“You see, despite the presence of thousands of persons at the scene of the crime, any one of whom might have been the criminal — and despite the unique and puzzling circumstances of the crime itself, I’m talking about the ‘Horne’ murder now — there were six facts which stood out prominently—”
“Six facts?” I said. “That seems like a lot of facts, Ellery.”
“Yes, this case provided me with a plethora of clues, J.J. As I say, these six facts stood out prominently during the first night’s investigation as significant clues. Two of them — one physical, the other psychological — combined to tell me something that I alone knew from the very inception of the investigation. Suppose I take them up in order, drawing the inferences as I go — inferences which brick by brick built up the only possible theory that covered all the facts.”
He stared into the fire with a quizzical half-smile on his lips. “First,” he murmured, “the trouser belt around the dead man’s waist. Amazing thing, J.J. It told such a clear story! There were five buckle-holes, the second and third of which were characterized by-deep ridges in the leather running vertically across the holes — ridges left, patently, by repeated bucklings at those holes. Now Kit Horne — poor kid! — had told me that Buck had been in failing health for some time in the recent past, and in fact had lost weight. Mark that!
“Loss of weight — buckling-marks on the belt. Interesting juxtaposition of facts, eh? The significance struck me immediately. What did “Horne’s recent loss of weight mean in relation to the two buckle-ridges on the belt? Surely this: In normal times Horne had obviously buckled his belt at the second hole, as evidenced by the welt across the second hole; when later he began to lose weight he was constrained to buckle his belt at the third hole — that is, drawing his belt tighter as his girth lessened. Yet what did we find on the night of the murder of, presumably, Buck Horne? That the victim was wearing the belt, which fitted snugly, buckled at the first hole!”
He paused to ignite a fresh cigaret, and again — as I had so many times in the past — I reflected on the remarkable keenness of his perceptions. Such an unimportant little detail! I believe I remarked something to this effect.
“Hmm,” he said, drawing his brows together, “it’s perfectly true that the business of the buckle-holes was trivial. And not only trivial in appearance, but trivial in significance. It was just an indication. It didn’t prove anything. But it showed the way.
“Now I’ve just demonstrated that Horne normally buckled his trouser belt at the second hole, and later as he lost weight at the third hole; yet the man whose dead body we found was wearing the belt buckled at the first hole. This was an unaccostumed position, for the simple reason that the only ridges or welts were across the second and third holes; in other words there was no ridge at all across the first hole, where the dead man had actually buckled the belt. But here was a puzzling set-of facts. How was I to explain the phenomenon that Horne, who habitually buckled at the second notch, and then for some time was forced to tighten his belt to the third notch, suddenly on the night of his murder buckled at the first notch — that is, loosened his belt to the extent of two full notches? Well, what usually makes a man loosen his belt? A heavy meal, you say — eh?”
“That was in my mind,” I confessed, “although I can’t see a man dining so heartily before a strenuous performance; or even if he did, dining so heartily that he would have to let out his belt two notches.”
“I agree. But the logical possibility existed. So I took the logical step. I asked Dr. Prouty, who was to perform the autopsy, to ascertain the contents of the corpse’s stomach. In due course he reported that the corpse’s stomach was quite empty; apparently, he said, the victim had not taken food for six hours or so before his death. So that was out as a possible explanation for the sudden switch to the first buckle-hole.
“What remained? Only one thing; deny it if you can: I was forced to the conclusion that the belt which the dead man wore that night didn’t belong to him. Ah, but it was Buck Horne’s belt: it was monogrammed with his initials, and Grant — his closest friend — testified to Horne’s ownership. But see where this leads us! For if the belt did not belong to the man who was wearing it, but did belong to Buck Horne, then Buck Horne was not the man who was wearing it. But the man who was wearing it was the dead man. Then the dead man was not Buck Horne! What could be simpler, J.J.?”
“And that gave you the whole story?” I muttered. “It sounds horribly weak and unconvincing, somehow.”
“Weak, no,” Ellery smiled. “Unconvincing, yes. For the excellent reason that the human mind refuses to accept large explanations from small facts. Yet isn’t most of our progress in science the result of insignificant observations, brought about by this very process of induction? I’ll admit that at the moment I wasn’t free from the mental cowardice of the herd. The conclusion seemed incredible. I shied away from it. I didn’t believe it. It flew in the face of the normal. Yet what other explanation could there be?”
Ellery stared thoughtfully into the fire. “And then there was something else to strengthen the doubt. The dead man had had contact — although it must have been fleeting, for the testimony ran that ‘Horne’ had dashed into the Colosseum late — with the rodeo troupe. And after the death of the rider presumed to be Horne, Kit — Horne’s foster-daughter, mind — had actually seen the victim’s face when she lifted the blanket from the dead body; as had Grant, Horne’s lifelong friend. And the face itself had not been mutilated, JJ. — only the skull and body. These facts seemed to render my conclusion that the dead man wasn’t Horne even less convincing. But I didn’t discard my conclusion, as perhaps another might have been tempted to do under the circumstances. On the contrary, I said to myself: ‘Well, unconvincing or not, the point is that if the dead man isn’t Horne, as my first deduction indicates, then the dead man certainly bears a most remarkable resemblance to Horne in face and figure.’ Inescapable inference, J J., if you accept’ my first premise. At any rate, I wasn’t satisfied, not mentally easy at all. I looked about for confirmation of my conclusion. I found it almost at once, and that brings me to the second of the half-dozen clues I mentioned.”
“Something that confirms the conclusion that the dead man wasn’t Horne?” I said blankly. “For the life of me—”
“Don’t gamble your life so carelessly, J.J.,” chuckled Ellery. “It’s so incredibly simple. It revolved about the ivory-handled revolver found in the dead man’s right hand — right hand, remember — the twin of which I found in Horne’s hotel room later.
“Now both weapons had been used by Horne for many years; Kit said they were her foster-father’s favorite weapons, and so did Grant and Curly. Again no question of ownership, please note; the initials on the butts, and both Kit’s and Grant’s instant acceptance. So the guns were Horne’s; of that much I could be sure.
“What were the new indications? The first gun was found still clutched in the dead man’s hand — right hand — even after his fall from the horse. I myself had seen him draw this weapon from his right holster and wave it with his right hand as he set the horse to galloping around the oval; and the newsreel confirmed these observations. But when I examined the revolver itself I noticed an extremely odd thing.” He wagged his head lightly. “Follow carefully. The handle, or butt, or grip — whatever the technical term is — was inlaid with ivory on both flat surfaces, and the ivory was yellow and worn with age and use, except for a narrow portion on the right side of the butt. As I held the gun in my left hand, this patch of. lighter ivory came between the tips of my curled fingers and the heel of my hand. Later that night I held the twin in my right hand and noticed that, although the ivory inlays were just as worn and yellow as in the first gun, there was again one portion comparatively fresh-looking — this time on the left side of the butt between the tips of my coiled fingers and the heel of my hand. What did all this mean? That the second gun — the one from the hotel room — was the gun Buck Horne had habitually gripped in his right hand, for when I held it in my right hand the strip of unworn ivory came on the left side of the butt, where it should come in a right-hand grip. The other gun, the first one, which the dead man had been clutching in his right hand, was obviously the weapon gripped by Horne for many years in his left hand, for the unworn strip of ivory came on the right side, where it should come in a left-hand grip.” He drew a deep breath. “In other words, to reduce it to its simplest form, Buck Horne, who used twin guns, always gripped one in his right hand and the other in his left, never changing, for if he had used them indiscriminately for either hand there would be no unworn patches at all. Remember this.