‘He didn’t. Jenkins—’
‘He did. Jenkins would have gone on being mystified by Frimbo’s revelations, had it not been for Frimbo’s own startled words. The thing that made Jenkins jump up and turn the light on the corpse was Frimbo’s sudden exclamation, “Frimbo, why don’t you see?” Frimbo would not have said that if he had been planning to get Jenkins and the others out as quickly and unsuspectingly as possible. Something happened to Frimbo about that moment.’
‘But Jenkins’ word is all we have for that remark.’
‘Jenkins’ word, now that he is pretty well exonerated, should be worth something. But even if by itself it isn’t, I have Frimbo’s word in support.’
‘You what?’
‘Frimbo himself said to me today that he went blind, so to speak, while talking to Jenkins. He saw so far ahead—then everything went blank.’
‘Hooey.’
‘All right. Maybe this is hooey too: You say that Frimbo hid behind the corpse near enough to make his voice seem to come from the corpse.’
‘Yes.’
‘Then, when Jenkins suddenly jumped up and without warning swung the light around why didn’t he see Frimbo hiding?’
‘I don’t know—maybe Frimbo ducked under the table or some place.’
‘Hooey. Hooey. An eloquent word, isn’t it?’
‘Well, the details may not be exact, but that isn’t far from what happened. It’s the only thing I can think of that even nearly fits the facts.’
‘Nearly won’t do.’
‘All right, professor. You guess.’
‘There’s something malicious in the way you say that. However, innocent and unsuspecting as I am, I will guess. And I guess, first off, I’ll leave out the number racket. That’ll make it easier for me, you see.’
‘But the number racket can’t be ignored—’
‘Who’s doing this guessing?’
‘O.K. doc. Guess away.’
‘I guess the same thing that you guess, that Frimbo killed his servant. But not because of the number racket, or any attack upon him growing out of the number racket.’
‘But because he’s a nut.’
‘Please—not so bluntly. It sounds crude—robbed of its nuances and subtleties. You transform a portrait into a cartoon. Say, rather, that under the influence of certain compulsions, associated with a rather intricate psychosis, he was impelled to dispose of his servant for definite reasons.’
‘All right. Say it anyhow you like. But to me it’s still because he was a nut.’
‘“Nut” in no wise suggests the complexity of our friend’s psychology. You recall my description of his condition; its origin in his type of mind, its actual onset in an experience, its primary and secondary delusions.’
‘Yes. I recall all that.’
‘Well, here’s an item you don’t recall because it hasn’t been mentioned; Frimbo like other paranoiacs, has a specific act as a part of his compensatory mechanism. This act becomes a necessary routine which must be performed, and naturally takes its form from some earlier aspect of his life. In his case it derives from his native days in Buwongo, his African principality. He calls it the rite of the gonad. And though he declines to describe it, I can imagine what it amounts to. It is nothing more or less than his extracting, in that laboratory of his, a kind of testicular extract with which he periodically treats himself. By so doing, he believes that he partakes of matter actually carrying the impress of all the ages past, and so becomes master of that past.’
‘Deep stuff. Anything in it?’
‘Well, I don’t know anything about endocrines. But I should think such a practice would produce some kind of hyper-sexuality. Sex gland deficiency can be helped by such treatment, so perhaps a normal person would become, in some respects, oversexed.’
‘But sex has played no part in this picture.’
‘I was only answering your question. To return to my guess. Frimbo has to have sex glands—not those of lower animals such as biological houses use to make their commercial extracts, but human sex glands, carrying, to his mind, the effects of human experience from time immemorial. With the compulsion strong upon him to secure human tissues for his rite, he could easily become as ruthless as a drug addict deprived of his drug. But he would be far more cunning. He would choose a victim who would not be missed, and he would arrange circumstances to incriminate someone else. And the insanely brilliant feature is that he would arrange to have himself appear to be the victim. I do not believe that the unusual devices used to commit this crime and divert suspicion indicate the workings of an ordinary mind or knowledge such as a servant would have. They indicate a sort of crazy ingenuity which would not be conceived and carried out by a normal person. Frimbo is the only one in the crowd whose mind fits the details of this crime.’
