Six Against the Yard

by The Detection Club

  Of the other outsiders who made their way into Gamba’s apartments, the priest may have had a motive in resentment at the disbandment of his Order or what would appear to him the desecration of the chapel. But he and Marryat followed Varcos in his search for the Inspirer. That means that none of these three could have committed the crime, supposing that it took place after the discovery of the fire.

  This brings us back to the time factor. General Almeda left the Inspirer at about 10.20, and the body was found at about 11.15. The alarm of fire was given at 10.44. Gamba’s wrist-watch stopped at precisely 10.54. According to the Chief of Police, ‘the shooting must have been done almost immediately after the door was broken in, or conceivably, of course, at some time earlier—though not earlier than 9.50.’

  Colonel Weinberg makes this statement to Almeda, who left Gamba about 10.20. Is he quoting the medical evidence or referring to the time when the Inspirer left the balcony? Or does he wish to indicate to Almeda that he also is under suspicion? When he arranges the psychometric test, is it really Almeda’s reactions which he desires to observe?

  Almeda was the last person, other than the murderer, to see Enrique Gamba alive. He had a powerful motive. An ambitious man, he was forced to play ‘second fiddle ‘to the Inspirer so long as the latter lived. But he had control of the army. He had been the dictator’s right-hand man. If Gamba died, he was the natural, almost the inevitable successor. Possibly he had had that in mind when he joined forces with the dead man. Perhaps he had planned, all along, to use the Inspirer as an instrument, to be discarded as soon as opportunity offered.

  Is there any way in which he could have committed the crime? He was at his house when the alarm of fire was given, and was summoned by telephone. On his return to Gamba’s residence, he was met by Varcos, and then went upstairs, where he made a personal search of the Inspirer’s apartments. He might have committed the crime then—had he found Gamba after the others had failed to do so. But the time at which the watch stopped suggests that the murder had already taken place, and Varcos, on his own account, discovered the body immediately after leaving Almeda.

  Could Almeda have killed Gamba before, during his earlier visit? The Inspirer was heard saying: ‘Good night, my friends!’ as Almeda appeared at the foot of the staircase which led to Gamba’s private apartments.

  That seems conclusive, unless Almeda had imitated the other man’s voice so convincingly as to deceive Varcos and Lunaro, both of whom were in constant touch with the Inspirer. Also, to be convincing, the voice must have seemed to come from above. Therefore, either the voice was Gamba’s, in which case he was still alive, or Almeda had arranged a gramophone record to produce the ‘Good night’ at the exact moment he reached the lower floor.

  In that case, the altar, which Almeda’s wife had carved and which had been set up only the day before, might have contained some mechanism that was timed to start a fire after Almeda had left. We are told that the fire started in the chapel and that the altar was charred almost beyond recognition. And if Almeda used a silencer, no shot would be heard below.

  This theory, however, would leave certain facts unexplained. Almeda could not possibly have thrown out the body. The steeplejack, Zimarra, saw the Inspirer kneeling at the altar at half-past ten. True, he might then have been dead, which would have explained an action which Colonel Weinberg found so much out of keeping with his character.

  Could Gomez, on entering the chapel, have dragged the body from the altar, not realising Gamba was dead, but thinking him merely unconscious, and thrown it out of the window without being observed? The fireman may not have secured the extinguisher from the landing just at once; the place would be full of smoke, and his attention would be concentrated on dealing with the fire. He might not have seen Gomez till later, but still have thought, quite honestly, that the other man must have been beside him all the time. He would have accepted this idea all the more readily when he realised that Gomez’ story gave him the alibi he required to clear himself.

  If Almeda was the murderer, and Gomez acted in this way, the General had reason to congratulate himself.

  In that case, was the Inspirer murdered before or after his broadcast? Perhaps before it. We are told that ‘the utterance, always a trifle raucous, was not much altered by traces of catarrh.’

