Obelists Fly High

by C. Daly King

  ‘You’re staying there anyway, I thought,’ said Lord.

  ‘Yes. I meant the others.’

  ‘I shall hold them all as long as I can.’

  ‘It’s damnable,’ the surgeon’s assistant asserted. ‘A great man, a great scientist. Isn’t there anything I can do to help find his murderer?’

  ‘Not unless you want to confess.’

  Tinkham gave a perceptible start. He said, ‘Uh?’; then smiled wryly. ‘You ask too much, Captain. No, I’m serious. It is unbelievable that Dr Cutter’s assailant should escape his just deserts.’

  ‘He won’t,’ Lord grated. ‘I’ll get him, but I haven’t got him yet.’

  When the other had left him, he sat thinking. Was it Tinkham? He could not forget that voice, strained with passion, cold with contempt, speaking of those who would obstruct scientific progress. Back at Newark Airport. Ages ago. The man had looked distinctly uncomfortable when requested to confess, but anyone else would probably have looked uncomfortable, too. He didn’t appear to be a man of action, but these fellows, Lord knew, could act drastically on occasion; but would a surgeon – and undoubtedly Tinkham was a competent surgeon himself – have made those crude slashes in a throat? Would he have selected such a bungling instrument as a scarf clip? Only if he were clever, very clever indeed . . . And he had, it seemed, opened his bag.

  ‘Mornin’. Craven’s voice was cool and pleasant. ‘Luck?’

  ‘None that you could notice,’ Lord admitted gloomily.

  ‘Too bad; but you know, old chap, you’re not looking in the right direction at all . . . Any sign of it?’

  The detective knew the other was referring to his pistol. He shook his head in the negative.

  ‘Well, there’s a little time yet.’ The novelist passed on.

  Very collected, very calm, Lord noted. That business of the gun, though, appeared sillier, the more one considered it. Had it been a real error, one of those inevitable mistakes that ought to put him on the right track? Or was there actually a criminal in the cabin who harboured plans of further violence, who had seized another opportunity to provide himself – or herself – with still another weapon? Why? The first murder was a success. There could be only one reason for a second attack: if some one knew who the murderer was, if some one else had to be silenced. But no one knew. No one except Dr Pons had even voiced suspicions. Perhaps, though, somebody held a vital piece of evidence without knowing it and eventually Lord would dig that evidence out. If so, however, he was still far away from it and both the time for silencing such a hypothetical witness was becoming extremely short and the conditions for doing so undetected were now once more peculiarly difficult. The scheme hardly seemed plausible.

  On the other hand, suppose that Craven had originally intended to shoot Cutter during the night. The gun, no doubt, had a silencer; and the shot itself, in the noise of the droning motors, might well have been unnoticed. Now he wanted to dispose of the gun; who knew, there might be a search before the passengers were permitted to land. It was not vitally important evidence, even if found upon Craven, but how much better for him either to tuck it away somewhere in the cabin or slip it into some one else’s coat or bag; and then to claim to have been robbed. Suspicion would thus be divided, at least, between himself and the alleged thief. Yes, that was the calm and competent thing to have done, and surely as plausible as the idea that some one had stolen it too late to use it except in full view of them all.

  And why had Craven volunteered all that additional information during the night? Lord had received a distinct impression of stealth when he had turned around in the cockpit doorway and discovered the novelist seated at the cabin’s rear. Had Craven right then been engaged in planting the gun upon some one? He realised, however, that he was going out of his way to look for trouble now. The man might well have been doing just what he appeared to be doing; and the new evidence he offered might also have been simply a matter of further recollection, subsequent to his first examination in Ginty’s room.

  That evidence had definitely shown the extent of Isa’s unaccounted time, Lord remembered, veering again. Assuredly she had sufficient motive. What a family! Pons could say what he wanted – and almost surely the things were altogether emotional – but just the same, to the detective’s mind, incest and homosexuality were not pretty, any way you looked at it. Because he had built up the theory of it himself, Isa’s motivation suddenly seemed very strong to him. What was murder to a person as twisted as that?

