(Tuesday, September 18; 2 p. m.)
Less than half an hour later we again entered the main hall of the little apartment building in 71st Street. Spively, as usual, was on duty at the switchboard. Just inside the public reception-room the officer on guard reclined in an easy chair, a cigar in his mouth. On seeing the District Attorney, he rose with forced alacrity1.
“When you going to open things up, Mr. Markham?” he asked. “This rest-cure is ruinin’ my health.”
“Very soon, I hope, officer,” Markham told him. “Any more visitors?”
“Let’s have your key to the apartment.—Have you been inside?”
“No, sir. Orders were to stay out here.”
We passed into the dead girl’s living-room. The shades were still up, and the sunlight of midday was pouring in. Nothing apparently4 had been touched: not even the overturned chairs had been righted. Markham went to the window and stood, his hands behind him, surveying the scene despondently5. He was laboring6 under a growing uncertainty7, and he watched Vance with a cynical8 amusement which was far from spontaneous.
Vance, after lighting9 a cigarette, proceeded to inspect the two rooms, letting his eyes rest searchingly on the various disordered objects. Presently he went into the bathroom and remained several minutes. When he came out he carried a towel with several dark smudges on it.
“Marvellous!” Markham rallied him. “That, of course, convicts Spotswoode.”
“Tut, tut! But it helps substantiate11 my theory of the crime.” He walked to the dressing-table and sniffed12 at a tiny silver atomizer. “The lady used Coty’s Chypre,” he murmured. “Why will they all do it?”
“And just what does that help substantiate?”
“Markham dear, I’m absorbing atmosphere. I’m attuning13 my soul to the apartment’s vibrations14. Do let me attune15 in peace. I may have a visitation at any moment—a revelation from Sinai, as it were.”
He continued his round of investigation16, and at last passed out into the main hall, where he stood, one foot holding open the door, looking about him with curious intentness. When he returned to the living-room, he sat down on the edge of the rosewood table, and surrendered himself to gloomy contemplation. After several minutes he gave Markham a sardonic17 grin.
“I say! This is a problem. Dash it all, it’s uncanny!”
“I had an idea,” scoffed18 Markham, “that sooner or later you’d revise your deductions19 in regard to Spotswoode.”
Vance stared idly at the ceiling.
“You’re devilish stubborn, don’t y’ know. Here I am trying to extricate20 you from a deuced unpleasant predicament, and all you do is to indulge in caustic21 observations calculated to damp my youthful ardor22.”
Markham left the window and seated himself on the arm of the davenport facing Vance. His eyes held a worried look.
“Vance, don’t get me wrong. Spotswoode means nothing in my life. If he did this thing, I’d like to know it. Unless this case is cleared up, I’m in for an ungodly walloping by the newspapers. It’s not to my interests to discourage any possibility of a solution. But your conclusion about Spotswoode is impossible. There are too many contradictory23 facts.”
“That’s just it, don’t y’ know. The contradict’ry indications are far too perfect. They fit together too beautifully; they’re almost as fine as the forms in a Michelangelo statue. They’re too carefully co-ordinated, d’ ye see, to have been merely a haphazard25 concatenation of circumstances. They signify conscious design.”
Markham rose and, slowly returning to the window, stood looking out into the little rear yard.
“If I could grant your premise26 that Spotswoode killed the girl,” he said, “I could follow your syllogism27. But I can’t very well convict a man on the grounds that his defense28 is too perfect.”
“What we need, Markham, is inspiration. The mere24 contortions29 of the sibyl are not enough.” Vance took a turn up and down the room. “What really infuriates me is that I’ve been outwitted. And by a manufacturer of automobile30 access’ries! . . . It’s most humiliatin’.”
He sat down at the piano and played the opening bars of Brahms’s Capriccio No. 1.
“Needs tuning,” he muttered; and, sauntering to the Boule cabinet, he ran his finger over the marquetry. “Pretty and all that,” he said, “but a bit fussy31. Good example, though. The deceased’s aunt from Seattle should get a very fair price for it.” He regarded a pendent girandole at the side of the cabinet. “Rather nice, that, if the original candles hadn’t been supplanted32 with modern frosted bulbs.” He paused before the little china clock on the mantel. “Gingerbread. I’m sure it kept atrocious time.” Passing on to the escritoire, he examined it critically. “Imitation French Renaissance33. But rather dainty, what?” Then his eye fell on the waste-paper basket, and he picked it up. “Silly idea,” he commented, “—making a basket out of vellum. The artistic34 triumph of some lady interior decorator, I’ll wager35. Enough vellum here to bind36 a set of Epictetus. But why ruin the effect with hand-painted garlands? The æsthetic instinct has not as yet invaded these fair States—decidedly not.”
