The Bizarre Murders, page 24
“Exactly. The jack of diamonds was in Dr. Xavier’s right hand; all Mark had to do was go through the same procedure you yourself went through, dad, when you took the six out of the dead man’s hand; that is, merely separate the stiff clenched fingers sufficiently to make the card drop out. Then he inserted the six and forced the fingers back the infinitesimal fraction of an inch into the clutching position. He simply couldn’t have found the jack in John’s left hand, for that would mean that he would have had to unclench the left hand and leave it flat against the desk—impossible without, as I say, leaving brutal signs of the act, which did not exist upon examination of the body.”
He stopped and for a moment there was only the terrifying crackle above their heads. Occasionally in the past few moments there had been a dull thud on the floor above. Now there was another. … But they scarcely heard. They were in the grip again of fascinated interest.
“But what—” began Miss Forrest, rocking to and fro.
“Don’t you see it yet?” said Ellery almost cheerfully. “Dr. Xavier was right-handed. I’ve proved long ago that a right-handed man tearing a card in two would tear with his right, crumple with his right—or if he didn’t crumple, at least throw the discarded half away with his right, since it made no difference which half he retained and which he threw away, both halves being exactly the same. This would leave the automatically retained half in his left. But I’ve demonstrated that the retained half must have been in Dr. Xavier’s right when Mark found him. Therefore Dr. Xavier had never torn that card at all. Therefore someone else had torn that jack and left it in his right hand. Therefore that half-jack, meant to incriminate the twins, was also a frame-up, and the twins must be held entirely innocent of the murder of Dr. Xavier.”
They were too stupefied to smile or show relief or do anything but gape at him. It did seem a small matter, Ellery thought, with death lurking for them all, innocent and guilty, beyond the closed door above.
“Since the first frame-up,” he went on quickly, “was arranged before two-thirty, before Mark blundered upon the scene of the crime, I think we have a perfect right to assert that the first frame-up of the Carreau boys by means of the jack of diamonds had been arranged by the murderer. Unless we go into the farfetched theory that that framer wasn’t the murderer either, that that framer came before Mark but followed the murderer; in other words, that there were two framers besides the murderer.” He shook his head. “Much too fantastic. The framer of the twins was the murderer.”
“This business about the rigor proving that it was the murderer and not Dr. Xavier who left the jack of diamonds accusing the twins,” said the Inspector dubiously, interested despite himself, “sounds a—well, a little arbitrary to me. It doesn’t sound very convincing.”
“That?” Ellery smiled in his desperate effort to take their minds off the flames. “Oh, I assure you it’s fact, not theory. I can confirm it. But before I do that I want to point out that logically another question then arose: was the murderer of Mark Xavier the same as the murderer of his brother? Despite the overwhelming probability that the same individual committed both crimes, we had no logical right to assume it. I didn’t assume it. I proved it to my own satisfaction.
“For what was the state of affairs just before Mark’s murder? The man had lapsed into unconsciousness just before he could reveal what he claimed was the name of his brother’s murderer. Dr. Holmes asserted that there was every chance the wounded man would recover consciousness in a few hours. Everyone was present to hear that assertion. Who therefore was in the greatest danger should Mark recover consciousness? Obviously, if we are to recognize the most elementary truth about cause and effect, the person who thought he was going to be unmasked by the dying man; that is, the person with the guilty conscience, Dr. Xavier’s murderer. Consequently I say that, under these special and weighty circumstances, it would be flying in the face of reason to doubt that it was John Xavier’s murderer who crept into Mark’s bedroom the other night and poisoned him to keep him forever silent. And, mind you, this is true whether Mark really knew who the murderer was or not! The mere threat was sufficient to force the murderer’s hand.”
“No quarrel with that,” muttered the Inspector.