  And just then Isa came down the aisle. Lord looked at her closely. He masked the distaste in his mind and asked, ‘Did you have a good sleep?’

  She put her hand on the lavatory door before replying. She turned and said, ‘Thanks, I had a hell of a night.’

  So there they were, all three, and mighty little to choose between them.

  7400 FEET

  The passengers were upright in their seats now, the blankets folded and stowed away by the stewardess; all signs of the night had vanished. It was brighter outside, although still dull and cloudy. Mt Lewis and Mt Moses loomed to the south, their peaks jutting high above the ’plane, while Battle Mountain, north, was well below it. Only about an hour now to Reno, for some of them the end of their trip. An air of expectancy already hung about the travellers.

  Michael Lord sat stupefied.

  He had wondered, while the others were moving about and coming back to settle into their chairs, if he were really going to fail. The first big case he had flopped on. Of course he could hold them all for a little while at Reno, but there the difficulties would be enormously increased and gradually, on one pretext or another, they would disperse. The time to achieve a solution was here on the ’plane, in this cabin, while he had them all under his eye with no possibility of escape. He had no idea how to do it.

  Fonda had come back and fussed over him. She had made him wash his face. She had said, ‘Michael!’ several times, had said ‘poor boy’ once. Fonda had been quite proprietary and he had been surprised to realise how much he had liked it. She had left him then, but the revival she had brought to his senses had lingered while he sat looking up the cabin at her hair under the little hat.

  Then he had slumped again. It occurred to him that he had had no sleep for the last twenty-four hours and that the last time he had slept, it hadn’t been for long. A lot of things had happened, among which he had taken a good knock on the head and fallen rather violently in love. It appeared a bad combination as a background for clear reasoning.

  Marjorie had brought him a message from the cockpit and for a brief moment hope had flared up. Until he had read it. It was addressed to Cutter and said: ‘Patient had excellent night. Recovery assured. MacKenzie.’

  In angry despair he had crumpled the paper and flung it into the aisle. What did he care whether the other Cutter recovered or not? If it had to be one of them, he would much have preferred James dead and Amos alive. It was just the other way around.

  Desperately he went back to the three possible criminals. It seemed to him that he had spent his whole life in going over their motives, their missing alibis, their evasions, their bluffings. His head ached, God how it ached!

  And then he saw it. As clearly as if the printed name had been held before his eyes, he knew at once and finally who the murderer was. He sat stupefied.

  It was so simple, all the time it had been so obviously simple! It was no theory that disclosed the criminal, no implication far-fetched or close. It was a staring fact; a fact so easily established and so readily appreciated that he could not now believe that any one could miss it, and he had missed it all along; he had thought of this fact and even discussed it with Pons. Pons had missed it, too.

  ‘Well!’ He drew a long breath and expelled it slowly. Then he got to work, going over the whole case with the criminal in mind, no longer a shadowy X but a definite name and a definite figure at which, every once in a while, he glanced to assure himself of its presence. He fitted things together; this element and
that one fell into their orderly places. Only one detail remained unexplained and that one, he felt certain, would prove easy of ascertainment. He could practically prophesy it, as a matter of fact.

  Finally, he brought out his note-book, unfolded the chart over which he had pored so often. He scratched out the word ‘Reported’ in front of ‘Movements’ and substituted ‘Actual’. He went over it carefully, confirming the alibis that were correct, two of them, and changing the false one to accord with the real movements of the criminal. They fitted again. Of course. They had to. Everything fitted.

  Michael Lord got out of his seat and walked steadily up the cabin.

  7600 FEET

  As he reached the door to the cockpit and faced around, the ’plane bumped in a sudden gust.

  He said, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, this case is over.’ His hand went into his pocket and when it came out it held an automatic.

