“I was just about to produce an answer or two out of the hat, Inspector. Let’s begin with our prowler of last night. What do we know about him?”
“All I know is what you’ve consented to tell me, which is damn little except that he’s got a seven-hour head start.
“Ross?”
“I had a nice neat little theory last night, but it’s showing wear and tear this morning. It seemed obvious that he was up here when you and Watrous and I came downstairs. He dropped his flashlight and, as we came up after him, ducked down the servants’ stairs to set the fire and thence out the cellar to cut the phone, sink the boats, and light out in a boat of his own. But, unless he sneaked back without anybody hearing him, someone else must have socked the Colonel. And whoever socked the Colonel was the same guy who cut the phone.”
“And the servants’ stairs, now you’ve seen them?”
“He either said, ‘Whisht’ and turned himself into a mouse, or else — it’s—it’s the vanishing man again! He walked into this room only about one jump ahead of us so he must have popped down a secret exit. Concealed elevator in it, too. That fire started so soon after—”
“Not so fast,” Merlini objected. “X came in here. And a minute later he wasn’t here. I’m an authority on trap doors and secret exits. I build ’em. There aren’t any in this room. Where did he go?”
“You said you’d supply the answers,” Gavigan criticized, “not questions. I know what’s coming. Footprints on the ceiling. There are traces on top of that window frame that might possibly mean someone climbed out. You want me to say X is a human fly plus. He walks across the ceiling, down the side of the house and sets the fire. But I wish—”
“Your mind-reading is primitive, Inspector. Stop in at the shop some day and I’ll quote you prices on some surefire methods. Let’s take it slower and straighten it out. Mr. X did go out the window. Only place he could have gone. But he didn’t set that fire. He couldn’t get down there to do it, for one thing. A very agile human fly might have negotiated that climb in daylight, I’ll admit, but not in last night’s special brand of darkness. He’d have broken his fool neck.”
“If he can walk across ceilings,” Gavigan asked, “why not down the side of a house? Only half as impossible.”
We could hear Grimm’s cautious footsteps overhead now on the “widow’s walk.”
Merlini called out the window. “Any luck, Grimm?”
“Yes,” the detective’s voice came down. “Couple of new scratches on the eaves just over that window.”
“Good,” Merlini said. “Mr. X swung out that window and pulled himself up onto the projecting eaves. He squatted there until we ran downstairs to investigate the fire. Then he swung himself in again and left the room finally by the door. I’m afraid things happened a little too fast for me last night. Vanishing man, corpse, and fire all within a couple of minutes. But I did get as far as making sure that, if anyone left after we did, I’d know it. I closed the door as I went out and put a pencil on the floor leaning” up against the door. When we got back, it was lying flat. Mr. X had really gone that time. And, since he was on the roof, he didn’t set the fire. It was burning too well by the time we got there, anyway.”
“He could have set it before you got here, couldn’t he?” Gavigan asked.
“No, on two counts. When you set fire to a house, it’s the last thing you do before you leave, isn’t it? And X was upstairs when we arrived. Besides, if there had been a fire in that front room when Harte and I passed through the rear cellar room, we’d have been aware of the fact. The door between was open. No, whatever else X may have done, he didn’t commit arson.”
“Okay,” Gavigan admitted doubtfully, “but you’re certainly complicating matters. Look at it. Everyone, including X, is alibied for the fire. X on circumstantial evidence, the others on corroborative evidence — that is, assuming Gail’s witness bears him out. That gives you another mystery man. X hides out up here, Y sets the fire, and I suppose Z sank the boats, A committed the murder, B moved the body and C — regular excursion boat that pulled out last night. Anyone can solve a murder that way.”
“I forgot to tell you. Henderson says he got a glimpse of the boat, and there was only one person in it.”
“That gives us half a dozen vanishing men. I suppose you’ve got a reason why X couldn’t have set the fire in advance to start later? There are dozens of ways. Insurance crooks have a lot of cute little tricks along those lines. I’ll have Brady sift that debris — he’s done insurance work — and—”
“Oh, I know what was used to start the fire. This.” Merlini took the handkerchief from his breast pocket and unfolded it to disclose a gold cigarette lighter, its shiny surface smudged with soot.
“You found it in that mess in the basement?”
“No, not exactly. Colonel Watrous did. When he and I were down there after Harte left. I was wondering if there might be some such gadget as you mention. The Colonel found it — and he didn’t think I saw him. He slipped it into his pocket. I conjured it out again.”
Chapter Twelve:
THE LETTER
Captain Malloy met us at the door of the other house and reported, “The telephone repairman’s fixed the phone and I’ve talked to headquarters. Doc Hesse is on the way. I’ve got statements from Henderson and his wife, and Brady is busy upstairs on fingerprints.”
“Any of these other people up yet?” Gavigan asked.
“They’re dressing now, I think.”
“All right. We’ll go up. Send Quinn along. I’ll need him. And get Colonel Watrous and bring him up.”
The door to Linda’s room stood open. Brady was busy inside with his brushes, powders, and magnifying glass. Gavigan started in, but halted to watch Merlini as the latter went on down the hall and knocked at a closed door. We heard Arnold’s voice, and then the door opened, and he stepped out into the hall. He was in his shirt sleeves, tying his tie. He saw the Inspector, looked at Merlini and asked, “Police?”
I noticed again how very slightly his lips moved, almost as if he were afraid of opening his mouth.
Merlini nodded. “Inspector Gavigan — Arnold Skelton.”
“Good,” Arnold said. “How’d you manage it?”
“Sleight-of-hand and mirrors,” Merlini answered. “I want to know something. Did Linda Skelton have any large amount of life insurance?”
“Insurance? No. She had none at all. Why?”
“I just wondered. The Inspector will want to see you shortly, I think. Will you wait downstairs?” Merlini turned, left him abruptly, and came back, turning into Linda’s room. Arnold looked after him with a perplexed expression, slowly pulled his tie straight, and then, as Gavigan and I followed Merlini, went back into his room.
Gavigan closed the door. “Why were you in such a sweat with that question?”
“Tell you in a minute. Take a look at the body first.”
Gavigan went to the chair and pulled away the sheet. I’d seen all I wanted of that; so I turned away, wandered over to the bookcase that stood between the windows, and looked at the titles. There were a few novels of an average sort, but the books were largely non-fiction and on two subjects only. The mystic sciences, as I expected, were there — Spiritualism, Theosophy, Yoga — the authors all pro and very few con. The other books were technical works on the theater. I pulled out Spence’s Encyclopedia of Occultism and was looking in the index for Crystal Gazing when I heard Merlini say:
“Have Brady dust these, Inspector.” He indicated a pair of shears that lay on the dressing table. “Blades are nicked. I think they were used to cut the phone wire.” He switched on the bright lights that surrounded the mirror, ran his eye over the collection of jars and bottles, and snapped the lights off.