I
thought I could hear footsteps on the stairs----”
“Which stairs, doctor?”
“I couldn’t determine. The footsteps might have been coming down from
the third floor, or they might have been ascending from the first
floor. They were very quiet, and if I had not been wide awake and
keyed up I wouldn’t have noticed them. As it was, I couldn’t be sure,
though at one time I imagined I heard a slight creak as if a board
were a little loose under the carpet.”
“And then?”
“I lay speculating on who it might be, for I knew the other members of
the house had retired early. I did not exactly worry about the sounds
until I heard them approach my own door and suddenly halt. Then your
warning, Mr. Vance, swept over me with full force, and I felt that
some terrible unknown danger was lurking on the threshold. I was, I
admit, temporarily paralyzed with fright: I could feel the roots of my
hair tingle, and my body broke out in cold perspiration.”
He took a deep breath, as if to rid himself of a haunting memory.
“Just then the door began to open slowly and softly. The light in the
hall had been turned out and the room here was in almost pitch
darkness, so I was unable to see anything. But I could hear the gentle
swish of the door as it swung open, and I could feel the mild current
of air that came in from the hall.…”
A tremor ran over his body, and his eyes glowed unnaturally.
“I would have called out, but my throat seemed constricted, and I did
not want to imperil Mrs. Bliss, who might have answered my call and
run unwittingly into something dangerous and deadly.… And then the
blinding ray of a flash-light was thrown directly into my eyes, and I
instinctively lurched to the far side of the bed. At that moment I
heard a swift, brushing sound followed by a dull wooden detonation
near my head. And immediately I became conscious of footsteps
retreating----”
“In which direction?” Vance again interrupted.
“I’m not sure--they were very faint. I was aware only of their
stealthy retreat.…”
“What did you do after that, doctor?”
“I waited several minutes. Then I cautiously closed the door and
switched on the lights. It was at that moment I realized what had made
the noise at the head of the bed, for the first thing I saw was the
dagger. And I knew that I had been the object of a murderous attack.”
Vance nodded and, picking up the dagger, weighed it on the palm of his
hand.
“Yes,” he mused; “it’s blade-heavy and could easily have been thrown
accurately even by an amateur.… A peculiar form of assassination,
though,” he went on, almost to himself. “Much simpler and surer for
the wielder to have sneaked to the bed and thrust it into his intended
victim’s ribs.… Most peculiar! Unless, of course----” He stopped and
glanced thoughtfully at the bed. Presently he shrugged his shoulders,
and looked at Bliss. “After discovering the dagger, I opine, you
telephoned to me.”
“Within five minutes. I listened at the door a while and then went
down to the study and called your number. After that I roused Brush
and told him to watch for you at the front door. I came back
up-stairs,--I’d armed myself with my revolver while in the study,--and
awaited your arrival.”
Mrs. Bliss had been watching her husband with a look of deep anxiety
during his recital.
“I heard the sound of the dagger striking the headboard,” she said in
a low, fearful voice. “My bed is against the other side of the wall.
It startled me and woke me up, but I didn’t give it a second thought,
and went to sleep again.” She threw her head back and glared at Vance.
“This is shameful and outrageous! You insist upon my husband staying
in this house that harbors a murderer--a murderer who is plotting
against him--and you do nothing to protect him.”
“But nothing has happened to him, Mrs. Bliss,” Vance replied with
gentle sternness. “He has lost an hour’s sleep, but really, y’ know,
that’s not a serious catastrophe. And I can assure you that no further
danger will beset him.” He looked straight into the woman’s eyes, and
I was conscious that some understanding passed between them in that
moment of mutual scrutiny.
“I do hope you find the guilty person,” she said with slow, tragic
emphasis. “I can bear the truth--now.”
“You are very courageous, madam,” Vance murmured. “And in the meantime
you can best help us by retiring to your room and waiting there until
you hear from us. You can trust me.”
“Oh, I know I can!” There was a catch in her voice. Then she bent
impulsively, touched her lips to Bliss’s forehead, and returned to her
room.
