Its not as bad as that, Markham retorted, with an attempt at good nature, although the strain of the past few weeks had tended to upset his habitual equanimity. If there werent rules of evidence, grave injustice would too often be done innocent persons. And even a criminal is entitled to protection in our courts.
Vance yawned mildly.
Markham, you should have been a pedagogue. Its positively amazin how youve mastered all the standard oratorical replies to criticism. And yet, Im unconvinced. You remember the Wisconsin case of the kidnapped man whom the courts declared presumably dead. Even when he reappeared, hale and hearty, among his former neighbors, his status of being presumably dead was not legally altered. The visible and demonstrable fact that he was actually alive was regarded by the court as an immaterial and impertinent side-issue.[13] Then theres the touchin situationso prevalent in this fair countryof a man being insane in one State and sane in another. Really, y know, you cant expect a mere lay intelligence, unskilled in the benign processes of legal logic, to perceive such subtle nuances. Your layman, swaddled in the darkness of ordinry common sense, would say that a person who is a lunatic on one bank of a river would still be a lunatic if he was on the opposite bank. And hed also holderroneously, no doubtthat if a man was living, he would presumably be alive.
Why this academic dissertation? asked Markham, this time a bit irritably.
It seems to touch rather vitally on the source of your present predicament, Vance explained equably. The police, not being lawyers, have apparently got you into hot water, what? Why not start an agitation to send all detectives to law school?
Youre a great help, retorted Markham.
Vance raised his eyebrows slightly.
Why disparage my suggestion? Surely you must perceive that it has merit. A man without legal training, when he knows a thing to be true, ignores all incompetent testimony to the contrry, and clings to the facts. A court of law listens solemnly to a mass of worthless testimony, and renders a decision not on the facts but according to a complicated set of rules. The result, d ye see, is that a court often acquits a prisoner, realizing full well that he is guilty. Many a judge has said, in effect, to a culprit: I know, and the jury knows, that you committed the crime, but in view of the legally admissible evidence, I declare you innocent. Go and sin again.
Markham grunted. Id hardly endear myself to the people of this county if I answered the current strictures against me by recommending law courses for the Police Department.
Permit me, then, to suggest the alternative of Shakespeares butcher: Lets kill all the lawyers.
Unfortunately, its a situation, not a utopian theory, that has to be met.
And just how, asked Vance lazily, do you propose to reconcile the sensible conclusions of the police with what you touchingly call correctness of legal procedure?
To begin with, Markham informed him, Ive decided henceforth to do my own investigating of all important night-club criminal cases. I called a conference of the heads of my departments yesterday, and from now on theres going to be some real activity radiating direct from my office. I intend to produce the kind of evidence I need for convictions.
Vance slowly took a cigarette from his case and tapped it on the arm of his chair.
Ah! So you are going to substitute the conviction of the innocent for the acquittal of the guilty?
Markham was nettled; turning in his chair he frowned at Vance.
I wont pretend not to understand your remark, he said acidulously. Youre back again on your favorite theme of the inadequacy of circumstantial evidence as compared with your psychological theories and aesthetic hypotheses.
Quite so, agreed Vance carelessly. Y know, Markham, your sweet and charmin faith in circumstantial evidence is positively disarming. Before it, the ordinry powers of ratiocination are benumbed. I tremble for the innocent victims you are about to gather into your legal net. Youll eventually make the mere attendance at any cabaret a frightful hazard.
Markham smoked a while in silence. Despite the seeming bitterness at times in the discussions of these two men, there was at bottom no animosity in their attitude toward each other. Their friendship was of long standing, and, despite the dissimilarity of their temperaments and the marked difference in their points of view, a profound mutual respect formed the basis of their intimate relationship.
At length Markham spoke.
Why this sweeping deprecation of circumstantial evidence? I admit that at times it may be misleading; but it often forms powerful presumptive proof of guilt. Indeed, Vance, one of our greatest legal authorities has demonstrated that it is the most powerful actual evidence in existence. Direct evidence, in the very nature of crime, is almost always unavailable. If the courts had to depend on it, the great majority of criminals would still be at large.
I was under the impression that this precious majority had always enjoyed its untrammelled freedom.
Markham ignored the interruption.
