by Ellery Queen
"You've got to put the document being forged above the genuine signature, of course," replied the Inspector. He was looking around, restlessly.
"Or in other words, first you lay down on the window-pane the genuine signature, then you place the document to be forged over it. Or to put it still another way, it's the genuine document that lies against the glass, and the fake document that lies against the genuine one. Therefore," said Ellery, stepping back from the window, "if the signature on the confession was the traced one, as we believed, then the confession must have been lying upon the stock memo, and the stock memo must have been lying against the windowpane. Is that clear so far?"
"Sure. But what of it?"
"Just a minute, Dad. Now, all the Old Woman's signatures were written with a heavy, softleaded pencil." The Inspector looked puzzled by this irrelevance.
"Such pencils leave impressions so thick and soft that when they are pressed on and written over, as would have to be done in the tracing of a signature written by one of them, they necessarily act like a sheet of carbon paper. That is, when two sheets are pressed together, one on top of the other, and a soft-pencil signature on the bottom sheet is traced onto the top sheet, the very act of tracing» the very pressure exerted by the tracing agent, will produce a faint pencil impression on the back of the top sheet, because it's that back surface on the top sheet which is in direct contact with the soft lead of the original signature on the bottom sheet. Is that clear?"
"Go on."
"I've already shown that, in order to have been a forgery, the confession must have been the top sheet of the two. But if the confession was the top sheet, there should be a faint pencil impression of Cornelia Potts's signature (in reverse, of course, as if seen in a mirror) on the back of the confession sheet.
"Is there?"
Ellery walked over to his father, who by this time was standing, alert, against the chapel door. "Look Dad."
The Inspector looked, quickly. The reverse side of the confession was clean, without smudge.
"That's what I saw a few moments ago, for the first time. There is not the slightest trace of a pencil mark on the back of this confession. Of course, there could have been such an impression and for some reason it might have been erased; but if you examine the surface sheet carefully, you'll find no signs of erasure, either. On the other hand, look at the back of the stock memorandum I Here—" Ellery held it up— "here is the clear, if light, impression of the signature 'Cornelia Potts' on the back of the memo, in reverse. And if you'll hold it up to the light, Dad, you'll see—as I saw—that the reverse impression of the signature lies directly behind the signature on the face of the memo, proving that the impression was made at the same time as the forgery.
"What does all this mean?" Ellery tapped the stock memorandum sharply. "It means that the stock memo was the top sheet of the two employed in the forgery. It means that the confession was the bottom sheet, lying flat against the windowpane.
"But if the confession was the bottom sheet, then it was the signature on the confession which was being used as a guide and it was the signature on the stock memo which was traced from it!
"But if the signature on the confession was being used as a guide then that signature was the genuine one, and the one on the stock memo was the forgery. Or, to put it in a capsule," said Mr. Queen grimly, "the Old Woman's confession was not a forgery as we believed, but was actually written and signed by her own hand."
"But El," spluttered the Inspector, "that would make the Old Woman the killer in this case!"
"One would think so," said his son. "But strangely enough, while Cornelia Potts actually wrote that confession of guilt, and signed it, she did not murder her two sons, nor could she have been the person behind Thurlow who used Thurlow as a tool in the commission of the murders."
"How can you know that?" asked the Inspector in despair.
"For one thing, Dad, we now know that there never was a substitution of bullets in that first Colt .25—we know that there was a substitution of guns. Yet in her confession the Old Woman wrote—" Ellery consulted the confession hastily— "the following: 'It was I who substituted a lethal bullet for the blank cartridge the police had put into Thurlow's weapon.' But no bullet was substituted. In other words, the Old Woman thought the same thing we thought at the time—that a substitution of bullets had been made. So she didn't even know how the first murder was really committed! How, then, could she have been in any way involved in it?
