by Philip Wylie
Aggie nodded. "Yeah. Being struck--in the heart--like that--might produce instantaneous collapse in most people. Shock. But not in George Davis. Not in a surgeon.
Look at the scene. George Davis, locked in his darkroom, working on those prints he'd made of the deadfall. Up in the tree sits the man we don't know. Woman--even. Why not?"
' Tree?' she asked.
"There's a big maple outside the barn. The murderer is in it--looking at George.
Maybe he is going to kill him because he is afraid of what those films may show.
Something of the sort passed through my mind when I broke in. I thought that maybe the murderer might have intended to come back for something in that darkroom. Pictures.
And that maybe Danielle and I had beaten him to it." Aggie looked patronizingly at the trooper's nod of commendation. "I can, and do, think--sometimes. Only--you didn't find a thing that was useful in any of the negatives--did you, Wes?"
"Nothing directly useful. Or very useful. No."
Aggie hesitated--and went on. "Okay. The murderer makes a deliberate noise.
George turns and peers at the window. The knife is thrown. George clasps it and tries to withdraw it--for one, fearful instant. Then he topples."
"I guess," Wes said, "you've got it."
"Guess! Do you need corroboration? If you do--think of this. The maple tree is at an angle from the barn. The phone wires run through it--low down in the branches--to the first pole.-I daresay, if you look, you'll find the limb from which the murderer threw.
Maybe even some old scratches. And you'll find that he had to lean, probably, in order to throw. You'll find, maybe,that even if he used the best possible limb, after a throw, a person might lose his balance-"
Wes finished for him. "And break down the phone wires! By golly, Aggie, that's brilliant! Why didn't I think an accident might have brought those wires down!"
"Because," Aggie answered, "when telephone wires are severed, you habitually think it was done to cut off telephones--and hence, on purpose. The very point I was making."
"So," Wes went on, "if we'd had the sense in the next few days to strip everybody at Indian Stones and look for two parallel bruises--or welts, at least--those wires should have made beauties--we'd have found whoever threw the knife!"
"Unless, of course," Aggie said calmly, "the person who threw it does not belong to Indian Stones."
Wes's expression was both humorous and irritated. "First I like you--and then I hate you. Sure. Could have been an outsider. Somebody who never had a thing to do with the people here--and was unknown here. Unknown--" he broke off and brightened-
"except for the fact that he practiced that shot out by the summerhouse! So--likely--not unknown. I'll have a look at those marks in the morning--get an expert on such things--!"
"I'm something of a dendrochronologist, myself," Aggie said, touching his beard.
"Every good archaeologist is, these days. That means, literally, telling dates by tree rings.
But we can stretch it to include telling seasons by bark growth over knife stabs. The marks were made last winter."
' Winter?'
"Yes: I didn't deduce that--exactly--by the regrowth--though if it had been winter before last, the bark would be pretty much healed. I'm telling it by the height from the ground of the tree with the big knot and the height of the marks--both of which heights I gave you. As you can see, nobody could have stood on the ground and thrown a knife through a knothole twelve feet off the earth in a slightly downward direction to a tree twenty feet away."
"Snow!" said Sarah. "Drifts!"
"Exactly. Snow. Somebody on snowshoes, probably. Not practicing to throw through a window at a noted surgeon. Just--ambling around--coming on the two trees--
realizing the setup was a test of skill--and making a lot of tries. I should say, not tries--but superb shots. Know anybody who can throw a knife like that, Wes?"
The trooper looked rather guiltily at Aggie. "I--well--I think I could myself. I was a crack at it when I was a kid."
"Nobody's here in the winter, though, except Jack," Sarah said.
"What about Jack?" Aggie asked.
The trooper shrugged. "Search me. He's an athlete. I've seen a lot of him--winters.
Gets lonely here--and you like to talk to a person with an education. He's pretty darned swell company. Smart."
"It's silly, anyhow," Sarah said. "He's such a--"
"--lamb." Aggie supplied her word. "I know. Well, he was here, anyhow. Does he ever go away from here--in the winter?"