  The difficulty of the ‘Good-bye’ remains. I do not think that Almeda would have dared to speak the words himself, relying on his imitation of Gamba’s tones, and on his hearers thinking that the voice came from above. But if a gramophone record had been used, the tell-tale evidence would have remained, unless the instrument had been in the chapel. The rest of the suite, we are told, had remained untouched by the fire. Had the gramophone been in the chapel, the people below might have been surprised that the Inspirer should speak from there—and, even if it were totally destroyed by the blaze, its absence from its accustomed place in the suite would be noticed. Obviously, Almeda would have to use a gramophone that was already in one of the rooms.

  There is a further point. When Almeda is told of the chalked-up message, ‘Almeda next,’ he is silent for a moment, then squares his shoulders ‘as if to exorcise an imaginary terror.’ Is he acting, or is he really afraid? If he is the murderer, unless he or some friend of his is responsible for the Avenger’s scribblings, he knows that the author of the threat had no part in making it come true.

  That brings us to the Avenger. The prediction, ‘Gamba to be burnt out on Thursday evening,’ was fulfilled. Gomez might, on his past record, have been the author—but the fire had started before he appeared on the scene. Gamba’s residence, too, was closely guarded—it was really a fortress rather than a house. It is inconceivable that, before the fire, any unauthorised person could have gained admission to it.

  That seems to rule out the possibility of the Avenger being the murderer unless, indeed, someone like Almeda had scrawled the warnings. But even suppose that Almeda were the murderer, why should he add to the risks he had to run others which were quite unnecessary?

  On the whole, I incline to the opinion that the Avenger was simply an irresponsible person, trying to create a scare, but doing nothing to carry out his threats. His message, however, may have suggested the idea of the fire to the actual murderer.

  Are there any other suspects? For the reasons Colonel Weinberg gives, we may dismiss the two mysterious visitors. There remain Varcos and his two henchmen. There is some uncertainty about the movements of these guards, and no doubt Colonel Weinberg investigated their stories very carefully. In his place, I should certainly have done so. I think, however, that they can hardly have been more than accomplices in the crime. It is doubtful if they were that.

  Now, let us turn to Varcos. If Almeda had a motive, so had Varcos. We are told that it was the Free Youth Movement which had brought Gamba to power, and that, after his death, ‘Varcos must be presumed to be at the head of it.’ True, while Almeda controlled the army, Varcos could not hope to seize the supreme power; but Almeda also might die. Was that why the latter was so thoughtful when he heard of the warning, ‘Almeda next’? Did he realise that if Varcos was the murderer of Gamba, his own life was in imminent danger?

  We are told that the Inspirer’s personal guard, of which Varcos was captain, consisted of gunmen. Presumably, therefore, Varcos was a gunman himself. His own station was just outside the door leading to the top floor and Gamba’s apartments. During the period of Almeda’s visit, he was waiting here with Dr. Lunaro. Presumably Dr. Lunaro left at about the same time as Almeda. If he had remained behind while Varcos made his tour of the sentries, the Chief of Police would undoubtedly have mentioned the fact and have taken his story.

  About ten minutes elapsed between the time that Varcos returned to the upstairs landing and the alarm of fire. Was Varcos alone during that ten minutes? He seems to have been.

  If this is so, it appears to me, on the evidence supplied by Father Ronald Knox, that the murder probably took place at some time in this short period.<
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  It is possible, for instance, that the second of Gamba’s mysterious visitors had brought him some information which showed that Varcos was unreliable, or even a conspirator. What we know of dictatorships abroad suggests that this is by no means unlikely.

  Suppose Gamba were unwilling to believe that his trusted lieutenant was playing him false. This was his first opportunity of placing these charges before him and asking for an explanation. Unknown to anyone else, he might have called Varcos upstairs.

  His first words would reveal to Varcos that the truth was known. His expression may have convinced Gamba, at the same moment, that the charges were true. He would not want to continue the conversation.

