Chapter I
Murder!
- (Friday, July 13; 11 A. M.)Philo
Vance was drawn into the Scarab murder case by sheer coincidence,
although there is little doubt that John F.–X. Markham—New York’s
District Attorney—would sooner or later have enlisted his services.
But it is problematic if even Vance, with his fine analytic mind and
his remarkable flair
for the subtleties of human psychology, could have solved that
bizarre and astounding murder if he had not been the first observer
on the scene; for, in the end, he was able to put his finger on the
guilty person only because of the topsy–turvy clews that had met
his eye during his initial inspection.Those
clews—highly misleading from the materialistic point of
view—eventually gave him the key to the murderer’s mentality and
thus enabled him to elucidate one of the most complicated and
incredible criminal problems in modern police history.The
brutal and fantastic murder of that old philanthropist and art
patron, Benjamin H. Kyle, became known as the Scarab murder case
almost immediately, as a result of the fact that it had taken place
in a famous Egyptologist’s private museum and had centred about a
rare blue scarabæus that had been found beside the mutilated body of
the victim.This
ancient and valuable seal, inscribed with the names of one of the
early Pharaohs (whose mummy had, by the way, not been found at the
time), constituted the basis on which Vance reared his astonishing
structure of evidence. The scarab, from the police point of view, was
merely an incidental piece of evidence that pointed somewhat
obviously toward its owner; but this easy and specious explanation
did not appeal to Vance.
“Murderers,”
he remarked to Sergeant Ernest Heath, “do not ordinarily insert
their visitin’ cards in the shirt bosoms of their victims. And
while the discovery of the lapis–lazuli beetle is most interestin’
from both the psychological and evidential stand–points, we must
not be too optimistic and jump to conclusions. The most important
question in this pseudo–mystical murder is why—and how—the
murderer left that archæological specimen beside the defunct body.
Once we find the reason for that amazin’ action, we’ll hit upon
the secret of the crime itself.”The
doughty Sergeant had sniffed at Vance’s suggestion and had
ridiculed his scepticism; but before another day had passed he
generously admitted that Vance had been right, and that the murder
had not been so simple as it had appeared at first view.As
I have said, a coincidence brought Vance into the case before the
police were notified. An acquaintance of his had discovered the slain
body of old Mr. Kyle, and had immediately come to him with the
gruesome news.It
happened on the morning of Friday, July 13th. Vance had just finished
a late breakfast in the roof–garden of his apartment in East
Thirty–eighth Street, and had returned to the library to continue
his translation of the Menander fragments found in the Egyptian
papyri during the early years of the present century, when Currie—his
valet and major–domo—shuffled into the room and announced with an
air of discreet apology:
“Mr.
Donald Scarlett has just arrived, sir, in a state of distressing
excitement, and asks that you hasten to receive him.”Vance
looked up from his work with an expression of boredom.
“Scarlett,
eh? Very annoyin’…. And why should he call on me when excited? I
infinitely prefer calm people…. Did you offer him a
brandy–and–soda—or some triple bromides?”
“I
took the liberty of placing a service of Courvoisier brandy before
him,” explained Currie. “I recall that Mr. Scarlett has a
weakness for Napoleon’s cognac.”
“Ah,
yes—so he has…. Quite right, Currie.” Vance leisurely lit one
of his Régie
cigarettes and puffed a moment in silence. “Suppose you show him in
when you deem his nerves sufficiently calm.”Currie
bowed and departed.
“Interestin’
johnny, Scarlett,” Vance commented to me. (I had been with Vance
all morning arranging and filing his notes.) “You remember him,
Van—eh, what?”I
had met Scarlett twice, but I must admit I had not thought of him for
a month or more. The impression of him, however, came back to me now
with considerable vividness. He had been, I knew, a college mate of
Vance’s at Oxford, and Vance had run across him during his sojourn
in Egypt two years before.Scarlett
was a student of Egyptology and archæology, having specialized in
these subjects at Oxford under Professor F. Ll. Griffith. Later he
had taken up chemistry and photography in order that he might join
some Egyptological expedition in a technical capacity. He was a
well–to–do Englishman, an amateur and dilettante, and had made of
Egyptology a sort of fad.When
Vance had gone to Alexandria Scarlett had been working in the Museum
laboratory at Cairo. The two had met again and renewed their old
acquaintance. Recently Scarlett had come to America as a member of
the staff of Doctor Mindrum W. C. Bliss, the famous Egyptologist, who
maintained a private museum of Egyptian antiquities in an old house
in East Twentieth Street, facing Gramercy Park. He had called on
Vance several times since his arrival in this country, and it was at
Vance’s apartment that I had met him. He had, however, never called
without an invitation, and I was at a loss to understand his
unexpected appearance this morning, for he possessed all of the
well–bred Englishman’s punctiliousness about social matters.Vance,
too, was somewhat puzzled, despite his attitude of lackadaisical
indifference.