"Certainly," Sarah replied. "He gets a whole month off--for one thing. His vacation has to be in the winter--because he works all summer. He comes down to New York for short trips to buy things for the club during the winter. Various people from Parkawan substitute for him. On rare occasions, the club has been closed altogether--
though the insurance rates go up, I believe. It was closed last year--for several weeks--in January or February. Jack had the flu. He was in Parkawan hospital."
"I see." Aggie nodded in agreement with himself. "In other words, anybody could have been throwing knives in trees here last winter! Most of the people have been here in the winter, at one time or another. If we assume that the murders had to do with the missing gold--if they were murders, of course--and if we assume that the person who tossed a knife in that tree last winter was the murderer--we can probably assume--just assume--that he was up here last winter on some errand connected with the whole business."
"Trying to locate the cache," Wes said.
"Well, probably. And--if so--that person undoubtedly took great pains to make it appear that he--or she--was anywhere but in Indian Stones at the time. Probably 'left for a vacation in Florida'--or what not. That means--we'd have to check every alibi for everybody in the place for the best part of the winter. We'd have to check Hank Bogarty for the whole winter--out in Seattle--"
Wes groaned. "We're back to him again!"
"--and we'd also have the possibility of a person--or persons--unknown to us--
which we could not check."
"Look," said the trooper. "I'm grateful for the explanation of what happened to Davis. And for the capture of the fox. If you've got any more beauties like that, trot 'em out. If not--don't sit there making me drive myself nuts all over again! I like tangible stuff."
Aggie nodded, without annoyance. "All right. Okay. You like things. Realities.
Stuff. What have you got? List 'em in your mind. You've got a knife, a calling card, a fox, an automobile, some veal bones that were in it. Incidentally--the veal bone I spotted on the cellar floor! What about it?"
"Just veal," said Wes. "No teeth marks. No gnawing. No fox signs."
Aggie chuckled. "I'd all but forgotten that. All right. You've got the deadfall and the bread and the honey and so on. You've got a wine cellar, a bottle of hock, an open cellar window, a secret door, a secret safe that contains straw and some chips from boxes.
You've got broken telephone wires, a missing million in gold and platinum that is real though absent. You've got a pair of shoe pacs that Dr. Davis dropped in Lower Lake.
That is, if you're the man I think you are, you've got 'em."
Wes nodded. "There was blood on them--a little trace in the leather. Same type as Calder's--the expert says."
"Good. Then--you've got two bodies--one with a bitten hand--all extremely concrete and tangible things. A slew of realities. And yet--you're no nearer to finding the murderer of Calder and Davis than the man in the moon! You can't even prove absolutely that either one was murdered! What does that suggest to you?"
' That I'm a dunce."
Aggie shook his head. "Again--the thought-direct. It suggests to me, captain, that the murderer--I think there was one--was a person of enormous invention. A resourceful person. One who could improvise rapidly. It suggests, in other words, the realm of ideas.
It may suggest that you're a dunce. But I, myself, refuse to admit that I am a dunce, o
r anything like one. Therefore, it suggests that the person responsible for what you once called 'this rumpus'--is bright. Have you ever examined the people connected directly with this whole matter, in the light of that?"
"I've considered 'em, sure. In the light of that--and of opportunity. Who could have had a chance--besides those 'persons unknown' you talked about?"
Aggie started to tick off names on his fingers. "First--Bogarty. Sarah vouchsafes he was an intellectual bearcat. He knew the gold was around here. He's missing. He's the number one possibility. Next--Davis was a likely suspect for killing Calder. Davis may have discovered that Calder robbed the mutual till. And someone else may have killed the doctor. Always a chance of that. Besides, Davis had the best motive on earth for doing in Calder. Calder ran off with his wife. Davis had no decent alibi for the night Calder died."
Wes said, "He had one. So did Waite. I promised old man Waite I wouldn't bring it out unless I had to--but I'll tell you two--on the same pledge. Waite married a chorus girl in the early nineteen-tens--"
Sarah drew a prodigious breath. "He did! And I never knew it! Why! That's--that's practically treason!"
The policeman grinned. "He was ashamed of the woman. They had a daughter.
