‘Yes, I was. Of course, I managed to get out and to get Mrs Balfour out, but the great difficulty was to convict him of wrongdoing. He had come to the conclusion that he would never be safe from suspicion and discovery so long as I was in the world, so he concluded I must be put out of the world.
‘This he would have succeeded in doing, had I not had a trusty young helper, a chap named Benson who is a marvel at obeying orders. I managed to communicate with him, got what I wanted and put over my somewhat desperate plan for getting away.’
‘Tell us about the shooting,’ urged Sewell. ‘I can’t get that.’
‘I may as well admit,’ Stone said, ‘that it was not an entirely original plan with me. I lately read some French history, which chanced to include the story of Marshal Ney, that fiery aide of Napoleon’s. You may remember he was sentenced to execution, but those members of the Assembly who voted for his death did so with the understanding that the sentence was to be commuted.
‘It was Wellington who saved Marshal Ney’s life. The firing squad were instructed to fire over his head, but not until he should give the signal by pressing his hand to his heart, by which action he burst a bag of red fluid secreted beneath his shirt. After falling in apparent death, he was hustled off by his friends, and history says he was helped away to our own South Carolina where he ended his days. I resolved on a similar plan, but circumstances being different, I provided myself with a bullet-proof undervest, and having selected a good one, Mr Swinton was balked of his plan. I had a cellophane bag of red fluid, which I managed to break as he fired, but not much was required, as a bullet in the heart does not cause a great gush of blood. Then Benson and another of my helpers rushed forward and took the “body” and I think by that time Swinton was so thoroughly scared, he ran for safety himself. This second helper of mine had already overcome Swinton’s helper by a neat bit of jiujitsu and then we had nothing to do but collect Mrs Balfour and come home. I, being supposedly dead, could take only a silent role, but I was so gratified that the lady and myself were free at last that I was satisfied to rest on my laurels.
‘I admit it was all a melodramatic stunt and I regret the necessity of it, but I could think of no other way. Swinton is a very strange man and has to be managed in unusual ways. He is childishly susceptible to fright at anything seemingly supernatural, so I knew that a visit to him last night as the ghost of Fleming Stone would put the fear of God in him—and it did. That was the way I got the book. It was he, of course, who came masked to Sewell’s shop that night and killed Mr Balfour with the silver skewer, or skiver as some call it. He wore a derby and carried his fine soft hat in his pocket. After leaving, he dropped his derby in an ash-barrel and put on his customary soft hat. This was a bad move, for my smart Aleck traced the derby with no trouble at all.’
‘What about this unimpeachable alibi?’ asked Manton, who was listening, enthralled.
‘I looked into that first thing. When he went into Mrs Balfour’s reception room that night—going there straight from his killing of her husband—he waited for her to appear, and while waiting he set that little clock back twenty minutes. This made him seem to be there during the time of the stabbing, but he wasn’t. Then just before he left he moved the hands of the clock back again to correct time. This I proved to my own satisfaction by having all the fingerprints on the clock looked into, and his were discovered amongst them. He would not have fingered that clock except for that purpose but I bided my time until I had stacked up enough bits of proof, then I plunged. I found out that he had ample opportunity to adjust that steam gauge, so that it resulted in the death of Guy Balfour. In fact, he had fixed up that deadly device for the purpose of killing Philip Balfour, and all he had to do was to set the door latch and adjust the steam regulator to bring about the murder of Guy. I got all this out of him last night, when I frightened him into confession.
‘You ask me how I know all the minor details. I am a detective, and it is my business to detect. Some things I diligently dig for, some I overhear or learn by chance, some my helpers drag to light, and perhaps some things come to me intuitively. Also, one thing brings about another. I gathered from the first pasted note that the sender was a man extremely fastidious about having things straight and orderly. I went through Swinton’s place, and I found stamp albums with every stamp in alignment as true as a die. The letters he sent out invariably had the stamps on straight. Everything he had to do with was so neat and orderly that I checked up a lot by that, even over in that awful house across the river. You knew, or suspected, didn’t you, Mrs Balfour?’