"And look at this." Ellery waved the confession again. "'Later it was I who stole one of Thurlow's other guns and hid it from the police and went with it into my son Maclyn's bedroom in the middle of the night and shot him with it,' and so on. Stop and think, Dad: Cornelia Potts couldn't have done that, either! Dr. Innis told me, just before he left the Old Woman's bedside that night—shortly before Mac was shot to death—that he had given the Old Woman a sedative by hypodermic injection which would keep her asleep all night.
"No, the Old Woman didn't have a thing to do with the murder of the twins, even though she wrote out a confession of guilt and signed it with her own hand. So apparently, knowing she was about to die and had nothing more to lose in this life, she wrote out a false confession to protect whichever whelp of her first litter was guilty. She Was a wonderfully shrewd woman, that old lady, I shouldn't be surprised that she suspected it was Thurlow, her pet. By confessing on her deathbed, she believed the case would be officially closed and, with its close, Thurlow would be safe."
The Inspector nodded slowly. "That makes sense. But if it wasn't the Old Woman who was masterminding Thurlow, who was it, son?"
"Obviously, the person who made us believe the signature on the confession was false when it wasn't. And, by the way, that was a very clever piece of business. It was necessary to make us think the confession was false, for reasons I'll go into in a moment. In order to accomplish that, what did our criminal require? A signature which would be identical with the signature on the confession. No true signature of Cornelia's could possibly be identical with the confession signature, so our criminal had to manufacture one. In doing so, he could only use for tracing purposes the confession signature itself. He chose the stock memo he knew we remembered having seen the Old Woman sign, typed off its message exactly on similar paper, destroyed the genuine memo, and then traced the confession signature onto the spurious stock memo. Very clever indeed."
"But who was it, Ellery?" The Inspector glared about. They were all so quiet one would have thought them in the grip of a paralyzing gas.
"We can get to that only obliquely, Dad. Having established that the real criminal, the brains behind Thurlow, wanted us to believe the Old Woman's confession a forgery, the inevitable question is: Why?
"The reason must be evident. It could only be because he did not want us to accept the Old Woman as the killer, he did not want the case closed—he wanted someone other than Cornelia Potts to be arrested and convicted for the murder of the twins.
"When I proved the case against Thurlow, I thought the series of crimes had come to an end. Well, I was wrong. One more puppet in the play had to be eliminated— Thurlow himself." The Inspector looked befogged. "Yes, Dad, Thurlow was a victim, too. Oh, this is as fancy a plot as any that ever came out of Hollywood. It's not double murder, it's triple murder. First Bob, then Mac—and now Thurlow. For, as we know now, Thurlow was the instrument of the crime, and his being caught doesn't solve it. There's still the person behind him. Then since we see that the criminal wanted someone other than Cornelia to be caught and tried and convicted for the murders, and we've actually pinned it on Thurlow—isn't it clear that Thurlow's capture, too, was part of the criminal's plan?"
The Inspector blinked. "You mean—he wanted to get not only the twins, but Thurlow, whom he used to kill 'em, out of the way?"
"Exactly. And here's why I say that. Ask the question: Who benefits most by the elimination of the twins and Thurlow? Can you answer that?"
"Well," muttered
the Inspector, "the twins were killed for control of the Potts Shoe Company—as a result of their murder. Thurlow became President and got control . . ."
"But with Thurlow out of the way as well, who has control now?"
"Sheila."
It was not the Inspector's voice which answered Ellery.
It was Stephen Brent's.
Stephen Brent was staring at his daughter with the feeble error of a parent who sees his child, for the first time, as others see her.
The End of the End
"Yes, Sheila," said Ellery Queen, in the saddest voice imaginable.
And now he looked at her, with remorse, and with pity, and with something else that was neither. Sheila was glaring from her father to Ellery in a jerky arc, her lips parted and her breath jerky, too.
Major Gotch made a little whimpering noise in his corner.
Charley was glaring, too—glaring at Ellery, his hands beginning to curl into fists. "Idiot!" he shouted, lunging forward. "The Potts craziness has gone to your head!"
"Charley, cut it out," said Inspector Queen in a tired voice.
