"I'd better go look at Christopher," Ardis said. "He must be curious to find out what's going on outside his little glassed-in world."
"You'll have to do it from inside, Miss," Garrett said. "The uniformed officers at the door have orders not to let anyone out."
"Really!" Mrs. Lorde said. "You don't think any of us are going to run away?"
"It's not that," Garrett explained. "We may want to search each of you before you leave."
"Looking for what?"
"We don't know yet."
"I'll stay inside," Ardis assured the lieutenant, and headed off toward the escalator.
"Why," Garrett asked, "does she want to look at him?"
"I think she wants him to look at her," I explained. "They have a sign language they use for a mind-reading act. You see—"
"Incredible! Absolutely incredible!"
We turned around. A small, gray man had appeared at the door and was waving a magnifying glass about. "Incredible! Who would have thought such? Impossible! Not even gummed!"
We all stared at each other while the lieutenant strode over to the little man. "Calm yourself, Mr. McCarthy. What is it?"
McCarthy thrust something tiny into Garrett's face. "Here," he said. "Look at this!"
"It's a stamp?" Lieutenant Garrett asked.
"It is not! When you asked me to go through the stamps I said to myself this is a waste of time, a complete waste of time . . ."
"You said it to us too, Mr. McCarthy."
"I was mistaken. It's incredible. This is the Hayes Two-and-a-Half-Cent Vermilion. But it isn't. It's an imitation. And not even gummed! Looking at it through the glass, even an expert might have missed it. Incredible!"
"What's the real stamp worth?" Garrett asked the old man.
"Priceless," McCarthy said. "Whatever someone will pay for it. It's one-of-a-kind."
"Well, what's it insured for?"
"I believe two hundred thousand dollars. But you understand its intrinsic value could be much higher, depending upon just how badly someone else wanted the stamp."
"It looks like someone wanted it pretty badly," Garrett said. "Let's get that magician up here."
"You don't think—" I started.
Garrett looked at me. "What don't I think?"
"Christopher Steele couldn't have anything to do with this," I said. "He's been locked in a coffin in plain view of a crowd of people since ten o'clock."
"That may be," Garrett said, "but he's the only one who was in the store at the time of the murder who isn't here now, so we might as well have him. Maybe he can give us a little insight into locked rooms—professionally, that is."
"I'd be delighted, Lieutenant," Steele's deep stage voice said behind us. We turned and saw him standing in the doorway with Ardis.
"Where the hell did you come from?" Garrett demanded. "Ardis told me what was happening. I had her break the wax seal around the lid and let me out."
"It was all news to you, was it?"
Steele smiled faintly. "I've been sealed inside that coffin for the past three hours, Lieutenant. I did see the arrival of the police vehicles, of course, but I had no idea what had happened."
"I'd like to have a close look at that coffin of yours," Garrett said. "Unless you have objections?"
"Certainly not." Steele's eyes began to gleam. "Did I understand you to say you'd like me to examine the locked room where the murder took place?"
Garrett thought about it. "That might be an idea," he said. "You ever use a locked-room gimmick in your act?"
"Various effects that could be applied to a seemingly locked room," Steele said. "But remember, there is no such thing as a 'locked room' in the sense we're using the term. People cannot walk through walls."
I suppressed a chuckle, and Steele glared at me. One of his best effects is to have masons come on stage and build a brick wall in full view of the audience. Then Steele proceeds to pass through it. Houdini invented that one.
Steele shifted his gaze back to the lieutenant. "Can I see that room now?"
"All right. It can't hurt anything. In fact, why don't we all adjourn to the Stamp Room. The lab crew's gone by now."
So all of us went down to the Stamp Room. There was a chalk outline where the body had lain on the worn maroon carpeting, but nothing else seemed out of place. Jutting out from the wall on the right were eight display cases filled with trays of stamps and envelopes, with printed cards telling what each was and in some instances giving historical data. At the rear was a long glass counter with stamps, stamp albums, books about stamps; these were the items for sale by Lorde's. On the counter top was a telephone, several reference books, catalogs, a charge-card machine, and some pencils. The left side of the room had three eight-foot-high shelves, like stacks in a library, running parallel to the wall with the door; these had trays of stamps and first covers, some of which were for sale and some of which belonged to the Lorde's Collection. The windows were directly opposite, behind the counter. Not only were the bars firmly in place, but the sash was painted to the frame.
Steele walked to the middle of the room and turned in a slow circle, studying everything in it, and I knew that the single turnaround had fixed every detail of the Stamp Room in his mind.
He stared at the counter briefly, turned and walked to the display cases on the right. "Where was the stamp?" he asked.
"Third case from the rear," McCarthy told him. "Incredible!"
"We'll worry about the stamp later," Garrett said. "Well, Steele? Do you see anything we might have missed?" His voice was tinged with irony.
"Perhaps," Steele said. "Mr. McCarthy, what did you do when you found the body?"
"I left the room and called the police."
"You didn't touch anything in here?"
"I know better than that."
"You didn't call from this phone?"
"No. I didn't want to disturb anything."
