by C. Daly King
As the detective looked up, he spoke in a low tone. ‘I – I should like a few words with you. I think – 1 – to tell you the truth, I think the man you were just talking to is the one you want.’
Pons glanced around. Then, realising to whom the professor was alluding, ‘Oh, you mean the young doctor?’
‘What makes you think that, Professor Didenot?’ asked Lord. ‘Here, wait a minute.’ He reached behind his chair and brought forward a small, collapsible stool which was provided for the comfort of a stewardess in the tiny open space at the rear of the cabin. Since no stewardess travelled with them on the daytime flight to Chicago, it had been leaning against the metal wall behind the last seat. The philosopher accepted it and, placing it at the end of the narrow aisle, leaned forward confidentially.
Lord’s tone was casual, almost careless. ‘What reason have you to accuse him, Didenot?’
‘I would scarcely – scarcely accuse him. But it seems to me he is the only one aboard who might rationally be suspected. It is plain to reason from the nature of the action that he is the only one who could have performed it.’
‘How so?’
‘That – is surely obvious.’
‘Not to me,’ Lord admitted. ‘No, I’m afraid it’s not at all obvious. But I have no objection to listening. Go ahead and tell me just what is in your mind.’
‘Well,’ began Didenot, ‘so far as I am concerned, I have never seen – seen the victim of this attack before. It is pure chance that we are on the same ’plane at the same time. That can be established. I am sure that it is also true of the other passengers, who, I have gathered, are a minister, a writer and this gentleman here,’ indicating Pons, ‘whose profession I do not know, but who, I believe, is a scientist of some kind. Until this morning we had never seen each other, and I am confident none of us is even acquainted with the murdered man.’
‘Well?’
‘But the only other people are two young ladies and yourself. It is fantastic to suspect you, in view of – your identity; and it is almost as fantastic to suspect either of the young women.’
‘Why do you say that?’ Pons interrupted. ‘I am a psychologist, and I assure you there is nothing fantastic about the idea that women are capable of crime.’
‘But – but not this kind of crime. Oh, I know poison is supposed to be a weapon congenial to women, and if it had been arsenic or some simple drug the case would not be so clear. But a poison gas! Where could they get it? How could it be introduced by a woman in such a fashion?’
‘You are a philosopher, I believe, professor?’ It was Lord who put the question.
‘Yes,’ agreed Didenot, ‘I am a professional philosopher. And as such I am acquainted with the techniques of modern science in a general way. Science has greatly changed our view of reality in recent times, and I am a realist who accepts the findings of exact science for the larger purposes of philosophy. I am afraid,’ he added parenthetically, with a glance toward Pons, ‘that I cannot accept the findings of psychology so readily. They are too – random. The first task of any scientific inquiry is selection; the answers found depend greatly on the questions asked. It is not by asking random questions of nature that we can expect essential knowledge.’
‘Quite right,’ Pons grunted. ‘I agree with you.’
‘To get back to the present case,’ suggested Lord.
Didenot said, ‘Yes. I have been using the process of elimination, a proper method of logical deduction. From the time of Sherlock Holmes, I believe it has been a method widely used in your profession – Captain? Eliminate the impossible, and what is left is the answer sought. An inductive process will lead – to the same conclusion. We have the use of an unusual poison, in a gaseous state difficult to obtain. Moreoever, this gas is enclosed in a small glass bulb which itself is a counterfeit of similar harmless bulbs in commercial use. Then either the poison bulb must have been specially made or an ordinary bulb obtained, from which the harmless gas was exhausted and into which the poison gas was introduced. Last of all we have a doctor, a research man, I understand, to whom the facilities for such work are at hand in a laboratory. Professionally, also, he has access to a wide range of poisonous materials. I – 1 can only repeat that to suspect a young woman of this achievement, when all the inductive particulars point to a research man who is also present, is fantastic. Deduction and induction both point to the same man, and the probability of error in such a case is logically negligible.’
