'And - '
'And you tell me,' she said, 'this chap Burnaby has a club - foot.'
When, towards daylight, Rampole at last fell asleep, he was haunted by images in which Burnaby's club - foot seemed even more sinister than the man who wore a dummy head. It was all nonsense; but it was a disturbing kind of nonsense to mingle in a dream with the puzzle of the three graves.
He struggled out of bed when Dr Fell knocked at the door towards nine o'clock on Sunday morning. He shaved and dressed hastily, and stumbled down through a silent house. It was an unearthly hour for Dr Fell (or anybody else) to be stirring, and Rampole knew some fresh devilry had broken overnight. The hallways were chilly; even the great library, where a roaring fire had been lighted, had that unreal look which all things assume when you get up at daybreak to catch a train. Breakfast - for three - was set out in the embrasure of the bay window overlooking llic terrace. It was a leaden day, the sky already moving with snow. Dr Fell, fully dressed, sat at the table with his head in his hands and stared at a newspaper.
'Brother Henri' - he rumbled, and struck the paper. 'Oh, yes. He's at it again. Hadley just phoned with more details, and he'll be here any minute. Look at this for a starter. If we thought we'd got a hard problem on our hands last night - oh, Bacchus, look at this one! I'm like Drayman - I can't believe it. It's crowded Grimaud's murder clean off the front page. Fortunately they haven't spotted the connexion between 'em, or else Hadley's given 'em the word to keep off. Here!'
Rampole, as coffee was poured out for him, saw the headlines: 'MAGICIAN MURDERED BY MAGIC!' said one, which must have given great pleasure to the writer. 'RIDDLE OF CAGLIOSTRO STREET.'
'THE SECOND BULLET IS FOR YOU!'
'Cagliostro Street?' the American repeated. 'Where in the name of sanity is Cagliostro Street? I thought I'd heard of some funny street names, but this one - '
'You'd never hear of it ordinarily,' grunted Dr Fell. ' It's one of those streets hidden behind streets, that you only stumble on by accident when you're looking for a short cut, and you're startled to find a whole community lost in the middle of London ... Anyway, Cagliostro Street is not more than three minutes' walk from Grimaud's house. It's a little cul - de - sac behind Guilford Street, on the other side of Russell Square. So far as I remember, it has a lot of tradesmen's shops overflowing from Lamb's Conduit Street, and the rest lodging - houses. Brother Henri left Grimaud's place after the shooting, walked over there, hung about for a little time, and then completed his work.'
Rampole ran his eye down the story:
'The body of the man found murdered last night in Cagliostro street, WC1, has been identified as that of Pierre Fley, a French conjurer and illusionist. Although he had been performing for some months at a music - hall in Commercial Road, E, he took lodgings two weeks ago in Cagliostro Street. About half - past ten last night, he was found shot to death under circumstances which seem to indicate that a magician was murdered by magic. Nothing was seen and no trace left - three witnesses testify - although they all distinctly heard a voice say, ' The second bullet is for you.'
Cagliostro Street is two hundred yards long, and ends in a blank brick wall. There are a few shops at the beginning of the street, closed at that time, although a few night lights were burning, and the pavements were swept in front of them. But, beginning some twenty yards on, there was unbroken snow on the pavement and the street.
Mr Jesse Short and Mr R. G. Blackwin, Birmingham visitors to London, were on their way to visit a friend with lodgings near the end of the street. They were walking on the right - hand pavement, and had their backs to the mouth of the street. Mr Blackwin, who was turning round to make sure of the numbers on the doors, noticed a man walking some distance behind them. This man was walking slowly and rather nervously, looking round him as though he expected to see someone near. He was walking in the middle of the street. But the light was dim, and aside from seeing that he was tall and wore a slouch - hat, neither Mr Short nor Mr Blackwin noticed anything else. At the same time, P.C. Henry Withers - whose beat was along Lamb's Conduit Street - reached the entrance to Cagliostro Street. He saw the man walking in the snow, but glanced back again without noticing him. And in the space of three or four seconds the thing happened.
