Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 19, No. 99, February 1952
- Автор: Грубер Фрэнк, Кемельман Гарри
- Год: 1952
- Язык: английский
- Год: American Mercury
- Жанр: Другие детективы
Электронная книга - «Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 19, No. 99, February 1952». Краткое содержание книги:
Delhanty shrugged his shoulders: “For a while, I thought I had my whole case right there: jealousy over a girl as the motive; weapon and opportunity right at hand; and even some indication of guilt in his not telling a straight story from the beginning. And then the whole case collapsed. The time element was off. The Medical Examiner had figured the murder had taken place about nine o’clock. That didn’t bother me too much since the best they can give you is only an approximate time. But Starr was on his way to play squash at the gym, and they have a time-clock arrangement there because there’s a fee for the use of the squash courts. Well, according to that clock, Starr was ready to start playing at 8:33. That would give him only three minutes from the time he entered Bennett’s room to the time when he started playing, and it just isn’t enough. So there you are. If the time at both ends hadn’t been so exact, we would have felt that Starr was the star suspect.”
He laughed at his pun, and I managed a smile. Then a thought occurred to me.
“Look here,” I said, “there’s something wrong with the time even as it stands. I know the arrangement for the squash courts; I’ve played there often enough. The lockers are at the other end of the building from the courts. You change into your gym clothes first and then you go down to the squash courts and get stamped in. Starr would not have had a chance to change if those times are correct as given.”
Delhanty was apologetic. “He didn’t change in the gym. I should have mentioned that. The hotel is just across the street, you see. He was wearing shorts and a sweatshirt and had his racket with him when he went into Bennett’s room. The chambermaid told us that.”
I nodded, a little disappointed. Strictly speaking, criminal investigation is not my job. The police report to me because as County Attorney it is my function to indict, and if a true bill is found, to try the case in court. But it is only natural to seize the opportunity of showing the professional where he might have slipped up.
There was a discreet knock and my secretary opened the door just wide enough to put her head in and say, “Professor Welt is outside.”
“Have him come in,” I said.
Nicky entered and I introduced him to Delhanty.
“A sad business, Lieutenant,” Nicky said, shaking his head. Then he noticed the dagger on the desk.
“This the weapon?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Bennett’s, I suppose.”
“That’s right,” said Delhanty, his tone showing surprise. “How did you know?”
“I’m only guessing, of course,” Nicky replied, with an amused shrug of the shoulders. “But it’s fairly obvious. A dagger like that isn’t anything that a man would normally carry around with him. And if you went calling on someone with the intent of bludgeoning him to death, it is hardly the sort of thing you would select to take with you. There are a thousand things that are readily available and are so much better for the purpose — a wrench, a hammer, a piece of pipe. But, of course, if you had no intention of killing when you set out, and then found it necessary or expedient, and this was the only thing to hand—”
“But it wasn’t,” I said. “Show him the photograph, Lieutenant.”
Delhanty handed over the photograph with some reluctance, I thought. I got the impression that he was not too pleased with Nicky’s characteristic air of amused condescension.
Nicky studied the photograph intently. “These books on the desk here,” he said, pointing with a lean forefinger, “are probably the texts he was planning to take to the examination with him. Notice that they all have paper markers. I don’t see any notes. Did you find a package of notes anywhere in the room, Lieutenant?”
“Notes?” Delhanty shook his head. “No notes.”
“Notes and texts at an examination, Nicky?” I asked.
“Oh, yes, in accordance with the New Plan, you remember, the candidate outlines his dissertation in the last half-hour, indicating what he hopes to prove, listing a partial bibliography and so forth. He is permitted to make use of any texts and notes that he cares to bring with him for that part of the examination.”
“Is that so?” said Delhanty politely. “History student, was he? I noticed the top book was History of Cal... Cali — something.”
“No, he was an English Literature student, Lieutenant,” I said. “But that involves the study of a lot of history. The two fields are interrelated.” I remembered that there had been a brief vogue of Moslem influence among Eighteenth Century writers. “Was it History of the Caliphate?” I suggested.
He sampled the title, and then shook his head doubtfully.
I shrugged my shoulders and turned again to Nicky. “Well, why didn’t Bennett’s assailant select one of the bludgeons instead of the dagger?” I asked. “Excellent weapons for the purpose according to the Lieutenant here — each as thick as his wrist.”
“But he didn’t use the dagger — at least not to kill with,” Nicky replied.
We both stared at him.
“But there is blood on the haft, and some of Bennett’s hair. And the Medical Examiner found that it fitted the wounds just right.”
Nicky smiled, a peculiarly knowing and annoying smile. “Yes, it would fit, but it is not the weapon.” He spread his hands. “Consider, here is a large variety of weapons ready to hand. Would a man select a dagger to bludgeon with when there are actually two bludgeons handy? Besides, hanging there on the wall, how would he know that the haft of the dagger was weighted and could be used as a bludgeon at all?”
“Suppose he planned to stab him, but that Bennett turned before he could draw the blade from the sheath, or say it stuck,” Delhanty suggested.
“Then there would be fingerprints showing,” Nicky retorted.
“He might have worn gloves,” I offered.
“In this weather?” Nicky scoffed. “And attracted no notice? Or are you suggesting that Bennett obligingly waited while the assassin drew them on?”
“He could have wiped the prints off,” said Delhanty coldly.
“Off the sheath, yes, but not off the haft. When you draw a dagger, you grip the haft in one hand and the sheath in the other. Now if your victim turns at just that moment and you have to club him with the weighted haft, his prints will be nicely etched in the resultant blood. And you couldn’t wipe those off unless you also wiped off the blood or smeared it. That would mean that the murderer would have to have worn at least one glove, and that would be even more noticeable than a pair.”
A faint, elusive thought flickered across my mind that was connected somehow with a man wearing a single glove, but Delhanty was speaking and it escaped me.
“I’ll admit, Professor,” he was saying, “that I’d expect he would have taken one of the bludgeons — but the fact is, he didn’t. We know he used the dagger because it was right there. And it was covered with blood which matches Bennett’s and with hair that matches his, and most of all, it fits the wounds.”
“Of course,” Nicky retorted scornfully. “That’s why it was used. It had to fit the wounds in order to conceal the real weapon. The bludgeons wouldn’t do because they were too thick. Suppose you had just crushed somebody’s skull with a weapon that you felt left a mark which could be traced to you. What would you do? You could continue bashing your victim until you reduced his head to a pulp — in the hope of obliterating the marks; but that would be an extremely bloody business and would take some time. If there were something lying around that would fit the wound nicely, however, you could use it once or twice to get blood and hair on it, and then leave it for the police to find. Having a weapon at hand which apparently fits, they would not think to look for another.”