Free Rex Stout_Tecumseh Fox 03 by The Broken Vase Page A

dressing room and keep it concealed for two days?”
    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 havemeant 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 witha 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 all:
    “So you have it, and you don’t like it. I don’t blame you. I suppose Miss Tusar