Obelists Fly High

by C. Daly King

  Dr Pons lit a cigarette. ‘He, you said, or she?’

  ‘Certainly. It may have been one of the girls, for all I know. Tinkham tells me Fonda plays a lot of tennis and has a strong tennis arm, and Isa looks as if she had good muscles with that wiry build of hers. I haven’t anything against them, but I haven’t anything for them, either. I can’t seem to get alibis for anybody, and so everyone is still an equally possible suspect.’

  ‘Hah,’ said Pons. ‘This will take some thinking. I have talked to both of them, and I find there is a first-rate mix-up and controversy in the Cutter family. You know about it, perhaps?’

  ‘This business about the sister’s divorce, you mean? I know only the general outlines of the affair.’

  ‘It is not a mild disagreement by any manner of means. It’s seriously important to several of them – probably to all of them. It will bear thinking about. It involves some very strong emotions and some fundamental ones.’

  Lord inquired, ‘You haven’t formed a theory about it already, have you?’

  ‘No, not yet. What I’d like to do is sit down by myself and go over what I know about it. Motivation is an excellent place to start from, and I have quite a bit of data on possible motives here. I’m not ready with it yet, though.’

  ‘That sounds reasonable enough,’ Lord admitted. ‘Well, doctor, go ahead and work out your motives. You were pretty close to the correct solution on the Meganaut, I remember. I’ll be glad to hear any ideas you may hit upon. We shall have to work fairly fast now, if Lannings is right about going up again.’

  ‘He’s right about that, I guess,’ said Pons. ‘The snow has stopped, and they are out there clearing off the field now, I believe.’

  ‘All right, you work on motive for a bit and I’ll concentrate on the other angles. The weapon and my own slip that must have told the murderer the truth about Cutter. Meantime I’ll get on with these interviews and finish them up before there is any question of leaving here and going up again.’

  ‘Right you are,’ the psychologist assented cheerfully. ‘I can use another of those sandwiches about now, then I’ll sit down and see just what we have to go on . . . Whom will you have next, Michael?’

  Lord consulted his chart. ‘Didenot, I guess, and then Bellowes. Yes, I’ll take them that way.’

  ‘Hah! Bellowes won’t do your headache any good, I’m afraid. Shan’t I have Marjorie bring you a couple of aspirin tablets?’

  ‘Not yet, no. I’m in a hurry to get through with this. I’ll get some from her when I talk with her.’

  When the philosopher had replaced Dr Pons, Lord got the first definite advantage of his questionings. Didenot could give Bellowes an alibi. As they worked out the times, he had gotten up from his chair at 8.33, been in the rear of the cabin at 8.34, descended from the ’plane at 8.35, started crossing the field at 8.36, and reached the house at 8.39. The significant part of his testimony, however, was that Bellowes had preceded him out of the ’plane and across the landing field. Didenot had seen the latter leave just before him and, since he had followed him toward the house, had not lost sight of him until he had entered the doorway. Bellowes had walked somewhat faster than the philosopher, however, and thus might possibly have arrived a minute or more earlier. Lord checked the information against Ginty’s evidence of Bellowes’ arrival at 8.37 and found an agreeable matching of the time. Didenot also confirmed that when he had entered the front room only the pilots, the keeper and Bellowes were already there.

  With Bellowes, although the clergyman treated him with the greatest reserve and had to be cross-examined at some length before he disclosed his information, Lord managed to establish another alibi. He had noticed Didenot getting out of his seat as he passed down the aisle; he had also glanced back at least twice toward the ’plane after leaving it, and was sure that the other had followed him across the field. Moreover, he confirmed that Didenot had entered the house shortly after he himself had arrived, being the next passenger to come in. Although he could not be made to commit himself to any particular times, the detective calculated that Bellowes had risen from his chair at 8.32, started for the house at 8.35, and reached it – since he agreed that he had walked rapidly – at 8.37. It all checked nicely.

  The minister left with his lips still set in a thin, straight line. He had washed his hands once of the whole sordid affair. He had no desire to consort further with the derelict sinners among whom he found himself for the duration of his journey.