  He looked down the two lines of faces, turned toward him attentively. With his bald announcement all conversation had abruptly ceased. He noted the locations of the various passengers as he faced them: to his left, Fonda, Pons, Isa, Didenot; to his right, Tinkham in the forward seat, then Bellowes, Craven, an empty chair and the stewardess at the rear. Tinkham was getting up.

  ‘Where are you going?’ asked Lord. ‘Don’t you want to hear who killed Dr Cutter?’

  ‘I most certainly do,’ the surgeon’s assistant assured him. ‘I’ll be right back, give you more room here, too. Hold it up just a minute, will you, please?’

  Lord said, ‘Sure.’ But during the minute or so Tinkham was in the lavatory, he addressed the others. ‘Practically all of you have been under suspicion,’ he told them. ‘Some more than others, of course, for some of you had alibis back there at Medicine Bow, when this murder took place. Dr Pons I have known personally for some years; he was never considered. And Bellowes and Didenot could clear each other. Miss Fonda Mann, it turned out, also had an alibi, although that was not evident at first. It would have been foolish to suspect the stewardess or the pilots. That left three of you, Miss Isa Mann, Dr Tinkham and Mr Craven. An explanation is due to all of you, particularly to those who have now been cleared; and I am sure you are all interested.’

  In the pause, Craven’s voice drawled, ‘Quite.’ Tinkham re-entered the cabin and took the last vacant chair on the left, across the aisle from Marjorie Gavin. It was doubtful if he had heard anything except the last sentence.

  Isa said, ‘Please,’ in an unaccustomedly subdued tone. ‘I want a glass of water. Can I get it?’

  The detective nodded and she stepped back to the faucet in the rear. When she had finished she, too, remained in the after half of the cabin, taking the seat just ahead of the stewardess.

  When she was in the chair, Lord went on. I am not going to take your time with a recital of the cases against the two innocent suspects. Theoretically they both had motive, opportunity and means. So did the guilty person, of course.

  ‘I want to recall to you the circumstances of the crime. As soon as we had made our emergency landing, I left the cabin and went around to the baggage compartment on the other side of the ’plane to reassure myself about Dr Cutter. I had a little difficulty in getting the baggage door open and I had just done so when the criminal, coming around the rear end of the ship, struck me on the head from behind and knocked me out. It was not more than one or two minutes’ work to enter the compartment and slash the unconscious man’s throat. The criminal’s steps were then retraced and eventually the field keeper’s house was reached, where, in the confusion, every one finally made his or her way.

  ‘The crime was committed with Miss Fonda Mann’s scarf clip, a peculiar weapon but a more dangerous one than you would suppose unless you examined it. Unfortunately the choice of this instrument gave little indication as to who had used it, for Miss Mann had dropped her clip some time after we embarked on our present ’plane at Cheyenne and she didn’t know either when or where it had been lost. Any one could have picked it up, even while we were getting into the ’plane, perhaps.

  ‘There were other angles to the case, however, which at first sight appeared more promising. Dr Cutter had received a threat of death through the mail the day before we left New York; therefore it was plain that the criminal had planned the crime in advance and must have come aboard armed with some sort of weapon with which to accomplish the purpose. Had there been no solution during the flight, you would all have been searched when we landed, but, of course, the possession of a weapon with which the crime had not been committed, would be no more than an indication. It would be of no use as evidence. As a matter of fact, now that I know who the murderer is, I am almost certain I know the original means decided upon.

  ‘This means could not be used, due to my plan of carrying Dr Cutter out to Reno unconscious and in a trance; and not in the cabin with the rest of us, furthermore, but in the baggage compartment to which, under ordinary conditions, no access of any kind is available to the passengers during a trip. I adopted this plan without Dr Cutter’s knowledge for two reasons: first, because he was an obstinate man who could not be trusted to follow my instructions; and second, because of the safety of the situation. An unexpected snow-storm and the exhaustion of our escort flyer combined to make my precautions useless.’

  The ’plane bumped again. The passengers were becoming restless and, despite all they could do to conceal it, a little frightened. Bellowes raised a stentorian voice. ‘Have done, my man,’ he demanded. ‘Who is this criminal who is sitting among us?’

