The Greek Coffin Mystery

Chapter 8. Killed?

As they were about to re-enter the study downstairs, they heard voices from the drawing-room across the hall. The Inspector inquisitively trotted over and opened the door to peer in. His eyes sharpened and he strode inside without ceremony, Pepper and Ellery following meekly. They found Dr. Prouty chewing his cigar and looking out of the window into the graveyard, while another man―a man none of them had seen before―poked about the odorous corpse of Grimshaw. He straightened immediately, looking inquiry at Dr. Prouty. The Assistant Medical Examiner introduced the Queens and Pepper tersely, said: “This is Dr. Frost, Khalkis’s personal physician. Just came in,” and turned back to his window.

Dr. Duncan Frost was a handsome cleanly man, of fifty or more―the typical smart solid society physician with whom upper Fifth Avenue, Madison Avenue and the West Side commune for the preservation of their health. He murmured something polite and backed away, looking down at the swollen corpse with keen interest.

“I see you’ve been examining our find,” remarked the Inspector.

“Yes. Very interesting. Very interesting indeed,” replied Dr. Frost, “and quite incomprehensible to me. How on earth did this cadaver ever get into Khalkis’s coffin?”

“If we knew that, Doctor, we’d breathe easier.”

“Well, it’s a cinch it wasn’t in there when Khalkis was buried!” said Pepper dryly.

“Naturally! That’s what makes if so amazing.”

“I believe Dr. Prouty said you were Khalkis’s personal physician?” asked the Inspector abruptly.

“That’s correct, sir.”

“Have you ever seen this man before? Treated him?”

Dr. Frost shook his head. “An absolute stranger to me, Inspector. And I was associated with Khalkis for ever so many years. In fact, I live just across the court back here―on Fifty-fifth Street.”

“How long,” asked Ellery, “has the man been dead?”

The Assistant Medical Examiner turned his back on the window, smiled glumly, and the two physicians exchanged glances. “Matter of fact,” growled Dr. Prouty, “Frost and I were discussing that just before you men came in. Hard to tell from superficial examination. I’d want to examine the nude cadaver and his insides before I said definitely.”

“A good deal may depend,” said Dr. Frost, “upon where the body was kept before burial in Khalkis’s coffin.”

“Oh,” said Ellery quickly, ‘then he has been dead more than three days? He died before Tuesday, the day of Khalkis’s funeral?”

T should say so,” replied Dr. Frost, and Dr. Prouty nodded carelessly. “The external cadaveric changes certainly indicate a minimum period of three days.”

“The rigor passed off long ago. Secondary flaccidity marked. Lividity seems to be complete,” said Dr. Prouty in a grumpy voice, “as far as we can tell without taking the clothes off. Anterior surfaces especially so―body was lying face down in the coffin. Points of clothing pressure and parts in contact with certain sharp edges and hard sides have lightened the lividity in spots. But that’s a detail.”

“All of which means―” prompted Ellery.

“The things I’ve mentioned don’t mean much,” replied the Assistant Medical Examiner, “as far as fixing the strict time of death, although the lividity certainly points to putrefaction of at least three days, with a possibility of double that. Can’t tell until I conduct an autopsy. You see, the other things I touched on merely establish certain minima. Passing off of rigor mortis in itself indicates a lapse of a day to a day and a half, sometimes two days. Secondary flaccidity is the third stage―normally, immediately after death you have a state of primary flaccidity―everything relaxed. Then rigor sets in. When rigor passes off secondary flaccidity sets in―a return to relaxation of the muscles.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t―” began the Inspector.

“Of course,” remarked Dr. Frost, ‘there are other things. For example, the abdomen shows a formative green ‘spot”―one of the first phenomena of putrefaction―and is distended characteristically by gases.”

“That helps to fix the time, all right,” said Dr. Prouty. “But there’s always a raft of things to keep in mind. If the body were kept before burial in the coffin in a dry place comparatively free of air currents, it wouldn’t putrefy as rapidly as it would normally. Three days as a minimum, absolutely, as I said.”

“Well, well,” said the Inspector impatiently, “you dig into his belly, Doc, and let us know as exactly as you can how long he’s been dead.”

“Say,” said Pepper suddenly, “how about Khalkis’s body? Is that all right? I mean, there’s nothing funny about Khalkis’s death, is there?”