Setting the basket down, he studied it meditatively38 for a moment. Then he leaned over and took from it the piece of crumpled39 wrapping-paper to which he had referred the previous day.
“This doubtless contained the lady’s last purchase on earth,” he mused40. “Very touchin’. Are you sentimental41 about such trifles, Markham? Anyway, the purple string round it was a godsend to Skeel. . . . What knickknack, do you suppose, paved the way for the frantic42 Tony’s escape?”
He opened the paper, revealing a broken piece of corrugated43 cardboard and a large square dark-brown envelope.
“Ah, to be sure! Phonograph records.” He glanced about the apartment. “But, I say, where did the lady keep the bally machine?”
“You’ll find it in the foyer,” said Markham wearily, without turning. He knew that Vance’s chatter44 was only the outward manifestation45 of serious and perplexed46 thinking; and he was waiting with what patience he could muster47.
Vance sauntered idly through the glass doors into the little reception-hall, and stood gazing abstractedly at a console phonograph of Chinese Chippendale design which stood against the wall at one end. The squat48 cabinet was partly covered with a prayer-rug, and upon it sat a polished bronze flower-bowl.
“At any rate, it doesn’t look phonographic,” he remarked. “But why the prayer-rug?” He examined it casually49. “Anatolian—probably called a Cæsarian for sale purposes. Not very valuable—too much on the Oushak type. . . . Wonder what the lady’s taste in music was. Victor Herbert, doubtless.” He turned back the rug and lifted the lid of the cabinet. There was a record already on the machine, and he leaned over and looked at it.
“My word! The Andante from Beethoven’s C-Minor Symphony!” he exclaimed cheerfully. “You know the movement, of course, Markham. The most perfect Andante ever written.” He wound up the machine. “I think a little good music might clear the atmosphere and volatilize our perturbation, what?”
Vance started the motor, and placing the needle on the record, returned to the living-room. He stood staring at the davenport, concentrating on the problem in hand. I sat in the wicker chair by the door waiting for the music. The situation was getting on my nerves, and I began to feel fidgety. A minute or two passed, but the only sound which came from the phonograph was a faint scratching. Vance looked up with mild curiosity, and walked back to the machine. Inspecting it cursorily51, he once more set it in operation. But though he waited several minutes, no music came forth52.
“I say! That’s deuced queer, y’ know,” he grumbled53, as he changed the needle and rewound the motor.
Markham had now left the window, and stood watching him with good-natured tolerance54. The turn-table of the phonograph was spinning, and the needle was tracing its concentric revolutions; but still the instrument refused to play. Vance, with both hands on the cabinet, was leaning forward, his eyes fixed55 on the silently revolving56 record with an expression of amused bewilderment.
“The sound-box is probably broken,” he said. “Silly machines, anyway.”
“The difficulty, I imagine,” Markham chided him, “lies in your patrician57 ignorance of so vulgar and democratic a mechanism58.—Permit me to assist you.”
He moved to Vance’s side, and I stood looking curiously59 over his shoulder. Everything appeared to be in order, and the needle had now almost reached the end of the record. But only a faint scratching was audible.
Markham stretched forth his hand to lift the sound-box. But his movement was never completed.
At that moment the little apartment was filled with several terrifying treble screams, followed by two shrill60 calls for help. A cold chill swept my body, and there was a tingling61 at the roots of my hair.
After a short silence, during which the three of us remained speechless, the same feminine voice said in a loud, distinct tone: “No; nothing is the matter. I’m sorry. . . . Everything is all right. . . . Please go home, and don’t worry.”
The needle had come to the end of the record. There was a slight click, and the automatic device shut off the motor. The almost terrifying silence that followed was broken by a sardonic chuckle62 from Vance.
“Well, old dear,” he remarked languidly, as he strolled back into the living-room, “so much for your irrefutable facts!”
There came a loud knocking on the door, and the officer on duty outside looked in with a startled face.
“It’s all right,” Markham informed him in a husky voice. “I’ll call you when I want you.”
Vance lay down on the davenport and took out another cigarette. Having lighted it, he stretched his arms far over his head and extended his legs, like a man in whom a powerful physical tension had suddenly relaxed.
“ ’Pon my soul, Markham, we’ve all been babes in the woods,” he drawled. “An incontrovertible alibi63—my word! If the law supposes that, as Mr. Bumble said, the law is a ass3, a idiot.—Oh, Sammy, Sammy, vy worn’t there a alleybi! . . . Markham, I blush to admit it, but it’s you and I who’ve been the unutterable asses64.”
