Despite the horror of the sight that confronted us in the pot-hole, the discovery of Montague's mangled body did not come altogether as a shock. Although Markham had shown evidences, throughout the investigation, of discounting Heath's strong contentions that there had been foul play, he was, nevertheless, prepared for the finding of the body. My impression was that he had battled against the idea as a result of his mental attitude toward the absence of any logical indications pointing to murder. Vance, I knew, had harbored grave suspicions of the situation from the very first; and I myself, in spite of my skepticism, realized, upon my first glimpse of Montague's body, that there had long been, in the back of my mind, definite doubts as to the seemingly fortuitous facts behind Montague's disappearance. The Sergeant, of course, had, from the beginning, been thoroughly convinced that there was a sinister background to the superficially commonplace disappearance of the man.

    There was a grim look on Leland's face as he stared down into the pot-hole, but there was no astonishment in his expression; and he gave me the impression of having anticipated the result of our short ride. After identifying the body as that of Montague he slid down from the wall and stood looking thoughtfully at the cliffs at the left. His eyes were clouded, and his jaw was set rigidly as he reached in his pocket for his pipe.

    "The dragon theory seems to be working out consistently," he commented, as if thinking aloud.

    "Oh, quite," murmured Vance. "Too consistently, I should say. Fancy finding the johnny here. It's a bit rococo, don't y' know."

    We had stepped away from the wall of the pothole and turned back toward the parked car.

    Markham paused to relight his cigar.

    "It's an astonishing situation," he muttered between puffs. "How, in the name of Heaven, could he have got into that pot-hole?"

    "Anyhow," observed Heath, with a kind of vicious satisfaction, "we found what we've been looking for, and we've got something that we can work on. . . . If you don't mind, Mr. Vance, I wish you'd drive me up to the gate, so as I can get Snitkin on guard down here before we return to the house."

    Vance nodded and climbed into his place behind the wheel. He was in a peculiarly abstracted frame of mind; and I knew there was something about the finding of Montague's body that bothered him. From his manner throughout the investigation I realized that he had been expecting some definite proof that a crime had been committed. But I knew now that the present state of affairs did not entirely square with his preconceived idea of the case.

    We drove to the gate and brought Snitkin back to the pot-hole, where Heath gave him orders to remain on guard and to let no one approach that side of the cliff from the road. Then we drove back to the Stamm house. As we got out of the car Vance suggested that nothing be said for a while regarding the finding of Montague's body, as there were one or two things he wished to do before apprising the household of the gruesome discovery we had just made.

    We entered the house by the front door, and Heath strode immediately to the telephone.

    "I've got to get Doc Doremus—" He checked himself suddenly and turned toward Markham with a sheepish smile. "Do you mind calling the doc for me, Chief?" he asked. "I guess he's sort of sore at me. Anyhow, he'll believe you if you tell him we've got the body for him now."

    "Phone him yourself, Sergeant," Markham returned in an exasperated tone. He was in a bad frame of mind; but the Sergeant's hesitancy and appealing look softened him, and he smiled back good-naturedly. "I'll attend to it," he said. And he went to the telephone to notify the Medical Examiner of the finding of Montague's body.

    "He's coming right out," he informed us as he replaced the receiver.

    Stamm had evidently heard us come in, for at this moment he came down the front stairs, accompanied by Doctor Holliday.

    "I saw you driving down the East Road a while ago," he said, when he had reached us. "Have you learned anything new?"

    Vance was watching the man closely.

    "Oh, yes," he replied. "We've unearthed the corpus delicti. But we wish the fact kept from the other members of the household, for the time being."

    "You mean—you found Montague's body?" the other stammered. (Even in the dim light of the hall I could see his face go pale.) "Where, in God's name, was it?"

    "Down the road a bit," Vance returned in a casual voice, taking out a fresh Régie and busying himself with the lighting of it. "And not a pretty picture, either. The chap had an ugly wound on his head, and there were three long gashes down the front of his chest—"

    "Three gashes?" Stamm turned vaguely, like a man with vertigo, and steadied himself against the newel post. "What kind of gashes? Tell me, man! Tell me what you mean!" he demanded in a thick voice.

    "If I were superstitious," Vance replied, smoking placidly, "I'd say they might have been made by the talons of a dragon—same like those imprints we saw on the bottom of the pool." (He had dropped into a facetious mood—for what reason I could not understand.)

    Stamm was speechless for several moments. He swayed back and forth, glaring at Vance as if at a spectre from which he could not tear his eyes. Then he drew himself up, and the blood rushed back into his face.