Mr Short and Mr Blackwin heard behind them a cry that was nearer a scream. They then heard some one distinctly say the words, 'The second bullet is for you,' and a laugh followed by a muffled pistol - shot. As they whirled round, the man behind staggered, screamed again, and pitched forward on his face.
The street, they could see, was absolutely empty from end to end. Moreover, the man was walking in the middle of it, and both state that there were no footprints in the snow but his own. This is confirmed by P.C. Withers, who came running from the mouth of the street. In the light from a jeweller's window, they could see the victim lying face downward, his arms spread out, and blood jetting from a bullet - hole under his left shoulder blade. The weapon - a long - barrelled .38 Colt revolver, of a pattern thirty years out of date - had been thrown away some ten feet behind.
Despite the words they had all heard, and the gun lying at some distance, the witnesses thought because of the empty street that he must have shot himself. They saw that the man was still breathing, and carried him to the office of Dr M. R. Jenkins near the end of the street, while the constable made certain there were no footprints anywhere. The victim, however, died, without speaking, not long afterwards.
Then occurred the most startling disclosure. The man's overcoat round the wound was burnt and singed black, showing that the weapon must have been pressed against his back or held only a few inches away. But Dr Jenkins gave it as his opinion - later confirmed by the police - that suicide was not possible. No man, he stated, could have held any pistol in such a way as to shoot himself through the back at that angle, and more especially with the long - barrelled weapon which was used. It was murder, but an incredible murder. If the man had been shot from some distance away, from a window or door, the absence of a murderer and even the absence of footprints would mean nothing. But he was shot by some one who stood beside him, spoke to him, and vanished.
No papers or marks of identification could be found in the man's clothes, and nobody seemed to know him. After some delay he was sent to the mortuary - '
'But what about the officer Hadley sent round to pick him up?' Rampole asked. 'Couldn't he identify the man?'
'He did identify him, later,' growled Dr Fell. 'But the whole hullabaloo was over by the time he got there. He ran into the policeman, Hadley says, when Withers was still making inquiries from door to door. Then he put two and two together. Meantime the man Hadley had sent to the music - hall also in quest of Fley had phoned through that Fley wasn't there. Fley had coolly told the theatre manager he had no intention of doing his turn that night, and walked out with some sort of cryptic remark ... Well, to identify the body at the mortuary they got hold of Fley's landlord in Cagliostro Street. And to make sure it was the same person, they asked for somebody from the music - hall to come along. An Irishman with an Italian name, who was also on the bill but couldn't do his turn that night because of some sort of injury, volunteered. Harrumph, yes. It was Fley, and he's dead, and we're in a hell of a mess. Bah!'
'And this story,' cried Rampole, 'is actually true?' He was answered by Hadley, whose ring at the bell was belligerent. Hadley stamped in, carrying his brief - case like a tomahawk, and released some of his grievances before he would even touch bacon and eggs.
'It's true, right enough,' he said, grimly, stamping his heels before the fire. 'I let the papers splash it out so we could broadcast an appeal for information from anybody who knew Pierre Fley or his - brother Henri. By God! Fell, I'm losing my mind! That damned nickname of yours sticks in my head, and I can't get rid of it. I find myself referring to brother Henri as though I knew that was his real name. I find myself getting imaginary pictures of brother Henri. At least we soon ought to know what his real name is. I've cabled to Buc
arest. Brother Henri! Brother Henri! We've picked up his trail again, and lost it again. Bro -'
'For Lord's sake go easy!' urged Dr Fell, puffing uneasily. 'Don't rave; it's bad enough now. I suppose you've been at it nearly all night? And got some more information? H'mf, yes. Now sit down and console the inner man. Then we can approach in - humph - a philosophic spirit, hey?'
Hadley said he wanted nothing to eat. But, after he had finished two helpings, drunk several cups of coffee, and lighted a cigar, he mellowed into a more normal mood.
