In the broad concrete corridor at La Guardia Airport, where few persons lingered and they could have privacy, Sir Henry Merrivale and his party were gathered.
In front of him stood Crystal Manning and Cy Norton. A little to one side stood District Attorney Byles, his blue chin as clean-shaven and his clothes as well-pressed as though he had not been up all night.
"Now listen, H.M.," Cy was saying, "will you look at that clock up there?"
"I know, son! I know! But..."
"It's now ten o'clock. Your plane doesn't leave until eleven-forty-five. You can't possibly miss it, you're here!"
The day outside was blue and brilliant, with kindling sunshine. Heat waves were already beginning to tremble in the concrete corridor.
"We already knew the whole framework of the story," Cy persisted, "as to what Manning intended to do up through what he did do or missed doing. What remains is that gap in the middle— the disappearance from the pool, and what happened between Manning and Davis at the cenotaph."
"Agreed!" said Crystal.
"The District Attorney, to judge by the way he's grinning," Cy continued, "already knows. But Crystal and I don't. Now tell us!"
"All right, all right," growled H.M. as though utterly weary. Actually he would not have missed this for worlds.
Again scorning a noble Corona Corona offered by Byles, H.M. produced and lit a stogy in defiance of rules. For a time he scowled over it
"Now I told you at the swimming pool," he went on, "that from the start we had three whackin' great clues, which would produce others. I’ll name them again. One: a bust of Robert Browning. Two, predicted and soon found: a piece of soggy wet newspaper, about seven inches long by an inch wide, folded over several times. Three: a big pair of garden shears."
"Wait a minute," intervened Cy. "Aren't you forgetting the wrist watch and the socks?"
H.M. regarded him sourly.
"Oh, ah. We'll include those. That makes four clues.
"Now for the moment he went on, chewing at the lighted stogy, "I’ll ask you to forget the bust of Browning. That's the real key to an important scene, when I wasn't there. The scene was played by Manning and Jean and Davis, in Manning's office after lunch on Monday. I heard about it from Jean when we were drivin' out to Maralarch the same evening. More important, last night I had a long talk on the phone (which same I told the hot-dog salesman) with Miss Engels. Miss Engels is Manning's secretary. That scene was so awful illuminating, in certain aspects, that we're goin' to put it aside for the moment." H.M. grunted.
"So we return to me," he tapped himself on the chest, "just after Manning took a header into the pool on Tuesday morning. I was as mad as a hornet and completely flum-diddled. But one thing did stick in my onion vaguely. When Manning dived into the water, why didn't his hat fall off!"
"His hat?" echoed Crystal.
"Crystal's mother," Cy blurted, "said last night the hat was connected with it. But what’s this about the hat not falling off?"
"It didn't fall," said H.M. He pointed at Cy. "You yourself can testify the hat came floatingup to the surface after Manning was out of sight And that's very rummy, if you just consider it
"Manning, as you all know, wore a loose-fitting Panama hat. Loose fitting! He wore it at the pool. I was so sort of intrigued that last night, in the way of experiment, I bought one myself."
Here H.M. touched his own Panama hat. He pushed it forward, then backwards, then sideways, a performance accompanied by a wicked leer.
"It's the kind, not uncommon, that hasn't got a sweatband. Last night, for instance"—here H.M. pointed at Byles, who grinned—"I was at the Stanley Studio talkin' on the telephone to you. I was mad again, and I got a good grip on the phone and just bent forward, and my hat fell off. But early in the morning (to go back to it) I wondered how Manning could take a header without losin' his tile.
"It wasn't reasonable to think he had stuck on his hat with glue or cement. So, just wondering, I remembered the makeshift we all use when we want to make a loose hat tight. A piece of soft newspaper, folded over a number of times, an inch wide by six or seven inches long, inside the brim of the hat
"I asked for it, and it was in the pool. Cor!
"Than Manning was ruddy well determined to make his hat stay on. It had meaning! It had to have meaning! It might mean this or that. But the first and likeliest of a trickster's dodges would be..."
"Would be—what?" prompted Cy.
"To cover up his hair," answered H.M.
"Next," continued H.M., silencing a burst of questions, "we had that whackin' great pair of gardener's shears. He flourished 'em in our faces. As I said then, he went out of his way to tell an unnecessary lie. He even told Stuffy to swear he was trimmin' the hedge.
"But he hadn't been trimmin' any hedge. The shears were dry, with no bits of hedge, and I proved it Why did he go out of his way to do that unless this was a part of his scheme too? Bein' prepared for misdirection, I could see the shears were only used to distract attention from something else—somethin' that was under our eyes, but we didn't notice.''
"Stop!" insisted Cy. "There wasn't anything under our eyes that we didn't notice!"