Markham had been standing65 by the instrument like a man dazed, his eyes riveted66 hypnotically on the telltale record. Slowly he came into the room and threw himself wearily into a chair.
“Those precious facts of yours!” continued Vance. “Stripped of their carefully disguised appearance, what are they?—Spotswoode prepared a phonograph record—a simple enough task. Every one makes ’em nowadays——”
“Yes. He told me he had a workshop at his home on Long Island where he tinkered a bit.”
“He really didn’t need it, y’ know. But it facilitated things, no doubt. The voice on the record is merely his own in falsetto—better for the purpose than a woman’s, for it’s stronger and more penetrating67. As for the label, he simply soaked it off of an ordin’ry record, and pasted it on his own. He brought the lady several new records that night, and concealed68 this one among them. After the theatre he enacted69 his gruesome little drama and then carefully set the stage so that the police would think it was a typical burglar’s performance. When this had been done, he placed the record on the machine, set it going, and calmly walked out. He had placed the prayer-rug and bronze bowl on the cabinet of the machine to give the impression that the phonograph was rarely used. And the precaution worked, for no one thought of looking into it. Why should they? . . . Then he asked Jessup to call a taxicab—everything quite natural, y’ see. While he was waiting for the car the needle reached the recorded screams. They were heard plainly: it was night, and the sounds carried distinctly. Moreover, being filtered through a wooden door, their phonographic timbre70 was well disguised. And, if you’ll note, the enclosed horn is directed toward the door, not three feet away.”
“But the synchronization71 of his questions and the answers on the record. . . ?”
“The simplest part of it. You remember Jessup told us that Spotswoode was standing with one arm on the switchboard when the screams were heard. He merely had his eye on his wrist-watch. The moment he heard the cry, he calculated the intermission on the record, and put his question to the imagin’ry lady at just the right moment to receive the record’s response. It was all carefully figured out beforehand; he no doubt rehearsed it in his laborat’ry. It was deuced simple, and practically proof against failure. The record is a large one—twelve-inch diameter, I should say—and it requires about five minutes for the needle to traverse it. By putting the screams at the end, he allowed himself ample time to get out and order a taxicab. When the car at last came, he rode direct to the Stuyvesant Club, where he met Judge Redfern and played poker72 till three. If he hadn’t met the Judge, rest assured he would have impressed his presence on some one else so as to have established an alibi.”
Markham shook his head gravely.
“Good God! No wonder he importuned73 me on every possible occasion to let him visit this apartment again. Such a damning piece of evidence as that record must have kept him awake at night.”
“Still, I rather fancy that if I hadn’t discovered it, he would have succeeded in getting possession of it as soon as your sergent-de-ville was removed. It was annoyin’ to be unexpectedly barred from the apartment, but I doubt if it worried him much. He would have been on hand when the Canary’s aunt took possession, and the retrieving74 of the record would have been comparatively easy. Of course the record constituted a hazard, but Spotswoode isn’t the type who’d shy at a low bunker of that kind. No; the thing was planned scientifically enough. He was defeated by sheer accident.”
“And Skeel?”
“He was another unfortunate circumstance. He was hiding in the closet there when Spotswoode and the lady came in at eleven. It was Spotswoode whom he saw strangle his erstwhile amoureuse and rifle the apartment. Then, when Spotswoode went out, he came forth from hiding. He was probably looking down at the girl when the phonograph emitted its blood-chilling wails75. . . . My word! Fancy being in a cold funk, gazing at a murdered woman, and then hearing piercing screams behind you! It was a bit too much even for the hardened Tony. I don’t wonder he forgot all caution and put his hand on the table to steady himself. . . . And then came Spotswoode’s voice through the door, and the record’s answer. This must have puzzled Skeel. I imagine he thought for a moment he’d lost his reason. But pretty soon the significance of it dawned on him; and I can see him grinning to himself. Obviously he knew who the murderer was—it would not have been in keeping with his character had he failed to learn the identities of the Canary’s admirers. And now there had fallen into his lap, like manna from heaven, the most perfect opportunity for blackmail76 that any such charmin’ young gentleman could desire. He doubtless indulged himself with roseate visions of a life of opulence77 and ease at Spotswoode’s expense. When Cleaver78 phoned a few minutes later, he merely said the lady was out, and then set to work planning his own departure.”
“But I don’t see why he didn’t take the record with him.”