“Scarlett’s
a clever lad,” he drawled musingly. “And most proper. Why should
he call on me at this indecent hour? And why should he be excited? I
hope nothing untoward has befallen his erudite employer…. Bliss is
an astonishin’ man, Van—one of the world’s great
Egyptologists.”[1]I
recalled that during the winter which Vance had spent in Egypt he had
become greatly interested in the work of Doctor Bliss, who was then
endeavoring to locate the tomb of Pharaoh Intef V who ruled over
Upper Egypt at Thebes during the Hyksos domination. In fact, Vance
had accompanied Bliss on an exploration in the Valley of the Tombs of
the Kings. At that time he had just become attracted by the Menander
fragments, and he had been in the midst of a uniform translation of
them when the Bishop murder case interrupted his labors.Vance
had also been interested in the variations of chronology of the Old
and the Middle Kingdoms of Egypt—not from the historical standpoint
but from the standpoint of the evolution of Egyptian art. His
researches led him to side with the Bliss–Weigall, or short,
chronology[2]
(based on the Turin Papyrus), as opposed to the long chronology of
Hall and Petrie, who set back the Twelfth Dynasty and all preceding
history one full Sothic cycle, or 1,460 years. After inspecting the
art works of the pre–Hyksos and the post–Hyksos eras, Vance was
inclined to postulate an interval of not more than 300 years between
the Twelfth and Eighteenth Dynasties, in accordance with the shorter
chronology. In comparing certain statues made during the reign of
Amen–em–hêt III with others made during the reign of Thut–mosè
I—thus bridging the Hyksos invasion, with its barbaric Asiatic
influence and its annihilation of indigenous Egyptian culture—he
arrived at the conclusion that the maintenance of the principles of
Twelfth–Dynasty æsthetic attainment could not have been possible
with a wider lacuna than 300 years. In brief, he concluded that, had
the interregnum been longer, the evidences of decadence in
Eighteenth–Dynasty art would have been even more pronounced.These
researches of Vance’s ran through my head that sultry July morning
as we waited for Currie to usher in the visitor. The announcement of
Scarlett’s call had brought back memories of many wearying weeks of
typing and tabulating Vance’s notes on the subject. Perhaps I had a
feeling—what we loosely call a premonition—that Scarlett’s
surprising visit was in some way connected with Vance’s
æsthetico–Egyptological researches. Perhaps I was even then
arranging in my mind, unconsciously, the facts of that winter two
years before, so that I might cope more understandingly with the
object of Scarlett’s present call.But
surely I could have had not the slightest idea or suspicion of what
was actually about to befall us. It was far too appalling and too
bizarre for the casual imagination. It lifted us out of the ordinary
routine of daily experience and dashed us into a frowsty, miasmic
atmosphere of things at once incredible and horrifying—things
fraught with the seemingly supernatural black magic of a Witches’
Sabbat. Only, in this instance it was the mystic and fantastic lore
of ancient Egypt—with its confused mythology and its grotesque
pantheon of beast–headed gods—that furnished the background.Scarlett
almost dashed through the portières of the library when Currie had
pulled back the sliding door for him to enter. Either the Courvoisier
had added to his excitement or else Currie had woefully underrated
the man’s nervous state.
“Kyle
has been murdered!” the newcomer blurted, leaning against the
library table and staring at Vance with gaping eyes.
“Really,
now! That’s very distressin’.” Vance held out his
cigarette–case. “Do have one of my
Régies…. And
you’ll find that chair beside you most comfortable. A Charles
chair: I picked it up in London…. Beastly mess, people getting
murdered, what? But it really can’t be helped, don’t y’ know.
