“I’ll give them to him at once, Madeleine. And Humpty Dumpty thanks you for remembering him.” When the child had been led away by her governess, he turned to us. “She was Drukker’s favorite. . . . Funny fellow. Never went to the theatre. Detested travel. His only recreation was entertaining youngsters.”
I mention this episode because, in spite of its seeming unimportance, it was to prove one of the most vital links in the chain of evidence that eventually cleared up, beyond all question of doubt, the problem of the Bishop murders.
The death of Pardee had created a situation almost unique in the annals of modern crime. The statement given out by the District Attorney’s office had only intimated that there was a possibility of Pardee’s being guilty of the murders. Whatever Markham may have personally believed, he was far too honorable and just to cast any direct doubt on another’s character without overwhelming proofs. But the wave of terror arising from these strange murders had reached such proportions that he could not, in view of the duty he owed to the community, refrain from saying that he believed the case to be closed. Thus, while no open accusation of guilt was made against Pardee, the Bishop murders were no longer regarded as a source of menace to the city, and a sigh of relief went up from all quarters.
In the Manhattan Chess Club there was probably less discussion of the case than anywhere else in New York. The members felt perhaps that the club’s honor was in some way involved. Or there may have been a sense of loyalty toward a man who had done as much for chess as Pardee. But whatever the cause of the club’s avoidance of the subject, the fact remained that its members attended, almost to a man, Pardee’s funeral. I could not help admiring this tribute to a fellow chess player; for, whatever his personal acts, he had been one of the great sustaining patrons of the royal and ancient game to which they were devoted.[36]
Markham’s first official act on the day after Pardee’s death was to secure Sperling’s release. The same afternoon the Police Department moved all its records of the Bishop murders to the file marked “shelved cases,” and withdrew the guards from the Dillard house. Vance protested mildly against this latter step; but, in view of the fact that the Medical Examiner’s post-mortem report had substantiated in every particular the theory of suicide, there was little that Markham could do in the matter. Furthermore, he was thoroughly convinced that the death of Pardee had terminated the case; and he scoffed at Vance’s wavering doubts.
During the week following the finding of Pardee’s body Vance was restive and more distrait than usual. He attempted to interest himself in various matters, but without any marked success. He showed signs of irritability; and his almost miraculous equanimity seemed to have deserted him. I got the impression that he was waiting for something to happen. His manner was not exactly expectant, but there was a watchfulness in his attitude amounting at times almost to apprehension.
On the day following the Drukker funeral Vance called on Arnesson, and on Friday night accompanied him to a performance of Ibsen’s “Ghosts”—a play which, I happened to know, he disliked. He learned that Belle Dillard had gone away for a month’s visit to the home of a relative in Albany. As Arnesson explained, she had begun to show the effects of all she had been through, and needed a change of scene. The man was plainly unhappy over her absence, and confided to Vance that they had planned to be married in June. Vance also learned from him that Mrs. Drukker’s will had left everything to Belle Dillard and the professor in the event of her son’s death—a fact which appeared to interest Vance unduly.
Had I known, or even suspected, what astounding and terrible things were hanging over us that week, I doubt if I could have stood the strain. For the Bishop murder case was not ended. The climactic horror was still to come; but even that horror, terrific and staggering as it proved, was only a shadow of what it might have been had not Vance reasoned the case out to two separate conclusions, only one of which had been disposed of by Pardee’s death. It was this other possibility, as I learned later, that had kept him in New York, vigilant and mentally alert.
Monday, April 25, was the beginning of the end. We were to dine with Markham at the Bankers Club and go afterwards to a performance of “Die Meistersinger”[37]; but we did not witness the triumphs of Walther that night. I noticed that when we met Markham in the rotunda of the Equitable Building he seemed troubled; and we were no more than seated in the club grill when he told us of a phone call he had received from Professor Dillard that afternoon.
“He asked me particularly to come to see him to-night,” Markham explained; “and when I tried to get out of it he became urgent. He made a point of the fact that Arnesson would be away the entire evening, and said that a similar opportunity might not present itself until it was too late. I asked him what he meant by that; but he refused to explain, and insisted that I come to his house after dinner. I told him I’d let him know if I could make it.”