  ‘Very well, I shall see to it in the morning,’ he may have said and turned on his heel. Then Varcos, realising that if the Inspirer lived, he would be ruined, while if he died he might become leader of the movement and ultimately head of the State, shot him from behind.

  It is just possible that he could have done this, dropped the body out of the window, and set fire to the place—either to burn some bloodstained article of his own or to cover up other traces, or because he remembered the Avenger’s threat and wished to suggest its fulfilment—and got back to his post in the time at his disposal. Or the possibility already mentioned that Gomez threw out the body may still stand and give Varcos a little more time for his interview with the Inspirer and for starting the fire.

  There is, of course, no direct evidence against Varcos. But the case against him seems stronger than that against Almeda, and he is the gunman type, while we are told that the other was a ‘genuine soldier.’ In my experience, it is rare for a ‘genuine soldier’ to be a murderer. Also, Varcos’ psychometric test does carry a suggestion of guilt. One of the things the man who threw the body out of the window must have been afraid of was being seen by someone in a passing car. Varcos fitted the word ‘body’ to the word ‘car.’ He also replied ‘footstep’ to ‘staircase’—would not his ears have been tensed, waiting for the possible sound of a footstep on the stairs, while he was busy at his grim work on the top floor? ‘Wax’ suggested ‘work’—as he looked down on the body of his victim, may it not have suggested a waxwork figure to him?

  None of these key words drew responses at all suspicious in the case of the others who were tested. And was not Varcos’ ‘Bluff’ to ‘Avenger’ far more significant than the Anarchist’s ‘Justice’? Others might think that the Avenger’s threat had been fulfilled, but the real murderer knew that it had only been bluff, and the word rose automatically to his lips.

  This, I know, is far from being conclusive. It would not satisfy a court of law. But I cannot help thinking that evidence which would have convinced judge and jury could have been found if the Chief of Police had looked for it. There is no record of any examination of the rooms for fingerprints. Yet there were probably fingerprints on the window from which the body was thrown, even if they occurred nowhere else.

  Then, what happened to the bullet which killed the Inspirer? Was it extracted? Even if it had passed through the head completely it must have been somewhere. A search would have discovered it, perhaps, embedded in a wall. Then, supposing Varcos to have been the murderer, even if he had had time to remove all traces of recent use from his revolver before it was examined, a bullet fired from his gun would bear the same tell-tale markings as the bullet which killed Gamba.

  He could not have objected to the test. Naturally, the Chief of Police would have had all the guards’ revolvers dealt with in this way and would have taken all their fingerprints. General Almeda would also have been asked to produce his revolver.

  I have no doubt that an investigation on these lines would have disclosed the culprit. Why wasn’t it made? I can only assume that Colonel Weinberg suspected either Varcos or Almeda, or both, from the start, but knew that it was impossible to bring either of them to trial, and feared that too rigorous an inquiry might mean personal disaster. But, by a process of elimination and finally, by the psychometric test, he satisfied himself as to the guilty party.

  ‘He could afford to be polite; he had solved his problem,’ is the concluding sentence of the story. And I have no doubt that, when he and Almeda were alone together, he told the General what his conclusions were, and they discussed together what steps it was necessary to take for Almeda’s protection and Varcos’ punishment.

  Anthony Berkeley

  THE POLICEMAN ONLY TAPS ONCE

  (with acknowledgements where due)

  I

  IT WAS A DULL SORT OF DAY, CLOUDY AND RAW like they get it over here, so I thought I’d bump off Myrtle. She had it coming to her anyways.

  Besides, the way I’d figured it, any dame with a dial like hers’d be happier stiff. Myrtle certainly was a terrible looker. That was why I’d picked her. I’d had it all figured out.

  There’s no need to say how I’d got me into the position that a vacation from the States was going to be pretty good for my health; nor there’s no need to say what my racket had been over there, except that it was a mighty good racket while it lasted. It was a private racket too. The bulls were never wise to me. They had no reason. It was a private racket, and it wasn’t against any law, not even the Mann Act. I can tell you, it makes a guy feel good to know he doesn’t figure on any police records; and I know that, because a pretty good friend of mine was a headquarters’ dick, and if there’d been any breeze stirring I’d have had the dope good and quick. I kept him sweet for the reason. But there was never a breath. I tell you, there was no need to be.