The human race is so deuced blood–thirsty.”His
indifference had a salutary effect on Scarlett, who sank limply into
the chair and began lighting his cigarette with trembling hands.Vance
waited a moment and then asked:
“By
the by, how do you know Kyle has been murdered?”Scarlett
gave a start.
“I
saw him lying there—his head bashed in. A frightful sight. No doubt
about it.” (I could not help feeling that the man had suddenly
assumed a defensive attitude.)Vance
lay back in his chair languidly and pyramided his long tapering
hands.
“Bashed
in with what? And lying where? And how did you happen to discover the
corpse? … Buck up, Scarlett, and make an effort at coherence.”Scarlett
frowned and took several deep inhalations on his cigarette. He was a
man of about forty, tall and slender, with a head more Alpine than
Nordic—a Dinaric type. His forehead bulged slightly, and his chin
was round and recessive. He had the look of a scholar, though not
that of a sedentary bookworm, for there was strength and ruggedness
in his body; and his face was deeply tanned like that of a man who
has lived for years in the sun and wind. There was a trace of
fanaticism in his intense eyes—an expression that was somehow
enhanced by an almost completely bald head. Yet he gave me the
impression of honesty and straightforwardness—in this, at least,
his British institutionalism was strongly manifest.
“Right
you are, Vance,” he said after a brief pause, with a more or less
successful effort at calmness. “As you know, I came to New York
with Doctor Bliss in May as a member of his staff; and I’ve been
doing all the technical work for him. I have my diggings round the
corner from the museum, in Irving Place. This morning I had a batch
of photographs to classify, and reached the museum shortly before
half past ten….”
“Your
usual hour?” Vance put the question negligently.
“Oh,
no. I was a bit latish this morning. We’d been working last night
on a financial report of the last expedition.”
“And
then?”
“Funny
thing,” continued Scarlett. “The front door was slightly ajar—I
generally have to ring. But I saw no reason to disturb Brush——”
“Brush?”
“The
Bliss butler…. So I merely pushed the door open and entered the
hallway. The steel entrance door to the museum, which is on the right
of the hallway, is rarely locked, and I opened it. Just as I started
to descend the stairs into the museum I saw some one lying in the
opposite corner of the room. At first I thought it might be one of
the mummy cases we’d unpacked yesterday—the light wasn’t very
good—and then, as my eyes got adjusted, I realized it was Kyle. He
was crumpled up, with his arms extended over his head…. Even then I
thought he had only fallen in a faint; and I started down the steps
toward him.”He
paused and passed his handkerchief—which he drew from his
cuff—across his shining head.
“By
Jove, Vance!—it was a hideous sight. He’d been hit over the head
with one of the new statues we placed in the museum yesterday, and
his skull had been crushed in like an egg–shell. The statue still
lay across his head.”
“Did
you touch anything?”
“Good
heavens, no!” Scarlett spoke with the emphasis of horror. “I was
too ill—the thing was ghastly. And it didn’t take half an eye to
see that the poor beggar was dead.”Vance
studied the man closely.
“I
say, what was the first thing you did?”
“I
called out for Doctor Bliss—he has his study at the top of the
little spiral stairs at the rear of the museum….”
“And
got no answer?”
“No—no
answer…. Then—I admit—I got frightened. Didn’t like the idea
of being found alone with a murdered man, and toddled back toward the
front door. Had a notion I’d sneak out and not say I’d been
there….”
“Ah!”
Vance leaned forward and carefully selected another cigarette. “And
then, when you were again in the street, you fell to worryin’.”
“That’s
it precisely! It didn’t seem cricket to leave the poor devil
there—and still I didn’t want to become involved…. I was now
walking up Fourth Avenue threshing the thing out with myself and
bumping against people without seeing ’em. And I happened to think
of you. I knew you were acquainted with Doctor Bliss and the outfit,
and could give me good advice. And another thing, I felt a little
strange in a new country—I wasn’t just sure how to go about
reporting the matter…. So I hurried along to your flat here.” He
stopped abruptly and watched Vance eagerly. “What’s the
procedure?”Vance
stretched his long legs before him and lazily contemplated the end of
his cigarette.
“I’ll
take over the procedure,” he replied at length. “It’s not so
dashed complicated, and it varies according to circumstances. One may
call the police station, or stick one’s head out of the window and
scream, or confide in a traffic officer, or simply ignore the corpse
and wait for some one else to stumble on it. It amounts to the same
thing in the end—the murderer is almost sure to get safely away….