  Hugh L. Craven entered Lord’s sanctum with his pipe drawing well and a sportsman’s smile lighting up his face. ‘Pullin’ my leg a bit about that bulb, weren’t you?’ he remarked as he reclined in a relaxed posture on the bed at Lord’s gesture. ‘Just the same, I shouldn’t be too sure if I were you, Captain; maybe you’re pulling your own leg now instead of mine.’

  ‘How is that?’ asked Lord, leaning back more comfortably in his wooden chair and lighting a cigarette.

  ‘Why, just that it may still have happened as I suggested. You admit now that you gave the man the bulb on purpose. It wasn’t an injurious one, but that’s all right; I assumed that it was harmless myself. It doesn’t alter the fact that the fatal effect may have been projected just as I told you, and Cutter have been dead since this morning. This stabbing affair may have been quite superfluous. By the way, have you got the knife he was stabbed with?’

  ‘No,’ said Lord. ‘The murderer still has that. Unless he has thrown it away in a snowdrift off the field somewhere.’

  ‘Quite. On the other hand, how are you so certain that there is a knife? I take it there is a wound now; but how do you know that that isn’t a projected wound also? You haven’t the instrument you suppose caused it. What if there wasn’t any instrument in the ordinary sense?’

  The detective took his turn at grinning. ‘What if it’s all black magic, eh?’

  Craven shrugged good-naturedly. ‘Black magic is simply a silly label for what you don’t understand. There have certainly been instances of secondary projection. Do you recall the circumstances of the death of J. Temple Thurstone, for example? His body was found burned to death, dressed in clothes that were not even scorched. No other signs of fire on the premises, but hours later further inexplicable fires broke out in the vicinity in such a fashion that no “ordinary” explanation sufficed. Then there was Lavina Farrar, also. She died of a stab wound to the heart; but her clothes were unpunctured. Some distance away was found a knife and a little blood; but there was no blood on her garments, Fully reported by competent witnesses. There are other cases.’

  ‘From which you conclude, Mr Craven?’

  ‘Both are instances of projected death. But more than that: they are also instances of afterthoughts. The original visualisations had been merely of the fatal attacks upon these persons, and the attacks had been inexplicably localised because that was all that had been imagined and projected. Then a realisation that inexplicable circumstances might lead to searching investigations. So in one case further fire projections (but likewise “unnatural”) and in the other a knife and blood, but again in such a fashion that the knife could not have been withdrawn from the wound or the blood have issued from it ... So here perhaps you have the original successful attack followed later by a further projection attempting to make the murder more plausible to contemporary superstitions.’

  ‘Very clever,’ said Lord, ‘a most ingenious theory. However,’ he leaned forward again and continued more briskly, ‘in view of the actual wounds, which are far from imaginary, and also of the footprints of the criminal as he approached and left the scene, as well as a large bump on my head that I am quite sure was not “projected,” I shall stick to a more usual hypothesis. Let us get down to what really happened following our landing.’

  ‘Of course,’ Craven waved his pipe in graceful retirement, ‘I was certain, to begin with, that hypnosis is proof against proof.’

  ‘I should like to have a summary of your movements. I am collecting all of them, you underst
and, in order to establish alibis. Have you an alibi, by any chance? I hope so. It will reduce my work.’

  ‘I’m afraid not, old chap. I walked over to look at the combat ’plane at the other end of the field, and I fear I neglected to take anyone with me. There was no one there, and I only met Dr Pons when I had left the army ’plane and was at the doorstep of the house.’

  ‘And how did you happen to go over to the army ’plane, in the first place?’

  Craven shrugged. ‘Again no special reason, I’m afraid. I fly a great deal. I’m interested in ’planes, that’s all.’

  ‘I see. Well, let us try to get your movements down to definite times. Did you leave our ’plane soon after it landed, or did you wait at all in the cabin?’

  ‘I can tell you that. I got down just after the pilots. I believe I was the first to follow them out; in fact I am sure of it. They were carrying the other flyer away to the house just as I reached the field.’

