The Greatest Murder Mysteries of S. S. Van Dine - 12 Titles in One Volume (Illustrated Edition). S.S. Van Dine
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(Friday, September 14; noon)
Vance slept late the following day. I had accompanied him to the “Scandals” the night before, utterly at a loss to understand his strange desire to attend a type of entertainment which I knew he detested. At noon he ordered his car, and instructed the chauffeur to drive to the Belafield Hotel.
“We are about to call again on the allurin’ Alys,” he said. “I’d bring posies to lay at her shrine, but I fear dear Mannix might question her unduly about them.”
Miss La Fosse received us with an air of crestfallen resentment.
“I might’ve known it!” She nodded her head with sneering perception. “I suppose you’ve come to tell me the cops found out about me without the slightest assistance from you.” Her disdain was almost magnificent. “Did you bring ’em with you? . . . A swell guy you are!—But it’s my own fault for being a damn fool.”
Vance waited unmoved until she had finished her contemptuous tirade. Then he bowed pleasantly.
“Really, y’ know, I merely dropped in to pay my respects, and to tell you that the police have turned in their report of Miss Odell’s acquaintances, and that your name was not mentioned in it. You seemed a little worried yesterday on that score, and it occurred to me I could set your mind wholly at ease.”
The vigilance of her attitude relaxed.
“Is that straight? . . . My God! I don’t know what would happen if Louey’d find out I’d been blabbing.”
“I’m sure he won’t find out, unless you choose to tell him. . . . Won’t you be generous and ask me to sit down a moment?”
“Of course—I’m so sorry. I’m just having my coffee. Please join me.” She rang for two extra services.
Vance had drunk two cups of coffee less than half an hour before, and I marvelled at his enthusiasm for this atrocious hotel beverage.
“I was a belated spectator of the ‘Scandals’ last night,” he remarked in a negligent, conversational tone. “I missed the revue earlier in the season.—How is it you yourself were so late in seeing it?”
“I’ve been so busy,” she confided. “I was rehearsing for ‘A Pair of Queens’; but the production’s been postponed. Louey couldn’t get the theatre he wanted.”
“Do you like revues?” asked Vance. “I should think they’d be more difficult for the principals than the ordin’ry musical comedy.”
“They are.” Miss La Fosse adopted a professional air. “And they’re unsatisfactory. The individual is lost in them. There’s no real scope for one’s talent. They’re breathless, if you know what I mean.”
“I should imagine so.” Vance bravely sipped his coffee. “And yet, there were several numbers in the ‘Scandals’ that you could have done charmingly; they seemed particularly designed for you. I thought of you doing them, and—d’ ye know?—the thought rather spoiled my enjoyment of the young lady who appeared in them.”
“You flatter me, Mr. Vance. But, really, I have a good voice. I’ve studied very hard. And I learned dancing with Professor Markoff.”
“Indeed!” (I’m sure Vance had never heard the name before, but his exclamation seemed to imply that he regarded Professor Markoff as one of the world’s most renowned ballet-masters.) “Then you certainly should have been starred in the ‘Scandals.’ The young lady I have in mind sang rather indifferently, and her dancing was most inadequate. Moreover, she was many degrees your inferior in personality and attractiveness. . . . Confess: didn’t you have just a little desire last Monday night to be singing the ‘Chinese Lullaby’ song?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Miss La Fosse carefully considered the suggestion. “They kept the lights awfully low; and I don’t look so well in cerise. But the costumes were adorable, weren’t they?”
“On you they certainly would have been adorable. . . . What color are you partial to?”
“I love the orchid shades,” she told him enthusiastically; “though I don’t look at all bad in turquoise blue. But an artist once told me I should always wear white. He wanted to paint my portrait, but the gentleman I was engaged to then didn’t like him.”
Vance regarded her appraisingly.
“I think your artist friend was right. And, y’ know, the St. Moritz scene in the ‘Scandals’ would have suited you perfectly. The little brunette who sang the snow song, all in white, was delightful; but really, now, she should have had golden hair. Dusky beauties belong to the southern climes. And she impressed me as lacking the sparkle and vitality of a Swiss resort in midwinter. You could have supplied those qualities admirably.”
“Yes; I’d have liked that better than the Chinese number, I think. White fox is my favorite fur, too. But, even so, in a revue you’re on in one number and off in another. When it’s all over, you’re forgotten.” She sighed unhappily.
Vance set down his cup, and looked at her with whimsically reproachful eyes. After a moment he said:
“My dear, why did you fib to me about the time Mr. Mannix returned to you last Monday night? It wasn’t a bit nice of you.”
“What do you mean!” Miss La Fosse exclaimed in frightened indignation, drawing herself up into an attitude of withering hauteur.
“You see,” explained Vance, “the St. Moritz scene of the ‘Scandals’ doesn’t go on until nearly eleven, and it closes the bill. So you couldn’t possibly have seen it and also received Mr. Mannix here at half past ten.—Come. What time did he arrive here Monday night?”
The girl flushed angrily.
“You’re pretty slick, aren’t you? You shoulda been a cop. . . . Well, what if I didn’t get home till after the show? Any crime in that?”
“None whatever,” answered Vance mildly. “Only a little breach of good faith in telling me you came home early.” He bent forward earnestly. “I’m not here to make you trouble. On the contr’ry, I’d like to protect you from any distress or bother. You see, if the police go nosing round, they may run on to you. But if I’m able to give the District Attorney accurate information about certain things connected with Monday night, there’ll be no danger of the police being sent to look for you.”
Miss La Fosse’s eyes grew suddenly hard and her brow crinkled with determination.
“Listen! I haven’t got anything to hide, and neither has Louey. But if Louey asks me to say he’s somewhere at half past ten, I’m going to say it—see? That’s my idea of friendship. Louey had some good reason to ask it, too, or he wouldn’t have done it. However, since you’re so smart, and have accused me of playing unfair, I’m going to tell you that he didn’t get in till after midnight. But if anybody else asks me about it, I’ll see ’em in hell before I tell ’em anything but the half-past-ten story. Get that?”
Vance bowed.
“I get it; and I like you for it.”
“But don’t go away with the wrong idea,” she hurried on, her eyes sparkling with fervor. “Louey may not have got here till after midnight, but if you think he knows anything about Margy’s death, you’re crazy. He was through with Margy a year ago. Why, he hardly knew she was on earth. And if any fool cop gets the notion in his head that Louey was mixed up in the affair, I’ll alibi him—so help me God!—if it’s the last thing I do in this world.”
“I like you more and more,” said Vance; and when she gave him her hand at parting he lifted it to his lips.
As we rode down-town Vance was thoughtful. We were nearly to the Criminal Courts Building before he spoke.
“The primitive Alys rather appeals to me,” he said. “She’s