However, in the present case I’ll vary the system a bit by
telephoning to the Criminal Courts Building.”He
turned to the mother–of–pearl French telephone on the Venetian
tabouret at his side, and asked for a number. A few moments later he
was speaking to the District Attorney.
“Greetings,
Markham old dear. Beastly weather, what?” His voice was too
indolent to be entirely convincing. “By the by, Benjamin H. Kyle
has passed to his Maker by foul means. He’s at present lying on the
floor of the Bliss Museum with a badly fractured skull…. Oh,
yes—quite dead, I understand. Are you interested, by any chance?
Thought I’d be unfriendly and notify you…. Sad—sad…. I’m
about to make a few observations
in situ criminis….
Tut, tut! This is no time for reproaches. Don’t be so deuced
serious…. Really, I think you’d better come along…. Right–o!
I’ll await you here.”He
replaced the receiver on the bracket and again settled back in his
chair.
“The
District Attorney will be along anon,” he announced, “and we’ll
probably have time for a few observations before the police arrive.”His
eyes shifted dreamily to Scarlett.
“Yes
… as you say … I’m acquainted with the Bliss outfit.
Fascinatin’ possibilities in the affair: it may prove most
entertainin’….” (I knew by his expression that his mind was
contemplating—not without a certain degree of anticipatory
interest—a new criminal problem.) “So, the front door was ajar,
eh? And when you called out no one answered?”Scarlett
nodded but made no audible reply. He was obviously puzzled by Vance’s
casual reception of his appalling recital.
“Where
were the servants? Couldn’t they have heard you call?”
“Not
likely. They’re in the other side of the house—down–stairs. The
only person who could have heard me was Doctor Bliss—provided he’d
been in his study.”
“You
could have rung the front door–bell, or summoned some one from the
main hall,” Vance suggested.Scarlett
shifted in his chair uneasily.
“Quite
true,” he admitted. “But—dash it all, old man!—I was in a
funk….”
“Yes,
yes—of course. Most natural.
Prima–facie
evidence and all that. Very suspicious, eh what? Still, you had no
reason for wanting the old codger out of the way, had you?”
“Oh,
my God, no!” Scarlett went pale. “He footed the bills. Without
his support the Bliss excavations and the museum itself would go by
the board.”Vance
nodded.
“Bliss
told me of the situation when I was in Egypt…. Didn’t Kyle own
the property in which the museum is situated?”
“Yes—both
houses. You see, there are two of ’em. Bliss and his family and
young Salveter—Kyle’s nephew—live in one, and the museum
occupies the other. Two doors have been cut through, and the
museum–house entrance has been bricked up. So it’s practically
one establishment.”
“And
where did Kyle live?”
“In
the brownstone house next to the museum. He owned a block of six or
seven adjoining houses along the street.”Vance
rose and walked meditatively to the window.
“Do
you know how Kyle became interested in Egyptology? It was rather out
of his line. His weakness was for hospitals and those unspeakable
English portraits of the Gainsborough school. He was one of the
bidders for the Blue
Boy. Luckily for
him, he didn’t get it.”
“It
was young Salveter who wangled his uncle into financing Bliss. The
lad was a pupil of Bliss’s when the latter was instructor of
Egyptology at Harvard. When he was graduated he was at a loose end,
and old Kyle financed the expedition to give the lad something to do.
Very fond of his nephew, was old Kyle.”
“And
Salveter’s been with Bliss ever since?”
“Very
much so. To the extent of living in the same house with him. Hasn’t
left his side since their first visit to Egypt three years ago. Bliss
made him Assistant Curator of the Museum. He deserved the post, too.
A bright boy—lives and eats Egyptology.”Vance
returned to the table and rang for Currie.
“The
situation has possibilities,” he remarked, in his habitual drawl….
“By the by, what other members of the Bliss ménage are there?”
“There’s
Mrs. Bliss—you met her in Cairo—a strange girl, half Egyptian,
much younger than Bliss. And then there’s Hani, an Egyptian, whom
Bliss brought back with him—or, rather, whom
Mrs. Bliss brought
back with her.
Hani was an old dependent of Meryt’s father….”
“Meryt?”Scarlett
blinked and looked ill at ease.
“I
meant Mrs. Bliss,” he explained. “Her given name is Meryt–Amen.