  ‘8.31, then,’ said Lord, ‘for your descent to the field. How long did it take you to reach the other ’plane, would you say?’

  ‘No idea, really. I had to find it first, and it was some distance from this house. Nearly as far as our own ’plane, I would say, although in quite another direction.’

  ‘If you came in with Pons, you reached here at 8.40. Suppose we say four to five minutes to find the army ’plane. That would bring you to it at 8.36. Did you stay there long?’

  ‘Only a minute or so. It was colder than I had thought. I merely glanced into the cockpit and looked at the instrument panel.’

  ‘All right. About two minutes, probably. Then you would have left it about 8.38 and reached the house at 8.40. That would seem about right, would it?’

  ‘Really, I can’t say. In general I should think you were about correct. I didn’t notice the time when I arrived here; but, by Jove, I did see the clock on the instrument panel of the combat ’plane. Let me think; I believe it was between 8.35 and 8.40 somewhere. I can’t do better than that for you.’

  ‘That would check.’

  ‘Probably it would. Just the same, I think you’re barkin’ up the wrong tree. I don’t know who has alibis and who hasn’t, but I don’t believe any of these people did a murder at that time. I’ve had a bit of experience flying, as I said; and after a landing such as we had, no one is likely to be prepared for quick action and meeting unexpected emergencies as this theoretical murderer must have done. I don’t know whether you realise it, but we were in a tight place for a bit up above.’

  ‘Oh, I know that well enough. Nevertheless,’ Lord added grimly, ‘someone did do it, so your objections, no matter how good, are overcome.’

  The novelist rose from his lounging position and stretched. ‘I can see,’ he agreed, ‘that you will have it your way. I wish I had an alibi for you, but I haven’t. I should gladly tell you anything I could, but I can’t even give anyone else an alibi. In fact, I’ve said all I know, and I can see it’s not of much account; but it’s the best I can do.’

  ‘O.K. Then send in Miss Fonda Mann, if you don’t mind.’

  Fonda came in and flashed a brilliant smile at Michael Lord. She brought a perceptible effect of brightness into the dark little room with its one electric bulb above the shabby bedstead.

  ‘Won’t you sit down, Miss Mann?’

  Fonda sat down, straightening her tailored skirt over her crossed knees. ‘Must it be “Miss Mann”? she inquired in her low, rich voice. ‘We seem to have become rather closely’ – she smiled again – ‘involved together in a very short time.’

  Lord, surprised, adjusted himself quickly to her attitude; he had usually found it advantageous to meet witnesses on their own ground.

  ‘May I have a light – Michael?’

  ‘You may have a light, Fonda.’ He crossed to her side, held a match to the tip of her cigarette, could not avoid noting the darkened lashes fringing her raised blue glance. ‘Thank you, Michael.’

  In his own chair again, with the girl leaning back gracefully on one arm while the smoke drifted out between her red lips, he said, ‘Of course you surprise me. You do not appear as concerned over what has happened as I should have supposed. Would you object to telling me frankly your view of Dr Cutter, Miss Mann?’

  ‘Fonda, please,’ said Fonda.

  ‘Fonda.’

  The girl drew her features into a frown, rather an attractive one. ‘I didn’t like him at all,’ she answered. ‘He was a hard man, unreasonable and prejudiced. Half the reason he came out here at all was to force my mother into a divorce against her real wishes. Dr Mac could have done the operation just as well, no matter what he said ... As to his death, I was shocked at first, but I have gotten over most of that. I have thought all along, you know, that he was killed this morning.’

  ‘And how do you feel about your other uncle? I gather that he, too, is in favour of your mother’s divorce. You understand that these personal questions are necessary under the circumstances.’

  ‘It is perfectly all right; I don’t mind at all . . . Uncle Jim is much nicer. He’s not so – inhuman. Amos has always been breaking up mother’s relations with the men she liked; I think he was just plain jealous of them. Uncle Jim doesn’t really care; he lets people live as they want to. He was just talked over by Amos. I haven’t seen him for some time, or I could have changed his position myself, easily. He won’t do anything much by himself, you wait and see.’

