XVIII
A Confession
(Wednesday, June 19; 1 p.m.)
When we were again outside Markham asked:
“How in Heaven’s name did you know she had put up her jewels to help Pfyfe?”
“My charmin’ metaphysical deductions, don’t y’ know,” answered Vance. “As I told you, Benson was not the openhanded, bighearted altruist who would have lent money without security; and certainly the impecunious Pfyfe had no collateral worth ten thousand dollars, or he wouldn’t have forged the check. Ergo: someone lent him the security. Now, who would be so trustin’ as to lend Pfyfe that amount of security except a sentimental woman who was blind to his amazin’ defects? Y’ know, I was just evil-minded enough to suspect there was a Calypso in the life of this Ulysses when he told us of stopping over in New York to murmur ‘au revoir’ to someone. When a man like Pfyfe fails to specify the sex of a person, it is safe to assume the feminine gender. So I suggested that you send a Paul Pry to Port Washington to peer into his trans-matrimonial activities: I felt certain a bonne amie would be found. Then, when the mysterious package, which obviously was the security, seemed to identify itself as the box of jewels seen by the inquisitive housekeeper, I said to myself: ‘Ah! Leander’s misguided Dulcinea has lent him her gewgaws to save him from the yawning dungeon.’ Nor did I overlook the fact that he had been shielding someone in his explanation about the check. Therefore, as soon as the lady’s name and address were learned by Tracy, I made the appointment for you. …”
We were passing the Gothic-Renaissance Schwab residence which extends from West End Avenue to Riverside Drive at Seventy-third Street; and Vance stopped for a moment to contemplate it.
Markham waited patiently. At length Vance walked on.
“… Y’ know, the moment I saw Mrs. Banning I knew my conclusions were correct. She was a sentimental soul, and just the sort of professional good sport who would have handed over her jewels to her amoroso. Also, she was bereft of gems when we called—and a woman of her stamp always wears her jewels when she desires to make an impression on strangers. Moreover, she’s the kind that would have jewellery even if the larder was empty. It was therefore merely a question of getting her to talk.”
“On the whole, you did very well,” observed Markham.
Vance gave him a condescending bow.
“Sir Hubert is too generous.—But tell me, didn’t my little chat with the lady cast a gleam into your darkened mind?”
“Naturally,” said Markham. “I’m not utterly obtuse. She played unconsciously into our hands. She believed Pfyfe did not arrive in New York until the morning after the murder, and therefore told us quite frankly that she had phoned him that Benson had the jewels at home. The situation now is: Pfyfe knew they were in Benson’s house, and was there himself at about the time the shot was fired. Furthermore, the jewels are gone; and Pfyfe tried to cover up his tracks that night.”
Vance sighed hopelessly.
“Markham, there are altogether too many trees for you in this case. You simply can’t see the forest, y’ know, because of ’em.”
“There is the remote possibility that you are so busily engaged in looking at one particular tree that you are unaware of the others.”
A shadow passed over Vance’s face.
“I wish you were right,” he said.
It was nearly half past one, and we dropped into the Fountain Room of the Ansonia Hotel for lunch. Markham was preoccupied throughout the meal, and when we entered the subway later, he looked uneasily at his watch.
“I think I’ll go on down to Wall Street and call on the Major a moment before returning to the office. I can’t understand his asking Miss Hoffman not to mention the package to me. … It might not have contained the jewels, after all.”
“Do you imagine for one moment,” rejoined Vance, “that Alvin told the Major the truth about the package? It was not a very cred’table transaction, y’ know; and the Major most likely would have given him what-for.”
Major Benson’s explanation bore out Vance’s surmise. Markham, in telling him of the interview with Paula Banning, emphasized the jewel episode in the hope that the Major would voluntarily mention the package; for his promise to Miss Hoffman prevented him from admitting that he was aware of the other’s knowledge concerning it.
The Major listened with considerable astonishment, his eyes gradually growing angry.
“I’m afraid Alvin deceived me,” he said. He looked straight ahead for a moment, his face softening. “And I don’t like to think it, now that he’s gone. But the truth is, when Miss Hoffman told me this morning about the envelope, she also mentioned a small parcel that had been in Alvin’s private safe-drawer; and I asked her to omit any reference to it from her story to you. I knew the parcel contained Mrs. Banning’s jewels, but I thought the fact would only confuse matters if brought to your attention. You see, Alvin told me that a judgment had been taken against Mrs. Banning, and that, just before the Supplementary Proceedings, Pfyfe had brought her jewels here and asked him to sequester them temporarily in his safe.”
On our way back to the Criminal Courts Building Markham took Vance’s arm and smiled.
“Your guessing luck is holding out, I see.”
“Rather!” agreed Vance. “It would appear that the late Alvin, like Warren Hastings, resolved to die in the last dyke of prevarication. … Splendide mendax, what?”
“In any event,” replied Markham, “the Major has unconsciously added another link in the chain against Pfyfe.”
“You seem to be making a collection of chains,” commented Vance drily. “What have you done with the ones you forged about Miss St. Clair and Leacock?”
“I haven’t entirely discarded them—if that’s what you think,” asserted Markham gravely.
When we reached the office Sergeant Heath was awaiting us with a beatific grin.
“It’s all over, Mr. Markham,”