“And remove from the scene of the crime the one piece of unanswerable evidence? . . . Bad strategy, Markham. If he himself had produced the record later, Spotswoode would simply have denied all knowledge of it, and accused the blackmailer79 of a plot. Oh, no; Skeel’s only course was to leave it, and apply for an enormous settlement from Spotswoode at once. And I imagine that’s what he did. Spotswoode no doubt gave him something on account and promised him the rest anon, hoping in the meantime to retrieve80 the record. When he failed to pay, Skeel phoned you and threatened to tell everything, thinking to spur Spotswoode to action. . . . Well, he spurred him—but not to the action desired. Spotswoode probably met him by appointment last Saturday night, ostensibly to hand over the money, but, instead, throttled81 the chap. Quite in keeping with his nature, don’t y’ know. . . . Stout fella, Spotswoode.”
“The whole thing . . . it’s amazing.”
“I shouldn’t say that, now. Spotswoode had an unpleasant task to perform, and he set about it in a cool, logical, forthright82, businesslike manner. He had decided37 that his little Canary must die for his peace of mind: she’d probably made herself most annoyin’. So he arranged the date—like any judge passing sentence on a prisoner at the bar—and then proceeded to fabricate an alibi. Being something of a mechanic, he arranged a mechanical alibi. The device he chose was simple and obvious enough—no tortuosities or complications. And it would have succeeded but for what the insurance companies piously83 call an act of God. No one can foresee accidents, Markham: they wouldn’t be accidental if one could. But Spotswoode certainly took every precaution that was humanly possible. It never occurred to him that you would thwart84 his every effort to return here and confiscate85 the record; and he couldn’t anticipate my taste in music, nor know that I would seek solace86 in the tonal art. Furthermore, when one calls on a lady, one doesn’t expect that another suitor is going to hide himself in the clothes-press. It isn’t done, don’t y’ know. . . . All in all, the poor johnny was beaten by a run of abominable87 luck.”
“Don’t be so confoundedly moral, old thing. Every one’s a murderer at heart. The person who has never felt a passionate89 hankering to kill some one is without emotions. And do you think it’s ethics90 or theology that stays the average person from homicide? Dear no! It’s lack of courage—the fear of being found out, or haunted, or cursed with remorse91. Observe with what delight the people en masse—to wit, the state—put men to death, and then gloat over it in the newspapers. Nations declare war against one another on the slightest provocation92, so they can, with immunity93, vent94 their lust95 for slaughter96. Spotswoode, I’d say, is merely a rational animal with the courage of his convictions.”
“Society unfortunately isn’t ready for your nihilistic philosophy just yet,” said Markham. “And during the intervening transition human life must be protected.”
He rose resolutely97, and going to the telephone, called up Heath.
“Sergeant,” he ordered, “get a John-Doe warrant and meet me immediately at the Stuyvesant Club. Bring a man with you—there’s an arrest to be made.”
“At last the law has evidence after its own heart,” chirped98 Vance, as he lazily donned his top-coat and picked up his hat and stick. “What a grotesque99 affair your legal procedure is, Markham! Scientific knowledge—the facts of psychology—mean nothing to you learned Solons. But a phonograph record—ah! There, now, is something convincing, irrefragable, final, what?”
“Under no conditions,” he said, “is any one to enter this apartment until I return—not even with a signed permit.”
“So the newspapers want action, do they? Well, they’re going to get it. . . . You’ve helped me out of a nasty hole, old man.”
As he spoke102, his eyes turned to Vance. And that look conveyed a profounder gratitude103 than any words could have expressed.
