"041 (B076) - The Black Spot (1936-07) - Laurence Donovan" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

It had become abruptly apparent to Captain Graves that Andrew Podrey Vandersleeve was permanently removed from all responsibility for the weird and tragic affairs of this wild night. Only a glance was required to tell that the millionaire was dead.
Captain Graves rattled out orders. These included one that barred any person departing from the Vandersleeve house. Next he sent outside for the medical examiner, who had come up with him. After which, Captain Graves permitted only Arthur Jotther and two policemen to enter the library.
The captain remained at some distance from the polished desk. He was classifying every object with possible relation to the position of the millionaire's body.
The doctor was a fat, little man.
"Dead an hour, perhaps two hours," he announced almost as soon as he had touched Vandersleeve's body. "The body has stiffened, but it doesn't seem to be like rigor mortis. It's like he'd fought something and his muscles set that way when he died. Most unusual!"
"No more unusual, doc, than for ink to be spilled where there doesn't seem to be any ink to be upset," pointed Captain Graves. "His right hand spilled it, but there isn't any inkstand or bottle."
The medical examiner poked a fat finger at the little black pool on the desk alongside the dead man's right hand. The pool had nearly dried.
"WellЧwellЧwell!" sputtered the doctor.
He was rubbing the finger that had touched the dried black stain on the desk. He lifted the dead man's right hand. With one palm he rubbed the top of the smooth desk thoughtfully.
"Humph! Chemically impossible!"
"That's what I thought," said Captain Graves, "but I was waiting for your opinion. His wrist is slashed by the broken glass. That would be his blood. I've heard some of the old families claim it's blue, but I've never heard of that color even with a black sheep."
"Yes, his wrist was cut by the glass," said the medical examiner. "He had been drinking. Some one was with him."
"I'd judged that," said Captain Graves, referring to the decanter of red liquor and the two glasses on the desk. One of the glasses was shattered. "Perhaps he brought his hand down suddenly and broke the glass. It might have been he was struck."
"He wasn't struck," said the medical examiner. "There is no sign of violence, except for the cut on his wrist."
Arthur Jotther spoke unexpectedly with his meek, small voice.
"I don't think Mr. Vandersleeve was quarreling with any one. He seemed to be in an extremely jovial mood. As a matter of fact, it was I he was drinking with. He invited me, which was most unusual. We had two drinks. Then he said he did not want to be disturbed. I heard him lock the door."
"WellЧwellЧwell!" sputtered the medical examiner. "I was about to say perhaps the liquorЧit might have had something to do with the color of the bloodЧbut wait!"
With expert movement, the doctor produced a small lancet. With this he made a slight, deep incision across an area of the dead man's arm. The blood of the corpse was thick and did not flow.
But in the opened vein it was as black as that staining the desk.
"I suffered no ill effects from the drinks," suggested Jotther. "If you'll pardon me, I think perhaps the money might have something to do with it."
"I've been thinkin' about that money," said Captain Graves. "There's several grand on the desk. So it wasn't robbery. Doc, is there evidence of poison?"
"Well, it's my first experience with dark blood," retorted the examiner. "Offhand, I'd say it probably is poison."
"Then it could be suicide," said Captain Graves, but his eyes were boring into Arthur Jotther. "Or there might have been poison placed in his glass. By the way, Mr. Jotther, what do you think?"
The quick, direct question indicated Captain Graves already had a suspicion of his own. Arthur Jotther's reply came with a slap of surprise.
"I don't believe Mr. Vandersleeve killed himself," he said, wildly. "There is considerable money missing. Would you object to my counting the money on the desk?"
Captain Graves whistled to himself.
"As far as Mr. Vandersleeve's death is concerned," added Arthur Jotther, "perhaps I could be said to have good reason for wishing it. Though I was his secretary, he was bitterly opposed to my hope of marrying Geneva, his daughter. Despite that, I believe I have been bequeathed a small fortune in his will."
"I'll be damned!" exploded Captain Graves. "O. K.! Count the money!"
The mild little man fingered the notes and silver quickly. "It comes to $18,450.80," he specified. "That means the sum of $131,549.20 is missing."
Captain Graves exclaimed again.
"That's a lot of money and it's a clever cover-up! It proves no ordinary crook pulled this job. Somebody's smart, too smart! All right, doc. Any more ideas on what killed him?"
The medical examiner had stripped back the millionaire's shirt. He was tentatively touching a mark directly over Vandersleeve's heart.
This was a round black spot, round as a perfect circle.
"Funny," murmured the medical examiner. "And it seems to penetrate deeply. It's something more than a surface discoloration. It will require an autopsy, of course, to determine its true character, but I would say offhand that black spot either originated from the heart or goes all the way in."
"Then he was hit?" quizzed the captain. "By what kind of a weapon?"
"No, I don't mean that. It isn't a bruise. The skin is unbroken and so are the veins underneath. It'sЧwell, it's just a black spotЧblack like his blood."
Captain Graves eyed Arthur Jotther keenly. The mild little man must be clever. Without reason he had volunteered the admission he stood to profit by Vandersleeve's death. That he had wanted to marry the millionaire's daughter.
"How do you know about the correct amount of money?" Graves suddenly questioned.
Arthur Jotther was not in the least disturbed.
"Mr. Vandersleeve brought $150,000 cash out from the city," he said quietly. "The sum was to take up a secret land option on the harbor. The other party insisted the payment be made in cash."
"And who is this other party?"
"I have no means of knowing," said Jotther. "Mr. Vandersleeve did not confide in me. Also, I know he destroyed the letter he received. He informed me of the purpose of the money. He was to have completed the deal tonight."
"Has big deal onЧdoesn't want to be disturbedЧand pulls a gangster party," muttered Captain Graves.
Chapter II. HANDS IN THE DARK
CAPTAIN GRAVES'S words cleared up much of the mystery of the night's weird happenings. While Andrew Podrey Vandersleeve had died at his desk with a mysterious black spot over his heart, his guests had staged their own conception of how hoodlums might enjoy themselves at a blowout.
The luridly painted women and the snarling, roughly garbed men were members of the swankiest set. The guns they used were loaded with harmless blanks. Members of society were giving an imitation of their belief how the underworld would dress and act.
It had been a "gangsters' party." Staid, exclusive Westchester would be many a day recovering from the night's bloody orgy. For the scene in the highway had not been on the program.
"We'll have every last man and woman in the house come through this room," announced Graves. "I want no word passed out as to what they will see, until they are in here to see it."
Among all of the gasping socially elect conducted through the death room were two distinctive figures. Perhaps it was because their hair was of somewhat the same flaming color.
"Red" Mahoney, a movie news cameraman, had been grinding out some "shots" of the gangster party. It would go to the screen under the heading, "Oddities in the News."