The Benson Murder Case by S. S. Van Dine Page A

jumped up, and pressed the button she had indicated. A tiny, shallow drawer shot out; and in it lay a Smith and Wesson thirty-eight revolver with an inlaid pearl handle. He picked it up, broke the carriage, and looked at the head of the cylinder.
    â€œFull,” he announced laconically.
    An expression of tremendous relief spread over the woman’s features, and she sighed audibly.
    Markham had risen and was looking at the revolver over Heath’s shoulder.
    â€œYou’d better take charge of it, Sergeant,” he said; “though I don’t see exactly how it fits in with the case.”
    He resumed his seat, and glancing at the notation Vance had given him, turned again to the housekeeper.
    â€œOne more question, Mrs. Platz. You said Mr. Benson came home early and spent his time before dinner in this room. Did he have any callers during that time?”
    I was watching the woman closely, and it seemed to me that she quickly compressed her lips. At any rate, she sat up a little straighter in her chair before answering.
    â€œThere wasn’t no one, so far as I know.”
    â€œBut surely you would have known if the bell rang,” insisted Markham. “You would have answered the door, wouldn’t you?”
    â€œThere wasn’t no one,” she repeated, with a trace of sullenness.
    â€œAnd last night: did the door-bell ring at all after you had retired?”
    â€œNo, sir.”
    â€œYou would have heard it, even if you’d been asleep?”
    â€œYes, sir. There’s a bell just outside my door, the same as in the kitchen. It rings in both places. Mr. Benson had it fixed that way.”
    Markham thanked her and dismissed her. When she had gone, he looked at Vance questioningly.
    â€œWhat idea did you have in your mind when you handed me those questions?”
    â€œI might have been a bit presumptuous, y’know,” said Vance; “but when the lady was extolling the deceased’s popularity, I rather felt she was overdoing it a bit. There was an unconscious implication of antithesis in her eulogy, which suggested to me that she herself was not ardently enamoured of the gentleman.”
    â€œAnd what put the notion of firearms into your mind?”
    â€œThat query,” explained Vance, “was a corollary of your own question about barred windows and Benson’s fear of burglars. If he was in a funk about house-breakers or enemies, he’d be likely to have weapons at hand-—eh, what?”
    â€œWell, anyway, Mr. Vance,” put in Heath, “your curiosity unearthed a nice little revolver that’s probably never been used.”
    â€œBy the bye, Sergeant,” returned Vance, ignoring the other’s good humoured sarcasm, “just what do you make of that nice little revolver?”
    â€œWell, now,” Heath replied, with ponderous facetiousness, “I deduct that Mr. Benson kept a pearl-handled Smith and Wesson in a secret drawer of his centre-table.”
    â€œYou don’t say so—really!” exclaimed Vance in mock admiration. “Pos’tively illuminatin’!”
    Markham broke up this raillery.
    â€œWhy did you want to know about visitors, Vance? There obviously hadn’t been anyone here.”
    â€œOh, just a whim of mine. I was assailed by an impulsive yearning to hear what La Platz would say.”
    Heath was studying Vance curiously. His first impressions of the man were being dispelled, and he had begun to suspect that beneath the other’s casual and debonair exterior there was something of a more solid nature than he had at first imagined. He was not altogether satisfied with Vance’s explanations to Markham, and seemed to be endeavouring to penetrate to his real reasons for supplementing the District Attorney’s interrogation of the housekeeper. Heath was astute, and he had the worldly man’s ability to reajd people;but Vance, being different from the men with whom he