‘That’s impressive so far as it goes,’ Lord admitted. ‘But have you any more concrete evidences for your suspicions?’
‘When logic gives us as clear a reply as at present, it is supererogatory to ask for further evidence.’
The detective shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not. Supererogation of the kind you mention is precisely a passion with most trial judges.’
Didenot paused, and it was evident that he sought to bring his thoughts down from the abstract to more primitive considerations. Just as Pons was about to break the short silence he said, ‘Yes, there are corroboratory facts. This man used the box of bulbs as it was being passed back, for I saw him do so. He could have put in his poison bulb then. And his extraordinary persistence in attempting to “examine” the body may well have been intended to give him an opportunity to do away with the evidence of the poison, so that he could insist upon simple heart failure as the cause of death. He certainly tried hard enough to do that.’
‘By the way,’ Lord spoke with increased interest, ‘did you happen to notice anyone else who made use of those bulbs the last time they were handed back, just before Cutter took his?’
‘Yes. The very good-looking young lady up front took one first. Then this gentleman took one, and, last of all, the man Tinkham. Of course,’ Didenot considered, looking at Dr Pons with speculation in his eye, ‘this gentleman is a scientist, also. Do you do research, sir?’ he asked suddenly.
‘Ah – ugh,’ said Pons in a startled fashion. ‘Yes, I do research. So what?’
Lord grinned involuntarily. ‘You may dismiss your fears, professor,’ he told his informant. ‘I can vouch for Dr Pons personally. It would be impossible to convince me, much less a jury, that he is involved in this matter, except as a possible witness.’
‘Ah! It was only a sudden idea. I apologise, doctor. After all, logic points inexorably to the other man.’
Lord’s attitude was not at all that of one convinced, but rather that of one interested in another’s attempt to solve a puzzle. He said quietly, ‘However inexorable your logic may be, Didenot, you have failed so far to explain a very vital point. How did Tinkham, if it was Tinkham, manage to get his poison bulb into Cutter’s handkerchief?’
‘He was the last to use the box before it was passed back. Of course. All he had to do was to put the poison bulb on the end of the row, and it would be the next one taken out.’
‘That doesn’t follow; but, granting it, how could he know that Cutter would be the next one to use a bulb? Why not you, for instance? He certainly couldn’t tell that. As a matter of fact, I not only picked out a bulb and gave it to Dr Cutter, but I myself used one after Tinkham did and before Cutter did. And also, as a matter of fact, I didn’t take the bulb on the end of the row in either case.’
‘Well ... I have not considered that aspect. Maybe he just took a chance.’
‘Oh, come,’ Pons contributed. ‘Took a chance? You can’t possibly mean that. Think of your own theory of probabilities. If Tinkham put a single poison bulb into the box, intended for Cutter, and it was in fact the one to reach Cutter under the circumstances that existed – No. Why, the chances would be millions against one!’
The philosopher acknowledged the point with a slight motion of his hand. ‘You are right about that. I do not profess to explain the actual method by which he got the proper bulb to his victim . . . But perhaps he put in several of the poison kind. Or maybe he changed them all; there were only a few left in the box as I remember it. Yes, that would bring the prob
ability to unity, or certainty.’
‘No, he couldn’t have changed them all,’ Lord pointed out. ‘I took one after he had had the box, and it was genuine.’
‘Several, then.’
‘It still leaves the probabilities against you – especially as he could not possibly know who would take the next bulb. And if anyone but Cutter had taken the poison, there would go his last chance of getting the man he wanted to get. I’ll wager no one takes another of those bulbs this trip, out of that box or any other we may get at Chicago.’
‘When logical considerations point so – ‘
‘Excuse me,’ Lord interrupted abruptly. He half rose from his seat and across the still body stretched on the opposite chair looked through the starboard window beyond it. Below them lay a flat expanse with clusters of buildings dotted upon it haphazardly; a network of converging railways traced their spidery lines across it, and far away to the north he thought he could catch a glimpse of silvery brightness where the sun shone on water.
‘Have you got your air log, Pons? Where are we?’