"Haven't you forgotten," demanded H.M., "that Manning also wore a pair of big white cotton gloves? Gardener's gloves?"
There was a silence, while Cy's memory brought back those gloves.
"First he's got to conceal his hair," H.M. went on, "and now he's got to conceal his hands.
"Then, only a little bit later, I got my real eye opener.
"I was talking to Gil here and a lot of people in the library. Good old Howard Betterton charged in. Betterton insisted on a conference with the District Attorney. I was dragged with 'em, and Bob Manning came with us, into the study next door. I was sitting there by a chess table. But the double doors wouldn't quite close, if you remember, and I could still hear what was being said in the library."
Crystal, vivid in a blue and white dress, stared at him.
"But Cy and I were in the library!" she said. "There wasn't anybody else, after Jean rushed out"
"Uh-huh," agreed H.M. "All the same while I was in the study a-drowsin', I heard a remark that took my scalp off. When the meaning burst in the old man's onion, I upset the whole goddam chess table—and had to blame it on Bob."
"But what did you hear?" asked Crystal. "And who said it?"
"You said it," retorted H.M.
"Y'see," he went on, "Cy here had been talking about Jean's slight tan. And you said. 'Oh, that’s artificial. Ifs suntan lotion Jean gets from the druggist'
"Now there really is, they tell me, one suntan preparation that won't come off in water no matter how much you swim. But we'll not trouble about that, because I didn't trouble about it then or later. Somethin' else rose up, like a collywobble out of a graveyard, and walloped the old man again.
"Manning, when he strolled down to the pool, had apparently been wearin' a pair of socks. At least, I thought so. But the socks weren't in the pool later! You"—and here H.M. pointed at Cy— "what colour were those socks?"
"I must repeat," said Cy, "that I didn't notice the socks; But Jean told me their colour afterwards. They were brown."
"Brown!" said H.M. "And now see the string of rummy facts which can't be coincidences!
"We've got Manning's glove-covered hands plus a scarf that hides all his neck plus brown socks that aren't there plus mention of a suntan lotion.
"Now if s notorious that Manning won't tan. He just turns lobster pink. That helped with the misdirection too. Suppose, for instance, that Manning had covered his body from feet to the very top of the neck with the ordinary, dark, plain suntan stuff you can buy anywhere? Suppose he'd put on two or three coats of it, a heavy and dark tan? That stuffs not water-proof, but it's strongly water-resistant It wouldn't come off in water if he stayed there only a brief time.
"Would it seem, to a casual glance, that he'd be wearing brown socks? Yes! Because if you think back"—again H.M.'s relentless finger stabbed at Cy—"the cork-soled bathin' shoes Stuffy gave us had leather caps to hide the toes. And Manning's, you saw, were just like 'em.
"But what would be Manning's game, in dressin' up like that under his white clothes, and making himself as brown as an Indian...
"Stop the bus! There's only one other person at that place who's tanned to the colour of an Indian; that's Huntington Davis.
"Is there any other resemblance between these two? Stab a pig's ear—there is! Davis is lean and athletic. Manning is also lean and wiry; he's twenty years older than Davis, but he's kept his figure. Last night in fact, Manning's wife said he had the arms and shoulders and torso of a man twenty years younger.
"And that's not all, my fatheads. They're both just the same height."
Crystal was completely taken aback.
"The same height?" she repeated.
"Will you cast your mind back, my wench," said H.M., "to Monday night in the drawing room, while there was a thunderstorm? Your old man and Davis were havin' a row. They were standing up facing each other: straight as grenadiers, lookin' at each other on dead-straight eye level. Ah, you got it now!
"But, there is one difference between those two—if, say, you saw 'em both from behind. Davis has glossy black hair. Your old man's hair is silver grey. And back we circle to the rummy fact that Manning, with a paper wadding inside his hat, has smackin' well determined to cover his hair.
"True. Now suppose Manning had dyed his hair black, again from any of those washes you can all buy from the druggist? Could he conceal the black hair? Easy! He wears his grey hair rather long; I but, as you'll have observed, he's got it cropped up beside the ears. So there wouldn't be a hint of sideburns. At the back he's got a mufflin' scarf together with a hat pulled well down.
"Finally, let's imagine he's got under his loose clothes a pair of scarlet swimming trunks.
"As an imaginary test, now, you take Fred Manning and Huntington Davis. You have 'em both the same height, the same build, the same colour of tan, the same black hair. You stand 'em side by side, with their backs to you, about forty feet away—which is the breadth of the pool. And I'd defy any casual acquaintance to tell 'em apart"
"Then there was some kind of substitution?" demanded Cy. "Uh-huh."
