Again the scientist paused and squinted at the Japanese. For a moment Osaka withstood the gaze, then his eyes shifted and he moved uncomfortably.
“I tricked Osaka into coming here by a ludicrously simple expedient,” The Thinking Machine went on steadily. “On the train I asked if he knew just how Mrs Dudley got the body of her husband into the boat. Remember at this point he was not supposed to know that the body had been in a boat at all. He said he didn’t know and by that very answer admitted that he knew the body had been placed in the boat. He knew because he put it there himself. He didn’t merely throw it in the water because he had sense enough to know if the tide didn’t take it out, it would rise, and possibly be found.
“After the slight injury Mr Dudley evidently wandered out toward the boat house. The poison was working, and perhaps he fell. Then this man removed all identifying marks, even to the name in the shoes, put the body in the boat and turned on full power. He had a right to assume that the boat would be lost, or that the dead man would be thrown out. Wind and tide and a loose rudder brought it into Boston Harbor. I do not attempt to account for the presence of Mrs Dudley’s handkerchief in the boat. It might have gotten there in one of a hundred ways.”
“How did you know husband and wife had quarrelled?” asked Hatch.
“Surmise to account for her not knowing where he was,” replied The Thinking Machine. “If they had had a violent disagreement it was possible that he would have gone away without telling her, and she would not have been particularly worried, at least up to the time we saw her. As it was, she presumed he was in Boston; perhaps Osaka here gave her that impression?”
The Thinking Machine turned and stared at the Japanese curiously.
“Is that correct?” he asked.
Osaka did not answer.
“And the motive?” asked Detective Mallory, at last.
“Will you tell us just why you killed Mr Dudley?” asked The Thinking Machine of the Japanese.
“I will not,” exclaimed Osaka, suddenly. It was the first time he had spoken.
“It probably had to do with a girl in Japan,” explained The Thinking Machine, easily. “The murder had been a long cherished project, such a one as revenge through love would have inspired.”
It was a day or so later that Hutchinson Hatch called to inform The Thinking Machine that Osaka had confessed and had given the motive for the murder. It was not a nice story.
“One of the most astonishing things to me,” Hatch added, “is the complete case of circumstantial evidence against Mrs Dudley, beginning with the quarrel and leading to the application of the poison with her own hands. I believe she would have been convicted on the actual circumstantial evidence had you not shown conclusively that Osaka did it.”
“Circumstantial fiddlesticks!” snapped The Thinking Machine. “I wouldn’t convict a dog of stealing jam on circumstantial evidence alone, even if he had jam all over his nose.” He squinted truculently at Hatch for a moment. “In the first place well behaved dogs don’t eat jam,” he added more mildly.
MURDER IN THE AIR by Peter Tremayne
We return from our trip through the past to a brand new story, which is certainly up to date. And how much more impossible can you get than a murder in a locked toilet in an aircraft at 30,000 feet! Peter Tremayne (b.1943) is the author of a number of novels of the supernatural and bizarre as, well as a highly acclaimed historical mystery series set in the seventh century featuring the Irish advocate Sister Fidelma. The first in the series was Absolution by Murder (1994).
Chief Steward Jeff Ryder noticed the worried expression on the face of Stewardess Sally Beech the moment that she entered the premier class galley of the Global Airways 747, Flight GA 162. He was surprised for a moment as he had never seen the senior stewardess looking so perturbed before.
“What’s up, Sal?” he greeted, in an attempt to bring back her usual impish smile. “Is there a wolf among our first class passengers causing you grief?”
She shook her head without a change of her pensive expression.
“I think one of the passengers is locked in the toilet,” she began.
Jeff Ryder’s smile broadened and he was about to make some ribald remark.
“No,” she interrupted as if she had interpreted his intention. “I am serious. I think that something might have happened. He has been in there for some time and the person with whom he was travelling asked me to check on him. I knocked on the door but there was no reply.”
Ryder suppressed a sigh. A passenger locked in the toilet was uncommon but not unknown. He had once had to extricate a eighteen stone Texan from an aircraft toilet once. It was not an experience that he wanted to remember.
“Who is this unfortunate passenger?”
“He’s down on the list as Henry Kinloch Gray.”
Ryder gave an audible groan.
“If a toilet door is stuck on this aircraft, then it just had to be Kinloch Gray who gets stuck with it. Do you know who he is? He’s the chairman of Kinloch Gray & Brodie, the big multinational media company. He has a reputation for eating company directors alive but as for the likes of you and me, poor minnows in the great sea of life…” He rolled his eyes expressively. “Oh Lord! I’d better see to it.”
With Sally trailing in his wake, Ryder made his way to the premier class toilets. There was no one about and he saw immediately which door was flagged as “engaged”. He went to it and called softly: “Mister Kinloch Gray? Is everything all right, sir?” He waited and then knocked respectfully on the door.
There was still no response.
Ryder glanced at Sally.
“Do we know roughly how long he has been in there?”
“His travelling companion said he went to the toilets about half-an-hour ago.”
Ryder raised an eyebrow and turned back to the door. His voice rose an octave.
“Sir; Mister Kinloch Gray, sir; we are presuming that you are in some trouble in there. I am going to break the lock. If you can, please stand back from the door.”
He leant back, raised a foot and sent it crashing against the door by the lock. The flimsy cubicle lock dragged out its attaching screws and swung inwards a fraction.
“Sir…?” Ryder pressed against the door. He had difficulty pushing it, something was causing an obstruction. With some force, he managed to open it enough to insert his head into the cubicle and then only for a moment. He withdrew it rapidly, his features had paled. He stared at Sally not speaking for a moment or two. Finally he formed some words. “I think he has been shot,” he whispered.
The toilets had been curtained off and the captain of the aircraft, Moss Evans, one of Global Airway’s senior pilots, had been sent for having been told briefly what the problem was. The silver haired, sturdily built pilot, had hid his concerns as he made his way from the flight deck through the premier class section, smiling and nodding affably to passengers. His main emotion was one of irritation, for it had only been a few moments since the aircraft had passed its midpoint, the “point of no return”, halfway into its flight. Another four hours to go and he did not like the prospect of diverting to another airport now and delaying the flight for heaven knew how long. He had an important date waiting for him.
Ryder had just finished making an announcement to premier class passengers with the feeble excuse that there was a mechanical malfunction with the forward premier class toilets, and directing passengers to the mid-section toilets for their safety and comfort. It was typical airline jargon. Now he was waiting with Sally Beech for the captain. Evans knew Ryder well for, Jeff had been flying with him for two years. Ryder’s usually good humour was clearly absent. The girl also looked extremely pale and shaken.