The man nodded. “Yes, dammit, you know there is. This is the best spirit photo I’ve obtained in twenty years of trying. I know positively that it can’t be anything but genuine. And now—” He scowled again at the negative, then added, “Let me ask you just one thing. Do you think I’m a complete idiot?”
Merlini shook his head. “No. Quite the contrary.”
“Thanks. Then perhaps you’ll believe that, if I had expected or known that the result was going to be anything like this, I wouldn’t have gone into the darkroom and developed this plate all by myself. Perhaps you’ll admit that I’d have had you and Wolff right there and insisted that you oversee every step of the operation.”
“Yes,” Merlini nodded. “That sounds likely. Your laxness in that respect appears to give you a clean bill of health. Barring a very fancy double bluff, it hardly looks as though you were responsible for what is on the plate. But any such train of logic is at the very best only negative evidence of the authenticity of the picture. It certainly won’t win any prize money from the American Scientist committee. How sure are you that no one monkeyed with that plate before you loaded it in the camera? How do you know it might not have been switched for another plate later? The camera hasn’t been under guard all the time?”
“I’m positive there can’t have been any sleight of hand,” Galt said with exasperation. “But I can’t prove it to anyone else. The plate hasn’t been out of my possession since I bought it this afternoon. And no exchange was possible because I marked it for identification. That’s routine. I always do. I’m satisfied. But you won’t accept it on faith.” He eyed the negative with a curious look. “And yet—”
“And yet what?” Merlini asked.
“And yet,” Galt said slowly, “in order to avoid losing that prize money you’ll have to duplicate this photo. And something tells me that you may get yourself a headache trying to do that.”
Merlini gave Galt a sharp look, took the negative from him, held it before the light, and examined it closely. “I’m afraid I don’t see the difficulty,” he said. “Why do you say that?”
Whatever it was Galt had up his sleeve, he was keeping it there for the moment. He shook his head. “I’ll tell you later. I want to check something first, just to be sure. But if I’m right, I warn you, you’re in for an unpleasant surprise.”
Merlini scowled at the picture again, obviously puzzled.
Then Wolff stepped up to bat. “I don’t know what Galt means,” he said. “But he’s right. You can’t possibly duplicate that picture. And I will tell you why. You might dress someone up to look like that man, put him at the head of the stairs, and take a double exposure so that the background would show through his body. But that wouldn’t be an exact duplication.”
“I’d have to find this same man and have him pose. Is that what you mean?”
“Yes. And that’s impossible. That’s what proves this photo to be genuine. It can’t be anything else!”
Merlini faced him. “So, we come to it at last, do we? You’re finally going to admit that you do know who the ghost is. I couldn’t get him to pose for me because he’s dead and buried. Is that it?”
Wolff nodded hopelessly. “Yes. That’s it.”
“Well, go on. Who was he? What makes you so sure he’s dead? What proof do you have?”
Wolff acted scared to death, yet he was as obstinate and unyielding as ever. “I can’t tell you that.”
“Can’t,” Merlini snapped. “Or won’t.”
“Whichever you like. I’ve said all I’m going to. You can take it or leave it. I know the photo has to be genuine. I don’t give a damn what you think.”
That seemed to settle that, but Merlini kept after him. “You know when he died? And how?”
Wolff just barely nodded. Something had gone wrong with his voice. “Yes,” he whispered.
“And you’re convinced that the figure we saw on those stairs, that the image in this photo is so like the dead man that no one could have impersonated him?”
“Yes, I am.”
“And,” Galt objected, “you can’t even suggest any such theory until you’ve explained how an impersonator could have escaped from this room leaving it the way we found it. When you’ve done that—”
“Perhaps,” Merlini said calmly, “I’d better save time and do it now. If I give you a good practical explanation, will you admit—”
“Maybe,” Galt said. “But I’ll hear it first. And skip your sleight-of-hand coin-trick analogies. It’ll have to be much better than that.”
“All right.” Merlini pointed at the bathroom door. “Close that, Galt, lock it, and leave it just as we found it. Dunning, go downstairs and stand guard at the burglar-alarm control. Make sure that it’s operating and see that no one touches it.”
Dunning looked questioningly at Wolff. The latter regarded Merlini intently for a moment, scowling. Then he nodded irritably. “All right, Dunning. Do it.”
The secretary went out. Merlini followed him as far as the door. “And,” he added, “the rest of you come out here.”
Galt turned the key of the bathroom door, rattled the knob, turned about, and cast a worried look around the room. Then he moved toward the door. Wolff and I followed.
When we were all out in the hall, Merlini said, “You’ll admit that I’m not a semitransparent spook, won’t you?”
They nodded, glumly as though they rather wished he were.
Wolff said, “Get on with it.”
Merlini called, “Dunning, are you set?”
The secretary’s voice answered, “Yes. The alarm is on.”
“Good.” Merlini stepped back within the room as though entering a magician’s cabinet and gave us his good-matured but exasperating professional smile. “Give me thirty seconds by your watches. When you come in, I shall try not to be here.” He started to close the door. “The fourth-dimension express is now leaving on track six for the River Styx, Purgatory, Hell, and points south. I hope this will prove that ghosts are not always what they seem, that stone walls do not a prison make, and that jumping at conclusions is a risky form of mental exercise. Ready. Set. Go!”
The door slammed.
I spent the next thirty seconds thinking fast, furiously, and in circles. Either Foxy Grandpa really had doped out a method of exiting from that damned room, or else it was a fancy bit of leg-pulling aimed at getting us out of the way while he put over a fast one. He was quite capable of either. I expected the worst. Wolff and Galt looked as if they did too.
Galt didn’t give Merlini any more rope than he’d asked for. He pushed the door in right on the dot. Then he swore fervently. The burglar alarm hadn’t emitted a single solitary peep. The bathroom door was still locked, its key on the inside. The clothes closet was empty.
And Merlini had vanished without leaving as much as a puff of smoke or the faintest odor of brimstone behind.
Galt walked to the center of the room, turned around twice, swore again heavily, and looked at Wolff. I had the privilege, for once, of seeing the latter at a complete loss. The trouble was that I was in the same fix.
I called, “Come out, come out, wherever you are! They’re convinced. So am I. We give up.” I didn’t get as much as an echo for an answer. Merlini had not only gone, it looked as if he were going to stay that way.
Galt didn’t take it lying down. He was mad. He searched the bedroom, the bathroom, Wolff’s room, and then Anne’s room again. He did everything but look under the ash trays and behind the pictures on the wall. He even began to doubt his previously stated opinion as to secret exits in the woodwork and had actually started tapping the floor when, at last, we heard the magician’s voice again.
It said, “All right, Dunning. You’re relieved.” And it came from the front hall downstairs!