Steele nodded and turned to Garrett. "You said the room was locked from the inside. Surely there are cylinders on both sides of the door?" With his air of positive command, it didn't occur to the detective that he should be asking the questions and Steele responding. Steele's carefully nurtured stage personality had some use away from the footlights.
"There are," Garrett admitted. "But there's only one key, and it's supposed to be in the possession of the manager at all times, because of insurance regulations. It was found in his pocket."
"May I see it, please?"
Garrett asked another officer to get the "evidence envelope," and the man nodded and left the room. "We'll find the killer," the lieutenant said to Steele. "But to make a case, we have to know how he got out of the room. Can you tell us?"
Steele offered his hand. "I accept the challenge."
Garrett, who was unaware that he had issued a challenge, shook hands—and then frowned.
"This isn't a publicity thing, is it? It better not be. I want no statements to the press unless you clear with me first."
"No publicity, I assure you, Lieutenant. The challenge of the puzzle itself is my reward. Just give me access to the information as you collect it, and I promise you the mystery will be satisfactorily solved. As I said before, there's no such thing as a locked room."
The officer came back with a large manila envelope and handed it to Garrett, who ripped it open and dumped the items inside onto a glass counter. "Schneider's pockets, contents of," he said.
Steele picked up the key ring and isolated and examined the Stamp Room key. "Not copied recently," he told Garrett, "and no impression taken."
"How do you know?"
"Simple," Steele said. "Your laboratory will say the same. If it had been copied there would be some sign of it on the lands, where the copying pantograph would be pressed against it. If it had been impressed, then some miniscule particle of wax or clay would have adhered to the inner surface of this groove."
"All right, Steele," Garrett said. "You see anything else there?"
"Not at the momen
t," Steele answered, but his eyes had a secretive look that I recognized. He was onto something, and he wasn't ready to share it. Steele has a flair for the dramatic and, on occasion, the melodramatic, and his timing is excellent.
There was a point that was bothering me, and I decided to ask: "Doesn't this room have a burglar alarm?"
Garrett nodded. "It does, but not on the door."
"That's right," Thorp said. "The alarm system is wired into the display cases. It sets off a silent alarm in the office of the private security outfit we use."
"Then why didn't the alarm go off when the Hayes stamp was stolen?" I asked.
Garrett turned to Thorp. "That's a damn good question. Where's the alarm control box?"
"Outside in Sportswear. In a recessed wall cubicle." "Who has the keys?"
Thorp colored slightly. "Key; there's only one. I have it. One of my duties is to activate the alarm system after closing."
"Let's see it."
Thorp pulled it from his pocket. It was a single key, too large to fit on any ring; about as long as a fountain pen, and thicker around, with an irregular series of grooves on one end and a large round handle on the other.
"Fascinating," Steele said, taking it from Thorp's hand and examining it. "It must be over thirty years old."
"The alarm system is older than that," Thorp said. "We've been taking bids on modernizing it."
"This thing must be a chore to carry around." Steele hefted the key. "It's solid brass—and look how shiny it is."
"I usually keep it in the safe. Only take it out to turn the system on and off."
"How do you get into the store without setting off the alarm, then?" Garrett asked.
"I don't. The alarm covers the entrance doors, and it goes off when the first person comes into the store in the morning. He has to call the security people immediately and identify himself. It's usually me or Mr. Schneider. Then I reset the alarm."
"Who else has the combination to the safe?"
"Victor Schneider had," Thorp said. "Only he."
"That poses a question," Garrett said. "Thorp here could have turned off the alarm, but he couldn't get into the room."
"Are you suggesting—" Thorp's face flushed dark red.
"Just speculating," Lieutenant Garrett said. "It's my job. Now, Schneider could have come in here and turned off the alarm, but then we'd have to assume he had an accomplice, since he didn't murder himself."
"Didn't he have to have the alarm off to inventory the stamps?" Mrs. Lorde asked. "That's what he was doing. I asked him to do the first inventory, then Mr. McCarthy would do the second. We always do two."
"It's a physical inventory," McCarthy said. "He didn't have to touch them or examine them, just make sure they were there. He just peered through the glass."
"One second," Steele said. He disappeared down one of the short aisles between the display cases on the right. "Is this the inventory control sheet?" he asked, coming back out with a clipboard in his hand.
"Yes," McCarthy said.
"Where did you find it?" Garrett demanded.
"On top of the case, about halfway along. It's checked off to item number three-twenty-six. Where would that be?"
"Right about where you found the clipboard," McCarthy said.
"So Schneider got it in the middle of his inventory," Garrett mused.
"He caught someone stealing the stamp," Thorp said. "How was the stamp stolen without the alarm going off?"
"A duplicate key could have been made," I volunteered. "Someone could have taken an impression of the lock; it's right out there in plain view of any customer with a piece of wax."
Steele glared at me. "It's not that easy. I could have done it, but that's my profession and I've had twenty years' practice. Few amateurs could have done it."
"Well, a man is dead and a valuable stamp is missing," Garrett said. "Somebody did something. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to question each of you separately. Miss Royce, I understand that you and Mr. Schneider were good friends."
Lillian nodded her assent. She still seemed dazed.