    "What damned poppycock is this?" he burst out in a half-frenzied tone. "You're trying to upset me." When Vance did not answer, he shifted his frantic gaze to Leland and thrust out his jaw angrily. "You're to blame for this nonsense. What have you been up to? What's the truth about this affair?"

    "It is just as Mr. Vance has told you, Rudolf," Leland replied calmly. "Of course, no dragon made the gashes on poor Montague's body—but the gashes are there."

    Stamm seemed to quiet down under Leland's cool regard. He gave a mirthless laugh in an effort to throw off the horror that had taken possession of him at Vance's description of Montague's wounds.

    "I think I'll have a drink," he said, and swung quickly down the hallway toward the library.

    Vance had seemed indifferent to Stamm's reaction, and he now turned to Doctor Holliday.

    "I wonder if we might see Mrs. Stamm again for a few moments?" he asked.

    The doctor hesitated; then he nodded slowly.

    "Yes, I think you might. Your visit to her after lunch seems to have had a salutary effect. But I might suggest that you do not remain with her too long."

    We went immediately up-stairs, and Leland and the doctor followed Stamm into the library.

    Mrs. Stamm was seated in the same chair in which she had received us earlier in the day, and though she appeared more composed than she had been on our previous visit, she none the less showed considerable surprise at seeing us. She looked up with slightly raised eyebrows, and there was an ineluctable dignity in her mien. A subtle and powerful change had come over her.

    "We wish to ask you, Mrs. Stamm," Vance began, "if, by any chance, you heard an automobile on the East Road last night, a little after ten."

    She shook her head vaguely.

    "No, I heard nothing. I didn't even hear my son's guests go down to the pool. I was dozing in my chair after dinner."

    Vance walked to the window and looked out. "That's unfortunate," he commented; "for the pool can be seen quite plainly from here—and the East Road, too."

    The woman was silent, but I thought I detected the suggestion of a faint smile on her old face.

    Vance turned back from the window and stood before her.

    "Mrs. Stamm," he said, with earnest significance, "we believe that we have discovered the place where the dragon hides his victims."

    "If you have, sir," she returned, with a calmness that amazed me, "then you surely must know a great deal more than when you were last here."

    "That is true," Vance nodded. Then he asked: "Weren't the glacial pot-holes what you had in mind when you spoke of the dragon's hiding-place?"

    She smiled with enigmatic shrewdness.

    "But if, as you say, you have discovered the hiding-place, why do you ask me about it now?"

    "Because," Vance said quietly, "the pot-holes were discovered only recently—and, I understand, quite by accident."[14]

    "But I knew of them when I was a child!" the woman protested. "There was nothing in this whole countryside that I did not know. And I know things about it now that none of you will ever know." She looked up quickly, and a strange apprehensive light came into her eyes. "Have you found the young man's body?" she asked, with new animation.

    Vance nodded.

    "Yes, we have found it."

    "And weren't the marks of the dragon on it?" There was a gleam of satisfaction in her eyes.

    "There are marks on the body," said Vance. "And it lies in the large pot-hole at the foot of the cliff, near the Clove."

    Her eyes flashed and her breath came faster, as if with suppressed excitement; and a hard, wild look spread over her face.

    "Just as I told you, isn't it!" she exclaimed in a strained, high-pitched voice. "He was an enemy of our family—and the dragon killed him, and took him away and hid him!"

    "But after all," Vance commented, "the dragon didn't do a very good job of hiding him. We found him, don't y' know."

    "If you found him," the woman returned, "it was because the dragon intended you to find him."

    Despite her words, a troubled look came into her eyes. Vance inclined his head and made a slight gesture with his hand, which was both an acceptance and a dismissal of her words.

    "Might I ask, Mrs. Stamm,"—Vance spoke with casual interest—"why it was that the dragon himself was not found in the pool when it was drained?"

    "He flew away this morning at dawn," the woman said. "I saw him when he rose into the air, silhouetted against the first faint light in the eastern sky. He always leaves the pool after he has killed an enemy of the Stamms—he knows the pool will be drained."

    "Is your dragon in the pool now?"

    She shook her head knowingly.

    "He comes back only at dusk when there are deep shadows over the land."

    "You think he will return tonight?"

    She lifted her head and stared past us inscrutably, a tense, fanatical look on her face.

    "He will come back tonight," she said slowly, in a hollow, sing-song tone. "His work is not yet completed." (She was like the rapt priestess of some ancient cult pronouncing a prophecy; and a shiver ran over me at her words.)

    Vance, unimpressed, studied the strange creature before him for several seconds.

    "When will he complete his work?" he asked.

    "All in good time," she returned with a cold, cruel smirk; then added oracularly: "Perhaps tonight."