"But even so!" blurted Crystal. "How on earth...?"
"Easy as pie. You'll hear that. But now lemme direct your attention back to clue number one: the bust of Robert Browning. That'll show us the voices, the expressions, the feelings, the psychological clues on top of the physical, that led up to this."
In the corridor at La Guardia Airport, a luggage truck rattled past. A voice, hollow over a loud-speaker, made H.M. jump and fuss until District Attorney Byles told him to look at the clock.
"You've got plenty of time," the District Attorney pointed out "Go on."
"On Monday afternoon," snapped H.M., "Manning came back from lunch at a little past three o'clock, having left behind a hocussing crumpled envelope for you." And he looked at Byles, who remained unabashed.
"Manning went into his office. The receptionist called his name, and he went over to see her. She told him, uneasy-like, that Jean and Davis were in his office. He didn't seem to like it but he just asked whether his secretary was in her office.
"Now you can see the next through the eyes and hear it through the ears of that secretary, Miss Engels. She was sittin' in a cubicle next to his own office, a cubicle with glass sides which don't reach the ceiling. Or you can follow it as though it had been written down for you.
"Back Manning strides to his office. On the floor, proppin' the door a neat way open, is the marble bust of Browning. Why was it there?
"If anybody suggests it was there to help the air conditioning, that's eyewash. Air conditioning's the same in any room. Manning looks murderous when he sees that bust, looks a? though he hates seeing it If he hates it there, all he's got to do is pick it up and close the door behind him. But he leaves it there. Why?
"And why, again, did Miss Engels sound so flustered when he called her on the talk-back? Why did she say she 'didn't want to disturb him' with a phone call? Because of course, she'd heard everything they said—through that open door. Just as Manning meant her to.
"In other words," H.M. emphasized, sticking out his head, "that whole scene in the office was a fake: arranged, rehearsed, and intended to be heard. All three persons in the office were in on the scheme."
Crystal, fidgeting with her handbag, cut him short
"I've already heard," she hesitated, "that Jean was mixed up in it too. But it's impossible! Jean? If she happened to be mixed up in it..."
"Only innocently!" H.M. interrupted, with a malignant glare but a real and deep sincerity. "Jean hadn't any idea about dirty work. She really is honest and naive. She's a poor actress; and you may have noticed it in her behavior later. I had one pretty awful session with her when—wait! She thought she was only protecting her father.
"Here's a gal"—H.M.'s gesture conjured up Jean's image—"who's full of lofty romantic ideas. Next to Davis, her father's her idol. If he says to her he's ruined, he's embezzled a lot of money and has to run away with more—well, that's always happenin' in films. She’ll think it's only natural.
"The one mistake made with Jean"—here H.M. pointed to Crystal—"was to tell her about The Woman and call her a fan dancer. I don't think Manning realized its effect until she blurted it out in the off ice—which wasn't acting—and I think a detached observer would have sworn it took him off-guard.
"But Jean was loyal.
"And there's one thing more, in that office recital, which wasn't acting. Manning really hated and despised Davis, just as Davis hated him. That’s the secret
"That's why the recpetionist at Manning's office was so upset when she told him Davis was there. The whole office must have known, before any question of disappearance arose. Even at second hand, dye see, I can hear Manning's real feelings sort of burn and quiver through that scene.
"Oh, not when he stagily shouts, 'Get out!' No, my children! When he's quiet? when Manning's himself. 'I was wondering,' to Davis, 'why you and I dislike each other so much.' And to Davis's, 'Do you trust me?' we hear that almost whispered, 'Not one millionth of an inch.'"
Sir Henry Merrivale smote his fist on the arm of the bench.
"And that he declared, "was the crux of the whole plan. He'd got his wife back. Maybe he did have friends in the world! He'd be completely happy if he could do just one more thing. Gil there"—and H.M. pointed to the District Attorney—"kept asking the same question over and over.
"'Why,' Gil wanted to know in a ravin' way, 'did he pretend he'd stolen money if he hadn’t stolen money? Why blacken his name? Why this disappearance if it wasn't necessary?'
"The answer is short and sweet Huntington Davis.
"Jean, the favourite child, is in love with Davis. She wouldn't have listened to a word against him; you all know that. Manning was going to prove to Jean, prove beyond question, that her adored Young Hero was actually a smilin', crafty, worthless s.o.b."
"But if Davis knew Manning hated him..." interrupted Cy.
"Shut up," H.M. said sternly. "Because now we come to the explanation of the swimming pool."
His stogy had gone out but he put it in his mouth and chewed it
"Y'see, Fred Manning made his scheme foolproof for the disappearance. However the cards fell, however people behaved, he was ready for it On Monday night"—H.M. nodded towards Byles—"Gil phoned and said he was coming for Manning next morning, with sirens.
