The Broken Vase

Chapter 16

Dora, sitting on the piano bench, wrinkled her forehead, hesitated, and said, “That’s funny.”

Fox felt a tingling in his stomach. “What’s funny about it?”

“Why — it was so long ago — and now you ask about it. Why do you ask about it now?”

“I’m curious. Something made me curious.” Fox threw one knee over the other and smiled at her. “But that wasn’t what you meant when you said it was funny. You mean something else. What was funny about it?”

Dora smiled back, but shook her head. “That’s all I meant.”

“No. It isn’t. You meant there was something funny about the broken vase, not about my asking. Come on, now. Didn’t you?”

“Well... yes.”

“Okay. What?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

“Because that’s one of the promises I made my father. You don’t need to tell me it’s silly, I know it is — but I did break promises I made Dad while he was alive, little ones — and since he died — I want to keep them...” She fluttered a hand.

“Did your father break the vase?”

“Oh, no!”

“Did the promise you made concern him? I mean was it to protect him from some disgraceful or dishonorable—”

“Good heavens, no!”

“Would it reflect discredit on his—”

“No, nothing like that at all.” Dora gestured impatiently. “I told you I know it’s silly, but I just won’t break any promises I made him, that’s all.”

“Well.” Fox leaned back. “All right. Two men are murdered, and possibly three, but the murderer goes free because you don’t want to break a silly promise you made your father.”

“Murderer?” Dora goggled at him. “That’s ridiculous!”

“No, it isn’t.”

“But it is!”

“I say it isn’t, and I know a lot more about it than you do. I knew there was something phony about that broken vase before I came to ask you about it, or I wouldn’t have come. I’m telling you straight, Miss Mowbray. If you keep that promise to your father you’re shielding a murderer.”

“But it has nothing to do with a murder!”

“It has.”

“It’s absurd!”

“No.” Fox leaned forward at her. “Now look. Use a little common sense. Tell me about it. If it’s not what I think it may be, I forget it. If it’s what I suspect, you wouldn’t want me to forget it. Would you?”

“No.” Dora admitted reluctantly. “Not if...”

“Certainly not. Here’s what I already know. On a December afternoon sixty or seventy people were guests at a musical at Mrs. Pomfret’s. In the drawing room. During an intermission drinks were served in the yellow room, and after the program there were refreshments. The Ming five-color was on a low cabinet in a far corner of the yellow room. After some, perhaps all, of the guests had departed — specifically, Diego and Beck and Adolph Koch had left — it was discovered that the vase was broken. Is that correct?”

“Yes,” Dora admitted. “Except that some of the guests were still there. I was.”

“How many of them?”

“Just a few. Ten or twelve.”

“Do you remember who they were?”

“Well...” Dora pursed her lips. “Mrs. Briscoe. Glissinger. Barbinini. And Elaine Hart, I know she was, because she was at the other end of the room with Perry when he found the vase—”

“Perry Dunham? Was it he who made the discovery?”

“Yes. The rest of us were around the fireplace when a loud whistle came from Perry across the room and he called to Mr. Pomfret to come. Then Mr. Pomfret yelled for his wife, and we all went to see what it was, and there was the vase in a dozen pieces on the floor.”

“And?”

“That’s all. Mr. Pomfret looked as if he was going to cry, and he couldn’t speak, so Mrs. Pomfret asked us if we knew anything about it, and we said we didn’t and cleared out.”

“But what was funny about that?” Fox was frowning. “What was it that you regarded as funny?”

“The funny thing didn’t happen there.”

“Where did it happen?”

“At home. Afterwards. Dad had left before the program was over to keep an appointment, and later, when he came home to dinner, before I mentioned what had happened, he said he supposed Pomfret had sent for the police about the vase. I asked how he knew about it, and he said that on his way out he had meant to stop in the yellow room for a drink, by the door from the reception hall, but as he was about to enter he saw the reflection of Pomfret in that big mirror at the end. He stopped at the expression on Pomfret’s face, and saw that he had in his hand a piece of the Ming vase, and he didn’t want to be delayed by the rumpus he knew Pomfret would make, so he went on out.”

“Pomfret didn’t see him.”

“Apparently not.”

Fox had a gleam in his eye. “So the broken vase was discovered twice, by different people.”

Dora nodded. “It looked that way. I told Dad he must have been mistaken, because Pomfret had said nothing about it, and he was standing there talking with us calmly and naturally when Perry called to him, and he was certainly surprised and shocked when he saw the vase, but Dad said he was positive he had seen the piece of the vase with the yellow dragon on it in Pomfret’s hand. Later he asked me to promise I wouldn’t mention it to anyone, and I did. He said we had all we could do to attend to the monkey business in our own lives without butting in on other people’s.” Dora bit her lip. “He was a wise man — and he was kind, very kind. He never liked Mr. Pomfret.”

“Did he have any theory to account for that particular monkey business?”

“I don’t think so. If he had he didn’t tell me.”

“Did he ever mention the vase again?”

“Not that I remember. I’m sure he didn’t.”

“Presumably Pomfret was alone in the yellow room when your father saw him?”

“Presumably. The program was going on.”

“How long was it from then until the moment Perry Dunham discovered the vase?”

“Oh...” Dora considered. “Half an hour, or maybe a little more.”

“Well.” Fox leaned back, frowned at the keyboard, and pulled at the tip of his ear. “I suppose it’s more than I had any right to expect, but it certainly isn’t much in the way of proof, especially since your father is — gone.”

“You said,” Dora reminded him, “that if it wasn’t what you thought—”

“But it is.”

She looked skeptical. “What you thought it might be?”

“Exactly. Not the details of course, but the implications. It was the first scene of a comedy which later turned into a dreadful tragedy. I know it was dreadful, because I saw Jan Tusar’s face when he was trying to get music out of that violin that night.”

A shiver ran over Dora. “I forget that. When I can.”

“I don’t,” Fox said grimly. Abruptly he arose. “For the present you’ll have to take my word for it that you won’t regret breaking the promise you made your father. If you made any others, keep them. It’s a good idea. But I’ll probably have to ask you to repeat it, just as you told it to me, in the presence of others. If I do, it will be under circumstances which will convince you that it’s necessary. In the meantime, for God’s sake don’t mention it to anybody. Three murders and another attempt at one are enough.”

Dora stared at him. “Three?”

Fox nodded. “Your father. I’m beginning to think that the only thing wrong with your suspicions was that they lighted on the wrong man.”