Escapade

Chapter Twenty

“Yes?” I said.

“Well,” he said, and his wide pink forehead was creased with thought. “What did you think of our Superintendent?”

“Not a whole lot,” I told him.

“No. I gathered as much. But I’d like to assure you that he’s not truly representative of our police officials.”

“Good.”

“I’ve heard, for example, excellent reports of Inspector Marsh.”

“Marsh is still coming tomorrow?”

“Well, I doubt, personally, that Scotland Yard will give any great credence to Superintendent Honniwell’s report. He and his people spent only about ten minutes in the Earl’s room.”

“They took away the body?”

“For the autopsy, yes.”

“You think it was a suicide, Sir Arthur?”

He considered the question for a moment. “Let me put it this way,” he said. “I should like to persuade myself that if it was not a suicide, then all other human agencies have been entirely ruled out.”

“Human agencies,” I said.

“Yes.”

“Uh-huh.” I looked back at Lord Bob. He was still contemplating the empty decanter. I turned to Doyle. “You might talk to Lord Purleigh about moving the rest of the ammunition and locking it up somewhere.”

“The ammunition? Oh yes. Yes, of course. If it is Chin Soo, why should we provide him any more it?”

“Right.”

“An excellent idea.” He glanced at Lord Bob. “Lord Purleigh is rather under the weather at the moment. But I’ll have a word with Higgens.”

“Thanks. I’ll see you later.”

“Harry?”

Nothing.

I knocked on the Great Man’s door again. “Harry?”

Nothing.

I tried the knob. The door was locked.

I rapped again at the wooden panel. “Harry. Open the door.” Nothing.

I said, “It’s about Bess, Harry.”

I waited. After a long moment, I heard his voice on the other side of the door. “What about her?”

“Open the door,” I said, “and I’ll tell you.”

I waited.

Finally I heard a click at the lock. I turned the knob and the door opened. The Great Man was walking away, his back to me. He was naked except for a pair of the black briefs he ordered by the gross from France. I looked down at the lock. No key. There hadn’t been one earlier.

I said, “You used a pick to lock it. And unlock it.”

But where had he put the pick afterward? His hands were empty.

He turned to me and he moved his muscular shoulders in a small shrug. He wasn’t going to tell me anything he didn’t want me to know. He crossed his arms over his chest and he said flatly, “What is it about Bess?”

Probably he’d just thrown it across the room, behind the bed. “The Earl’s death,” I said. “It’s going to make the newspapers. The London Times for sure, and maybe the French papers, too. Bess is going to read about it, in Paris. You know she’s worried about Chin Soo. She’s going to wonder, maybe, if there’s any connection.”

He thought about that. “Perhaps,” he said. He lowered himself gracefully to the floor and lay down along the rug. He didn’t look at me as he locked his hands behind his head and began to do sit-ups. “I shall ask Lord Purleigh,” he said, touching his left knee with his right elbow, “if I can send a wire. To reassure her.” He sank back to the floor.

I walked over to the desk, sat down in the chair.

“Listen, Harry,” I said. “I’m sorry I kicked you.”

He grazed his right knee with his left elbow.

“Harry, I apologize. I just didn’t want you saying anything to Honniwell about getting out of that room.”

“The man is a cretin,” he said to the ceiling.

“Exactly,” I said. “And if you started explaining how someone could get out of there, he would’ve hung around all night.”

“I was about to explain,” he said, on the upswing, “that no one had escaped from the room.”

“Honniwell’s not a guy you want to confuse with too many theories, Harry. This guy Marsh, the one who’s coming tomorrow, Sir Arthur says he’s smart. He’s the one you should talk to.”

“I intend to.” On the upswing again.

“Good. That’s good, Harry. You should. He’ll probably be glad to hear whatever you have to say. Look, I didn’t mean to hurt you-”

He straightened out his legs and sat up, his hands against the floor, and he looked at me. “Hurt me? Pain is nothing to Houdini. You should understand that by now. No, Phil, what disturbs me is the rudeness of it. Have I ever kicked you in the ankle?”

It was an interesting conversation to be having with a semi-naked man. “No, Harry,” I said, “I’ve got to admit you haven’t.”

“Surely you could have devised some other means of signaling me?”

“Probably, yeah, but nothing sprang to mind. Maybe we could work out a code.”

“And, to tell you the truth, I do not understand why you are so fascinated by the death of the Earl. As I have established, this was definitely a suicide. And it has nothing whatever to do with Chin Soo. Who is, if my memory serves me, your sole reason for being here.”

“Well, Harry,” I said, “I’m not so sure that Chin Soo and the Earl’s death are unconnected.”

The Great Man frowned. “What are you saying?”

“Someone takes a rifle from the gun collection, uses it to shoot at you, and then puts it back. And then someone takes a revolver from the same gun collection, probably within a few hours, and the Earl gets shot with it.”

“But no one could have shot the Earl. Except himself. As I told you, Phil, I examined that door very carefully. No one had tampered with it. And if Chin Soo had done so-which is totally impossible-what reason would he have for killing the Earl?”

“I don’t know. But how did that revolver get into the Earl’s room?”

He shrugged. “Perhaps the Superintendent is right, and the Earl’s valet brought it to him.”

“I don’t think so. I talked to the valet.”

“It was another servant, then. One of them, perhaps, who was fond of the Earl. He brought the gun at the Earl’s request.”