‘Yes,’ Alli said, slowly. ‘When you talked about straight lines and such things, I remembered that was like Carl in the old days. But I never dreamed he was so wicked. He told me more or less over there in that house before Mr Stone came. He said unless I would promise to marry him eventually, he would see to it that Keith was railroaded through—that’s what he called it—and sent to the chair. He said he could do that. I don’t like to think of the days over there.’
‘You needn’t, dear,’ and Ramsay rose. ‘We may be excused for a time, Inspector?’
‘Yes, of course, and we must go now, too. I’ll be over this afternoon for a short time to look into a few details, but I won’t ask for you, Mrs Balfour, until absolutely necessary. Mr Stone will help us out a little further, I’m sure.’
So they all went away, except Stone and John Sewell, who stayed for a few minutes longer.
Fleming Stone was praised and applauded until he begged them to stop it.
‘I’ll tell you about my playing spook,’ he said, ‘and then we’ll be jogging—eh, John?’
‘All right,’ Sewell agreed. ‘Go ahead with the spook yarn. How did you get into his place? Down on the second floor, isn’t it?’
‘Yes; but as I could think of no other way to get that book I had to cut up that ridiculous trick.’
‘Not ridiculous at all, if it served its purpose.’
‘Well, I had a confab with the manager down in his office, and I showed him beyond all doubt that he could obstruct the course of justice and get himself into a moil of trouble, or he could act the part of a decent citizen and help to convict a murderer and thief. I made him see it right, and he lent me the duplicate key that he keeps in his safe, not a master key, you know, but a duplicate, such as he has for almost every apartment. So all I had to do was to bring my paraphernalia with me, slip it on in the hall outside Swinton’s door, adjust my two masks, a black one and, beneath that, one made like a skull, and use my borrowed key to walk in.
‘Swinton nearly died of fright. I doubt if any other pressure brought to bear would have made him give up the book. But in his pitiable, shuddering terror he told me where to find it. Such a clever hidy-hole! I might have stumbled on it myself, or it might never have been found. Pasted by paper straps up against the top, inside a compartment of a desk, invisible because of a piece of carved wood-work in front of it. Very clever work. Then, what nearly finished the frightened man, I had a skeleton hand with me, and covering my own hand with my robe, I pointed the articulated bones at him and he just about collapsed. Of course, since he thought he had killed me and had been to my funeral, you can’t wonder at his belief in my reappearance from the dead.’
‘Tell us more about that funeral,’ urged Ramsay.
‘That was too easy. Some years ago I had a wax bust of myself made. It is a perfect likeness, beautifully made and modelled just like me. So as I persuaded the mortuary people to look on it as a business deal, they agreed to put it over. It’s been done before, and if it causes me some criticism, I’ll stand it because of the results. I had to disappear or I never could have captured Carl Swinton. And after all he was about to kill me—’
‘Why?’ asked Alli, who, with Ramsay, had returned. ‘Why did he want to kill you?’
‘Because I knew too much. I had sized up the whole thing. I knew his motive, and yet I couldn’t nail him nor make him confess. Had he succeeded in killing me, M
rs Balfour, he intended to keep you there until you had to marry him or be deeply compromised. As it is I still have his car, which I shall restore to him. But his two valuable dogs I cannot restore. I hate to kill an animal, but they had to be sacrificed to my own safety and that of my helpers. Tiny killed them with poisoned meat. He also had an atomizer of poison, but he didn’t need that.
‘Also, as to Guy. I burrowed into that matter until I learned almost positively that Swinton had planned and arranged the pressure gauge in order to kill Mr Balfour the way he afterward killed Guy. Swinton was here a good deal and he took his chance to fix things. Then, he decided to commit the crime elsewhere, but after he learned that Guy had found out quite a lot, he used the steam process on him. Swinton found opportunity that Sunday afternoon to slip into the steam room and set the gauge at the higher pressure. He may have gone up and down in a small private elevator that belongs to the Balfour suite of rooms, but he found a way. When I intimated this to him, I was sure from his looks and actions he was the criminal. He saw I knew this, so altogether he decided I must be snuffed out. But, somehow, he didn’t quite pull it off.’
