“The old line,” sneered Mark Xavier. “Going to put one of us on the cat-o’-nine-tails, I suppose. Why don’t you confess that you’re stumped, that someone’s put it over you and the rest of us, and that you’re just acting officious to surprise one of us into giving himself away?”
“Ah,” murmured Ellery, “but it’s not a question of blundering in the dark, old chap. Not at all. We know.”
The man’s fair skin went slowly gray. “You — know?”
“I see you’re no longer quite so certain,” drawled Ellery. “Dad, I think we understand each other?... Ah, Mrs. Wheary. Come in. And you, Bones. We mustn’t neglect you two.”
They all turned mechanically to the foyer door; the housekeeper and the man-of-all-work were hesitating on the threshold.
“Come in, come in, good folk,” said Ellery briskly. “We want a full cast. Sit down. That’s better.”
The Inspector leaned on one of the open bridge tables, glaring from one face to another. “You’ll remember that Mr. Queen here bilked that pretty plan to have Mrs. Xavier accused of her husband’s murder. She was framed, and whoever framed her murdered Dr. Xavier. You’ll remember that?”
Unquestionably they remembered that. Mrs. Xavier lowered her eyes, paling, and the others after a quick glance at her looked away. Mark Xavier’s eyes were nearly closed, so intently was he watching the Inspector’s lips.
“Now we’re going to put you people through a test—”
“A test?” said Dr. Holmes slowly. “I say, Inspector, isn’t—”
“Hold your horses, Doc. I said a test, and a test I mean. When it’s all over and the smoke’s cleared away,” he paused, grimly, “we’ll have our man. Or,” he added after another pause, “our woman. We’re not particular so long as we get the guilty party.”
No one answered; their eyes were trained upon his unsmiling lips. Then Ellery stepped forward, and the eyes twitched to his. The Inspector retreated and took up his stand near the French windows. They were open to admit what little air there was. His erect little figure was framed in the blackness of the night outside.
“The revolver,” said Ellery sharply, and extended his hand to his father. The Inspector produced the long-barreled revolver which they had found on the floor of Dr. Xavier’s study; he snapped it open, inspected its empty chambers, snapped it shut again, and placed it without comment into Ellery’s hand.
They watched this silent play in breathless bewilderment.
Ellery hefted the weapon with an enigmatic smile and then dragged the bridge table to the foreground and a chair, placing the chair behind the table in such a position that whoever might sit in it would be facing the company.
“Now I want you to pretend,” he said crisply, “that this is Dr. Xavier’s study, that the table is Dr. Xavier’s desk, and the chair his chair. Clear so far? Very well.” He paused. “Miss Forrest!”
Under the whip of her sharply enunciated name the young woman jumped, her eyes widening with apprehension. Dr. Holmes half rose in protest and then sank back, watching with narrowed eyes.
“M-me?”
“Precisely. Stand up, please.”
She obeyed, clutching the back of her chair. Ellery crossed the room to the far side, placed the revolver on the grand piano, and returned to his position beside the table.
“B-but what—?” the girl whispered again, blanching.
He sat down in the chair. “I want you, Miss Forrest,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone, “to re-enact the shooting.”
“Re-enact the sh-shooting!”
“Please. You must pretend that I’m Dr. Xavier — a consummation no doubt devoutly to be wished. I want you to go into the cross-hall through that door behind you. When I give the signal, please come in. You will be standing a little to my right, facing me. I’m Xavier, and I shall be at my desk playing solitaire. When you enter, you are to reach over to the piano, pick up the revolver, face me squarely, and pull the trigger. I might add that the revolver is not loaded. Please see that it... ah... remains that way. Understand?”
The girl was sickly pale. She tried to speak, her lips trembling, then abandoned the effort, nodded quickly, and left the room by the door Ellery had indicated. It clicked shut behind her, leaving staring eyes and silence.
The Inspector stood by the French windows, grimly watching.
Ellery folded his arms on the edge of the table before him, and called out: “Now, Miss Forrest!”
The door opened slowly, very slowly indeed, and Miss Forrest’s white face appeared. She hesitated, came in, closed the door behind her and her eyes at the same moment, shuddered and opened them and went reluctantly to the piano. For an instant she stared down with loathing at the revolver and then, seizing it, she pointed it in the general direction of Ellery, cried: “Oh, this is ridiculous!” and snapped the trigger back. She dropped the weapon, sank into the nearest chair, and began to weep.
“That,” said Ellery briskly, rising and making his way across the room, “was really excellent. All except the gratuitous remark, Miss Forrest.” He stopped, retrieved the revolver, and said to His father: “You caught that, of course?”
“I did.”
Their mouths were open now and Miss Forrest forgot to weep as she raised her head to join in the general staring.
“Now,” continued Ellery, “Mr. Smith.”
The united battery instantly focused upon the fat man’s face. He sat still, blinking and working his jaws like a stupid cow.
“Stand up, please.” Smith struggled to his feet and stood shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Take this!” snapped Ellery, and thrust the revolver toward him. He blinked again, drew a billowing breath, and took it. It hung loosely from his fingers.
“What do I do?” he asked huskily.
“You’re a murderer—”
“A murderer!”
“Only for purposes of our little experiment. You’re a murderer and you’ve just shot — let’s say — Dr. Xavier. The smoking weapon is still in your hand. The weapon belonged to Dr. Xavier, so there is no point in your attempting to dispose of it. Still, you naturally don’t care to leave fingerprints. So — you take out your handkerchief, wipe the gun clean, and then very carefully drop it to the floor. Got that?”
“Y-yes.”
“Then do it.”
Ellery stepped back and watched the fat man with cold eyes. Smith hesitated and then became very busy, as if his sole concern was to get his part of the proceedings over with as soon as possible. He gripped the butt firmly, whipped out a napkin-like handkerchief, polished butt and barrel and trigger and guard very expertly indeed, and then, holding the weapon in his swathed hand, dropped the gun. He stepped back, sat down, and wiped his forehead with slow swoops of his vast arm.
“Very good,” murmured Ellery. “Very good indeed.” He picked up the fallen weapon, shoved it in his pocket, and retraced his steps. “Now you, Dr. Holmes.” The Englishman stirred uneasily. “Once more, in my miraculous way, I am a corpse. Your role in our little drama is to enact the medico examining my cold and outraged corpse. I believe you understand without necessity of further explanation.” Ellery sat down in the bridge chair, slumped forward on the table, his left hand flat against the tabletop, his right arm dangling to the floor, his left cheek resting on the table. “Come on, old chap, come on; I don’t relish this characterization, you know!”
Dr. Holmes rose and stumbled forward. He stooped over Ellery’s motionless figure, felt the nape of his neck, the muscles of his throat, rolled his head to examine the eyes, grasped and felt the arms and legs... went through a rapid expert examination.