Take this example: A dozen adults see an animal running across the snow, and testify that it was a chicken; whereas a child sees the same animal, and declares it was a duck. They thereupon examine the animals footprints and find them to be the web-footed tracks made by a duck. Is it not conclusive, then, that the animal was a duck and not a chicken, despite the preponderance of direct evidence?
Ill grant you your duck, acceded Vance indifferently.
And having gratefully accepted the gift, pursued Markham, I propound a corollary: A dozen adults see a human figure crossing the snow, and take oath it was a woman; whereas a child asserts that the figure was a man. Now, will you not also grant that the circumstantial evidence of a mans footprints in the snow would supply incontrovertible proof that it was, in fact, a man, and not a woman?
Not at all, my dear Justinian, replied Vance, stretching his legs languidly in front of him; unless, of course, you could show that a human being possesses no higher order of brains than a duck.
What have brains to do with it? Markham asked impatiently. Brains dont affect ones footprints.
Not those of a duck, certainly. But brains might very welland, no doubt, often doaffect the footprints of a human being.
Am I having a lesson in anthropology, Darwinian adaptability, or merely metaphysical speculation?
In none of those abstruse subjects, Vance assured him. Im merely stating a simple fact culled from observation.
Well, according to your highly and peculiarly developed processes of reasoning, would the circumstantial evidence of those masculine footprints indicate a man or a woman?
Not necessarily either, Vance answered; or, rather, a possibility of each. Such evidence, when applied to a human beingto a creature, that is, with a reasoning mindwould merely mean to me that the figure crossing the snow was either a man in his own shoes, or a woman in mans shoes; or perhaps, even, a long-legged child. In short, it would convey to my purely unlegal intelligence only that the tracks were made by some descendant of the Pithecanthropus erectus[14] wearing mens shoes on his nether limbssex and age unknown. A ducks spoors, on the other hand, I might be tempted to take at their face value.
Im delighted to observe, said Markham, that, at least, you repudiate the possibility of a duck dressing itself up in the gardeners boots.
Vance was silent for a moment; then he said:
The trouble with you modern Solons, d ye see, is that you attempt to reduce human nature to a formula; whereas the truth is that man, like life, is infinitely complex. Hes shrewd and trickyskilled for centuries in all the most diabolical chicaneries. He is a creature of low cunning, who, even in the normal course of his vain and idiotic struggle for existence, instinctively and deliberately tells ninety-nine lies to one truth. A duck, not having had the heaven-kissing advantages of human civilization, is a straightforward and eminently honest bird.
How, asked Markham, since you jettison all the ordinary means of arriving at a conclusion, would you decide the sex or species of this person who left the masculine footprints in the snow?
Vance blew a spiral of smoke toward the ceiling.
First, Id repudiate all the evidence of the twelve astigmatic adults and the one bright-eyed child. Next, Id ignore the footprints in the snow. Then, with a mind unprejudiced by dubious testimony and uncluttered with material clues, Id determine the exact nature of the crime which this fleeing person had committed. After having analyzed its various factors, I could infallibly tell you not only whether the culprit was a man or a woman, but I could describe his habits, character, and personality. And I could do all this whether the fleeing figure left male or female or kangaroo tracks, or used stilts, or rode off on a velocipede, or levitated without leaving tracks at all.
Markham smiled broadly. Youd be worse than the police in the matter of supplying me legal evidence, I fear.
I, at least, wouldnt procure evidence against some unsuspecting person whose boots had been appropriated by the real culprit, retorted Vance. And, y know, Markham, as long as you pin your faith to footprints youll inevitably arrest just those persons whom the actual criminals want you tonamely, persons who have had nothing to do with the criminal conditions youre about to investigate.
He became suddenly serious.
See here, old man; there are some shrewd intelligences at present allied with what the theologians call the powers of darkness. The surface appearances of many of these crimes that are worrying you are palpably deceptive. Personally, I dont put much stock in the theory that a malevolent gang of cut-throats have organized an American camorra, and made the silly night clubs their headquarters. The idea is too melodramatic. It smacks too much of the gaudy journalistic imagination: its too Eugène Sue-ish. Crime isnt a mass instinct except during war-time, and then its merely an obscene sport. Crime, d ye see, is a personal and individual business. One doesnt make up a partie carrée[15] for a murder as one does for a bridge game. Markham, old dear, dont let this romantic criminological idea lead you astray. And dont scrutinize the figurative footprints in the snow too closely. Theyll confuse you most horriblyyoure far too trustin and literal for this wicked world. I warn you that no clever criminal is going to leave his own footprints for your tape-measure and calipers.