‘Well, you’re disagreeing with me only on motive. I say self-defence. You say insanity. But both of us say Frimbo did it. From that point on I should think our difficulties would be alike: the cock-eyed business, the blind spot or whatever it was, and the—what was the other thing?’
‘His sudden invisibility if he hid behind the dead servant.’
‘Yea—that.’
‘The cock-eyed business, yes. But the other business, no. I did not say that he hid behind the servant. I think he had some device or instrument—I’m not sure just what, but we’ll find it—that placed his voice so that it seemed to come from the servant. And I do not say that he acted under the urgency of a sudden encounter. I say that he planned the whole thing ahead, deliberately. Even foresaw the possibility of discovery and arranged to rise from the dead, just for effect, as he did. That would be wholly in character. He even had an alibi ready for my blood test. He showed me this afternoon how I might easily have made an error in the little experiment I showed you. He did not know, of course, that Bubber Brown’s discovery was on hand as a perfect check.
‘He demonstrated how something in my gauze dressing might throw the test off—it would have been very disturbing indeed if I had not known what he was up to. What he did was to substitute for my gauze a piece which he had previously treated with the dead man’s serum. He foresaw every possibility. Far from thwarting his own plans, even that sudden loss of prophetic vision, that premonition, did not change his main course of action. That exclamation, “Frimbo, why don’t you see?” startled Jenkins into action, to be sure, and resulted in our rushing on the scene. But even then he would have removed the body anyway from under our very noses—he could have done so simply by shutting off the lights.
‘And there’s another difference in our theories: If, as you say, it was just self-defence, he is not shown to be dangerous. He can be held for disposing of the remains, but not for murder; self-defence is manslaughter and is likely to go unpunished. But if, as I say, it is insanity, then he’s liable to do the same thing again to some other unfortunate fellow; he must be put away in a cool dry place where he’s no longer a menace. Don’t you see?’
‘That’s so. You know, doc, just out of sportsmanship you might let me win an argument once in a while.’
‘We’re not arguing. We’re guessing. And I have a curious feeling that smart as we think we are, we’re both guessing wrong.’
‘You’re good, doc. Anyway it goes now, you’re right.’
‘At least I know one thing.’
‘What?’
‘I know I saw a new specimen jar on one of Frimbo’s shelves today. It was next to the one that we noted before. And it contained two more sex glands.’
‘Judas H. Priest!’ said Perry Dart softly.
CHAPTER XXIII
FOR the first time since the incarceration of his friend Jinx, Bubber Brown enjoyed a meal. The probability of Jinx’s release later tonight, a happy eventuality which Bubber himself had helped bring about, more than restored Bubber’s appetite to normal and he indulged in gleeful anticipation of what he would say to his grouchy comrade upon the latter’s return to freedom. Mumbled mockery pushed its
way through prodigious mouthfuls of food.
‘Uh—huh,’ emerged stifled but determined through roast beef and mashed potatoes. ‘Here you is. Yo’ flat feet is now out in the free air they probably need plenty of. Now get to thankin’ me.’ A succulent forkful of kale crowded its way in with the roast and potatoes, and all this was stuffed securely back with a large folded layer of soft white bread. Even through this there somehow escaped sounds.
‘Boy, you was due to go. Go where? Where do folks go what murder folks? I mean it was upon you. If it hadn’ been for me and the doc, you’d be on your way to Swing Swing now. Your can was scheduled to rest on a ’lectric lounging chair—they even had the date set. I ain’ kiddin’ you, boy. You was jes’ like that coffee they advertise on the radio—your can was dated.’
