Vincent Starrett: The Blue Door

“It’s an even break, in Andy’s case,” said Lavender. “He may have been lured away, as Mrs. Mumford was; or he may have had a hand in what occurred. I have no right, yet, to guess which. But his disappearance is something that must be cleared up before we can be sure of anything.”

We left them together, the stricken uncle and the representative of order, the one watching us with the eyes of a condemned man hoping for reprieve, the other with burning curiosity and some disappointment.

The boathouse door yielded to our touch but there were no traces of tragedy within. As far as it was possible to say, the Coolbrith boat had not been used in some time. With the dock as our pivotal point, we began to stroll the beach, turning our eyes alternately upon the sandy shore and the bushy hillside that flanked it. It was a low hill, a mere dune, and back of it lay the somewhat higher land, bright with the green of trees and shrubs and deep with long grasses, all tangled and untamed.

“A happy and attractive spot,” observed Jimmie Lavender thoughtfully, “although gloomy enough, I suppose, in bad weather. Under the sun, however, one would hardly believe that it could harbor a tragedy. For the most part, people associate tragedy with poverty and squalor; but how often it occurs in the midst of comfort and the gayest of surroundings!”

I had no idea what he was getting at, nor what he expected to find, and I hastened to say so.

“I think I could be a more intelligent assistant, Jimmie, if I knew what we were seeking,” I concluded.

He moved his arm in a sweeping gesture that seemed to embrace the whole island and the water that lay beyond it.

“At this instant, no one thing in particular,” he responded. “Anything or nothing, perhaps. In a sense, I am placing myself in the position of those who visited the island before me; those who came here with sinister purpose. Undoubtedly the place was known to them, in some degree. I want to become thoroughly acquainted with the island and its secrets, and it may be that as we go along we shall see the significant spots, as others saw them before us. A spot that looks like a shrewd hiding place we shall investigate, simply because the same idea may have occurred to others.”

“But what do you expect to find hidden?”

“Suppose,” said Lavender, “suppose that I knew I should have occasion to bury something? I would, of course, pick my spot in advance. I would not let mere chance, on a stormy night, guide me.”

“Then you are looking for bodies!” I asserted bluntly. “Is that it?”

“I am looking for anything that looks significant; that will throw a light on the occurrences of Sunday night. Consider the situation, Gilly. A man servant disappears, a woman servant is called away, a dog vanishes no one knows how or why. Beyond question it is all part of a carefully laid plot—for exactly what purpose is not yet apparent, perhaps. The woman went willingly, the man may have gone unwillingly or he may have been part of the conspiracy. The dog is a question mark. If he had gone with the man—with Andy—his disappearance would have been less mysterious; but did he go with the man? Mrs. Mumford thinks that the dog may have been here when she left, although she did not see him and he had refused to answer calls. The dog may have liked Andy, but he was devoted to Marian Coolbrith; he was her dog. Did he go with Andy, then, or before Andy, or after the departure of Mrs. Mumford?”

“Well?”

“I think the dog was killed,” declared Lavender emphatically. “If he had merely run away, which seems unlikely, he would have returned when he was called. But the dog wouldn’t have been allowed to live. He would be too dangerous a witness. He might be a possible tracker. No, Mac was killed, and as dead dogs are not pleasant passengers, and take up some room, I imagine he was buried someplace on the island.”

“Not in the sand!” I objected.

“Probably not. One never can be sure what a high sea will uncover and disclose. Besides, people are forever digging in sand. I think we may assume that Mac is not under the sand.”

We reached the end of the island, and for a moment stood looking out across the water; then we rounded the point and began our homeward journey on the side facing the open Sound. Here the beach was less wide and smooth. We left the sand, and climbing to the bulwark of stones that lay above the beach crossed a single line of trees and entered a narrow footpath, heavily shaded on the side farthest from the water. And in time we came upon a depression, a long hollow, around which grew a fringe of trees and bushes, but within which there was nothing but earth and fallen leaves and a combination of the two that can only be described as muck.

Lavender stopped at the crest of the crater.

“There may be better places farther along,” he thoughtfully observed, “but certainly this would do very nicely.” And rolling up his trouser ends, he gingerly picked his way down the incline until he was ankle deep in the damp paste of leaves and earth. I followed with considerable distaste.

“There should be traces here,” continued the detective, “but the storm may have obliterated them. A great many branches have fallen. Don’t slosh around too much, Gilly, or you may spoil something. Good heavens, it would take a whole day to turn up this place with spades!” he grumbled, viewing the messy bottom with a frown.

Very cautiously we began to work our way around the edges of the hollow, glancing keenly into its tangled center as we trod, and occasionally poking into the ruck with the points of our sticks. As well as I could, I trod in Lavender’s footsteps, and in this fashion we negotiated half the length of the gully.

Suddenly I gave a shout that caused the detective to turn in surprise. My heart was beating rapidly, and a high sense of triumph was filling my soul. Happening to glance across the sunken land to its farther side, my eye had caught the distinct impression, deeply indented, of a pair of boots. I pointed excitedly, and Lavender’s eyes followed my finger. He nodded.

“Good for you, Gilly!” he said. “I think you’ve hit the very spot. Your unscientific habit of mind is forever justified. In time, by easy stages, I should have come upon it myself, on the other side, and my careful search would have been scientifically rewarded. But your wandering eye, refusing to follow the course of discipline and logic, must needs stray haphazard over the entire scene—with the result that we are saved twenty minutes of futile search.”

He smiled whimsically at me; then his eyes darkened as he fixed them on the impressions.

“Yes,” he said, “somebody jumped the puddle at that point, and went in pretty deep. The toes point away from the center, you will observe. He probably did it in the dark, with only a flashlight on this side to help him. Well, where he went in the dark, I suppose we can follow in daylight.”

Advancing to a point somewhat farther along the ravine, he launched himself into space and cleared the muck hole at a bound. I followed more heavily, and we advanced together upon the discovery. In the hollow, close beside it, was a tangle of boughs, and under the boughs a dun level of brown leaves and black earth, solidly packed.

“It’s the place, Gilly,” said the detective soberly. “The earth is packed tight, and elsewhere it is loose and as the storm left it. This is a grave!”

With a small implement like a trowel which he produced from one of his miraculous pockets, he leaned far over and began to dig. I watched him with something like horror.

My find was no false alarm; that was speedily apparent. Tufts of reddish hair began to show in the broken soil, and rapidly they became a wide patch. Then slowly a recognizable shape emerged. Five minutes more of digging and turning, and Lavender rose to his feet. In silence we looked down upon the body of a large and handsome dog.