He sighed deeply, and gave Markham a look of bantering commiseration.
And have you paused to consider that your first case may even be devoid of footprints? Alas! What, then, will you do?
I could overcome that difficulty by taking you along with me, suggested Markham, with a touch of irony. How would you like to accompany me on the next important case that breaks?
I am ravished by the idea, said Vance.
Two days later the front pages of our metropolitan press carried glaring headlines telling of the murder of Margaret Odell.
Chapter III. The Murder
(Tuesday, September 11; 8.30 a.m.)
It was barely half past eight on that momentous morning of September the 11th when Markham brought word to us of the event.
I was living temporarily with Vance at his home in East 38th Streeta large remodelled apartment occupying the two top floors of a beautiful mansion. For several years I had been Vances personal legal representative and adviser, having resigned from my fathers law firm of Van Dine, Davis and Van Dine to devote myself to his needs and interests. His affairs were by no means voluminous, but his personal finances, together with his numerous purchases of paintings and objets dart[16], occupied my full time without burdening me. This monetary and legal stewardship was eminently congenial to my tastes; and my friendship with Vance, which had dated from our undergraduate days at Harvard, supplied the social and human element in an arrangement which otherwise might easily have degenerated into one of mere drab routine.
On this particular morning I had risen early and was working in the library when Currie, Vances valet and majordomo, announced Markhams presence in the living-room. I was considerably astonished at this early-morning visit, for Markham well knew that Vance, who rarely rose before noon, resented any intrusion upon his matutinal slumbers. And in that moment I received the curious impression that something unusual and portentous was toward.
I found Markham pacing restlessly up and down, his hat and gloves thrown carelessly on the centre-table. As I entered he halted and looked at me with harassed eyes. He was a moderately tall man, clean-shaven, gray-haired, and firmly set up. His appearance was distinguished, and his manner courteous and kindly. But beneath his gracious exterior there was an aggressive sternness, an indomitable, grim strength, that gave one the sense of dogged efficiency and untiring capability.
Good morning, Van, he greeted me, with impatient perfunctoriness. Theres been another half-world murderthe worst and ugliest thus far. He hesitated, and regarded me searchingly. You recall my chat with Vance at the club the other night? There was something damned prophetic in his remarks. And you remember I half promised to take him along on the next important case. Well, the case has brokenwith a vengeance. Margaret Odell, whom they called the Canary, has been strangled in her apartment; and from what I just got over the phone, it looks like another night-club affair. Im headed for the Odell apartment now. What about rousing out the sybarite?
By all means, I agreed, with an alacrity which, I fear, was in large measure prompted by purely selfish motives. The Canary! If one had sought the city over for a victim whose murder would stir up excitement, there could have been but few selections better calculated to produce this result.
Hastening to the door, I summoned Currie, and told him to call Vance at once.
Im afraid, sir began Currie, politely hesitant.
Calm your fears, cut in Markham. Ill take all responsibility for waking him at this indecent hour.
Currie sensed an emergency and departed.
A minute or two later Vance, in an elaborately embroidered silk kimono and sandals, appeared at the living-room door.
My word! he greeted us, in mild astonishment, glancing at the clock. Havent you chaps gone to bed yet?
He strolled to the mantel, and selected a gold-tipped Régie cigarette from a small Florentine humidor.
Markhams eyes narrowed: he was in no mood for levity.
The Canary has been murdered, I blurted out.
Vance held his wax vesta poised, and gave me a look of indolent inquisitiveness. Whose canary?
Margaret Odell was found strangled this morning, amended Markham brusquely. Even you, wrapped in your scented cotton-wool, have heard of her. And you can realize the significance of the crime. Im personally going to look for those footprints in the snow; and if you want to come along, as you intimated the other night, youll have to get a move on.