"Would you come with me, please?" Garrett asked gently. "Let's talk about it." He led her out of the Stamp Room and we all more or less straggled behind. Garrett preempted the private office for interrogation, with Mrs. Lorde's grudging permission.
Steele called Ardis over to us. "Are you still friendly with that young lady who works for the phone company?"
"As far as I know," she said.
"Get hold of her. Find an open phone. Tell her—"
"But it's—"
"I know, it's three o'clock in the morning. We'll take her out to dinner next week. Have her get over to the billing computer and get a list of all numbers called from this store since ten o'clock this evening."
Ardis went off. Magicians' assistants are used to doing whatever their boss asks of them without question and without hesitation. It's a necessary prerequisite of the job; otherwise one of them can wind up embarrassed, injured, or dead.
Magicians' managers, however, are another matter. "Why do you want the list of numbers?" I asked Steele.
He gave me one of his enigmatic smiles. "Perhaps we'll find nothing, and perhaps a great deal," he said.
"Thanks a lot."
Steele walked over to where Mrs. Lorde was leaning on her cane, scowling down at the floor. "I wonder if I might ask you a few questions," he said.
She lifted her head and regarded him with one eye. "What questions, young man?"
"I'll be brief. I imagine you must be distressed by the death of Mr. Schneider and the loss of the Hayes Two-and-aHalf-Cent Vermilion."
"The stamp is insured," Mrs. Lorde said. "A man's life is infinitely more important than a piece of gummed paper. Even a man like Victor Schneider."
Steele raised an eyebrow. "Meaning?"
"Meaning Victor Schneider was a fool and an incompetent. If he had not died, I would almost certainly have replaced him."
"Incompetent as a store manager?"
"Indeed. His accounting procedures were dangerous and he had a knack for purchasing unsalable merchandise without consulting anyone. If I had not been in Europe for more than a year, I would have discovered this much sooner."
"How long had Schneider been your manager here?"
"A little over two years."
"I see," Steele said. "Did you have someone in mind as his replacement?"
"Of course. Lewis Thorp."
"Did Thorp know of your displeasure with Schneider? Did he know that he was next in line?"
"He did not. I tell no one what I intend to do until I do it. However, I did plan to speak to Lewis about Schneider tonight; that is why I summoned him to my office earlier. There were interruptions and then this murder and theft, so I did not have the chance to carry out my intention."
"You hadn't as yet mentioned to Schneider that his job was in jeopardy, is that correct?"
"It is. I was waiting until our CPA firm completed an independent audit this past week, but when I had their report, I knew nothing more than I had previously. There are incompetents in every business. So I called a second CPA firm; they will begin their audit next week."
"You suspected a shortage, Mrs. Lorde? Embezzlement?"
She tapped her cane sharply on the hardwood floor. "Not exactly. Victor Schneider was a fool but not a knave; he lacked the intellectual capacity for knavery. No, I merely suspect mismanagement due to incompetence. But our CPA's are also incompetent. They couldn't tell, they said, if there were any discrepancies. Do you believe that? Well, I expect the new firm I've hired will be able to tell."
Steele nodded thoughtfully.
"I suppose you think it's rude of me to speak so harshly of the dead," Mrs. Lorde said, "but Death is too close a companion for me to hold in reverence."
"A man in death is just what he was in life," Steele said sententiously. "Neither more nor less, and he should be remembered thus." He gave the old woman a courtly bow, and we turned away.
&nb
sp; I studied his face, and he had the air of someone doing mental mathematics. He said, "Tell me, Matthew, about your friend, Miss Royce. Have you any idea of her feelings toward Lewis Thorp?"
I thought back to my dinner conversation with Lillian. The subject had come up, briefly. "He made a pass at her once, which she repulsed. Subsequently he got himself a steady girlfriend and ignored Lillian—Miss Royce. She happily ignored him also."
Steele fell silent, pondering again as he led the way to Lewis Thorp's office cubicle.
Thorp was sitting at his desk. He looked up and gave us a wan smile as we approached. "Well, Mr. Steele," he said, "any new developments?"
Steele shook his head. "I'd like to hear your ideas."
"If you mean about how poor Victor was murdered in a locked room," Thorp said, "I can't help you. It seems like a baffling crime."
"So it does," Steele agreed.
"Victor must have been killed by whoever stole the stamp," Thorp said. "He must have walked in on him—the thief, I mean."
"That's not likely," Steele said. "He would have known that the theft would be uncovered in the murder investigation."
"Maybe he just wanted time to get the stamp out."
"No, I don't think the theft has anything to do with the murder. Just an unfortunate coincidence."
Thorp worried his lower lip for a moment. "There is one other possibility," he said. "Our books have just undergone a surprise audit. The rumor is that there was a major discrepancy."
"You think Schneider may have been tapping the till?"
"I knew Victor rather well. He had his faults, as we all do, but he seemed to be a basically honest man. But he was extravagant in his tastes, and he may have needed money. If he was embezzling from the store and someone found out about it, he may have tried to blackmail him. And suppose they had a fight of some kind, and Schneider was killed by accident. Or suppose he had an accomplice who thought that the audit would reveal Schneider's duplicity and killed to keep himself in the clear."
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