"What-? Dash? What are you doing here?"
"Get your pants on, Harry," I said. "I know who killed Branford Wintour."
XII: The Minotaur
"At least tell me where we're going, Dash," Harry said, as our cab clattered across Broadway.
"Harry," I returned, "you can't expect me to divulge the particulars. It's traditional that the detective remain tight-lipped until he reaches the scene of the crime."
"But-but the Toy Emporium is in the opposite direction."
"The first crime scene, Harry. I said I knew who killed Branford Wintour."
"Is it not the same man?"
"No, actually. I don't think so, anyway. We'll know soon enough."
"The Wintour mansion," he said, as we rolled to a stop outside. "So, the mystery ends where it began! Tell me, Dash, is Mrs. Wintour the murderer?"
"Harry, let's not-"
"The butler?"
"I--"
"The brother-in-law?"
I smiled and put a finger to my lips. "Not another word, Harry." I climbed down, paid the driver, and
made my way up the marble steps. Harry followed a few steps behind.
Phillips, the butler, greeted us with the frigid civility one normally reserves for bill collectors. "I do not believe that Mrs. Wintour is expecting you, gentlemen," he said, "unless you've come to deliver more of your mother's soup?"
"We're here to see Mr. Crain," I said. "Would you please tell him that we've brought an answer from our mutual friend, Mr. Harrington?"
"So, it is the brother-in-law," Harry whispered, as the old butler withdrew down the main corridor. "I knew it all along!"
"It's not the brother-in-law," I said. "I just needed an excuse to get back into Wintour's study. Once we're in, find a reason to send him out of the room."
"But-"
"Just think of something, Harry. You're supposed to be the master of misdirection, aren't you? We need to be alone in the study."
"Very well." Harry furrowed his brow as Phillips returned with Henry Crain at his elbow.
"Gentlemen," said Crain apprehensively. "I hadn't expected to see you again so soon."
"I apologize for the intrusion," I said. "Normally we wouldn't think of appearing unannounced. Do you recall the matter we discussed the other day?"
"I do," said Crain, with a furtive glance toward the butler.
"We have some rather urgent news in that regard. Perhaps we might discuss it in the study?"
"I-yes, I don't see any reason why not. Phillips, I shall be in the study. See that we're not disturbed."
"Very good, sir," the butler said, though his expres-
sion indicated a certain irritation over Crain's highhanded behavior.
"Follow me, gentlemen," the young man said, leading us toward the study, "we can have a bit of privacy in here."
"That's very kind of you, sir," I said. "Again, I apologize for the imposition."
I noticed that Crain had now taken possession of his late brother-in-law's key ring, having apparently wrested control away from Dr. Blanton. He unlocked the door and showed us into the room, waving us to a seat in front of the dead man's desk. "Now, then," he said. "I take it your friend Mr. Harrington is interested in purchasing these"-he swept his hand toward the toy collection-"these trinkets?"
"He is, indeed, sir," I said. "Would you be willing to entertain an offer?"
"If the matter can be kept confidential. What sort of offer is Mr. Harrington prepared to make?"
"A very generous one."
"Yes, but exactly how generous?"
"Twenty thousand dollars." What the hell, I thought to myself.
Crain's eyes bulged slightly. "Twenty thousand dollars," he repeated. "Yes, I believe we might be able to come to an agreement over that figure. How soon might we be able to make the transaction?"
"Mr. Harrington is eager to proceed immediately, if that would be acceptable."
"Yes. Yes, it would."
During this exchange, Harry rose from his seat and wandered over toward the library table where much of the dead man's toy collection was arrayed. "This is a
very interesting item," Harry said, fingering a heavy gold medallion. "What is it, exactly?"
"I'm afraid I couldn't say," Crain answered. "I've never seen it before."
"The image is most unusual. A stallion of some kind? Well, no matter." Harry set it down and picked up a cast-iron penny bank in the shape of a barking dog. "Marvelous," he said, tugging the dog's tail to work its hinged jaws. "Absolutely marvelous."
"To return to the matter at hand," Crain said, "as I have mentioned, I do not wish to upset my sister by involving her in this business. We shall have to proceed carefully."
"Mr. Harrington is the very soul of discretion," I said, wondering how much longer I would have to keep up my end of the conversation. I shot a look at Harry.
"A very impressive collection, Mr. Crain," my brother said, stepping away from the library table. "You're to be congratulated, sir."
"Why, I-thank you."
"Dash," said Harry, turning to me, "may I have my pills now?"
"Your pills?"
"Don't tell me you've forgotten them?"
"I--"
"Never mind. I'm sure it's nothing. Now then, Mr. Crain, I should like to offer our assistance in the matter of-of-" Harry staggered forward suddenly, his hands flying to his throat.
"Mr. Houdini? Are you all right?"
"I-I'm sure it's nothing-I"-he pulled at his collar-"you must forgive me-I should not have-"
"Mr. Houdini?"
At this, Harry's eyes flickered and rolled back in his
head. His shoulders twitched once, then again, as though he were dangling at the end of a fishing line. A faint, croaking sound escaped from his lips as his body went limp. He pitched forward onto the carpet, landing with a heavy thud.
"Harry!" I cried, springing from my chair.
"Is he all right?" Crain crouched down beside me. "What happened?"
I rolled Harry onto his back. His eyes were open and his features were composed in an expression of serene resignation. "M-mustn't blame yourself, Dash," he struggled to say. "Tell Bess-tell her I love her." A cool glaze came over his eyes and his right arm flopped onto the floor in front of Crain.
"My God! Mr. Hardeen, he's not breathing!" Crain snatched up Harry's arm. "There's no pulse!"
"Get a doctor!" I shouted. "Find Dr. Blanton! Hurry!"
Crain leapt to his feet. "I'll be back as quickly as I can!" he cried. He flung the door open and rushed into the foyer, calling loudly for Dr. Blanton.
I stood up and closed the door behind him. Then I lifted a sturdy ladderback chair and wedged it under the door handle. I walked back and bent over the fallen form of my brother. His eyes were much brighter now, and the tranquil expression had broadened into a gleeful smile.
"Was that really necessary?" I asked.
He stood up and brushed off his clothing. "You wanted him out of the room. He's out of the room."
"Couldn't you have sent him to fetch a newspaper?"
"Where's the drama in fetching a newspaper?"
I had no answer for that. "Come on, Harry, we'd
better get to work. He'll be back here with Dr. Blanton any second."
"Don't worry, I can always go back into the act."
"That shouldn't be necessary." I had crossed the room to make a slow circuit of the model train platform. "How did you stop your pulse, by the way?"
"Ah! An old trick of the Indian fakirs." He reached inside his suit coat and withdrew the gold medallion he had been admiring earlier. "This is just the right size and shape. I had it pressed between my ribcage and the inside of my arm. It temporarily cut off the flow of blood to my arm."
"Not bad," I said.
"I wonder if it would fool a trained physician?"
"Let's not find out. Come over here, would you?" I had dropped onto my hands and knees to study the heavy oblong platform upon which the train set rested. "Here's something we missed when we were sniffing around yesterday."