Heath stood up suddenly.
Maybe those cigarettes came out of that case, he suggested. He picked up the intact butt and looked at it. Its a ladys cigarette, all right. It looks as though it might have been smoked in a holder, too.
I beg to differ with you, Sergeant, drawled Vance. Youll forgive me, Im sure. But theres a bit of lip rouge on the end of the cigarette. Its hard to see, on account of the gold tip.
Heath looked at Vance sharply; he was too much surprised to be resentful. After a closer inspection of the cigarette, he turned again to Vance.
Perhaps you could also tell us from these tobacco grains, if the cigarettes came from this case, he suggested, with gruff irony.
One never knows, does one? Vance replied, indolently rising.
Picking up the case, he pressed it wide open, and tapped it on the table. Then he looked into it closely, and a humorous smile twitched the corners of his mouth. Putting his forefinger deep into the case, he drew out a small cigarette which had evidently been wedged flat along the bottom of the pocket.
My olfactry gifts wont be necessry now, he said. It is apparent even to the naked eye that the cigarettes are, to speak loosely, identicaleh what, Sergeant?
Heath grinned good-naturedly.
Thats one on us, Mr. Markham. And he carefully put the cigarette and the stub in an envelope, which he marked and pocketed.
You now see, Vance, observed Markham, the importance of those cigarette butts.
Cant say that I do, responded the other. Of what possible value is a cigarette butt? You cant smoke it, y know.
Its evidence, my dear fellow, explained Markham patiently. One knows that the owner of this bag returned with Benson last night, and remained long enough to smoke two cigarettes.
Vance lifted his eyebrows in mock amazement.
One does, does one? Fancy that, now.
It only remains to locate her, interjected Heath.
Shes a rather decided brunette, at any rateif that fact will facilitate your quest any, said Vance easily; though why you should desire to annoy the lady, I cant for the life of me imaginereally I cant, dont y know.
Why do you say shes a brunette? asked Markham.
Well, if she isnt, Vance told him, sinking listlessly back in his chair, then she should consult a cosmetician as to the proper way to make up. I see she uses Rachel powder and Guerlains dark lip-stick. And it simply isnt done among blondes, old dear.
I defer, of course, to your expert opinion, smiled Markham. Then, to Heath: I guess well have to look for a brunette, Sergeant.
Its all right with me, agreed Heath jocularly. By this time, I think, he had entirely forgiven Vance for destroying the cigarette butt.
Chapter IV. The Housekeepers Story
(Friday, June 14; 11 a.m.)
Now, suggested Markham, suppose we take a look over the house. I imagine youve done that pretty thoroughly already, Sergeant, but Id like to see the layout. Anyway, I dont want to question the housekeeper until the body has been removed.
Heath rose.
Very good, sir. Id like another look myself.
The four of us went into the hall and walked down the passageway to the rear of the house. At the extreme end, on the left, was a door leading downstairs to the basement; but it was locked and bolted.
The basement is only used for storage now, Heath explained; and the door which opens from it into the street areaway is boarded up. The Platz woman sleeps upstairsBenson lived here alone, and theres plenty of spare room in the house; and the kitchen is on this floor.
He opened a door on the opposite side of the passageway, and we stepped into a small modern kitchen. Its two high windows, which gave into the paved rear yard at a height of about eight feet from the ground, were securely guarded with iron bars, and, in addition, the sashes were closed and locked. Passing through a swinging door we entered the dining-room which was directly behind the living-room. The two windows here looked upon a small stone courtreally no more than a deep air-well between Bensons house and the adjoining one; and these also were iron-barred and locked.
We now re-entered the hallway and stood for a moment at the foot of the stairs leading above.
You can see, Mr. Markham, Heath pointed out, that whoever shot Benson must have gotten in by the front door. Theres no other way he could have entered. Living alone, I guess Benson was a little touchy on the subject of burglars. The only window that wasnt barred was the rear one in the living-room; and that was shut and locked. Anyway, it only leads into the inside court. The front windows of the living-room have that ironwork over them; so they couldnt have been used even to shoot through, for Benson was shot from the opposite direction. Its pretty clear the gunman got in the front door.
Looks that way, said Markham.
And pardon me for saying so, remarked Vance, but Benson let him in.
Yes? retorted Heath unenthusiastically. Well, well find all that out later, I hope.
Oh, doubtless, Vance drily agreed.
We ascended the stairs, and entered Bensons bed-room which was directly over the living-room. It was severely but well furnished, and in excellent order. The bed was made, showing it had not been slept in that night; and the window shades were drawn. Bensons dinner-jacket and white piqué waistcoat were hanging over a chair. A winged collar and a black bow-tie were on the bed, where they had evidently been thrown when Benson had taken them off on returning home. A pair of low evening shoes were standing by the bench at the foot of the bed. In a glass of water on the night-table was a platinum plate of four false teeth; and a toupee of beautiful workmanship was lying on the chiffonier.
This last item aroused Vances special interest. He walked up to it and regarded it closely.
Most intrestin, he commented. Our departed friend seems to have worn false hair; did you know that, Markham?
I always suspected it, was the indifferent answer.
Heath, who had remained standing on the threshold, seemed a little impatient.
Theres only one other room on this floor, he said, leading the way down the hall. Its also a bed-roomfor guests, so the housekeeper explained.
Markham and I looked in through the door, but Vance remained lounging against the balustrade at the head of the stairs. He was manifestly uninterested in Alvin Bensons domestic arrangements; and when Markham and Heath and I went up to the third floor, he sauntered down into the main hallway. When at length we descended from our tour of inspection he was casually looking over the titles in Bensons bookcase.
We had just reached the foot of the stairs when the front door opened and two men with a stretcher entered. The ambulance from the Department of Welfare had arrived to take the corpse to the Morgue; and the brutal, business-like way in which Bensons body was covered up, lifted onto the stretcher, carried out and shoved into the wagon, made me shudder. Vance, on the other hand; after the merest fleeting glance at the two men, paid no attention to them. He had found a volume with a beautiful Humphrey-Milford binding, and was absorbed in its Roger Payne tooling and powdering.
I think an interview with Mrs. Platz is indicated now, said Markham; and Heath went to the foot of the stairs and gave a loud, brisk order.
Presently a grey-haired, middle-aged woman entered the living-room accompanied by a plain-clothes man smoking a large cigar. Mrs. Platz was of the simple, old-fashioned, motherly type, with a calm, benevolent countenance. She impressed me as highly capable, and as a woman given little to hysteriaan impression strengthened by her attitude of passive resignation. She seemed, however, to possess that taciturn shrewdness that is so often found among the ignorant.