"But I'll just bet you," continued H.M., "if you hadn't rung him, he'd have rung you. Would you have gone after him?"
Byles tapped the glass of a window beside him.
"Yes," Byles admitted. "He had me almost as sore as you usually get"
H.M. ignored the insult
"Even if that hadn't happened," he went on, "it wouldn't have made any difference. Any kind of message would do to bring cops swoopin' down; Byles's suspicions about embezzlement would do the rest. It didn't even matter if the cops didn't arrive when Manning expected them, or much later.
"Because why? Because he'd have two unimpeachable witnesses—Cy Norton and yr-obt-servant—to swear he'd done a complete disappearance and a solid-gold miracle!
"Sure, we were the witnesses! He even put us in the same bedroom. A message from Jean, in the morning, said to get down to the pool, and Manning would have seen to it that one of us got there. It didn't matter whether we jumped straight into the water, or whether we didn't Because Manning could always get us out again, by beckoning and whispering of mysterious secret messages. He could get us to stand just where he wanted us—which later he did.
"So there we were, six of us, both in and out of the pool. Davis, Jean, and Betterton were definitely in the pool. Cy and I were sittin' in an orange swing on the long side. And up strolled Manning himself, with his suntan and dyed hair and red swimming trunks hidden under loose white clothes.
"But, before Manning could dive in, there was one thing he ruddy well had to do! He had to be sure that Davis got out of that pool unseen."
Crystal held up her hand.
"Wait!" she protested. "Davie had to get out of the pool—unseen? Why?"
H.M. regarded her dismally.
"Oh, my wench! When Manning was ready to dive in, Davis couldn't be there. There had to be only two persons in the pool, Jean and Betterton. Manning would make the third. But, after Manning dived, we were supposed to think there were four, or the trick wouldn't work.
"Lemme show you!
"Manning, to make Cy and me turn our backs to the pool, used the simplest kind of misdirection. Cor, to think I was off-guard! I used exactly the same trick on Officer O'Casey in the subway.
"If you remember, Cy, Manning pointed to the back of the house and said, 'Great Scott! Look there!' We got out of the swing and crowded after him, with our backs to the pool. He had to be pointin' at something that was dead certain to keep our backs turned and our faces the other way.
"He was pointing, in fact, to you," H.M. told Crystal venomously. "You were outside the sun-porch door, coming towards us."
"But I didn't have anything to do with it" Crystal protested.
"Sure. I know now you didn't But—lord love a duck! That was the second half of the problem, after I'd solved the first And it nearly drove me scatty until midnight last night"
"Why should it?" Crystal insisted.
"Why should it?" echoed H.M. in a hollow voice and with an expression like a dying duck. "Ill tell you, my wench!
"Cy here knows about your father's phenomenal acuteness of hearing. So, as I was stuck away in a wine cellar workin' out the first half of the problem, I knew one thing. He heard those motorcycle sirens a-whooping, and he heard 'em long before anybody else heard a whisper. Now was his time, if he wanted a spectacular show, to hit for a smasher.
"And he did. Without first takin' a glance or givin' any kind of signal, he turns round and says, 'Great Scott! Look there!' And you're already outside the back door. But it's dead quiet yet; only Manning could have heard the sirens. You couldn't have heard 'em. If you're an accomplice— the vital accomplice to keep our eyes away while Davis slipped out of the pool—how in blazes did he communicate with you?
Actually, he didn't You weren't an accomplice; you were there by accident What your father originally meant to indicate was that dummy electric chair.
"It's been there half the night, where he put it, on the south terrace. Nobody noticed it because several have testified there was a cloth over it When he walked down to us, all Manning had to do was slip off the cover and throw it under the chair.
"That was a dead cert. If you see what looks like a fully loaded electric chair sittin' on the lawn, it'll hold your attention, all right
"Manning's words, 'Great Scott! Look there!' were really the signal to Davis in the pool. Davis glanced round to make sure we weren't looking, puffed out some words so his voice would come from the pool, and slid like an eel over the coping on the other side. He hared down that short grass path between the bushes, bent low, towards the bathing cabins; he turned left at the end of the bushes, and was out of sight
"Crystal couldn't see him, because we three witnesses stood in the. way blockin' the view. But she was a new element she might dish the plan. So Manning, to make certain she wouldn't notice Davis, pointed straight at her instead of the chair, which meant she'd look at him when he spoke.
"As for Betterton, in the pool, he couldn't see anything. You noticed his twisted up and (literally) blinkin' eyes. A man with very poor sight, in water, is nearly blind. The first thing he did later, when he heard the D.A. had arrived, was to rush off for his pince-nez. As he said, he couldn't see without 'em.