Charley stopped impotently. It was plain that he dared not glance at Sheila; he dared not. And Sheila simply stood there, her head jerking to and fro.
The Inspector asked quietly: "You mean this girl with the dimples is the brains behind this nasty business? She used Thurlow as a tool? She the real killer?" He shook his head. "Charley's right, Ellery. You've gone haywire."
And then Ellery said an odd thing. He said: "Thank you, Dad. For Sheila." And at this they were still with wonder again.
"Because, from the facts, it couldn't be Sheila," Ellery went on in a faraway voice. "All Sheila wants to be is .., somebody's wife."
"Somebody's wife?" Charley Paxton's head started the pendulum now—from Ellery Queen to Sheila, from Sheila to Ellery.
Mr. Queen looked full upon Mr. Paxton. "This was all planned by the man who missed a brilliant career in criminal law—you told me that yourself, Dad, that very first morning in the Courthouse. The man whose every effort has been to get Sheila to marry him. The man who knew that, married to Sheila and with her twin brothers and Thurlow out of the way, he could control the rich Potts enterprises. That's what was behind your 'insistence,* as Sheila said only yesterday, Charley, on 'running the business' in the reorganization, while she sat back to be your figurehead—wasn't it?"
Charley's skin turned claret.
"Don't you see?" Ellery avoided Sheila's eyes. "Charley Paxton planned every move, every countermove. Charley Paxton played on Thurlow's susceptible mind, on Thurlow's psychopathic obsession with the honor and name of Potts. Charley Paxton convinced Thurlow that he had to murder the twins to protect himself, the business, and the family name. Charley Paxton planned every step of the crime for Thurlow—showed him how to commit two daring murders with safety, planned the scene before the Courthouse, the purchase of the fourteen guns, the duel— everything, no doubt rehearsing Thurlow patiently. A furiously vacillating brain like Thurlow's might have conceived murder, but Thurlow scarcely possessed the cunning and the application necessary to have planned and carried it out as these subtle crimes were planned and carried out. Only a sane mind could have planned these crimes. And that was why I was dissatisfied with Thurlow as the criminal even though all the evidence indicated that his hands and his person had performed the physical acts required to pull the crimes off ... No, no, Charley, I can assure you you wouldn't stand a chance. Just stand still and refrain from unnecessary movements."
The Inspector took a small police pistol from his shoulder holster and released its safety mechanism.
Ellery continued in a murmur: "You'll recall I conjectured that Thurlow had found out by eavesdropping that we intended to substitute a blank cartridge for the live one in the first Colt automatic. But now perceive. Who suggested the device of substituting a blank? Whose plan was it? Charley Paxton's."
Sheila's eyes grew wider; she began to tremble.
"So now we have a much more reasonable answer to how Thurlow knew about the blank. Charley, his master, told him. Paxton waited for me or someone else to suggest the ruse, and when none of us did, he jumped in himself with the suggestion. He had to, for he'd already told Thurlow that was what was going to happen—he'd see to it.
"All along this fine, smart young lawyer who had missed a brilliant career in criminal law set traps—in particular for me. If I fell into them—excellent. But if I hadn't seen the significance of the two pairs of Colt and Smith & Wessons, if I hadn't worked out Thurlow's motive, if I hadn't deduced just how Thurlow switched the guns before our eyes on the lawn that morning—if I hadn't seen through all these things, you may be sure Mr. Charles Hunter Paxton would have managed to suggest the 'truth' to me.
"Think. How closely Paxton clung to me! How often he was there to put in a word, a suggestion, to lead me along the path of speculation he had planned for me to take! I, too, have been a pawn of Counsellor Paxton's from the beginning, thinking exactly what he wanted me to think, eking out enough of the truth, point by point, to pin it on Thurlow and so accomplish the final objective of ' the Paxton campaign—the elimination of Thurlow."
"You can't be serious," said Charley. "You can't really believe—"
"And that isn't all. When he needed proof against Thurlow—when you specifically asked for it, Dad—who told us about the tailor and the double pocket in Thurlow's tweed jacket?"