The psychologist fumbled among the batch of envelopes and papers stuffed in the inside pocket of his coat. ‘Only a minute ago,’ he offered, ‘I saw a big “3” on the roof of a building out this window. I suppose that’s one of the intermediate fields . . . Yes, here you are.’
Lord, the log in his hand, ran a finger down the printed notations beside the map. ‘ “3.” Yes, there it is, just south of McCool.’ Again he peered through the glass, inset in the metal wall. He had never flown to Chicago before, but several times he had crossed the plain beneath on one of those thin, tiny lines that were railroad tracks. Even from this unaccustomed angle he recognised the drab, cheerless, industrial approach to Chicago. The water to the north was much plainer now, and against it the towering stacks of great steel mills made a small, jagged comb. Gary. He glanced at the clock on the forward wall of the cabin; three minutes past one o’clock.
‘We’re getting in. I shall have to step ahead and speak to the pilots for a moment. Pons, will you stay here until I come back, and see that no one touches Dr Cutter? In any way at all. If anyone tries to, yell for me.’
He turned to Didenot. ‘I’m obliged for your ideas, professor, and I will grant you that they are perfectly logical. At the same time, I cannot agree with you that they are sufficient even for an arrest. Whoever succeeded in getting that bulb to Cutter will have to be shown to have used a means that had practically no chance of allowing the poison to go astray. Somehow he must have insured that Cutter, and only Cutter, would get that one poisoned bulb, and only that one bulb. For I shall be very much surprised if any of the others are found to be altered . . . Murderers don’t plan a crime, warn their victim, and then just trust to chance that, out of nine people, they will be lucky enough to reach their individual victim, by putting one black marble indiscriminately into a bag of white ones . . . The method will have to be clearly shown. If such a means occurs to you, I should be very glad to hear of it.’
With a nod, that somehow managed to combine brevity and courtesy, the detective made his way quickly up the still unsteady aisle. As he opened the cockpit door, the geometrical designs of city streets were beginning to slide beneath the ’plane.
600 FEET
The big Boeing circled the Municipal Air Port twice, while the pilots observed the cone on the Control Tower, veering sharply in the blustery winds, then turned their attention to the mechanically operated ‘Tee’ on the ground which served as an auxiliary indicator of landing direction under just such conditions as the present.
Far below them the airport siren shrieked and howled; and from the headphones on the senior pilot’s ears the voice of the field manager spoke: ‘Lewis in 74. Lewis in 74. Land with the “Tee.” Land with the “Tee.” All clear. Go ahead, Lewis.’
The junior pilot’s head appeared in the cockpit doorway. ‘Everyone adjust safety belts for the landing, please. Everyone.’
The ’plane banked, receded from the airport, banked again and slanted down toward the field in a long glide. The altimeter arm began moving steadily; 2800 . . . 2500 . . . 1800 . . .
At 1500 feet there was a whirring sound that rose rapidly to an angry buzz, then as rapidly faded out; a small, single-seated combat ’plane, bearing the army insignia, flashed past them, dived again, finally straightened out and touched the field at between ninety and a hundred miles an hour. The dust thrown away from its three bounces made little spurts against the earth.
A minute later the transport settled down gently at less than sixty miles. It, too, made one slight, long bounce, and, with intermittent bursts of its big motors, taxied across the wide expanse toward the Amalgamated buildings.
Some little distance away from them it stopped, the pilots having brought it directly behind an identical transport, then letting the motors go dead. Close to the ’plane ahead, its propellers already turning slowly and evenly, a considerable gathering stood about. There was a squad of police headed by a lieutenant, whose gold embroidered bar glinted brightly in the sunlight; and there were several porters, one of whom supported a collapsible stretcher, as well as two mechanics, a pair of post office men with dangling automatics to transfer the western mail, or deliver that for Chicago to their main office. Their small truck stood near the nose of the forward transport.
The Amalgamated manager disengaged himself from the group and walked across to the arriving ’plane. An accommodation ladder was placed next the fuselage, and he produced a key and unlocked the cabin door. Lord stepped down.