  ‘But you couldn’t do anything with Amos, eh? He was hard-boiled.’

  ‘He was a perfectly horrid man, Michael. Nasty, he was.’

  ‘Just the same, he has been murdered. I don’t suppose your animosity goes so far as to approve of that?’

  ‘No–o.’ She flicked an ash on the floor without taking her deep-blue gaze from Lord’s face. He could not escape the realisation that she was one of the most beautiful girls he had ever seen.

  He gave himself an inward shake, half angrily. She knew that, of course, and she was managing to put him in a position where it would be extremely difficult for him to take advantage of this intimate conversation to incriminate her, if she had had anything to do with Cutter’s death. She was evidently a shrewd judge of character in addition to her other attributes.

  ‘Now look here, Fonda Mann,’ he said more sharply, ‘a murder has been done – and murder is a dirty, cowardly, degenerate crime. I am going to find out who did it, and I am going to send that person to the chair. I may as well tell you that you are still a possible suspect along with the rest.’

  ‘That’s all right with me.’ Fonda seemed in no way perturbed by the ominous information.

  ‘Michael?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Can I have another light, please?’

  This time he tossed the matches across to her. She caught them deftly in her left hand. He waited until she had selected and lighted another cigarette.

  ‘Now,’ he said, ‘I’m going to ask you some important questions, and I don’t want frivolous answers.’

  ‘You’re so serious, Michael.’

  ‘I am entirely serious,’ he agreed.

  ‘I like you serious. You look – oh, handsomely intense that way, you know.’

  ‘Quit it. I want these questions answered.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Did you send your uncle the threatening note he received in New York?’

  ‘Good heavens, no.’ Fonda almost choked with surprise as she inhaled the cigarette. ‘I never even thought of it, and, if I had, I wouldn’t have sent it. It couldn’t possibly do any good.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean it wouldn’t have kept him away from Reno. Probably have taken him out sooner. He was terribly obstinate, like most disagreeable men.’

  ‘I see . . . ’ Lord spoke abruptly. ‘Did you kill him? Was he disagreeable enough for that?’

  ‘Of course I didn’t kill him. What an idea, Michael! You don’t think female murderers are attractive, do you? I don’t.’

  ‘I
have known them to be beautiful, however, and very calm and calculating.’

  ‘Am I beautiful, Michael?’

  ‘Indeed yes, Fonda. You are certainly beautiful. I should not rely upon that circumstance too far, though, if I were you,’ Lord finished unpleasantly.

  ‘Now you’re angry.’ The girl’s bearing changed instantaneously. ‘I’m sorry. I am, really. I shouldn’t have been flip when you are trying so hard; and your head – Oh,’ she cried suddenly, ‘that’s an awful bump you have on it! It’s as big as an egg, and I’ll bet it hurts like anything.’ She opened her handbag and reached inside. ‘Here, take these aspirins. Please.’ She held out two white tablets in a slim, manicured hand.

  ‘One way to get rid of the detective?’ Lord suggested.

  ‘I – Michael!’ Fonda’s voice rose, then dropped reproachfully. ‘That’s perfectly horrid of you.’

  He looked into wide open, reproachful eyes that looked steadily into his. He felt automatically ashamed of himself; he simply couldn’t help it. ‘All right,’ he said ungraciously. He accepted the tablets and swallowed them both.

  Fonda smiled happily, and became serious. ‘Now I’ll answer your questions decently. Really, I will.’

  Still somewhat distrustfully, Lord said, ‘Tell me just what you did after the ’plane landed.’

  ‘I sat still for a few minutes. Then I got up and asked that nice little stewardess where the pilots had gone. I saw them get out of the ’plane. She said to the keeper’s house. So I jumped out and went after them. When I was almost there – ’

  ‘Wait a minute. How long before you left your seat? Three or four minutes?’

  ‘I don’t know exactly. About that maybe. It was a few minutes before I was ready to get up. I was frightened up in that storm, Michael.’

  ‘We landed at 8.28. About 8.32 you got up?’

  ‘I guess so. I don’t really know.’