‘Come along, Stone,’ Sewell said, rising. ‘We must get along and let these people have a chance to get calmed down. But I hope, Alli, all this excitement won’t be too hard on you.’
‘Not now,’ and Ramsay smiled. ‘We’ve hope for the future now, and plenty of time to make our plans.’
Stone and Sewell went off and walked down the avenue.
‘You had to cut up that funeral hoax, I suppose?’ Sewell said, musingly.
‘Yes, John. Swinton never would have rested till he brought about my death. Nor would he be satisfied with anything but ocular evidence. With me dead, he could make up any story he chose and no one could contradict him. I had mighty few methods to choose from, I can tell you! But that Marshal Ney performance has always seemed to me a slick piece of business, and I have often felt it might come in handy on occasion. You see, I had ample opportunity to communicate with Benson. I could drop notes out of those barred windows and the lad always found them. That side of the house wasn’t watched at all. In fact, Swinton was so sure of himself and his plans, it never occurred to him somebody else might be shrewd too. His only weakness, so far as I knew, was his fear of the supernatural. I am positive I could never have extorted his confession or retrieved the Button book except by that spook method.
‘You’re a good one, Stone. I should have said the whole plan of yours was implausible, improbable and impossible. But you sure put it over. Was Alli terribly frightened?’
‘I think she was, but when I arrived, she told me afterward, she felt sure I’d bring it all to a successful conclusion. I worked the old lady caretaker by means of the diamond bracelet, and cheap at the price. Sam had to be done up by the clever jiujitsu of that scientific fighter, Tiny. Sam’s great bulk stood no chance against the twist that caused him to break his own leg. Well, I hope Swinton gets all that’s coming to him, and that Mrs Balfour and Ramsay needn’t wait too long to step into their earthly paradise.’
‘Alli’s a good girl,’ said Sewell. ‘I’ve known her from childhood.’
‘A lovely lady,’ Stone agreed, ‘but she was to blame for the whole performance.’
‘Just because she didn’t know her own mind?’ suggested Sewell.
‘No; because she did. She was engaged to Swinton, but when the rich and influential Balfour came along, she jilted her fiancé. Then, not really loving her husband, when the fascinating librarian appeared she fell in love with him, and then Swinton, catching on, conceived his devilish plan of making her see the man she loved die in the electric chair for a crime of which he was innocent. One of the most fiendish motives I have ever run up against!’
‘The most fiendish case all through!’
‘Yes, and mark my word, that man will boast of it. To anyone who will listen, he’ll crow over how clever he was and how smartly he hoodwinked the police and me. Of course, I’m not imagining all these things. I picked up a lot of knowledge here and there. Why, when I went to Trentwood, I learned much from the principals, who lived there only a few years ago. I learned how hardly Swinton took it when his girl threw him over, and that set me to work on that tack. She has acted nobly since her marriage, and when Ramsay came into the game, they both behaved honourably, telling Balfour about it and all that.’
‘Well, I’m mighty glad I called you in, or I don’t know where Keith Ramsay would be now, and, too, I don’t know where this blessed book would be!’ Sewell patted his breast pocket where the small volume lay in safety.
And at that very moment Ramsay was saying to the woman he loved:
‘Bless the kind fate that sent Fleming Stone to our aid. Otherwise we might have no future to look forward to.’
‘Don’t refer to such things. Come, my Keith, let’s go for a walk, without a care as to who sees us or what they think of us. We are free at last from all suspicion or criticism.’
And, smilingly, they went out into the clear bright autumn sunshine.
THE END
THE SHAKESPEARE
TITLE-PAGE MYSTERY
‘THAT’S the way with you collectors! You were just crazy with joy when you got a first Leaves of Grass in wrappers. And now you want a first Venus, and I don’t suppose you care whether she has her wrapper on or not!’
‘I do want a first Venus and Adonis, but I have not forgotten my other treasures—my true first—’
‘I know, your ’fifty-five Alice—’
‘No, Sherry,’ Herenden corrected him gently. ‘’Fifty-five Leaves and ’sixty-five Alice. You know nothing of rare books.’
