"For the present," said the bishop, "let's accept the hypothesis… I must insist that we still have as inexplicable a situation as before. Why should Depping and X have put up this imposture between them?"
"I don't think they did."
The bishop remained calm. He said: "Most extraordinary, doctor. I was under the impression that you said-"
"I do not think they put it up between them, confound it," snorted Dr. Fell. "Remember, if you please, that we have only got a reversal of roles. It doesn't alter any of the circumstances. If you say there was collusion between those two, you must explain the same riddles as before. The queer behavior of the man in this room isn't greatly altered because his name is X instead of Depping. Why, if X is working with Depping from the beginning of a carefully conceived plan, does he want the rubber gloves? If Depping brought a disguised X through the front door instead of smuggling him up the balcony, why didn't X do the same for a disguised Depping?… Be calm, my dear sir; I know you yourself pointed out those difficulties. So let's begin with the dinner. Depping didn't eat it, but X did. Whispering to the inner ear, echoing through the halls of consciousness," said Dr. Fell with relish, "comes the sinister question: Why didn't Depping eat his dinner?"
"Maybe he wasn't hungry? said Morley Standish, after considering the problem.
"Brilliant," said Dr. Fell testily. "The helpfulness of my colleagues is inspiring. Surely, gentlemen, your innate shrewdness, your native cunning, can provide a better answer than that—? It must have occurred to you that he didn't eat his dinner because he wasn't here, and X did eat it because he was here. The dinner was brought up at half-past eight. Depping was.here then, resdess and nervous, I think the report was. And he must have left the house shortly after that, in his fancy disguise. He must, therefore, have gone out the balcony door. Eh?"
"Quite" said the bishop. "And — that provides us, it is obvious, with an important piece of evidence. He had the key to the balcony door."
"Good. We progress. So what follows?"
"I do not agree with your statement that no plot was arranged beforehand between Depping and X," said the bishop. He was stalking about now, in a fervor of enlightenment. "Everything points to that. While Depping was away—"
"For nearly an hour and a half—"
"— for nearly an hour and a half, then, X was in this room. Doctor, every detail fits into place. Depping, in disguise, left here for a nefarious purpose, an illegal purpose…"
Dr. Fell stroked his moustache. "It is considered so. Yes. He took his gun along, you see… Are you beginning to have a nebulous idea as to what happened to the missing bullet?"
"Oh, my God!" said Morley Standish suddenly.
"Ghosts of the past will now gather round" continued Dr. Fell, "to gibber that crusty old Depping was a very, very dangerous man on whom to try any games. I expect his use of American words, when drunk, came naturally to him… It occurs to me that poor old Louis Spinelli will never try any blackmailing tricks again. If he isn't as dead as Garibaldi at this moment, I am very much mistaken."
They all looked at the dead smirk on Depping's face; at the neatness of his clothes, the orderly books, and the silver bowl of roses on the dinner table.
"My friend," declared the bishop, as though he were beginning a speech, "on the admirable completeness with which you have conjured a case out of evidence which does not exist and facts which have not been demonstrated, I must offer my sincerest congratulations… Hem. On the other hand, you must be aware that everything you have said indicates a plot between Depping and X. Depping was going out to commit a murder. It is simplicity itself. He left a colleague here to prove him an alibi."
Dr. Fell ruffled the hair at his temples. For a long time he blinked across the room. A new, disturbing idea seemed to strike him.
"You know…" he said. "By the Lord, I believe it would be better, if for the present, we agreed on that. I don't believe it is precisely true; and yet my own idea— which is not so very different from yours in essentials— is open to such an overpowering objection that… Yes, let's assume what you say. Let's say Depping left somebody here, to growl something through the door in case he should be approached—"
"And this person," interposed the bishop grimly, "came here determined to kill Depping just as Depping meant to kill Spinelli."
"Yes. Now we are on safe ground. Gentlemen, no more beautiful opportunity for murder ever presented itself with a proof of innocence attached. Look at it! If Depping thought he was safe to kill Spinelli, then X must have roared with mirth to see how safely he could kill Depping..
"Don't you see," he demanded, pounding his fist on his knee, "how it would work out? It explains our problem as to why Depping walked through the door in disguise. In the original plan, Depping had never intended to do that. To do that, after he had killed Spinelli, would have been idiotic and dangerous. His alibi was planted in his study. He should have returned there as he left— by the balcony door, unseen, to shed his disguise. A suspicious man in loud clothes, with a mysterious manner and an American accent, who deliberately walked in his front door… why, it would have started every tongue in the countryside wagging. If Spinelli were discovered dead — another suspicious American— then inquiries would lead straight to Depping to ask what he knew about it. They might not prove him guilty of murder, but your respectable, studious country gentleman would be in for an uncomfortable lot of explaining."
Morley Standish cleared his throat. "Then, hang it, why did he?" he asked.
"That's the infernal beauty of X's scheme… Depping came in the front door because he couldn't get in any other way. Do you see it? X caught him in the neatest kind of trap. Depping had gone out the balcony door, leaving the key in it; instructing X to lock it behind him, and admit him when he returned… Remember, that's your theory; I told you that in many features mine is different… but, anyway, Depping returns just as the thunderstorm breaks, and he can't get in-"
"Because X won't let him in," said the bishop.
"Well, it can scarcely have been so crude as that. That's where your hypothesis wobbles a bit; to keep Depping unsuspicious, X would have had to spin some yarn about losing the key. It would sound improbable. I think I have a better explanation, but it works out on the same principle… And there you are. There's the door locked, and bars on every window. There's Depping fairly caught out in a heavy storm, in a disguise he can't possibly explain!
"The stiff and scholarly Mr. Depping known hereabouts," he went on musingly, "wearing a music-hall suit… Where can he go? How can he dispose of that garb? Picture yourself, Bishop Donovan, caught in an English village at night and in a storm, dressed up as Charles Chaplin just after having committed a murder
… Depping was fairly in the soup. He'd got to get into his house unsuspected, and all the windows were barred. And he had to get in quickly; every minute his accomplice remained there increased the danger of detection both for himself and his accomplice. He could even talk to his accomplice, through the bars of the balcony window, but he couldn't get in…
"And here's X with a suggestion — you know what it was. Lights short-circuited, American visitor enters, identities are restored. It was a dangerous risk, but the lesser of two bad positions for Depping. For X it was the boon of an American visitor who would be supposed to have shot Depping when, later on, Depping was found murdered. And it very nearly succeeded."
The bishop went over the desk, and for a time he looked down at the dead man with an expression in which were mingled compassion and disgust.