The next few phrases were overwhelmed with hot coffee. Bubber grinned and substituted a dish of juicy apple cobbler for his denuded dinner plate. ‘From now on,’ he told it, ‘you listen and I talk, ’cause your head is a total loss to you—jes’ extra weight you carryin’ around for no purpose.’ The apple cobbler began miraculously to vanish. ‘You see, you don’t appreciate my brains. I got brains enough for both of us. I don’t even have to use all my brains—I got brains in the back o’ my head I ain’t never used. Some time when you admit how dumb you is, I’ll lend you some for a few days, jes’ to show you how it feels to have a thought once in a while.’
The dessert became a sweet memory, vestiges of which were dislodged with a handy toothpick.
‘Now, let’s see. Got to be at the place at ’leven o’clock. Guess I’ll drop in and see that picture at the Roosevelt Theatre—Murder Between Drinks. Wonder ’f I’m go’n’ see that third one tonight? Maybe the one in the picture’ll be number three. Now there’s brains again. Jes’ by goin’ to see this picture I may save somebody’s life. Doggone!—ain’t I smart?’
Promptly at eleven, Bubber Brown mounted the stoop and entered the house. He started up the stairs toward Frimbo’s floor, looking above. He stopped, his eyes popping. He brushed his hand across his lids, and stared again toward the head of the stairs. What he saw persisted. It might have been Saturday night again; for there motionless above him stood the tall, black-robed figure of Frimbo’s servant, bright yellow turban and sash gleaming in the dim light, exactly as he had been before, even—yes, there it was—even to the definite cast in one solemn eye.
Bubber blinked twice, wheeled about, and would have vanished through the front door as magically as this corpse had reappeared. But at that particular moment the door opened and Perry Dart with half a dozen policemen obstructed the avenue of escape. Bubber came to in Jinx Jenkins’ arms, pointed, and gasped:
‘Look! is I dreamin’—or is I dreamin’?’
‘What’s the matter, Brown?’ Dart asked.
‘Didn’t you say the flunky was the one got cooked?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, look up yonder! He’s there—I seen him!’
‘Yeah?’ Dart stepped forward, looked up the stairs. He smiled. ‘So he is, Brown. We must have made a mistake. Come on, let’s go—can’t let a little error like that worry us.’
‘So,’ muttered Jinx, ‘you is wrong again. What a brain!’
‘You can go if you want to, brother,’ demurred Bubber. ‘Me—I’ve never felt the need of fresh air the way I do now. People in this house don’t suit me. They jes’ don’t pay death no mind.’
‘Come on, Brown,’ insisted Dart. ‘I’ll need your help. Don’t let me down now.’
‘All right. I’ll follow. But don’t count on me for no help. I’m go’n’ stay ’live long as I can. I ain’t learnt this Lazarus trick yet.’
In the hallway above, Dart gave due orders in stationing his men, so that all natural exits were covered. The servant ushered them then to the reception room, where every one was present but Dr Archer. The detective noted each person in turn: Mrs Aramintha Snead, Mrs Martha Crouch, Easley Jones, Doty Hicks, Spider Webb, and Jinx Jenkins, whom he had brought with him.
The physician arrived a moment later. ‘I summon Frimbo,’ said the servant who had escorted him in also. The servant bowed. The doctor looked after his retreating form quizzically, then turned to Detective Dart and smiled. Dart grinned back. Bubber observed the exchange and murmured, ‘You all could see jokes in tombstones, couldn’t you?’
Perry Dart said to the physician, ‘Now what?’
‘Wait,’ answered Dr Archer. ‘It’s his show.’
They waited. Shortly the gold turban and sash returned. ‘This way, please,’ said the servitor, and gestured toward the wide entrance to the consulting-room.
‘Everybody?’
‘Please.’
Again the servant retreated by way of the hall. The others, directed by the detective and led by the physician, entered the black chamber from the front room and stood in an expectant semicircle facing the table in the centre. Over the far chair, which still sat behind the table just as it had when the body had been found in it, hung the device which projected a horizontal beam of light toward the entrance. Most of the visitors fell to the one or the other side of this beam, but at the distance of the semicircle, its rays diverged enough to include two figures directly in its path, those of Martha Crouch and Spider Webb. Mrs Crouch’s dark eyes were level and clear, her lips slightly compressed, her expression anticipative but not apprehensive. Spider Webb also betrayed interest without profound concern, his countenance manifesting only a sort of furtive malignancy. The rest were mere densities in the penumbra.