"But lef s go back to the spectacular moment!
"The police sirens came screamin' up the road. They stopped. Manning backed towards the coping of the pool. Still speakin' with the usual hocus-pocus, he said he hadn't expected 'em so early. He handed me the shears, and took a header.
"Now follow it!
"For the life of me, my fatheads, I can't tell you how long I stood gogglin' at that pool. But it wasn't for long. Then Betterton's head appeared up out of water nearly under Cy's feet as Cy stood on the coping.
"On the opposite of the pool—forty feet away from us, with their backs turned—Jean and apparently Davis shot up out of the water, holdin' themselves rigidly by the handrail, knocking their heads together happily.
"That's the beauty of it! Who'd suspect this happy couple weren't really Jean and Davis at all? Who'd suspect they were Jean and her old man?
"If you recall, the fake 'Davis' never turned round or said anything. Jean turned and called, 'Time to get out, Mr. Betterton!' Then Jean and her companion trotted up the little path between the bushes towards the bathing cabins.
"What they did was beautifully effective, and easy to work. Remember: the real Davis, with his real tan, is waiting unseen round the left-hand end of the bushes. When they get to the end, Jean turns right towards Ladies. The fake Davis turns left towards Gents.
"Instantly—lemme stress instantly—Jean whips round and trots out again facin' the pool, as though she'd been called. On the other side, the real Davis merely passes the fake Davis and he runs out facin' the pool.
"They're both hidden for only the part of a split second. Both Jean and Davis returning makes it doubly secure. It's so fast, yet so easily done, that a person could be lookin' straight at it without noticing the switch. Miracle!"
He paused, because Cy Norton was making dissenting noises.
"I swore men, and I swear now," Cy told him, "I never had my eyes off those two. I might have been deceived, yes. But I still swear..."
A hidden amusement lay behind H.M.'s satiric expression.
"We were seeing the thing through your eyes," he said. "You sincerely believed what you said, while I was lookin' round the edges of the pool. But I could prove by your own testimony, if we had it written down, that what you swore couldn't possibly be strictly and literally true."
"How do you mean?"
"Betterton grabbed your ankle. (No, he wasn't concerned in the business!) He said something, and you yelled down at him. 'Get out of the pool!' or words to the same effect then, distinctly, you looked up.
"You looked up. Consequently, if 8 a flat contradiction to say you didn't ever have your eyes off Jean and Davis if you looked at Betterton and then looked up. I repeat it wouldn't have made any difference in the lightning switch. But, lord love a duck, you claimed something that was impossible. Also, d'you remember last night?"
"What particular part of last night?"
"When Jean ran away from the cenotaph? And you followed her, and caught her beside that same path through the bushes to the pool?"
(Dark crimson sunset, a low line, silhouetted against the sky. Red tinges in the pool. The tall bushes that looked like hedges.)
"Y'see," H.M. went on, "she practically told you the story then, if you'd listened properly. She's awful sympathetic towards you, son...."
"Is she really?" asked Crystal, with dark blue eyes flaming.
"Don't you remember," said H.M., "it was the first time she'd ever seemed furtive? She was scared, and all of a sudden was afraid we'd connected her with the disappearance. She scuffed the toe of her shoe in the grass, and asked you in a funny kind of voice whether they didn't suspect she was—and so on? Remember?"
"But how do you know that? You weren't there!"
"You mean you didn't see me. I was lurkin', and I showed up at the right time. Jean even told you she meant to turn to the right, Davis to the left, and stressed how they never got there. But remember: you didn't shout at Jean or Davis. You shouted only at Betterton. Why should they come back?"
"H.M., what about that damned wrist watch Manning was wearing?"
H.M. pushed back his Panama hat.
"Well, y'see.... Manning jumped into the pool with it. I wondered, bein' a silly dummy, why it didn't flash like a diamond when Manning (the presumed Davis) shot up out of the water on the opposite side.
"But one look-see at the watch—remember how we found Manning lying on the grave mound, and the inside of the wrist strap facin' up?—told me I could forget it. When the fake 'Davis shot up out of the pool, the insides of his wrists and hands were towards us.
"The watch, if you recall, had a dark brown strap with a dull buckle. At forty feet, against that brown suntan, it'd be completely invisible. And invisible when he trotted away. Manning just forgot the watch, that's all.
"But now we come to the graveyard. I'd been doing—hem—a modest little bit of ball-swatting. So, because I swatted one there, we found Manning on one of the grave mounds. Afterwards I went into the cenotaph, and..."
For a moment H.M. was silent, shaking his head.
