“Let’s examine the case if she’s alive. If she is, why hasn’t she come forward to claim her share of her uncle’s estate? We’d have to rule out the possibility that she doesn’t know anything about her uncle’s death and the will he left. This has been the most widely publicized will-case in modern legal history. Cole’s death, the odd conditions of his will, have been announced by newspapers, periodical literature, and radio all over the world, not once but many times — in North and South America, Europe, Asia, Australia, even Africa and the South Seas. And this publicity has been going on for several months — first the death, then the publication of the will, then the news of the discovery of the two heiresses, and since then a continuous drumfire of their activities.
“Don’t you agree that if the real Margo were alive it’s reasonable to assume she’d have heard of Cole’s death and her own eligibility as an heiress by this time?”
“Do you mean by that,” asked the Inspector, “that because Margo Cole hasn’t come forward you think she’s dead?”
“Not yet,” said Ellery quickly. “I’m merely brushing in the background. I do say that the unusual publicity must have got to her eyes or ears if she’s alive. Now, proceeding on this reasonable assumption — that if she’s alive she knows — why hasn’t she come forward?
“One possible, even probable, answer is that she knows she doesn’t qualify under the terms of the will... that she is or has been married, for example — a state of affairs which would automatically cut her out of an inheritance.”
“I should think,” objected Beau, “that, even if she were or had been married, she’d show up and make a fight for that dough. That’s only human.”
“But she hasn’t; that’s a fact. Let’s not get involved in counter-theories; let’s proceed along the straight line. If she’s married, and since she’s failed to show up, what then? She would fight, you say. Yes, I agree; she would. But how? By contesting the will? She hasn’t done that. Could she fight in another way? Certainly — if she got hold of a woman like Ann Bloomer and made a deal with her.”
Both men looked blank.
“A deal like this, for instance: a fifty-fifty split of the income after Ann Bloomer, armed with the proofs of identity furnished her by the real Margo, showed up, was accepted as the legitimate heiress, and began to collect her share. Ann Bloomer’s qualifications, from Margo’s standpoint, would merely have to be: that she was not and is not married, and that her history could be mortised into Margo’s history somewhere along the line — as actually happened, in fact.”
“But that means,” said the Inspector excitedly, “that this partner Kerrie says the woman mentioned was — the real Margo! Why, if Ann doublecrossed Margo after Ann was accepted as the heiress, if Ann didn’t fork over the split, that would be a motive for murder...”
“So it would,” chuckled Ellery. “By the way, I thought you didn’t believe Kerrie’s story!”
“I don’t,” said the old man, flushing. “I’m just — arguing. For the sake of argument.”
Both Beau and Ellery laughed. “At any rate,” said Ellery, “I’m not arguing to reach that sort of conclusion, even though it might be true. The only conclusion I wish to reach you’ve already accepted, dad — that, if the real Margo still lives, she probably hired Ann Bloomer to present herself, furnished Ann with the proofs of identity, and was Ann Bloomer’s silent partner in a scheme to get hold of half of Cole’s estate, to which she was not entitled. In other words, Ann Bloomer had — had to have — a partner.
“Now, take the other possibility — that the real Margo is dead. Then how did Ann Bloomer get possession of those proofs of identity? From the reports, the Bloomer woman had not the slightest connection with the Cole family, certainly not by a blood tie. Yet the proofs of identity must have been in the possession of some one close to the dead Margo — we’re assuming now, remember, that the real Margo is dead. In whose possession? A blood relation? The real Margo’s only living relatives by blood were Kerrie Shawn, her cousin, and Cadmus Cole, her paternal uncle. Neither has had the least contact, or could have had from the facts, with the real Margo Cole.
“Then who is left as a possible possessor of those proofs? Such a person as the real Margo Cole’s surviving husband, let us say. A good possibility, although it may have been one of a number of differently related persons. In any event, for the Bloomer woman to have got her hands on those proofs of Margo Cole’s identity, she must have got them from some one who had been close to Margo Cole; and for this person to have turned the proofs over to Ann Bloomer means again a deal, a partnership. So again the vital conclusion arises: Ann Bloomer had a partner.”
The Inspector stirred. “Couldn’t it have been like this? Margo Cole and Ann Bloomer were friends. Ann Bloomer murdered Margo, stole her proofs of identity, and showed up here to pose as Margo Cole. So there’s no partner at all!”
“Two things against that theory,” replied Ellery, “which, of course, has occurred to me. One is that if Margo and Ann had been friends, why didn’t the French police, who checked over every last detail of Margo Cole’s movements from her birth until 1925, and of Ann Bloomer’s movements from 1925 to date, run across any evidence of such a friendship? They did a careful job, as you know. The answer is: there was no such evidence to run across; there was no such friendship.
“Besides, that theory would indicate that Ann Bloomer was a lone... er... wolverene. Yet she told Kerrie a moment before she was murdered that she had a partner.”
“We’ve only Kerrie Shawn’s word for that,” said the Inspector stubbornly.
“And all sorts of confirmation in what El’s just told us,” growled Beau. “Don’t be pig-headed, pop!”
The Inspector waved Ellery on.
“Deductively, then,” said Ellery, “we’ve established the existence of a person hitherto unsuspected — Ann Bloomer’s partner-in-crime, the person she referred to when she boasted that she and some one else had planned the attacks on Kerrie.
“Now Beau told Ann he was marrying Kerrie, that he was taking Kerrie to the Villanoy; he even promised Ann he would leave Kerrie alone for the night, as he did — although for reasons of his own.
“Ann Bloomer must have informed her partner; how else could this partner have known? So the partner went to the Villanoy soon after Beau and Kerrie checked in, found out what room they had engaged, and then sent the hotel a wire reserving Room 1726. I’ve investigated that wire, incidentally, and it was telephoned to Western Union from a pay-station — no doubt from a booth in or near the Villanoy. Of course, this covered the trail.
“Room 1726 being reserved, this mysterious partner then let himself in with a passkey of some sort, and awaited developments. The partner heard Ann’s arrival, heard the entire conversation through the open windows, heard Ann’s injudicious boast about the partnership of the attacks on Kerrie, and shot Ann before she could reveal the identity of her partner — himself. Then he tossed Kerrie’s own revolver through the windows into 1724. Ann herself had said she and her partner had planned the attacks on Kerrie, so it’s not strange that this partner had possession of Kerrie’s stolen .22.”
The old man was silent.
“I imagine,” continued Ellery gravely, “that this partner had three motives for killing Ann Bloomer.
“Remember Ann’s character, her unscrupulousness, her known record for loose living on the Continent, her self-incriminating confession of attempts to murder Kerrie. And think of the situation existing between her and her partner. With the proofs of identity presented by her and accepted by the executor-trustees of the estate and by the Surrogate, she found herself in the driver’s seat.