The mother died--Waite had paid all her bills and taken care of her. Took care of the kid--
afterward. Saw her once in a while--although he never let her know he was her father. He brought her to Parkawan several years ago--about ten, as I recall. She went to school there--and married there. The night Calder was killed--she was taken fearfully sick. Her husband was away. She called Waite--as an old friend. He called Davis. Waite told Davis who the girl was--and Davis went to her house. Took an X ray of her. Some sort of kidney stones. I found the plate in the darkroom. Checked it. Anyway--Davis got Waite's daughter fixed up and comfortable--and Waite was mighty relieved about it. The girl--no need of your knowing her name--didn't know who Davis was, either. I've talked to her.
And that's what Davis was doing between the time he left Danielle--and the time he came back with the X-ray plate!"
"How long was he at the girl's home?"
Wes shrugged. "An hour. Waite was there longer--came in the afternoon, in fact--
but he left around two in the morning. A neighbor came in; the girl was asleep. I know what you're going to say, Aggie. An hour's not enough. Two o'clock still left time. Each man had his own car. Each might possibly have run into Calder here, after, say, two o'clock--and killed him--and carried him up on Garnet Knob. That deadfall might even have been made after daylight. I never could decide. It's possible that Waite or Davis, coming back from that emergency, might have stopped at Calder's house because there was a light on--and killed him--and hidden him in the woods--and thought out and rigged up the bear-trap dodge later in the day. Possible. But you'd hardly think--after a night such as they'd put in--!"
"On the contrary. You might think with equal logic that, having established such superb alibis--which could be weaseled out of them in a crisis--either man might feel in the exact right mood to carry out a scheme against Calder."
Wes looked at Sarah. "I leave it to you."
"I vote with Aggie," Sarah said. "That gives us three possible people--people with opportunity--people who had motives--or who could have had motives. Go on. Danielle-had both. Hated Jim. Alone in her house. No check on her that night at all. Ralph Patton was alone in his house too. I asked him. His motive could be fear of Calder--or a desire to have Beth inherit and a plan to marry Beth--or, Ralph could have taken the gold and Calder could have found out. Davis could have also found out--later. He might have taken a squint in our safe and discovered it empty. He might even have found a clue to the person who emptied it."
"Easily," said Aggie.
"Beth," Sarah went on. "Beth was asleep in bed, I imagine. Bill too, and Martha.
Bill and Beth hated their father. I don't know that either of them hated George Davis.
But--again--if George had found out that they'd committed patricide--"
"Asleep in bed!" Wes muttered. "Try and disprove that one!"
"Jack Browne," Sarah continued. "Calder had done plenty to that boy. Caused his father to kill himself--which is supposed to have brought about his mother's death.
Deprived him of his inheritance. Jack-of course! He was up at the club all night. Asleep?"
She looked at Wes.
"Asleep," said Wes, with a sigh. "So he says."
"And old John," she went on. "Calder even robbed old John! And where old John was, from the time I went to bed that night--till I woke Aggie at four, only old John knows. And there are a good many other people here who--!"
"This," Wes said abruptly, "is getting us nowhere!"
Sarah checked herself and agreed. "A mountain of evidence--and a roomful of candidates--but not one ounce of certainty even about what happened. Aggie, you've disappointed me."
There was the sound of a car in the drive. It stopped under the porte-cochère. Beth walked to the screen door and leaned into the living room. "Bill and Martha and I are going swimming," she said. "It's hot as a baked brick! We'll turn on the boathouse floodlights--and probably collect a crowd. Want to come?"
"Maybe later," Aggie said.
Beth smiled at Wes. "How about you?"
"Thanks. I'm leaving. I've still got a lot of foraging to do tonight."
Beth said, "You be sure to come, Aggie. Do you good to dunk your beard. Bring Danielle, if you like. There's a light in her living room and her coupes in the drive."
Aggie flushed.
Wes stared at him with incredulity. "You aren't toying with that blonde heartbreaker, Aggie, are you?"
"Certainly not!"
Sarah snorted.