"Mr. Paxton."
"And when Thurlow came tearing into the study from the terrace, whom did he attack—me? The man who had worked out the solution? Oh, no. He jumped for Charley's throat, mouthing frenzied threats to kill. Isn't it obvious that Thurlow went mad of rage because he had just heard Charley double-cross him? The man who had planned the crimes and no doubt promised to protect Thurlow—now giving the vital evidence that would convict him! Luckily for Counsellor Paxton, Thurlow's last link to sanity snapped at that point, or we should have heard him pour out the whole story of Paxton's complicity. But even this was a small risk for Paxton to take, although from the ideal standpoint it was the weakest part of his plot .., that Thurlow would blab. But Paxton must have thought: 'Who'd believe the ravings of a man already well established as a lunatic in face of the incontrovertible evidence against him?* "
"Poor Thurlow," whispered Sheila. And for the first time since the truth had come from Ellery's lips she turned and regarded the man she had been about to marry. She regarded him with such loathing that Steve Brent quickly put his hand on her arm.
"Yes, poor Thurlow," said Ellery grimly. "We broke him before his time—although no matter what had happened, Thurlow would have come to the same end—a barred cell and white-coated attendants.... It's Sheila I was most concerned about Seeing the truth, I had to stop this wedding."
And now Sheila turned to look upon Ellery, and he flushed slightly under her gaze.
"Of course, that's it," said Charley Paxton, clearing his throat. His hand came up in a spontaneous little gesture. "You see what's happened, Inspector, don't you? This son of yours—he's in love with Sheila himself—he practically admitted as much to me not long ago—"
"Shut up," said the Inspector.
"He's trying to frame me so he can have her himself—**
"I said shut up, Paxton."
"Sheila,- you certainly don't believe these malicious lies?"
Sheila turned her back on him.
"Anything you say—" began the Inspector.
"Oh, don't lecture me!" snarled Charley Paxton. "I know the law." And now he actually smiled. "Stringing a lot of pretty words together is one thing, Mr. Queen. Proving them in court's another."
"The old story," growled the Inspector.
"Oh, no," said Mr. Queen, returning smile for smile. "Quite the new story. There's your proof, Dad—the forged stock memorandum and the Old Woman's confession."
"I don't get it."
"I told you he's talking through his hat," snapped Paxton. He shrugged and turned to the clear win
dow of the chapel. "Dr. Crittenden will be getting impatient, waiting in the vestry," he remarked, without turning. "Sheila, you can't give me up on this man's unsupported word. He's bluffing, because as I said—"
"Bluffing, Paxton?" cried Ellery. "Then let me disabuse that clever mind of yours. I'll clear up a few untouched points first.
"If no one had interfered with this chap's original plans, Dad, Paxton would have got away with the whole scheme. But someone did interfere, the last man in the world Paxton had dreamed would interfere—his own creature, Thurlow."
Charley Paxton's back twitched, and was still.
"Thurlow did things—and then one other did things— which Mr. Paxton in his omniscience hadn't anticipated and therefore couldn't prepare counter-measures against. And it was this interference by others that forced our clever gentleman to make his only serious mistake."
"Keep talking," said Charley's voice. But it was a choked voice. "You always were good in the gab department."
"The first interference wasn't serious," Ellery went on, paying no attention to the interruption. "Thurlow, flushed with his success in getting away with the murder of his brother Robert, began to think of himself—dangerous, Mr. Paxton, dangerous, but then your egocentric type of mind is so blind that it overlooks the obvious in its labor toward the subtle.
"Thurlow began to think. And instead of following his master's instructions in the second murder, he was so tickled with himself that he decided to add a touch or two of his own.
"In reconstructing what happened, we can ascribe these things to Thurlow because they are the kind of fantastic nonsense an addled brain like Thurlow's would conceive and are precisely not the things a cold and practical brain like Paxton's would conceive."
"What are you referring to?" The Inspector's pistol was pointed at Paxton's back.