As they stood watching, the darkness beyond the table condensed into a black figure, much as mist might condense into a cloud. This figure silently came to occupy the chair beneath the light. Then from it issued the low rich voice of Frimbo.
‘A return into the past,’ it said, ‘observes events in their reverse order. May I therefore ask Mr Jenkins, who was the last to occupy that chair on Saturday evening, to be the first to do so tonight?’
Nobody moved.
Bubber’s sharp whisper came forth.
‘Go on, fool. Get yo’self freed.’
With obvious and profound reluctance, Jinx’s figure moved forward into the light. Those toward one side could see tiny beads of sweat glistening on his freckled countenance. He sidled into the chair on this side of the table, facing the voice and the shadow. His face was brightly illuminated and starkly troubled.
‘Mr Jenkins,’ Frimbo’s voice went on smoothly, ‘it is again Saturday night. You have come to consult me. All that reached your consciousness is again before you. You will conceal nothing from the eyes of Frimbo. The light shall lay open your mind to me, book-wise. I shall read you. Be silent, please.’
There was scant danger of Jinx’s being anything else. Even his usual murderous scowl had been erased, and Frimbo’s intent contemplation of his face could be sensed by every onlooker. They too were steadily staring upon him from behind or from the side, according to their position, much as if they expected him at any moment to leap to his feet and confess the crime.
Then a change of colour came over Jinx’s face. Those who were in position to see observed that the light freckled skin over the eminences of his bony countenance was growing darker. Alarmingly the change progressed, like an attack of some grave cyanotic disease. Jinx was actually turning blue. But it at once became apparent that his colour was due to a change in the light which illumined him. Slowly that light changed again.
‘Each hue,’ said Frimbo’s voice, ‘makes its particular disclosure.’
Jinx became yellow.
‘Got to do mo’n that to make a Chinaman out o’ him,’ came Bubber’s whisper.
Diabolically red flushed the subject’s lean visage, and finally a ghastly green. Throughout it all Frimbo’s intense inspection created an atmosphere of vibrant expectancy. One felt that the lines of vision between his eyes and Jinx’s face were almost tangible—could be plucked and made to sing like the strings of an instrument.
Eventually Frimbo said, ‘No,’ and the spell was broken. ‘This is not the man.’ The light came white again. ‘That is all, Mr Jenkins.’
There was a general sigh of relief. Jinx returned to the circle, where Bubber greeted him with an inevitable comment:
‘The red light turned you red, boy, and that green light turned you green. But that white light couldn’t do a thing for you. It was jes’ wasted.’
Frimbo said, ‘Now, Mr Webb, please.’
But Perry Dart interrupted. ‘Just a minute, Frimbo.’ He stepped forward to the side of the table. ‘Before we go any further, don’t you think it fair to have your servant present?’
Frimbo’s voice became grave. ‘I regret that I have already permitted my servant to leave.’
‘Why did you do that?’
‘It is his custom to leave at eleven, may I remind you?’
‘And may I remind you that we are investigating a serious crime; also that you promised to have him present.’
‘I kept my promise. He was here. You all saw him. I did not promise that he would remain after his hours.’
‘Very well. You say he is gone?’
‘Yes.’
‘He has left the house?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then perhaps you will tell me just how he got out. Every exit is covered by an officer, with orders to bring to me anyone who tries to leave this house.’
There was a pause; but Frimbo said easily, ‘That I cannot tell you. I can tell you, however, that by interrupting this procedure you are defeating your own investigation, with which I am endeavouring to help you.’
Dart achieved a trace of Frimbo’s own irony. ‘Your consideration for my interest touches me, Frimbo. I am overwhelmed with gratitude. But your servant is a necessary witness. I must insist on his being here—with you.’
The Conjure-Man Dies Page 23