    "Indeed! That's very interestin'." Vance did not take his eyes from her. "And, by the by, Mrs. Stamm," he went on, "in what way is the dragon concerned with the family vault across the pool yonder?"

    "The dragon," the woman declared, "is the guardian of our dead as well as our living."

    "Your son tells me that you have the key to the vault, and that no one else knows where it is."

    She smiled cunningly.

    "I have hidden it," she said, "so that no one can desecrate the bodies that lie entombed there."

    "But," pursued Vance, "I understand that you wish to be placed in the vault when you die. How, if you have hidden the key, can that wish of yours be carried out?"

    "Oh, I have arranged for that. When I die the key will be found—but only then."

    Vance asked no further questions, but took his leave of this strange woman. I could not imagine why he had wanted to see her. Nothing seemed to have been gained by the interview: it struck me as both pathetic and futile, and I was relieved when we returned down-stairs and went into the drawing-room.

    Markham evidently felt as I did, for the first question he put to Vance, when we were alone, was:

    "What was the sense of bothering that poor deluded woman again? Her babbling about the dragon is certainly not going to help us."

    "I'm not so sure, old dear." Vance sank into a chair, stretched his legs, and looked up to the ceiling. "I have a feelin' that she may hold the key to the mystery. She is a shrewd woman, despite her hallucinations about a dragon inhabiting the pool. She knows much more than she will tell. And, don't forget, her window overlooks the pool and the East Road. She wasn't in the least upset when I told her we had found Montague in one of the pot-holes. And I received a distinct impression from her that, although she has built up a romantic illusion about the dragon, which has unquestionably unbalanced her mind, she is carrying the illusion much further than her own convictions—as if she wishes to emphasize the superstition of the dragon. It may be she is endeavorin', with some ulterior motive, to throw us off the track and, through a peculiar protective mechanism, to cover up a wholly rational fact upon which she thinks we may have stumbled."

    Markham nodded thoughtfully.

    "I see what you mean. I got that same impression from her myself during her fantastic recital of the dragon's habits. But the fact remains that she seems to harbor a definite belief in the dragon."

    "Oh, quite. And she firmly believes that the dragon lives in the pool and protects the Stamms from all enemies. But another element has entered into her projection of the dragon myth—something quite human and intimate. I wonder. . . ." Vance's voice trailed off and, settling deeper in his chair, he smoked meditatively for several minutes.

    Markham moved uneasily.

    "Why," he asked, frowning, "did you bring up the subject of the key to the vault?"

    "I haven't the faintest notion," Vance admitted frankly, but there was a far-away, pensive look on his face. "Maybe it was because of the proximity of the vault to the low ground, on the other side of the pool, to which the imprints led." He lifted himself up and regarded the ash on his cigarette for a moment. "That mausoleum fascinates me. It's situated at a most strategic point. It's like the apex of a salient, so to speak."

    "What salient?" Markham was annoyed. "From all the evidence, no one emerged from the pool along that low stretch of ground; and the body was found far away—chucked into a pot-hole."

    Vance sighed.

    "I can't combat your logic, Markham. It's unassailable. The vault doesn't fit in at all. . . . Only," he added wistfully, "I do wish it had been built on some other part of the estate. It bothers me no end. It's situated, d' ye see, almost on a direct line between the house here and the gate down the East Road. And along that line is the plot of low ground which is the only means of egress from the pool."

    "You're talking nonsense," Markham said hotly. "You'll be babbling next of relativity and the bending of light rays."

    "My dear Markham—my very dear Markham!" Vance threw away his cigarette and stood up. "I emerged from the interstellar spaces long ago. I'm toddling about in a realm of mythology, where the laws of physics are abrogated and where unearthly monsters hold sway. I've become quite childlike, don't y' know."

    Markham gave Vance a quizzical perturbed look. Whenever Vance took this frivolous attitude in the midst of a serious discussion, it meant only one thing: that his mind was operating along a very definite line of ratiocination—that he had, in fact, found some ray of light in the darkness of the situation and was avoiding the subject until he had penetrated its beams to their source. Markham realized this, and dropped the matter forthwith.

    "Do you," he asked, "wish to pursue the investigation now, or wait until the Medical Examiner has made his examination of Montague's body?"

    "There are various things I should like to do now," Vance returned, "I want to ask Leland a question or two. I crave verbal intercourse with young Tatum. And I'm positively longin' to inspect Stamm's collection of tropical fish—oh, principally the fish. Silly—eh, what?"

    Markham made a wry face and beat a nervous tattoo on the arm of his chair.

    "Which shall it be first?" he asked with ungracious resignation.

    Vance rose and stretched his legs.

    "Leland. The man is full of information and pertinent suggestions."