“Actually, we have confirmation of this. Let’s suppose the alternative: that there were two murderers, that the killer of Mark was a different person from the killer of John. Would such a second killer have chosen the worst possible time to commit his crime?—worst possible, I say, since he knew that Mark was under guard by a professional detective, and armed to boot? No, the only person who would have risked this danger was someone who had to risk it; who had to kill Mark not any time, but that very night, before Mark could come back to his senses and speak up. So I say, and I don’t think there can be any logical or psychological weakness in the argument, that we are dealing with only one criminal.”
“Nobody’s questioned that. But how can you confirm your conclusion that it was the murderer, not Dr. Xavier, who left the jack of diamonds accusing the boys?”
“I was coming to that. I don’t have to confirm it, really. We’ve the murderer’s own confession that he framed the twins after killing Dr. Xavier.”
“Confession?” They all gaped with the Inspector at that.
“Of action rather than speech. I daresay most of these good folk would be astonished to learn that after Mark Xavier’s death someone tampered with the lock of the cabinet in which was secreted the deck of cards found on Dr. Xavier’s desk.”
“What?” said Dr. Holmes, astonished. “I didn’t know that.”
“We didn’t advertise it, Doctor. But after Xavier’s murder someone monkeyed with the lock of the wall cabinet in the living room. What was in the wall cabinet? The deck of cards which had come from the scene of Dr. Xavier’s murder. What was the only significant thing about the deck of cards which would, for any reason whatever, justify some one’s tampering with the lock of the cabinet? The fact that its jack of diamonds was missing. But who knew that the jack of diamonds was missing from the first deck? Only two persons: Mark Xavier and the murderer of Dr. John Xavier. But Mark Xavier was dead. Therefore the tampering was done by the murderer.
“Now what could the murderer’s motive in tampering with that cabinet have possibly been? Did he want to steal or destroy the cards? No.”
“How the devil can you say that?” growled the Inspector.
“Because everyone in the house knew there was only one key to the cabinet, that the cabinet contained only the cards, and most important that the sole key was in your possession, dad.” Ellery chuckled grimly. “How does that prove the murderer didn’t want to steal or destroy the cards? It leads to the proof. If the murderer wanted to get his claws on that deck, why didn’t he take the key from you while he had you unconscious, helpless on the floor of Mark Xavier’s bedroom? The answer is that he didn’t want the key, didn’t want to get into the cabinet, didn’t want to steal or destroy the cards!”
“All right, even if that’s so—for heaven’s sake why did he tamper with the cabinet at all if he didn’t want to get in?”
“A very pertinent question. The only possible alternative is that he merely wanted to call attention to the deck of cards. There was even a confirmation of this: his whole effort to break into a metal cabinet with a puny little fire tool showed that his intentions were directional rather than acquisitive.”
“Ill be damned,” said Smith huskily.
“No doubt. At any rate it was evident that the whole thing was a blind, a ruse, a device to call our attention to the first deck, to get us to re-examine it and discover that the jack was missing. But who could have had motive to call our attention to the missing jack? The twins, whom the missing jack accused? Had they tampered with the cabinet it could only have been with the determination to destroy the deck. I’ve just proved that the purpose of the tamperer was to call attention to the deck—the last thing in the world the twins, had they been guilty, would have wanted. Therefore the twins didn’t tamper with the lock. But I’ve also shown that the one who tampered with the lock was the murderer. Therefore, again, the twins—one or both of them—were not the murderer. Therefore, finally, the twins were framed by the murderer … which is what I set out, eons ago, to demonstrate.”
Mrs. Carreau sighed. The Carreau boys were staring at Ellery with naked worship in their eyes.
Ellery rose and began to stride about restlessly. “Who was the murderer—this framer-murderer?” he demanded in a strident, unnatural voice. “Was there any sign, any evidence, any clue that might point to the criminal’s identity? Well, there was; and I’ve just figured it out—when,” he added lightly, “it’s too late to do anything about it but pat myself on the back.”
“Then you know!” cried Miss Forrest
“Certainly I know, my dear girl.”
“Who?” croaked Bones. “Who was the damned—” He glared about, his bony fists quivering. His gaze lingered longest on Smith.