"Son," he told Cy, "I said to Jean that I admired her father. And I did. Because there was the crownin' peak of his game.
"Now it's really true he did go out to that cenotaph, when he'd had a sudden fit of energy over a period of years, to clean up that battle panorama of the Revolutionary War. But, cor, how neatly he took advantage of it! He took advantage of all those cleaning materials to cover up the fact that he had to remove his suntan and hair dye before anybody saw him again.
"D'ye follow me?
"Jean quickly rapped out and said he'd been using the cenotaph 'recently’ to clean the panorama. But not as recently as that, for panorama cleaning. When we walked in there less than twelve hours after Manning disappeared, what did we find?
"Of three empty buckets, two were still moist on the inside. There were two sponges. One, inky black and clearly used on the walls, was bone-dry. The other, stained darkish brown but with a yellow edge to show the corner where somebody'd used it, was still damp. There was whitish sediment in a metal bowl. Finally, he'd smashed part of the back window; there were darkish stains on the ledge to show where a lot of coloured water had been poured outside.
"That was evidence! And more: I said there'd be certain to be evidence in the brand-new pigskin bag; there'd be a pair of swimming trunks.
"Manning had all the time in the world, and a hideaway nobody would think of. I told you awhile ago that ordinary dark suntan lotion, even several coats, ain't strictly water-proof; you can get it off with soap and water and hard scrubbing. The feller just stood up in that bowl from the big bowl and pitcher, and he sloshed himself down. He could mop up any water from the floor, and that burnin' sun we had all day would soon dry it.
'The hair dye wasn't so easy. But all he'd need to do was take a grey hair-wash (ask the druggists, as I did round Grand Central) and slosh it on over the black. Both of 'em would shortly fade. Meantime, he'd have a passable imitation of his original hair if you didn't see it in too good a light
"And then, when we found Manning dyin' and all this evidence of what really happened ... well, I had to deal with Jean.
'There she was, scared and wonderin' in the cenotaph, knowing what it meant and afraid even of a light in her face, smack-bang at my side. And I had to question her. With Manning apparently dyin' outside, I had to find out where Irene Stanley—Manning's wife, I thought—really lived."
Slowly H.M. drew a handkerchief from his hip pocket, wiped it across his forehead, and wiped the forehead again.
"Y'see, I thought Manning probably told all his plans to her. If she hears Manning's been attacked, shell know if 8 Davis and she may blurt out everything. But this’ll occur to the would-be murderer, too. Irene Stanley's not very safe. She's got to be warned before the newspapers warn her. Well, I was wrong. Even the old man"—H.M. coughed—"can be wrong sometimes. That's why I was sort of upset when I questioned her later.
"But the hair-raisin' difficulty of handling that girl Jean! There in the cenotaph, she asked questions about her father and then, very quickly, a question about Huntington Davis. D'ye still follow me?"
Cy nodded, in a dream.
"If Jean ever suspected her adored Dave had anything to do with an attempt on her father's life," Cy said, "she'd have gone off the deep end."
"Well, and so I lied to her," growled H.M. "I cleared Davis. I said he hadn't the nerve and hadn't the brains—which was very nearly true. But don't let anybody here say I was misleadin' you or misdirectin' you."
Slowly H.M.'s gaze travelled round the group, with a glare in it.
"I cleared Davis of suspicion," said H.M., "because I was speakin' to Jean and I ruddy well had to. Will any of you tell me, under the circumstances, what else I could have said?"
There was an uneasy silence.
"Now Davis," H.M. growled on, "wasn't all false front and celluloid, though he was more than half composed of it He'd never in two green centuries have had the brains to think of a scheme like
Manning's. But he could help carry it out. And he could improve it for his own self-help.
"By the way, Manning and Davis badly overplayed another rehearsed scene in the drawing room on Monday night. They were supposed to be havin' a row again. Davis heroically says he can support Jean financially. Manning couldn't keep back the contempt of: 'Knowing your position in your father's office, I doubt it' Davis fires back that he knows Manning's financial position too. But how could Davis have known it?
"That passage jumped out like tiger's claws in a drawing-room comedy. Davis was the man, all right. What's more, as I think I reminded you, Manning told one great big whoppin' lie that night, which the same I spotted. He said the secret of how he was goin' to disappear was known only to himself."
Again Cy intervened with a repeated question.
"But if Manning and Davis hated each other," he asked, "how could Manning persuade Davis to help, him in the scheme? And why must they 'pretend' to dislike each other?"
"Oh, my son! If in Manning's scheme Davis was an accomplice, in fact the accomplice, are people likely to suspect him if they think Manning doesn't like him or trust him?"
"Come to think of it, no."