Wes went to the door. "Well, I'm going. I've got to look up some men in a tavern about twenty miles down the line. They think they saw a guy like Bogarty buying gas, on the night in question. While I'm at it, I may push on to catch a black-jack dealer in Saratoga who believes Bogarty put up at his aunt's tourist home in western New York. It's been like that--for a long time." He grinned. "Thanks at lot, Aggie, for all the help. Don't think I don't appreciate it."
The professor waved his hand. "Incidentally," he said, "just to keep the record straight: where were you the night Calder--and so forth?"
The trooper stared with an irritability that became amusement. "To tell the truth, I was about three miles on the other side of Garnet Knob, watching some yokels open up a night-running still. So I haven't any alibi either, Aggie. Good night!"
After he had gone there was a long silence. Sarah finally said, "I feel out of it, you know. Neither of you put the finger on me!" When Aggie did not answer, she turned to look at him. He literally had not heard. He was lying on the inglenook seat, with his feet hanging over the end, banging his forehead with his fist as if it were a door. Sarah smirked. "Don't beat your brains out, Aggie. They may be a nuisance now, but perhaps you can use 'em later for something."
He sat bolt upright. "Listen, Sarah! Don't jump and don't scream! I think your old friend Hank is alive--and I think I know where he is!"
CHAPTER 16
Sarah Plum looked at her talented nephew for a full minute with an expression of electrified anticipation. In that time he had risen from the inglenook seat, made a complete circuit of the room, lighted his pipe, set it on the center table beside the silver fox, forgotten it, and started to hunt for it. Sarah pointed at the pipe. "Well?"
"We've been making more sense than we thought," he replied. "But what to do next is the question."
"If you'd care to enlighten a poor old woman who is about to explode with excitement--"
He gazed at her. "Enlighten you? First, I've got to enlighten myself. Then I'll discuss things with you." He started toward the front door and stopped as he reached it.
"Be back in a few minutes. Fifteen. Look. Remember--some time ago--you told me that you'd once found an old plan of the original hotel? The--Sachem House? The one that burned
?"
"Certainly. I found the drawings in the club library. That's how I learned about the old cellar with the strong room in it."
"You got 'em?"
"The plans? Of course not! As soon as we'd decided to dig out that strong room on the quiet--I burned them."
"Big help," he said. "While I'm gone--draw 'em--from memory."
"Draw plans I destroyed thirty-some years ago? Are you batty?"
"You said I was." He grinned and went out, slamming the screen. He came right back. "Flashlight," he said. "Where is it?"
"Aggie, don't be in such a dither! The light's on the bottom shelf of the bookcase, where it always is!"
He crossed the room and picked it up. "You might try to catch Wes by telephone--
though the prospects aren't hot. Tell him I have another idea. And as for being in a dither-
-when Jim Calder and George Davis were dead--that was one thing. An--academic thing.
But I don't think Hank is dead--and that's entirely non-academic--in view of the fact that he might be killed any minute, hour, or day!"
In spite of the heat of the night, he ran to the road and turned in the direction of Upper Lake. The hypotheses he had propounded to Wes Wickman had been mental exercises rather than deliberate explorations of possibilities. But one of them--the theory that somebody might have been using Hank Bogarty's possessions to simulate his presence--so neatly fitted the circumstances that it had hung suspended in Aggie's brain.
It brought him, first, to the old consideration of where Hank's body might be if Hank was dead; second, to the new notion that Hank could, conceivably, be alive and confined somewhere. Aggie realized the difficulties in keeping any man--and especially a man such as Hank was supposed to be--under lock and key. Moreover, he'd have to be fed, probably, to be still alive-and he'd have to get water, surely.
But, as Aggie allowed that notion to percolate through his mind, Beth had arrived to invite him to go swimming. Aggie had spent the whole evening in a discussion of every oddity and abnormality connected with Indian Stones since his arrival, so the mention of swimming, coming as it did, while he was wondering where and how a man like Bogarty could possibly be held, recalled the statement made by Mrs. Drayman about algae in the water of Upper Lake. That statement pulled together a host of seemingly irrelevant ideas. Their integration represented a wild guess. But Aggie had confidence in it. A quick trip to Upper Lake was imperative.