“The murderer, aside from the general insipidity of trying to create fantastic clues which in the normal course of events no one would have been able to interpret,” continued Ellery hastily, “made one extremely bad mistake.”
“Mistake?” The Inspector blinked.
“Ah, but what a mistake! Forced upon the murderer by outraged Nature—a most inevitable mistake, a mistake which resulted from an abnormality. In killing Mark and chloroforming the Inspector, this person”—he paused—“stole the Inspector’s ring.”
They stared at the old gentleman stupidly. Dr. Holmes said in a thick voice: “What—another?”
“It was a most inoffensive little ring,” said Ellery dreamily, “a plain gold wedding band worth not more than a few dollars. Yes, Doctor, another of those piquant thefts of valueless rings the story of which both you and Miss Forrest related rather reluctantly on the night of our arrival. Queer, isn’t it, that such a peculiar and seemingly irrelevant fact should have tripped the murderer up?”
“But how?” The Inspector coughed through a begrimed handkerchief which he was holding to his mouth and nose. The others were all wrinkling their noses and stirring with a new uneasiness; the air was foul.
“Well, why was the ring stolen?” cried Ellery. “Why was Miss Forrest’s, and Dr. Holmes’s? Any suggestions?”
No one replied.
“Come, come,” jeered Ellery, “lighten the last hour with a game of wits. I’m sure you can see some of the possible motives.”
His cutting voice brought their heads about again. “Well,” said Dr. Holmes in a mutter, “it couldn’t be that they were stolen for their value, Queen. You’ve pointed that out yourself.”
“Quite right.” And blessings on your quick head, Ellery thought, for keeping the ball rolling. “Nevertheless, thank you. Anyone else? Miss Forrest?”
“Why …” She licked her dry lips; her eyes were extraordinarily bright. “It couldn’t have been for—well, sentimental reasons, Mr. Queen. None of the rings had any but the most personal value, I’m sure. I mean—to the owner. Certainly none to the thief.”
“A neat way of putting it,” applauded Ellery. “You’re quite right, Miss Forrest Come, come, don’t relax! Make this interesting.”
“Could it be,” ventured Francis Carreau timidly, “that one of the rings in the house had a—well, a hidden cavity or something that contained a secret or a poison of some kind?”
“I was just thinking that,” said Julian, coughing.
“Ingenious.” Ellery grinned with difficulty. “Possible in the case of the thefts of the other rings, I suppose, but even that possibility is banished when you consider that the same person—obviously the same person—stole the Inspector’s ring, Francis. By no stretch of the imagination could you say that the thief was looking for a hidden cavity in the Inspector’s ring, Francis. Any more?”
“By God,” growled the Inspector suddenly. He rose and looked about him, a slender little Gandhi, with suspicious eyes.
“The old sleuth at last! I wondered when you’d get it, dad. You see, the theft of the Inspector’s ring shows clearly that all the thefts had no other purpose than … mere possession.”
Dr. Holmes started and began to say something. Then he shrank within himself, strangling the words and riveting his gaze on the stone floor.
“Smoke!” shrieked Mrs. Xavier, rising and glaring at the stairs.
They jumped at the word, ghastly under the yellow light. Smoke was eddying from the stuffing Ellery had inserted beneath the cellar door.
He snatched up one of the tin pails and scrambled up the steps. He dashed the contents of the pail on the smoldering material, and with a hiss the smoke vanished.
“Dad! Get that big tub of water up here. Here, I’ll help you.” Between them they got the butter tub upstairs. “Keep the door wet We’ll want to stave off the inevitable for as long …” His eyes were glittering as he bounded downstairs again. “Just a little more, friends, just a little more,” he said like a barker striving to keep the attention of a restless crowd. His last words were drowned in the splash of water as the Inspector feverishly wet down the door. “I said mere possession. Do you know what that means?”
“Oh, please,” panted someone. They were staring, horrified, at the door, all standing now.