'Now, then! Let's begin,' he said, squaring himself determinedly as he took papers from the brief - case, 'by checking over this newspaper account point by point - as well as what it doesn't say. Hum! First as to these chaps Blackwin and Short. They're reliable; besides it's certain neither of them is brother Henri. We wired Birmingham, and found they've been well known in their district all their lives. They're prosperous, sound people who wouldn't go off the handle as witnesses in a thing like this. The constable, Withers, is a thoroughly reliable man; in fact he's painstaking to the extent of a vice. If those people say they didn't see anybody, they may have been deceived, but at least they were telling the truth as they knew it.'
'Deceived - how?'
'I don't know,' growled Hadley, drawing a deep breath and shaking his head grimly, 'except that they must have been. I had a brief look at the street, although I didn't go through Fley's room. It's no Piccadilly Circus for illumination, but at least it's not dark enough for any man in his five wits to be mistaken about what he saw. Shadows - I don't know! As to footprints, if Withers swears there weren't any, I'll take his word for it. And there we are.'
Dr Fell only grunted, and Hadley went on: 'Now, about that weapon. Fley was shot with a bullet from that Colt .38, and so was Grimaud. There were two exploded cartridge - cases in the magazine, only two bullets, and bro - and the murderer scored with each. The modern revolver, you see, ejects its shells like an automatic; but this gun is so old that we haven't a ghost of a chance of being able to trace it. It's in good working order, it fires modern steel - jacket ammunition, but somebody has kept it hidden away for years.'
'He didn't forget anything, Henri didn't. Well. Did you trace Frey's movements?'
'Yes. He was going to call on Henri.'
Dr Fell's eyes snapped open. 'Eh? Look here, you mean you've got a lead about - '
'It's the only lead we have got. And,' said Hadley, with bitter satisfaction, 'if it doesn't produce results within a couple of hours I'll eat that brief - case. You remember I told you over the phone that Fley had refused to perform and walked out of the theatre last night? Yes. My plain - clothes officer got the story both from the theatre - manager, fellow named Isaacstein, and from an acrobat named O'Rourke, who was friendlier with Fley than anybody else and identified the body later.
'Saturday, naturally, is the big night down Limehouse way. The theatre runs continuous variety from one in the afternoon until eleven at night. Business was booming in the evening, and Frey's first night turn was to begin at eight - fifteen. About five minutes before then, O'Rourke - who had broken his wrist and couldn't go on that night - sneaked down into the cellar for a smoke. They have a coal furnace for hot - water pipes there.'
Hadley unfolded a closely written sheet. 'Here is what O'Rourke said, just as Somers took it down and O'Rourke later initialled.
'The minute I got through the asbestos door and downstairs, I heard a noise like somebody smashing up kindling - wood. Then I did get a jump. The furnace door was open, and there was old Loony with a hatchet in his hand, busting hell out of the few properties he owned and shoving them all in the fire. I said, "For cat's sake. Loony, what are you doing?" He said, in that queer way of his, "I am destroying my equipment, Signor Pagliacci." (I use the name of Pagliacci the Great, you understand, but then he always talked like that, so help me!) Well, he said, "My work is finished; I shall not need them any longer" - and, zingo! in went his faked ropes and the hollow bamboo rods for his cabinet. I said, "Loony, great goddelmighty, pull yourself together." I said, "You go on in a few minutes, and you're not even dressed." He said: "Didn't I tell you? I am going to see my brother. He will do something that will settle an old affair for both of us."
"Well, he walked over to the stairs and then turned around sharp. Loony's got a face like a white horse. Lord pity me for saying it, and he had a queer creepy look with the fire from the furnace shining on him. He said, "In case anything happens to me after he has done the business, you will find my brother in the same street where I myself live. That is not where he really resides, but he has taken a room there." Just then down comes old Isaacstein, looking for him. He couldn't believe his ears when he heard Loony refuse to go on. There was a row. Isaacstein bawled, "You know what'll happen if you don't go on?" And Loony says, as pleasant as a three - card man, "Yes, I know what will happen." Then he lifts his hat very courteously, and says, "Good night, gentlemen. I am going back to my grave." And up the stairs this lunatic walks without another word.'
Hadley folded up the sheet and replaced it in his brief - case.
