The fact was that rarely had there been in New York’s journalistic history a case which had so tenaciously seized upon the public imagination. The shooting of Julia and Ada Greene had been treated sensationally but perfunctorily; but after Chester Greene’s murder an entirely different spirit animated the newspaper stories. Here was something romantically sinister—something which brought back forgotten pages of criminal history.16 Columns were devoted to accounts of the Greene family history. Genealogical archives were delved into for remote titbits. Old Tobias Greene’s record was raked over, and stories of his early life became the common property of the man in the street. Pictures of all the members of the Greene family accompanied these spectacular tales; and the Greene mansion itself, photographed from every possible angle, was used regularly to illustrate the flamboyant accounts of the crimes so recently perpetrated there.
The story of the Greene murders spread over the entire country, and even the press of Europe found space for it. The tragedy, taken in connection with the social prominence of the family and the romantic history of its progenitors, appealed irresistibly to the morbidity and the snobbery of the public.
It was natural that the police and the District Attorney’s office should be hounded by the representatives of the press; and it was also natural that both Heath and Markham should be sorely troubled by the fact that all their efforts to lay hands on the criminal had come to naught. Several conferences had been called in Markham’s office, at each of which the ground had been carefully reploughed; but not one helpful suggestion had been turned up. Two weeks after the murder of Chester Greene the case began to take on the aspect of a stalemate.
During that fortnight, however, Vance had not been idle. The situation had caught and held his interest, and not once had he dismissed it from his mind since that first morning when Chester Greene had applied to Markham for help. He said little about the case, but he had attended each of the conferences; and from his casual comments I knew he was both fascinated and perplexed by the problem it presented.
So convinced was he that the Greene mansion itself held the secret to the crimes enacted there that he had made it a point to call at the house several times without Markham. Markham, in fact, had been there but once since the second crime. It was not that he was shirking his task. There was, in reality, little for him to do; and the routine duties of his office were particularly heavy at that time.17
Sibella had insisted that the funerals of Julia and Chester be combined in one service, which was held in the private chapel of Malcomb’s Undertaking Parlors. Only a few intimate acquaintances were notified (though a curious crowd gathered outside the building, attracted by the sensational associations of the obsequies); and the interment at Woodlawn Cemetery was strictly private. Doctor Von Blon accompanied Sibella and Rex to the chapel, and sat with them during the services. Ada, though improving rapidly, was still confined to the house; and Mrs. Greene’s paralysis of course made her attendance impossible, although I doubt if she would have gone in any case, for when the suggestion was made that the services be held at home she had vetoed it emphatically.
It was on the day after the funeral that Vance paid his first unofficial visit to the Greene mansion. Sibella received him without any show of surprise.
“I’m so glad you’ve come,” she greeted him, almost gaily. “I knew you weren’t a policeman the first time I saw you. Imagine a policeman smoking Régie cigarettes! And I’m dying for someone to talk to. Of course, all the people I know avoid me now as they would a pestilence. I haven’t had an invitation since Julia passed from this silly life. Respect for the dead, I believe they call it. And just when I most need diversion!”
She rang for the butler and ordered tea.
“Sproot makes much better tea than he does coffee, thank Heaven!” she ran on, with a kind of nervous detachment. “What a sweet day we had yesterday! Funerals are hideous farces. I could hardly keep a straight face when the officiating reverend doctor began extolling the glories of the departed. And all the time—poor man—he was eaten up with morbid curiosity. I’m sure he enjoyed it so much that he wouldn’t complain if I entirely forgot to send him a check for his kind words. …”
The tea was served, but before Sproot had withdrawn Sibella turned to him pettishly.
“I simply can’t stand any more tea. I want a Scotch highball.” She lifted her eyes to Vance inquiringly, but he insisted that he preferred tea; and the girl drank her highball alone.
“I crave stimulation these days,” she explained airily. “This moated grange, so to speak, is getting on my young and fretful nerves. And the burden of being a celebrity is quite overwhelming. I really have become a celebrity, you know. In fact, all the Greenes are quite famous now. I never imagined a mere murder or two could give a family such positively irrational prominence. I’ll probably be in Hollywood yet.”
She gave a laugh which struck me as a trifle strained.
“It’s just too jolly! Even mother is enjoying it. She gets all the papers and reads every word that’s written about us—which is a blessing, let me tell you. She’s almost forgotten to find fault; and I haven’t heard a word about her spine for days. The Lord tempers the wind—or is it something about an ill wind I’m trying to quote? I always get my classical references confused. …”
She ran on in this flippant vein for half an hour or so. But whether her callousness was genuine or merely a brave attempt to counteract the pall of tragedy that hung over her I couldn’t make out.