Vance’s eyes followed her with a curious expression: I could not
determine if it was one of regret or sorrow or admiration. When the
door had closed after her he strolled to the table and replaced the
dagger on it.
“I was just wonderin’, doctor,” he said. “Don’t you lock or bolt your
door at night?”
“Always,” was the immediate reply. “It makes me nervous to sleep with
an unlocked door.”
“But what about to-night?”
“That is what puzzles me.” Bliss’s forehead was knit in perplexity.
“I’m sure I locked it when I first came to my room. But, as I told
you, I got up later and opened the door to get some air. The only
explanation I can think of is that when I went back to bed I forgot to
relock the door. It’s possible of course, for I was very much upset.…”
“It couldn’t have been unlocked from the outside?”
“No, I’m sure it couldn’t. The key was in the lock, just as you see it
now.”
“What about finger-prints on the outside knob?” Heath queried. “That
cut glass would take ’em easy.”
“My word, Sergeant!” Vance shook his head despairingly. “The concocter
of this plot knows better than to leave his visitin’ card wherever he
goes.…”
Bliss sprang to his feet.
“An idea has just struck me,” he exclaimed. “There was a
gold-and-cloisonné sheath to that dagger; and if the sheath should
not be in my desk drawer now, perhaps--perhaps----”
“Yes, yes. Quite.” Vance nodded. “I see your point. The sheath might
still be in the frustrated assassin’s possession. An excellent clew.…
Sergeant, would you mind going with Doctor Bliss to the study to
ascertain if the sheath was taken with the dagger? No use worryin’
ourselves about it if it’s still in the drawer.”
Heath went promptly to the hall, followed by Bliss. We could hear them
descending to the first floor.
“What do you make of this, Vance?” Markham asked, when we were alone.
“It looks pretty serious to me.”
“I make a great deal of it,” Vance returned sombrely. “And it _is_
pretty serious. But, thank Heaven, the _coup_ was not very brilliant.
The whole thing was frightfully botched.”
“Yes, I can see that,” Markham agreed. “Imagine any one hurling a
knife six feet or more when he could have dealt a single thrust in a
vital spot.”
“Oh, that?” Vance lifted his eyebrows. “I wasn’t thinking of the
technic of the knife-thrower. There were other points about the affair
still less intelligent. I can’t understand it altogether. Perhaps too
much panic. Anyway we may get a definite key to the plot through the
doctor’s suggestion about the sheath.”
Bliss and Heath were heard returning up the stairs.
“Well, it’s gone,” the Sergeant informed us, as the two stepped into
the room.
“No doubt taken with the dagger,” Bliss supplemented.
“Suppose I send for a couple of the boys and give the house the
once-over,” Heath suggested.
“That’s not necess’ry, Sergeant,” Vance told him. “I’ve a feelin’ it
won’t be hard to find.”
Markham was becoming annoyed at Vance’s vagueness.
“I suppose,” he said, with a tinge of sarcasm, “you can tell us
exactly where we can find the sheath.”
“Yes, I rather think so.” Vance spoke with thoughtful seriousness.
“However, I’ll verify my theory later.… In the meantime”--he addressed
himself to Bliss--“I’d be greatly obliged if you’d remain in your room
until we finish our investigation.”
Bliss bowed in acquiescence.
“We’re going to the drawing-room for a while,” Vance continued.
“There’s a little work to be done there.”
He moved toward the hall, then stopped as if on sudden impulse and,
going to the table, slipped the dagger into his pocket. Bliss closed
the door after us, and we could hear the key turn in the lock. Markham
and Heath and I started down the stairs, Vance bringing up the rear.
We had descended but a few steps when a calm, flat voice from the
upper hall arrested us.
“Can I be of any assistance, _effendi_?”
The unexpected sound in that dim quiet house startled us, and we
instinctively turned. At the head of the stairs leading to the third
floor stood the shadowy figure of Hani, his flowing kaftan a dark mass
against the palely lighted wall beyond.
“Oh, rather!” Vance answered cheerfully. “We were just repairin’ to
the drawing-room to hold a little conversational _séance_. Do join
us, Hani.”