"And Davis could see it, all right. He couldn't believe Manning or anybody could dislike him, though a good many of us instinctively did. As to how Manning lured him on and trapped him..." H.M. paused.
"I say, Gil," he addressed, the District Attorney in a tone of slight apology, "you may have heard of the shootin' party we gave for Davis in the graveyard this morning?"
Byles turned on him a cold and formal eye.
"Officially or unofficially," said Byles, "I never heard of it. You shock me!"
"Sure, sure. Lieutenant Trowbridge never heard of it either." H.M. looked at Cy. "But by now, son, you've realized..."
"I should have realized at the time," Cy retorted bitterly, "that nobody in the whole damn world could have been as bad a shot as you seemed, unless you weren't trying to hit him. And that was why you didn't use tear gas? And the cops were all crack shots who would be certain not to hit him?"
"Just scare him out of his wits," the old villain answered reassuringly, "and crack his nerve as it cracked once before. I said, Thank you, gents, that's all,' to the cops, and I marched a broken-up Davis back to the house, and got the truth.
"And how had Manning got him snaffled?
"Manning, some time ago, proposed a piece of apparently crooked work to Davis, and Davis didn't turn a hair. So Manning went further.
"If they were entering into dirty work as partners, said Manning, they had each to have a document which would absolutely damn the other if either side betrayed. So they wrote two copies, each one writin' an alternate paragraph in his own hand, to the followin' effect
"Frederick Manning, who intends to elope with a floozie, will pinch the sum of a hundred thousand dollars from the Foundation Funds. In consideration of Huntington Davis's helping him with his vanishing trick, Davis will receive fifty thousand provided he gives up all claim on Jean."
"And they both signed an agreement like that?" demanded Cy.
"That's it, son. Manning knew, as far as he was concerned, he was as safe as houses. Davis didn't mind that bit about Jean, even if this could ever be made public—which it couldn't. If Manning has gone broke, then Jean's no longer an asset to Davis.
"But the fellow's in love with Jean!" protested Cy. "I swear he is! His acting wasn't that good!" "Sure he's in love with her, son." "Well, then!"
"I'm afraid," grunted H.M., "you don't understand the wrong type of these Bound-to-be-Successful boys. Davis would tell you, with tears of sincerity in his eyes, that marriage to the daughter of a poor man wasn't good sense. His social background, his athletic record, his brokerage firm, all deserved something better."
"I see," snarled Cy Norton. "But you seem to think Manning now had him in a corner. How?"
"That'll be plain," said H.M., "if I just tell you the final scene of what I'm goin' to say. Last night, at half-past seven, Davis slipped away from the baseball field with what he thought was a loaded .38 revolver.
"Oh, ah! There's the question of how that .38 Smith and Wesson got mixed up with my luggage. You know now the cops returned that. Davis went out to Maralarch with the gun, because he had plans. Instead of puttin' it in his overnight bag, the silly dummy shoved it into a deep raincoat pocket. Then he realized he'd have to hang his coat in the hall cupboard, as Betterton did. He hurried to look for a place to hide it. He found the kitchen empty. Then, standin' there with the gun in his hand, he heard somebody comin— and panicked.
"It was pure instinct. But I don't suppose he could have got rid of it better than by puttin' it on top of my bag near the kitchen door. Servants, even if they think you're loopy, still think what they find on top of your bag belongs to you—like a tennis racket or golf clubs.
"Davis knew he could follow where it went, and get it again. He did. What he didn't know was that the cartridges were now duds; Manning saw to that.
"So, at seven-thirty next day, while I'm at bat, he whips out to that cenotaph.
"Manning, all dressed again and with his disguise off, was waiting for him. It was gettin' towards a blur of twilight. And what a showdown!
"It gives me a creepy kind of feeling to remember that Elizabeth Manning, when she talked about 'a graveyard to let,' actually imagined last night what Davis meant to do to her husband! Davis—if he could muster up the nerve—wasn't goin' to have any nonsense about dividing money. He'd kill the blighter. Manning, of course, had to carry the key of the vault Davis would lock up the body there.
Those places, if you put the metal protector over the keyhole, are pretty nearly airtight Nobody would discover that body. Manning, to everybody's mind, would have run away; they'd look for him everywhere except here.
"When Davis stepped inside that cenotaph and closed the door, he didn't notice the partly broken window. The sound of shots, normally, wouldn't carry as far as the outfield.
"'Have you got the hundred thousand?' says Davis.
"'It's in there,' says Manning, and nods toward the pigskin bag. Actually, all Manning had was a couple of thousand from his own bank account.
"Davis takes the gun out of his waistband, under a loose sports coat, and fires.
"And there's only a click.
"Davis, beginning to lose his head, fires again. Only a click. And there's Manning, with those blazin' eyes we remember, just watching him.