    Heath rose with alacrity and went to fetch him.

    Leland looked troubled when he came into the drawing-room.

    "Greeff and Tatum almost came to blows a moment ago," he told us. "They accused each other of having something to do with Montague's disappearance. And Tatum intimated strongly that Greeff had not been sincere in his search for Montague in the pool last night. I do not know what he was driving at, but Greeff became livid with anger, and only the combined efforts of Doctor Holliday and myself prevented him from attacking Tatum."

    "That's most revealin'," murmured Vance. "By the by, have Stamm and Greeff reconciled their differences?"

    Leland shook his head slowly.

    "I am afraid not. There has been bad blood between them all day. Stamm meant all the things he said to Greeff last night—he was just in the frame of mind to let down the barriers of his emotions and blurt the truth—or rather, what he believed to be the truth. I do not pretend to understand the relationship. Sometimes I feel that Greeff has a hold of some kind on Stamm, and that Stamm has reason to fear him. However, that is mere speculation."

    Vance walked to the window and looked out into the brilliant sunlight.

    "Do you happen to know," he asked, without turning, "what Mrs. Stamm's sentiments toward Greeff are?"

    Leland started slightly and stared speculatively at Vance's back.

    "Mrs. Stamm does not like Greeff," he returned. "I heard her warn Stamm against him less than a month ago."

    "You think she regards Greeff as an enemy of the Stamms?"

    "Undoubtedly—though the reason for her prejudice is something I do not understand. She knows a great deal, however, that the other members of the household little suspect."

    Vance slowly turned from the window and walked back to the fireplace.

    "Speaking of Greeff," he said, "how long was he actually in the pool during the search for Montague?"

    Leland seemed taken aback by the question.

    "Really, I could not say. I dived in first and Greeff and Tatum followed suit. . . . It might have been ten minutes—perhaps longer."

    "Did Greeff keep within sight of every one during the entire time?"

    A startled look came into Leland's face.

    "No, he did not," he returned with great seriousness. "He dived once or twice, as I recall, and then swam across to the shallow water below the cliffs. I remember his calling to me from the darkness there, and telling me he had found nothing. Tatum remembered the episode a while ago—it was doubtless the basis for his accusing Greeff of having a hand in Montague's disappearance." The man paused and then slowly shook his head, as if throwing off an unpleasant conclusion that had forced itself upon him. "But I think Tatum is wrong. Greeff is not a good swimmer, and I imagine he felt safer with his feet on the ground. It was natural for him to go to the shallow water."

    "How long after Greeff called to you did he return to this side of the pool?"

    Leland hesitated.

    "I really do not remember. I was frightfully upset, and the actual chronology of events during that time was confused. I recall only that when I eventually gave up the search and climbed back on the retaining wall, Greeff followed shortly afterwards. Tatum, by the way, was the first out of the water. He had been drinking a lot, and was not in the best condition. He seemed pretty well exhausted."

    "But Tatum did not swim across the pool?"

    "Oh, no. He and I kept in touch the whole time. I will say this for him—little as I like him: he showed considerable courage and stamina during our search for Montague; and he kept his head."

    "I'm looking forward to talking with Tatum. Y' know, I haven't seen him yet. Your description of him rather prejudiced me against him, and I was hopin' to avoid him entirely. But now he has added new zest to the affair. . . . Battling with Greeff, what? Fancy that. Greeff is certainly no persona grata in this domicile. No one loves him. Sad . . . sad. . . ."

    Vance sat down again and lighted another cigarette. Leland watched him curiously but said nothing. Vance looked up after a while and asked abruptly:

    "What do you know of the key to the vault?"

    I expected Leland to show some astonishment at this question, but his stoical expression did not change: he seemed to regard Vance's query as both commonplace and natural.

    "I know nothing of it," he said, "except what Stamm told me. It was lost years ago, but Mrs. Stamm claims that she has hidden it. I have not seen it since I was quite a young man."

    "Ah! You have seen it, then. And you would know it if you saw it again?"

    "Yes, the key is quite unmistakable," Leland returned. "The bow was of curious scroll-work, somewhat Japanese in design. The stem was very long—perhaps six inches—and the bit was shaped like a large 'S.' In the old days the key was always kept hanging on a hook over Joshua Stamm's desk in the den. . . . Mrs. Stamm may or may not know where it is now. But does it really matter?"

    "I suppose not," Vance murmured. "And I'm most grateful to you for your help. The Medical Examiner, as you know, is on his way here, and I'd jolly well like to have a few words with Tatum in the interim. Would you mind asking him to come here?"

    "I am glad to do anything I can to help." Leland bowed and left the room.