'Yes, he was a good showman,' said Dr Fell, struggling to light his pipe. 'It seems a pity brother Henri had to - what then?'
'Now, it may or may not mean anything to track Henri down in Cagliostro Street, but we're sure to get his temporary hideout,' Hadley went on. 'The question occurred to me, where was Fley going when he was shot? Where was he walking to? Not to his own room. He lived at number 2B, at the beginning of the street, and he was going in the other direction. When he was shot he was a little over half - way down, between number 18 on his right and number 21 on his left - but in the middle of the street, of course. That's a good trail, and I've sent Somers out on it. He's to turn out every house past the middle, looking for any new or suspicious or otherwise noticeable lodger. Landladies being what they are, we shall probably get dozens, but that doesn't matter.'
Dr Fell, who was slouched as far down in the big chair as the bulk of his weight would allow, ruffled his hair. 'Yes, but I shouldn't concentrate too much on any end of the street. Rip 'em all up, say I. You see, suppose Fley was running from somebody, trying to get away from somebody, when he was shot?'
'Running away into a blind alley?'
'It's wrong! I tell you it's all wrong!' roared the doctor, hoisting himself up in the chair. 'Not merely because I can't see anywhere a chink or glimmer of reason (which I freely admit), but because the simplicity of the thing is so maddening. It's no matter of hocus - pocus within four walls. There's a street. There's a man walking along it in the snow. Scream, whispered words, bang! Witnesses turn, and murderer gone. Where? Did the pistol come flying through the air like a thrown knife, explode against Fley's back, and spin away?'
'Rubbish!'
'I know it's rubbish. But I still ask the question,' nodded Dr Fell. He let his eye - glasses drop and pressed his hands over his eyes. ' I say, how does this new development affect the Russell Square group? I mean, considering that everybody is officially under suspicion, can't we eliminate a few of those? Even if they were telling us lies at Grimaud's house, they still weren't out hurling Colt revolvers in the middle of Cagliostro Street.'
The superintendent's face was ugly with sarcasm. 'Now there's another bit of luck for us, kindly notice. I forgot that! We could eliminate one or two - if the Cagliostro Street business had occurred a little later, or even a little earlier. It didn't. Fley was shot at just ten - twenty - five. In other words, about fifteen minutes after Grimaud. Brother Henri took no chances. He anticipated exactly what we would do: send out a man to pick up Fley as soon as the alarm was given. Only brother Henri (or somebody) anticipated us in both ways. He was there with his little vanishing - trick.'
'"Or somebody?"' repeated Dr Fell. 'Your mental processes are interesting. Why "or somebody"?'
'That's what I'm getting at - the unfortunate, unobserved fifteen minutes just after Grimaud's murder. I'm learning new wrinkles in crime, Fell. If you want to
commit a couple of shrewd murders, don't commit one and then hang about waiting for the dramatic moment to pull off the other. Hit once - and then hit again instantly, while the watchers are still so muddled by the first that nobody, including the police, can definitely remember who was where at a given time. Can we?'
'Now, now,' growled Dr Fell, to conceal the fact that he couldn't. 'It ought to be easy to work out a time - table. Let's see. We arrived at Grimaud's - when?'
Hadley was jotting on a slip of paper. 'Just as Mangan jumped out the window, which couldn't have been more than two minutes after the shot. Say ten - twelve. We ran upstairs, found the door locked, got the pliers, and opened the door. Say three minutes more.'
'Isn't that allowing a small margin of time?' Rampole interposed. 'It seemed to me we were doing a good deal of tearing around.'
'People often think so. In fact,' said Hadley, ' I thought so myself until I handled that Kynaston knifing case (remember, Fell?), where a damned clever killer depended for his alibi on the tendency of witnesses always to overestimate lime. That's because we think in minutes rather than seconds. Try it yourself. Put a watch on the table, shut your eyes, and look again when you think a minute is up. You'll probably look thirty seconds too soon. No, say three minutes here!' He scowled. 'Mangan phoned, and the ambulance was round very quickly. Did you notice the address of that nursing - home, Fell?'
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