The Inspector stared at Pepper; then he smote his small thigh and exclaimed, “Bully, Pepper! There’s a real idea . . . . Dr. Frost, you were the attending physician on Khalkis’s death, weren’t you?”

“I was.”

“You made out the death-certificate, then.”

“That’s correct, sir.”

“Anything queer about his death?”

Dr. Frost stiffened. “My dear sir,” he said coldly, ‘do you think I would have officially ascribed his death to heart-disease unless it were true?”

“Complications?” growled Dr. Prouty.

“Not at the time of death. But Khalkis had been a very sick man for years; it’s at least twelve years that he’s had a bad case of compensatory hypertrophy―enlargement of the heart as a result of a defective mitral valve. Then to make matters worse, about three years ago he contracted some nasty stomach ulcers. His heart condition forbade surgery, and I treated intravenously. But haemorrhages set in, and they brought on his blindness.”

“Is that a common result of such a condition?” asked Ellery curiously.

Dr. Prouty said: “Our much-vaunted medical science knows very little about it, Queen. It isn’t common, but it happens every once in a while after haemorrhages caused by stomach ulcers or stomach cancer. Why, no one can tell you.”

“At any rate,” continued Dr. Frost, nodding, ‘the specialist I called in, and I, hoped that the blindness would prove only temporary. Sometimes such blindness clears spontaneously, as mysteriously as it comes on. However, the condition remained and Khalkis never regained his sight.”

“That’s all very interesting, I’m sure,” said the Inspector, “but we’re more concerned with the possibility that Khalkis died, not as a result of a bad heart, but―”

“If you entertain any doubt as to the authenticity of the stated cause of death,” snapped Dr. Frost, “you can ask Dr. Wardes, who was present when I officially pronounced Khalkis dead. There was no violence, nothing quite so melodramatic, Inspector Queen. The intravenous-injection treatments for the ulcers, complicated by the rigorous diet he was naturally compelled to follow, taxed his heart. Besides, against my specific instructions, he insisted on continuing the supervision of his Galleries, even if only through the instrumentality of Mr. Sloane and Mr. Suiza. His heart simply collapsed.”

“But―poison?” persisted the Inspector.

“I assure you there wasn’t the slightest evidence of toxi-cation.”

The Inspector beckoned Dr. Prouty. “You’d better perform an autopsy on Khalkis, too,” he said. “I want to be sure. There’s been one murder here―how do we know, with all respect to Dr. Frost, that there weren’t two?”

“Can you perform an autopsy all right on Khalkis?” asked Pepper anxiously. “After all, he was embalmed.”

“Doesn’t make a particle of difference,” said the Assistant Medical Examiner. “They don’t remove any vital organs in embalming. If there’s anything wrong, I’ll find it. Matter of fact, the embalming helps matters. It’s served to preserve the body―there isn’t the slightest sign of putrefaction.”

“I think,” said the Inspector, “we’ll find out a little more about the circumstances surrounding Khalkis’s death. There may be a clue to this feller Grimshaw there. Doc, you’ll see that the bodies are taken care of?”

“Sure thing.”

Dr. Frost put on his hat and coat and, somewhat coldly, took his leave. In Khalkis’s study the Inspector found a headquarters fingerprint expert busily going over the room. His eyes lighted at sight of the Inspector, and he hurried over.

“Find anything, Jimmy?” asked the Inspector in a low tone.

“Lots, but none of it means anything. This place is lousy with prints. All over the place. I understand there’ve been a million people tramping in and out of here all week.”

“Well,” sighed the Inspector, ‘do what you can. Suppose you go into that drawing-room across the hall and take prints of the little corpse. The man we think is Grimshaw. Bring the file set from h.q.?”

“Yeah.” Jimmy hurried from the room.

Flint came in and said to the Inspector, “Morgue bus is here.”

“Get the boys in. But tell “em to wait until Jimmy is finished across the hall.”

Five minutes later the fingerprint expert entered the study wearing a look of satisfaction. “That’s Grimshaw, all right,” he said. “The prints match the gallery set.” His face fell. “Sort of went over that coffin, too,” he said disgustedly. “But it’s chockful o” prints. Won’t get anything out of it. I’ll bet every dick in town’s had his mitts on it.”

Photographers were filling the room with silent flashes. The library became a miniature battlefield. Dr. Prouty came in to say good-bye; the two bodies and the coffin were carted out of the house; Jimmy and the photographers departed; and the Inspector, smacking his lips, shooed Ellery and Pepper into the library and shut the door.