  I was born in Connecticut when Connecticut was really tough. And was it tough! Believe you me, a guy that was born in Connecticut round about then wouldn’t need any asbestos suit in the next world. Hell’d feel a sweet, cool breeze to him after Connecticut.

  My old man was a cop, and I will say he did his darndest to keep me on the level. ‘Boy,’ he’d say, as he whacked me with his night-stick, ‘I’m telling you, it pays to be honest. There’s more pickings to be got in one week by an honest cop who knows his racket than the tough guys can collect in a year. Think of it, boy. There’s not a hold-up nor a bumping-off in this town but I get my rake-off, and I’m only a plain cop. When they make me a Lieutenant, I’ll get double. That’s pretty good, ain’t it? You take my advice, boy, and stay honest. It pays like hell.’

  He never got to be a Lieutenant though. He slipped up on a big schemozzle there was one night between Joe. Spinelli’s boys and a bunch of wops that were trying to horn in on Joe’s graft. The wops got cleaned up all right, but the old man let on that he’d seen one of Joe’s gang somewhere around that evening and Joe rang up the Captain and had him broke. The old man was sore at that, but Joe wouldn’t have him back in the force; he said he wouldn’t have a man he couldn’t trust taking his dough. So the old man slipped up on the honesty stuff himself after all.

  Anyways, I’d gone my own road before the old man got in that jam. Before I could button my own pants I’d decided on my racket, and I was working it before I’d bought my first tuxedo. I worked it for pretty nearly fifteen years, too, up and down the country, before it went lousy on me. It was a swell racket while it lasted, and it never got me in bad with the bulls. There was no reason.

  At that, I only quit just in time. If I’d left the quay five minutes later I’d have left it head-first into the water. As it was, I got up the gangway with just enough time to hide in the bilge, and the boys never thought of looking there. I stayed there two days, telling myself that if the rats could stick it I could, but the boys had gone ashore after all and I needn’t have worried. I heard afterwards they’d made sure I wasn’t on board, so I got to England with no one knowing.

  There wasn’t going to be any trouble about getting in, I knew that. There was no reason. My passport was all in order, and what it said was true. I was a private citizen of the United States, and nothing known against me. Independent means it said too, but maybe that wasn’t so good. What with having to leave in a hurry, and the r
acket going stale during the last year or two, I was pretty short of dough. I reckoned I had enough to last me a few weeks, living not too high, but after that I’d have to get busy. The old racket wouldn’t be any good either. You couldn’t work a thing like that in England.

  Well, the way I was fixed it meant I’d got to find a new one, and mighty quick at that. The scare I’d had, had kind of sobered me up. I’d got to get hold of enough dough to stay away for quite a while.

  The rest of the trip I spent figuring how I could think up a new racket. It had to be a cast-iron one so far as the bulls went, though these English bulls aren’t the tough babies like we’ve got at home; still, I didn’t want to get in bad with them and maybe get shot out of the country before I’d had time to sweeten up. And it had to be a sure-fire starter, because I’d got no time to waste.

  Before we docked I’d found what I was looking for. It was a pretty old racket, but when all’s said and done the old rackets are still the best so long as you can pull them. I’d find some old dame who’d got dough of her own and a face like the back view of a cab-horse, and marry her. There’s always some dames that look so terrible that no guy can put up with a dial like that over the coffee-pot of a morning even for the sake of the dough behind it, and I wasn’t going to be particular. That was the plan I worked out, and the more I looked it over the better I liked it. I figured it oughtn’t to be a difficult one to pull too, because as long as I can remember I’d always been the snake’s step-ins with the dames: it seemed like they just couldn’t say no to me.