Ted Gill groaned.
“That,” Fox said, “can wait. Any of you may ask Miss Heath about it later if you find it worth while. It is Mr. Gill’s opinion that, seeing the violin there, she surrendered to an irrational and irresistible impulse.”
“I don’t believe it,” Mrs. Pomfret said flatly.
“Well,” Perry Dunham offered, “here’s a suggestion that may solve two mysteries at once. I doubt if she’s a Nazi, but what if she’s a kleptomaniac?” He grinned crookedly at his stepfather. “She was here the day your Wan Li vase was stolen, wasn’t she? I’ll bet she swiped it, maybe starting a collection. Then she swiped the violin to start another collection—”
“Do you,” Koch inquired acidly of Mrs. Pomfret, “approve of your son’s brand of humor, madam?”
She met his gaze and matched his tone. “I don’t regard it as humor, Mr. Koch. However he may have meant it. The same idea had occurred to me, quite seriously. When the vase disappeared you may remember that you said, of course in jest, that you must have taken it yourself because you were the only one present who appreciated its beauty and value. Though my husband and I have suspected Miss Heath all along, we have naturally kept silent, since there has been no evidence. Now we may at least say what we think. You agree, Henry?”
“I suppose so.” Pomfret looked uncomfortable. “If it will do any good. If it will get the vase back...”
“It may have that result.” Mrs. Pomfret aimed her shrewed eyes at Fox. “Will you please tell us how you learned that it was Miss Heath who stole the violin?”
“No,” Fox said bluntly. “At least not now, because I have something more important to tell you. We’ve been investigating what happened to the violin after Tusar used it Monday evening. Now the question is, what happened to it before he used it?”
There was an edge to his voice, a warning mordacity, that fastened all eyes on him.
“Or rather,” he went on, “the question is, who did it, because I know what happened. At some time between Monday noon and eight o’clock that evening, someone poured a lot of varnish through one of the f-holes and tilted the violin around to spread it over the inside of the back.”
There were ejaculations of incredulity and astonishment.
“God almighty,” Felix Beck said. “But that... no one alive—” He stopped, stunned.
“I discovered it,” Fox continued, “when I inserted a pencil flash through an f-hole. I could see only a portion of the inside, so I don’t know whether it’s spread all over or not, but probably it is. I scraped some out with a stick, and it’s still gummy, so it hasn’t been there long. I consulted an expert—”
“Where is it?” Adolph Koch demanded.
“As I said, on the inside—”
“No, I mean the violin. Where’s the violin?”
“It’s in a bank vault. You may take my word for it that the varnish is there. An expert told me that it may be permanently ruined. It can be unboarded and the varnish removed, but it has probably soaked into the wood fibers enough to alter the tone even if that is done. He also told me that a thick coat of varnish on the inside of either the back or the belly would destroy the resonance and brilliance of any fine violin, and that anyone familiar with musical instruments would know that.”
He looked around at them, his penetrating gaze halting a moment at each face; and when it reached Hebe Heath, she, choosing that juncture to contribute a grotesquerie which under more favorable circumstances would have got her the entire audience, pressed her palms to her breasts and exclaimed in a hollow and dreadful tone:
“Varnish!”
But no one seemed to hear it. Each in his turn and his own way was meeting the challenge of Fox’s silent survey. He broke the silence and spoke to alclass="underline"
“So you have it, and you don’t like it. I don’t blame you. I suppose Miss Tusar regards this as confirming her suspicion that her brother was murdered. Perhaps. Perhaps not, legally. Whoever ruined his violin may merely have intended to humiliate and disgrace him. Even if it was calculated that in his distress Tusar would kill himself, it would be difficult, if not impossible, to prove that the calculation existed and led to premeditated murder. So I doubt if anyone is going to pay for Tusar’s life with his own. But some kind of payment is going to be made. When I sat in that auditorium Monday evening and watched Tusar’s face I didn’t know what was going on, but I do now, and though I’ve dealt with a lot of crime professionally, including murder, I don’t remember anything quite as damnable and devilish as that.”
“Is your tone,” Koch inquired caustically, “intended to rebuke our moral palsy? I assure you I didn’t pour varnish in Jan’s violin.”
There were mutterings. Fox said sharply. “A rebuke is none of my business, but the facts are. I am no longer making a friendly report to a group of which I am a member. I am going to do one of two things immediately: either I shall question each of you in turn privately and thoroughly, and you will answer—”
“Fish! Mrs. Pomfret said emphatically. “We certainly have to decide what’s to be done, but if you think you’re going to turn my house into a police station—”
“That’s the alternative, Mrs. Pomfret. The police, or me. Moreover, I’ll start with your son. When I was left alone here the other day, he came and said you wanted me. He stayed here, I went out, but I doubled back and looked through the keyhole, and he had pawed into the package and got the violin. If you had seen his face when I entered, and heard what he said, you would have known as I did that he wasn’t merely passing the time.”
Eyes went to Perry Dunham. Mrs. Pomfret, frowning at Fox in disbelief, opened her mouth and closed it again, and then turned to her son and asked quietly, “What is this, Perry?”
“Nothing, Mum.” The young man reached across Wells to pat the back of her hand. “You know me, always up to mischief. I was going to plant a clue for him.”
Fox shook his head. “You’ll have to do a lot better than that before we’re through.” He stood up. “If the rest of you will please leave me here with Mr. Dunham? Since it’s Sunday afternoon, I don’t suppose any of you have important engagements. If you have, and must leave before I get to you, I would like to see you as soon as possible. When I finish here I may or may not report to the police. That will depend.”
Hesitantly, with glances and murmurs, they pushed back their chairs. Koch addressed Fox:
“You said the varnish was put in the violin between noon Monday and eight in the evening. How do you know that?”
“Because the tone was all right when Tusar finished practicing with Miss Mowbray at noon.”
“How do you justify your assumption that one of us did it?”
“Not my assumption. I make a start here, that’s all.”
Most of them had started for the door, but were lingering. Mrs. Pomfret had moved to confront Fox:
“I’m going to have a few words with my son. I’ll send him back here as soon as I’m through. This high-handed procedure — I presume you are aware that your threat to go to the police is a gross breach of our confidence in your discretion?”
“I don’t regard it so.” Fox met her gaze. “And I meant what I said. I wish to question your son immediately.”
“So do I. And I intend to. I would advise you, Mr. Fox—”
“Take me first,” Henry Pomfret interceded from behind her elbow. “That is, if I’m included—”
“Attaboy,” Perry Dunham cackled. “Hurling yourself into the front line—”
“Come, Perry.” Mrs. Pomfret had her son’s arm.