Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 125, No. 3 & 4. Whole No. 763 & 764, March/April 2005
- Автор: Dean David, Dempsey Timothy F.
- Год: 2005
- Язык: английский
- Год: Dell Magazines
- ISBN: ISSN 1054-8122
- Жанр: Другие детективы
Электронная книга - «Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 125, No. 3 & 4. Whole No. 763 & 764, March/April 2005». Краткое содержание книги:
“Life is made of coincidences,” he observed, with a sort of dreamy contentment. “On the one hand, you’re a flatf — detective. And now this strange object. It’s incredible...”
“Don’t try and tell me that stick has something to do with the murder. I warn you, if you’re thinking that it’s some kind of ultra-sophisticated firing mechanism, you can forget about it. The experts were quite clear on that point.”
“I never said that.”
A long silence followed his words. Roussel had the distinct impression that the stranger had just solved the mystery. His calm and slightly condescending expression seemed to confirm that.
“From what I understand,” he said, eventually, “the victim had a very forceful personality.”
“Yes, indeed,” agreed Roussel. “Bertrand Charpie was not at all your typical captain of industry. His audacity was legendary, he launched an extraordinary number of new endeavours, and always successfully. He had also made a very promising start in politics. Yet, despite all that, he remained a very simple man of the people. He could often be seen buying one of his workers a drink...”
“...The more to exploit him. I see. I suppose that he also made grandiose philosophical speeches, preaching the love of one’s neighbour and disdaining all base material things, such as money and property.”
“Yes, he—”
“Do you honestly believe that it is possible to succeed as he did by following the philosophy that he preached?”
“Well, I—”
“Wasn’t he really the worst kind of hypocrite?”
“Maybe,” replied Roussel, noncommittally. “But what is your point?”
“Just this: Almost anybody could have held a grudge against such an individual, not least his relatives.”
“That may be. But it’s not the motive that’s the problem, it’s how the killer managed to do it. And I get the feeling,” added Roussel, his eyes narrowing, “that you have an idea.”
“Idea?” said the stranger, with a smirk. “I’d say I was certain.”
He stopped, looked furtively about him, thought for a moment, then continued:
“Listen, I can’t tell you right now, but I’m sure you’ll understand everything a few minutes after I’ve gone. For the time being, I’ll give you a clue. The killer is obviously one of the people in the tunnel at the time of the murder. Someone who has been carrying out a diabolical plan — sacrificing two innocent people so that Charpie’s death would look like some kind of curse. And I’ll bet the old gypsy’s palm was crossed with silver so he would utter his dire warnings. The challenge to Charpie was also part of the scheme: being the boastful braggart he was, he couldn’t have ignored it without damaging his reputation. As to how the trick was worked, I think the killer threw an exploding cigar, which he had just lit, an instant before he drew his gun, so as to create a diversion. I have to go now but, believe me, the rest will become clear to you. I’m sure of it.”
Taken by surprise, Roussel watched the stranger vanish into the night. Only the flutter of a few dead leaves marked the spot where he had been standing just a moment before.
I can’t tell you right now, but I’m sure you’ll understand everything... a few minutes after I’ve gone.
Mad as a hatter, thought Roussel. Not only had he tried to pretend that he had succeeded where a professional like himself, Roussel, had failed over the years, but, to cap it all, he had claimed that the solution would become clear in a few minutes, as if by magic. A candidate for the loony bin, no doubt about it.
Roussel started back towards his flat, but sleep was out of the question. He ducked into a bar, ordered a double scotch, and looked at his watch: eleven o’clock. Fifteen minutes had gone by since the stranger had disappeared. He shrugged his shoulders, emptied his glass, and ordered another one. In his mind’s eye, he saw the stranger with his arm in a sling. A curious individual. A tramp, as he had first thought? His eyes had been clear, not those of a wandering drunkard. Alert and mischievous...
Ten minutes later, he decided it was time to head home. He called for the bill and reached into his pocket, only to find his wallet had gone!
His wallet, which had contained more than half his pay.
Not only had it gone, but there was a large hole in his pocket, cut cleanly, as if by a razor.
“Listen, Roussel,” said the detective superintendent, trying to remain calm. “You’ve got a good many years left before you retire, and probably a couple of promotions. So, if I were you, I wouldn’t go stirring up old cases which neither you nor anyone—”
“Picard threw the fake cigar away just before Charpie fell, I’m absolutely certain of it. He threw it on the side, and it exploded just as the Charpies drew level with it. He was waiting for the explosion and fired on Charpie the same instant. We took the two almost simultaneous explosions as an echo. Besides, do you remember there were different witness accounts about the direction of the shot?”
“Okay, okay. Suppose that’s true. How do you explain that you didn’t see him fire, even though he was only standing a few centimetres from you?”
Roussel opened a bag and pulled out a wooden rod about thirty centimetres long, with a short, wide leather belt attached at one end. “This isn’t the actual object that was found at the scene of the crime, but it’s very much like it. Now, tighten the belt around my biceps, so that the rod crosses my chest horizontally. There, that’s good. Now, take one of the gloves in the bag and the raincoat to hide the rod completely.”
“A false arm,” murmured the superintendent, in utter astonishment.
“Yes, a false arm. An old pickpocket’s trick. There’s also a false plaster arm and a false arm in a sling, but let’s not bother with them. It’s a perfect illusion, isn’t it? It really looks as though the raincoat is on my arm, but my real forearm is free, behind my back. I remember Picard was wearing gloves. He was standing just as I am in front of you: almost facing me, but slightly turned so as to observe Charpie. And he simply fired on him with the hand behind his back. Granted, it’s not everyone who could aim accurately in those circumstances, but easy for an experienced marksman. And I recalled that he was a combat sports enthusiast.”
“Hell’s bells, Roussel, you’ve almost got me convinced. But, tell me, how did you tumble to the answer?”
“You probably know that I often used to walk around near the escalator after it was shut down. Thinking calmly, soaking in the atmosphere of the crime scene...”
Looking down, and fingering the stitched-up jacket pocket, Roussel said: “One of these days, it was bound to... pay off.”
Copyright ©; 2000 by Paul Halter, originally published in La Nuit du Loup (Hachette Livre); translation ©; 2004 by John Pugmire.
Detectiverse
Colorful Characters
— J. Masterson
The Caravan of Wonders Lady
by James Powell
James Powell seems to have at his fingertips an endless supply of fascinating but little-known facts. The “pig-faced woman” referred to in this new tale was a popular sideshow act in England in the late 18th and early 19th centuries, he tells us. Another of the story’s references is to the “Classic foot, which in William Blake’s apprentice etcher day was how feet were supposed to look.” In his story, it becomes the “Angelic foot.”