They shook hands, and Lord said, ‘First of all, before anything else is done, I want Dr Cutter transferred to the new ’plane. Can he be put in the rear baggage compartment?’
‘Yes, but – ‘
‘He will be safer there than in the cabin.’
‘But you know,’ the manager protested, ‘once you are in flight you can’t possibly reach him. There is no communication between the cabin and the rear baggage compartment.’
‘How long is our next hop?’
‘To Omaha. About three hours. Then Cheyenne; that’s about three and a half. You get another ’plane at Cheyenne, a little after seven, Mountain Time.’
Lord considered. ‘That’s all right – to Cheyenne, anyhow. In an emergency the pilots will land at my request, won’t they?’
‘They have been told to follow any request you may make, provided it does not endanger the ship. They understand that you are in command of the cabin.’
The police lieutenant was now approaching; the detective, being in mufti, stepped forward and shook hands with him, rather than exchanging salutes. ‘Swain,’ said the lieutenant. ‘This is a hot one, Captain – new to me. The Commissioner says we will waive jurisdiction as a matter of courtesy to your Department. I don’t believe he’s too sure he has any jurisdiction to waive, at that. I have a squad with me – at your orders until you leave.’
‘Thanks, Lieutenant. The first thing is to get Dr Cutter transferred.’
The task proved far from easy. Two of the porters, their expressions plainly evidencing their distaste for the assignment, finally managed to place the surgeon’s body on the stretcher and to lower it through the narrow doorway. After much panting and tugging it was accomplished without mishap, and the stretcher borne away toward the ’plane ahead, in company of the police, who regarded both porters with evident suspicion.
‘Please close the cabin door again,’ Lord requested. ‘No one can get out with that door closed, I believe?’
‘Not a chance,’ grinned the manager, slamming it shut. ‘It has an automatic lock. The senior pilot has a key, and I have one here. No one else can get through it either way once it’s shut.’
‘By the way, I’ll want keys for the cabin door, and also the baggage compartment of the new ’plane. Can I have them?’
The manager assented cheerfully and immediately. ‘Sure thing. I don’t know how you did it, but I’m told to let you have anything you want . . . H
ere, Ainsworth,’ beckoning to one of the mechanics, ‘duplicate keys for 59.’
‘Now, Lieutenant, I wish you would have your men form two lines at intervals, making a lane between the cabin doors of these two ’planes. The passengers are to pass directly from this to the other. I’m afraid,’ turning to the manager, ‘that it will be impossible to permit them to go into the buildings, even for a quick lunch.’
‘Yes,’ the latter returned, ‘I got that from your message. We have put a stewardess aboard 59, so she will serve lunch to all of you as soon as you go up. She will go right through with you now, on special service.’
‘Thanks very much; that’s considerate . . . Lieutenant, will you take charge of transferring the passengers?’
As Lord and the manager walked off toward the transport ahead, Lieutenant Swain, having formed his men as requested, was bawling through the again opened cabin door, ‘Come out, you. Come on! Step on it,’ in a tone quite other than he had employed up to the present.
At the baggage compartment entrance the two policemen were relieved to note Lord’s approach; they had very little idea as to what it was all about. Lord peered in. The compartment was quite large enough to hold the stretcher and leave a considerable space over; it had been securely lashed to the starboard wall and to two rings in the fuselage flooring. Dr Cutter’s body in turn, had been strapped to the stretcher. The detective climbed into the narrow space and tried all the fastenings. They were firm, and he turned his attention to the baggage. Only the personal effects of the travellers had been transferred. These were not many; they were lashed together and tightly secured at the rear of the compartment by strong bonds. Satisfied, he climbed out again.
‘Here are your keys,’ the manager told him as he dropped to the ground. ‘This one is for this door, and the other for the cabin door.’
Lord thanked him and closed the doorway he had just quitted. Immediately he tried the key he had just been given. It fitted; the door opened easily.