In Egypt, you see, it’s customary to think of a lady by her native
name.”
“Oh,
quite.” A slight smile flickered at the corner of Vance’s mouth.
“And what position does this Hani occupy in the household?”Scarlett
pursed his lips.
“A
somewhat anomalous one, if you ask me. Fellahîn stock—a Coptic
Christian of sorts. He accompanied old Abercrombie—Meryt’s
father—on his various tours of exploration. When Abercrombie died,
he acted as a kind of foster–father to Meryt. He was attached to
the Bliss expedition this spring in some minor capacity as a
representative of the Egyptian Government. He’s a sort of
high–class handy–man about the museum. Knows a lot of Egyptology,
too.”
“Does
he hold any official post with the Egyptian Government now?”
“That
I don’t know … though I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s doing a
bit of patriotic spying. You never can tell about these chaps.”
“And
do these persons complete the household?”
“There
are two American servants—Brush, the butler, and Dingle, the cook.”Currie
entered the room at this moment.
“Oh,
I say, Currie,” Vance addressed him; “an eminent gentleman has
just been murdered in the neighborhood, and I am going to view the
body. Lay out a dark gray suit and my Bangkok. A sombre tie, of
course…. And, Currie—the Amontillado first.”
“Yes,
sir.”Currie
received the news as if murders were everyday events in his life, and
went out.
“Do
you know any reason, Scarlett,” Vance asked, “why Kyle should
have been put out of the way?”The
other hesitated almost imperceptibly.
“Can’t
imagine,” he said, knitting his brows. “He was a kindly, generous
old fellow—pompous and rather vain, but eminently likable. I’m
not acquainted with his private life, though. He may have had
enemies….”
“Still,”
suggested Vance, “it’s not exactly likely that an enemy would
have followed him to the museum and wreaked vengeance on him in a
strange place, when any one might have walked in.”Scarlett
sat up abruptly.
“But
you’re not implying that any one in the house——”
“My
dear fellow!”Currie
entered the room at this moment with the sherry, and Vance poured out
three glasses. When we had drunk the wine he excused himself to
dress. Scarlett paced up and down restlessly during the quarter of an
hour Vance was absent. He had discarded his cigarette and lighted an
old briar pipe which had a most atrocious smell.Almost
at the moment when Vance returned to the library an automobile horn
sounded raucously outside. Markham was below waiting for us.As
we walked toward the door Vance asked Scarlett:
“Was
it custom’ry for Kyle to be in the museum at this hour of the
morning?”
“No,
most unusual. But Doctor Bliss had made an appointment with him for
this morning, to discuss the expenditures of the last expedition and
the possibilities of continuing the excavations next season.”
“You
knew of this appointment?” Vance asked indifferently.
“Oh,
yes. Doctor Bliss called him by phone last night during the
conference, when we were assembling the report.”
“Well,
well.” Vance passed out into the hall. “So there were others who
also knew that Kyle would be at the museum this morning.”Scarlett
halted and looked startled.
“Really,
you’re not intimating——” he began.
“Who
heard the appointment made?” Vance was already descending the
stairs.Scarlett
followed him with puzzled, downcast eyes.
“Well,
let me see…. There was Salveter, and Hani, and … ”
“Pray,
don’t hesitate.”
“And
Mrs. Bliss.”
“Every
one in the household, then, but Brush and Dingle?”
“Yes….
But see here, Vance; the appointment was for eleven o’clock; and
the poor old duffer was done in before half past ten.”
“That’s
most inveiglin’,” Vance murmured.[1]
Doctor Mindrum W. C. Bliss. M.A., A.O.S.S., F.S.A., F.R.S., Hon. Mem.
R.A.S., was the author of “The Stele of Intefoe at Koptos”; a
“History of Egypt during the Hyksos Invasion”; “The Seventeenth
Dynasty”; and a monograph on the Amen–hotpe III Colossi.[2]
According to the Bliss–Weigall chronology the period between the
death of Sebk–nefru–Rê and the overthrow of the Shepherd Kings
at Memphis was from 1898 to 1577 B. C.—to wit: 321 years—as
against the 1800 years claimed by the upholders of the longer
chronology. This short chronology is even shorter according to
Breasted and the German school. Breasted and Meyer dated the same
period as from 1788 to 1580. These 208 years, by the way, Vance
considered too short for the observable cultural changes.