"'I'm glad you did that,' says Manning, in the silkiest kind of tone. 'Because of course you won't get a penny of the hundred thousand.
"'Didn't it occur to you,' says Manning, 'that I'm now a fugitive? That I've disappeared? Everybody will know it in a few days. And you can't denounce me with your copy of the agreement, unless you denounce yourself too.
"'As for my copy,' says Manning, 'that's in my safe. My secretary has orders to give it to Jean, sealed, at noon tomorrow morning. Jean knows there was money being stolen. But she doesn't know you're willing to throw her over for money. And she'll see it in your own handwriting. Now get out''
"And that's what Manning had really done with his copy. Its effect on an idealistic twenty-one-year-old gal like Jean...
"Of course Manning was still foolin' Davis to the top of his bent about the money. And that's what drove Davis crazy. In his pocket he had a big penknife of a kind (they tell me) you can buy without bein' noticed. In that half-darkness he could open it behind his back.
"And Davis went for Manning with the knife.
"And Manning went for Davis with his bare hands.
"Two stab wounds in the side. Some wounds you don't feel immediately; a lung-wound usually hits like a red-hot poker. Manning started to go down on one knee—and got up again. He was still comin' for Davis, knife or no.
"Davis, for the last time, couldn't face those eyes. His nerve broke, and he ran out of the door into the graveyard. Manning, proceedin' in a kind of ferocious apple-pie order, locked the door of the cenotaph, put the key in his pocket and started after Davis.
"But he couldn't make it He collapsed against a grave only a dozen feet away. Davis thought for sure Manning was a goner. He could go back and dispose of the body when...
"Of all the grotesque objects to drive a murderer scatty, a baseball came whackin' over the fence through the trees, and bounced and rolled.
They'd probably come after it Davis had just time to get back to the field and mingle with the crowd comin' to shower bouquets on me.
"That's about all. Of course Manning refused to prosecute or even name the feller who attacked him! But, of all people, he wasn't protecting Davis. He was protecting Jean from being involved in it.
"As for the little trap I set, postin' the copper in front of the cenotaph and hoping Trowbridge would keep him there all night, there was real evidence in it. You could prove Manning must have disguised himself as Davis..."
"And you thought," interposed Cy, "Davis would return to clear out the evidence."
H.M. looked startled. "Lord love a duck, no!" ' "No? But Davis was standing there at the time you gave the orders!"
"Sure. I meant him to hear. It wasn't the disguise business; that's not criminal in itself. But, if I had things worked out right before I got confirmation, don't you see what Davis thought was in that pigskin bag? A hundred thousand soakers! Wouldn't you have had a try for it, son? I thought he would. And he did. Finish."
Crystal spoke softly. "What about... Jean?"
"You know and I know," H.M. answered, "that Jean's goin' to get over this. No life is exactly ruined at twenty-one...."
"Or any other age," Cy said.
"And besides," added H.M., "we can't have any of our gals worshippin' these All-for-Success boys, now can we?" He gave her a straight, curious look.
"Flight twenty-eight, "called a hollow voice from a loud-speaker, as Crystal had opened her mouth to speak. ''Flight twenty-eight Philadelphia, Baltimore, Washington...."
Sir Henry Merrivale, giving a galvanized start, began to make fussed gestures as though searching for the bag which a porter had already taken. Together with others who had arrived by the alleged "limousine," they propelled the great man round into the main hall of the airport.
The formalities were concluded. Crystal, Cy, and District Attorney Byles watched from the front windows as H.M.'s plane, with the latter finally inside, wheeled round amid engine spurts and bumped over to take its place on the runway.
"He said that for me!’ Crystal breathed.
"Said what for you?" asked Cy.
"I kept saying you had to succeed," said Crystal tensely. "And I kept thinking it didn't matter two hoots how you did it! But I don't believe that now."
"For myself, angel. I prefer an easy-going life." he grinned down into her eyes. "Except, of course, in one respect."
"Two months in Bermuda?" cried Crystal.
"Two months in Bermuda!" And he put his arms round her.
Outside the silver plane, shimmering with light points, slid along the runway as its engines spurted, and then throbbed into a deepening roar. District Attorney Byles, elbow in one hand and chin propped against fist, looked at the scene in such odd fashion that Cy spoke.
"Anything wrong, Mr. Byles?" The roar of the plane deepened; gently the silver shape left ground. "Oh, no!" said Byles. "No, nothing at all. I ; merely felt a twinge of pity for a fine and handsome capital." "What's that?"
"I was just wondering," Byles said musingly, "what that old devil will be up to in Washington." The plane swept over the trees and was on its way.
.