‘Rare! Rare!’ Young Sherry Biggs enjoyed heckling those two famous collectors, Garrett Sheldon and Leigh Herenden, their host. ‘Why is a thing valuable because it’s rare? An honest man is rare, does anyone care for him? A good woman is rare, who collects those? O Boy! As Shakespeare says in Merry Wives, Three, four, thirty-six, you collectors are an unmixed evil. This craze for rare books breeds crime. You’re always guarding against theft.’
‘No, Sherry,’ his host smiled at him, ‘you’re wrong there. I’ve guarded my treasures once and for all. Want to see my book room?’
Like many another good American, whose wealth piled itself up after the manner of Ossa on Pelion, Leigh Herenden had built a house for himself on Long Island, and the library occupied a large wing. They had to go down two or three steps to it, as seems to be the case with most self-respecting libraries.
‘Your stenographer is a pretty girl,’ Sherry Biggs noticed in passing.
‘Muriel Jewell,’ Herenden said carelessly. ‘I have little to do with the girl. I’ve little to do, anyhow. Herbert Rand is my secretary, and Gorman is my confidential book-buyer.’
‘It must be nice,’ Sheldon said, musingly, ‘to have a lynx-eyed librarian like Gorman to nose out rare volumes for you. But somehow, I’d feel I was losing half the fun if I didn’t make my own discoveries.’
‘Everyone to his taste,’ Herenden conceded, and his grey eyes were kindly, with no hint of criticism. ‘I know,’ he went on, ‘there is a noble sentiment that decrees “not the quarry, but the chase; not the laurel, but the race”, and yet, I do not enjoy poking around in the rare bookshops as much as I do having my quarry in hand.’
He led the way into a steel-lined safe, the size of a small room, and showed Sherry its hidden devices to balk both the moth that corrupts and the thief who breaks through and steals. As Sheldon was about to leave, Herenden turned to him.
‘I have an announcement to make this afternoon.’
‘I’ll stay, then,’ his neighbour and rival collector decided. Garrett Sheldon had a feeling that the news would concern a new acquisition to the already famous Herenden library, and he prepared himself to feel jealous pangs, which he would conceal at all cost …
‘You know,’ Leigh Herenden began that afternoon, ‘that among other favourites, I am specializing in Shakespeare. And only now hav
e I been able to find a first edition of Venus and Adonis.’
Their excited hubbub of questions and exclamations obliged him to pause.
‘Go on!’ cried Sheldon. ‘Don’t stop at the most interesting point! Where did you get it? And—’ he almost said, ‘how much did you pay for it?’ but changed his question to—‘how did you hear of it?’
‘It was a heaven-sent boon,’ Herenden smiled happily. ‘I was asked if I wanted it, and I said I did.’
‘I’ll bet there was something shady about your getting it!’ Sherry Biggs exclaimed.
‘Maybe.’ Herenden showed no offence. ‘If so, I sin in company with Cardinal Mazarin. I have read on good authority that “a little pilfering here and there was never known to upset Mazarin—if the book he coveted was worthy of it”.’
Sherry turned up his youthful nose.
‘Anybody would think it was a Gutenberg Bible you were talking about.’
‘A real first edition of Venus and Adonis is worth more than a Gutenberg Bible, if you are speaking of money value.’ Herenden gave Sherry a glance of reprimand.
‘But I happen to know that the first and second editions of the book you are talking about are exactly alike, except for the date. Now, how can it matter which one you possess?’
‘You know very well that, to a collector, age is the pre-eminent point of value. Age in a book is much the same as youth in a woman.’
‘Such a fuss about books!’
‘But where is your book, Leigh?’ asked Garrett Sheldon. ‘Seeing is believing.’
‘Sorry, but I can’t show it today. It isn’t yet tuned to the atmosphere of my collection. Come back Sunday night and see “the first heir of my invention”. You’ll covet it, I know.’
‘Hardly that! As I have one of my own. A real one.’
‘You have a first Venus and Adonis! I never knew that!’
‘A fine copy, too.’
‘Bring it with you to the party tomorrow night. We’ll show off together.’
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