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1
alacrity
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| n.敏捷，轻快，乐意 | |
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stifled
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| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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despondently
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| adv.沮丧地，意志消沉地 | |
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laboring
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| n.劳动，操劳v.努力争取(for)( labor的现在分词 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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erase
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| v.擦掉；消除某事物的痕迹 | |
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substantiate
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| v.证实；证明...有根据 | |
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12
sniffed
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| v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的过去式和过去分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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13
attuning
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| v.使协调( attune的现在分词 )；调音 | |
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vibrations
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| n.摆动( vibration的名词复数 )；震动；感受；（偏离平衡位置的）一次性往复振动 | |
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attune
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| v.使调和 | |
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investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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sardonic
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| adj.嘲笑的，冷笑的，讥讽的 | |
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scoffed
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| 嘲笑，嘲弄( scoff的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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deductions
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| 扣除( deduction的名词复数 )； 结论； 扣除的量； 推演 | |
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extricate
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| v.拯救，救出；解脱 | |
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caustic
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| adj.刻薄的，腐蚀性的 | |
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ardor
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| n.热情，狂热 | |
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contradictory
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| adj.反驳的，反对的，抗辩的；n.正反对，矛盾对立 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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haphazard
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| adj.无计划的，随意的，杂乱无章的 | |
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premise
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| n.前提；v.提论，预述 | |
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syllogism
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| n.演绎法，三段论法 | |
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defense
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| n.防御，保卫；[pl.]防务工事；辩护，答辩 | |
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contortions
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| n.扭歪，弯曲；扭曲，弄歪，歪曲( contortion的名词复数 ) | |
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automobile
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| n.汽车，机动车 | |
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fussy
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| adj.为琐事担忧的，过分装饰的，爱挑剔的 | |
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supplanted
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| 把…排挤掉，取代( supplant的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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renaissance
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| n.复活，复兴，文艺复兴 | |
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artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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wager
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| n.赌注；vt.押注，打赌 | |
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bind
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| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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meditatively
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| adv.冥想地 | |
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crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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corrugated
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| adj.波纹的；缩成皱纹的；波纹面的；波纹状的v.（使某物）起皱褶(corrugate的过去式和过去分词) | |
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44
chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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45
manifestation
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| n.表现形式；表明；现象 | |
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46
perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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muster
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| v.集合，收集，鼓起，激起；n.集合，检阅，集合人员，点名册 | |
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48
squat
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| v.蹲坐，蹲下；n.蹲下；adj.矮胖的，粗矮的 | |
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49
casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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50
banter
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| n.嘲弄，戏谑；v.取笑，逗弄，开玩笑 | |
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cursorily
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| adv.粗糙地，疏忽地，马虎地 | |
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52
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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53
grumbled
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| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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54
tolerance
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| n.宽容；容忍，忍受；耐药力；公差 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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56
revolving
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| adj.旋转的，轮转式的；循环的v.（使）旋转( revolve的现在分词 )；细想 | |
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57
patrician
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| adj.贵族的，显贵的；n.贵族；有教养的人；罗马帝国的地方官 | |
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58
mechanism
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| n.机械装置；机构，结构 | |
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59
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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61
tingling
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| v.有刺痛感( tingle的现在分词 ) | |
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62
chuckle
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| vi.／n.轻声笑，咯咯笑 | |
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63
alibi
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| n.某人当时不在犯罪现场的申辩或证明；借口 | |
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asses
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| n. 驴，愚蠢的人，臀部 adv. (常用作后置)用于贬损或骂人 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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riveted
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| 铆接( rivet的过去式和过去分词 )； 把…固定住； 吸引； 引起某人的注意 | |
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67
penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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68
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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enacted
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| 制定（法律），通过（法案）( enact的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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timbre
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| n.音色，音质 | |
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71
synchronization
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| n.同一时刻；同步；使时间互相一致；同时性 | |
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72
poker
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| n.扑克；vt.烙制 | |
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73
importuned
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| v.纠缠，向（某人）不断要求( importune的过去式和过去分词 )；（妓女）拉（客） | |
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74
retrieving
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| n.检索（过程），取还v.取回( retrieve的现在分词 )；恢复；寻回；检索（储存的信息） | |
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75
wails
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| 痛哭，哭声( wail的名词复数 ) | |
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76
blackmail
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| n.讹诈，敲诈，勒索，胁迫，恫吓 | |
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opulence
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| n.财富，富裕 | |
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78
cleaver
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| n.切肉刀 | |
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blackmailer
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| 敲诈者，勒索者 | |
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retrieve
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| vt.重新得到，收回；挽回，补救；检索 | |
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throttled
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| v.扼杀( throttle的过去式和过去分词 )；勒死；使窒息；压制 | |
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forthright
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| adj.直率的，直截了当的 [同]frank | |
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piously
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| adv.虔诚地 | |
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84
thwart
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| v.阻挠，妨碍，反对；adj.横(断的) | |
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85
confiscate
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| v.没收(私人财产)，把…充公 | |
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86
solace
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| n.安慰；v.使快乐；vt.安慰(物)，缓和 | |
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87
abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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88
tartly
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| adv.辛辣地，刻薄地 | |
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89
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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ethics
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| n.伦理学；伦理观，道德标准 | |
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remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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92
provocation
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| n.激怒，刺激，挑拨，挑衅的事物，激怒的原因 | |
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immunity
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| n.优惠；免除；豁免，豁免权 | |
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vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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95
lust
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| n.性(淫)欲；渴(欲)望；vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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96
slaughter
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| n.屠杀，屠宰；vt.屠杀，宰杀 | |
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97
resolutely
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| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
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98
chirped
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| 鸟叫，虫鸣( chirp的过去式 ) | |
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99
grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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100
beckoned
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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101
chauffeur
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| n.(受雇于私人或公司的)司机；v.为…开车 | |
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102
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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103
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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