“He was fond of the Earl, so he helped him commit suicide?”

“Perhaps the Earl told him he wanted the gun for some other reason. Lord Purleigh suggested as much.”

“A lot of guns were being moved in and out of that hall today. He shook his head. “It is a coincidence, Phil. Nothing more.”

“I don’t like coincidences.”

“Phil, I do not like being kicked in the ankle. But there are some things, apparently, that we must learn to live with.”

I smiled. “Harry, I said I was sorry.”

He put up a hand. “Yes, yes. I accept your apology, of course.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Okay. Have you changed your mind about staying here?”

He seemed surprised. “Why should I change my mind?”

“Harry. That rifle, the Winchester, I’m pretty sure it was the rifle that shot at you. If it was, and if Chin Soo fired it, that means he came into the house, took the rifle, left the house, fired the rifle, came back into the house, and put the rifle back.”

“Yes. So you said to Lord Purleigh. But Phil, I must tell you, in all honesty, that it would be impossible for Chin Soo to run in and out of the house in this manner. I tried to say as much to Lord Purleigh, earlier. Chin Soo is simply not skilled enough. He could manage the locks, yes, perhaps. But as for lurking within the house, and scooting back and forth to the outside-impossible.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Phil, I believe that it was not Chin Soo who fired that weapon.”

“Why?”

“Is it logical to believe that Chin Soo would go to all the trouble you describe, putting himself in jeopardy several times over, simply to obtain a rifle from the Great Hall? Why did he not merely bring along, to Maplewhite, a rifle of his own? He could have purchased one, or even stolen one.”

“Good question,” I admitted. “I don’t know. But the fact is, that Winchester was the rifle that got fired today.”

“Perhaps it was. But consider this, Phil.” He crossed his legs and leaned forward, like a small boy at a campfire. He was smiling the smile he smiled on stage whenever he was about to pull off some especially spectacular stunt. “Perhaps when the rifle was fired today, it was not, in fact, being fired at me.”

“Harry, the slug missed you by a few inches.”

“Yes,” he said, holding up a finger and smiling that smile, “but it also missed everyone else. By very much the same distance.” He put his hands on his knees. “You remember that we were all gathered together beneath that tree. You have been assuming all along that the famous slug was meant for me. But how do we know this is true?”

I sat back in the chair. I thought about it. “We don’t.” I nodded. “That’s pretty good, Harry.”

He shrugged with what he probably thought was modesty, but what looked more like satisfaction. “It is merely logical,” he said.

I was thinking. “It makes more sense that way,” I told him. “Your way. Somebody who was already here at Maplewhite would be able to get into the Great Hall a lot easier than a stranger.”

“Of course.”

“But if you’re right, who were they shooting at? Who was there?” I thought back. “Miss Turner, Mrs. Corneille. Mrs. Allardyce. Lord Bob.”

“Lord Purleigh,” he corrected me. “The more interesting question, I believe, is-who was not there?”

“Right. Madame Whosis and her husband weren’t even here at Maplewhite yet. Neither was Sir Arthur. So who was? Cecily. Lady Purleigh. Dr. Auerbach. Sir David.”

“And a host of servants, do not forget.”

I smiled. “Everybody wants to blame everything on the servants.”

“But Phil, these are all cultured, wealthy people.”

“Wealthy people kill each other all the time, Harry. It’s what they do when they’re not counting their money.”

“You are a cynic, Phil.”

“Or maybe Sir Arthur’s right. He’s beginning to think it was some goblin who did it.”

The Great Man nodded sadly. “Yes. I sometimes worry about Sir Arthur.”

He lay back down on the rug, raised his knees, and put his hands back behind his head. “We have established the important thing,” he said, lifting his shoulders, touching his right elbow against his left knee. “That it was not Chin Soo who fired the rifle. Which means, therefore, that both of us can relax now.”

“Not exactly,” I said.

He looked over at me but didn’t stop his sit-ups.

“We’ve established,” I said, “that it probably wasn’t Chin Soo who fired the rifle. Even if it wasn’t, that doesn’t mean that he’s not hanging around somewhere.”

“But there are police guards here now, Phil.” Down went his shoulders.

“Chin Soo has gotten past the police before.”

“In Philadelphia. These are British police.” Down again. “Could you get past a pair of British cops, Harry?”

“Of course. But Chin Soo is not Houdini.” Down.

“Uh-huh. Well, listen. I’m going to go snoop around for a while. Do me a favor and put a chair up against the door?”

“It is completely unnecessary, Phil. And why do you plan to snoop around?” Up went his shoulders.

“I want to make sure you’re right about the rifle.”

“It is only logical, Phil.” Up again.

“Right. You’ll put the chair up against the door?”

He sighed theatrically. This isn’t an easy thing to do while you’re in the middle of a sit-up.

I said, “Humor me, Harry.”

“Oh, very well. If you insist.” With another sigh, he swung himself up again.

I stood.

He said, “Oh. Phil?” Down went the shoulders.

“Yeah?”

He smiled. “It was very obvious, what you were doing when you mentioned Bess. You merely wanted me to open the door.” Down.

I smiled back. “It worked, though, Harry. There’s more than one way to get through a locked door.”

“It worked,” he said, coming back up off the floor, “only because it is impossible for Houdini to hold a grudge.”

As usual, he had the last word.

I went looking for Briggs.