  ‘The murderer,’ said Lord calmly, ‘is Dr Tinkham.’

  There was a surprised silence. Then, with one accord, most of the passengers turned to stare at their fellow traveller. Almost at the same moment Pons and Fonda both said, ‘Are – are you sure?’

  Tinkham sat apparently at ease and returned the looks focused upon him by the others. Lord knew now that he had been prepared for the accusation; was that why he had gotten as far away as possible?

  The detective said, ‘Hood Tinkham, I place you formally under arrest for the murder of Dr Amos Cutter. When we land, you will accompany me immediately to the police station at Reno, where you will be held for the time being, until arrangements can be made to return you to New York for trial. Any statement you may make now, may be used in the case against you.’

  ‘You haven’t got any case against me,’ Tinkham answered coldly. ‘I had no motive for such an act. Where is there any evidence against me, more than against any one else?’

  Lord permitted himself a grim smile. ‘The case against you is so complete that I will tell it to you ... As to motive, you are prepared to go to any lengths in your fanatical support of the vivisection crusade. You stole Dr Cutter’s address for the summer convention and when you found how hopeless his determined opposition made your cause, you decided to kill him. You then, with the confidence of many fanatics, sent him a note foretelling his death, which you knew would not deter him from his plans but, if anything, make him play into your hands.

  ‘Your original idea was simple enough, when you found that both of you would fly to Reno. Under pretence of apprehension over his heart, you insisted upon bringing along a hypodermic with which you would have found some means of injecting into his blood a poison, not glonoin solute. Trusting in being the only physician present, you would have certified death from heart failure, due to altitude. You would probably have tried to poison him at the time mentioned in the death note; in fact I had some trouble in preventing your doing just that.

  ‘I found a chance to open your bag and secure that hypodermic when you left the cabin for a few minutes. It is now being examined in Salt Lake City and I have no doubt of the eventual report. That is why I did not think you had dropped your bag on the field at Medicine Bow and then looked through it. You did, however, and so you have known for some time that the game was up. You had no opportunity to escape at Salt Lake City. Maybe you didn’t realise that the tests were already being made or maybe you hope
d that any report would be delayed until after we reached Reno. You would certainly have tried to disappear there.

  ‘When your original plan for the murder fell through, you were constantly on the alert for another chance. You, who had planned to kill Dr Cutter just when he seemed to have died, must have found something very peculiar in the circumstances, and Craven confirmed your suspicions by insisting that I had not given him anything harmful, in a conversation which you overheard. From then on certainly you sought to carry out your first intention.

  ‘When you found Miss Mann’s clip and slipped it into your pocket, you were doubtless only playing a long chance, but your surgeon’s eye saw its ability to cut and it had the double advantage of belonging to some one else and of being an unlikely weapon for a professional surgeon to use.

  ‘The chance to use it came fortuitously and fairly soon after you had procured it. We made an emergency landing under confusing conditions and you found it possible to get out of the cabin and follow me to Dr Cutter. Then you put me out and murdered him, but the mistake you made was so absurd that I cannot yet see how you came to do it. I suppose you wanted to implicate Miss Mann and get the full benefit of your weapon. Why didn’t you throw it away in the snow? You brought it back to the cabin again; and that is conclusive proof that you committed the crime.

  ‘The chart of our movements show this without any possibility of doubt. For at 8.34 the clip was in the baggage compartment being used against Dr Cutter and at 8.41 it was back in the cabin where Miss Mann found it. She was within sight of the keeper’s house at the time of the crime so that she could not have had the clip in her possession to bring back with her, and you were the only other person to enter the cabin between 8.34 and 8.41. That convicts you, I think.’

  Lord’s voice ceased and in the silence Fonda asked, ‘Can I see the chart, Michael?’ He reached for it with his left hand and gave it to her, keeping a watch meantime on Tinkham at the cabin’s rear.