“You’ll listen,” said Ellery savagely, “if I have to shake every one of you. Sit down.” Dazed, they obeyed. “That’s better. Now listen. The indiscriminate thefts of such concrete articles as valueless rings can mean only one thing—kleptomania. A kleptomania devoted exclusively to the stealing of rings, any kind of rings, but rings. I say that because nothing else has apparently been stolen.” They were listening again, forcing themselves to listen, forcing themselves to do anything but think of the inferno blazing over their heads. The thuds of falling debris came incessantly now, like the clump of clods on a lowered coffin. “In other words, find a kleptomaniac in this group and you’ll have the murderer of Dr. Xavier and Mark Xavier, and the framer of the boys.”
The Inspector hurried down, panting, for more water.
“So,” said Ellery with a ferocious scowl, “I propose as the last ace of my worthless life to do that very thing.” He raised his hand suddenly and began to tug at the very odd and beautiful ring on his little finger. They watched him, entranced.
He got it off after a struggle and placed it on one of the old boxes. The box he pushed gently into the center of the group.
Then he straightened up and took a few backward steps, and said no more.
Their eyes were fastened upon that small gleaming trinket as if it were salvation, instead of the symbol of a desperate trick. Even the coughing had ceased. The Inspector came down and added his eyes to the fixed battery. And no one spoke at all.
Poor fools, thought Ellery with an inward groan. “Don’t you realize what’s happening, what I’m doing?” And he kept his expression as savage as he could make it, glaring coldly about him. He wished with fierce yearning that at this moment, when their attention was wholly caught, when for the fluttering instant they turned their faces away from death, that death would come crashing and smoking upon them through a collapsed ceiling, so that their lives might be snuffed out with no warning and no pain. And he continued to glare.
They remained that way without moving during an infinite interval. The only sounds were the thuds above them, and the faint steady hissing of the flames. The chill in the cellar had long since vanished, to be replaced by an insidious stuffy heat that choked their nostrils.
And then she screamed.
Oh, blessed Lord, thought Ellery, my trick has worked. As if it matters! Why couldn’t she stick it out until the end? But then she was always a poor, weak fool impressed with her own stupid cunning.
She screamed again. “Yes, I did it! I did it, and I don’t care! I did it and I would do it over again—damn his soul, wherever he is!”
She gulped for breath and a mad glint came into her eyes. “What’s the difference?” she shrieked. “We’re all dead, anyway! Dead and in hell!” She flung her arm at the petrified figure of Mrs. Carreau, crouched over the trembling twins. “I killed—him—and Mark because he knew! He was in love with that—that …” Her voice gurgled off in an incoherent mutter. And it rose again. “She needn’t deny it. That whispering, whispering, eternal whispering—”
“No,” whispered Mrs. Carreau. “It was just about the children, I tell you. There was never anything between us—”
“It was my revenge!” cried the woman. “I made it seem as if those—those sons of hers had killed him … to make her suffer, to make her suffer as she made me suffer. But Mark spoiled the first one. When he said he knew who did it, I had to kill him. …”
They let her rave. She was completely mad now; there was froth at the corners of her mouth.
“Yes, and I stole them too!” she shouted. “You thought I couldn’t stand it, putting that ring there—”
“Well, you couldn’t,” croaked Ellery.
She paid no attention. “That’s why he retired, after … He found out—about me. He tried to cure me, take me away from the world, from temptation.” Tears were falling now. “Yes, and he was succeeding, too,” she screamed, “when they came—that woman and her devil’s litter. And the rings, the rings … I don’t care! I’m glad to die—glad, do you hear? Glad!”
It was Mrs. Xavier, the old Mrs. Xavier of the smoking black eyes and heaving breast, tall and swaying in her tattered gown, her skin streaked with tears and grime.
She drew a deep, shuddering breath, looking quickly about her, and then before any of them could move, to their horror she sprang across the cleared space, bowled the petrified Inspector to one side so that he staggered to keep his balance, and scrambled up the cellar stairs with the agility of insane desperation. Before Ellery could follow her she had torn open the cellar door, stopped short, screamed once more, and then plunged through the burst of smoke directly into the flames in the corridor outside.
