Mike Ashley - The Mammoth Book of Perfect Crimes and Impossible Mysteries

“I suppose,” said Sheilan, “this is Kimball’s own gun.”

“It’s his, all right – his wife identified it positively. She found it last week, hidden under a pile of underwear. He has a permit to own one, but he hasn’t carried a gun in years. But from what we’ve heard from other members of the troupe, Kimball had been acting funny all week-nervous, as if he were afraid of his own shadow. And the gun, as I pointed out, was recently acquired. It all ties in with the theory that Kimball knew he was in danger and carried this to protect himself. And the gun was never fired – he didn’t even have time to pull the trigger.”

“Hmm,” said Sheilan. “Did this notion of impending doom have anything to do with the assignment he gave to the private detective?”

“No. Kimball saw Bailey only once – three weeks ago when the magic show first came to town. He hired Bailey to do some unobtrusive prying into Mrs Kimball’s relations with Leo Gurney.”

“Aha!” said Sheilan, twirling an imaginary mustache.

“Well, now,” said Doran, “Margaret Kimball is no Lady Macbeth, but she’s good-looking enough to stir up plenty of homicidal intentions in a close-knit little theatrical family like this one. What’s more, Gurney is a first-rate mechanic with a good working knowledge of abracadabra and Hop-o-my-Thumb-modern style. And just to round things out, Gurney’s got a record. Before joining up with Kimball he served time for armed robbery. Would he commit murder to get a troublesome husband out of the way? He’d naturally be cautious, with his record, but I still wouldn’t put it past him.”

“Undeniable possibility,” said Sheilan. “I wonder that he isn’t locked up in a cell already.”

“Two reasons,” said Doran. “One: I’m not arresting anyone until I know how that elevator trick was worked. Two: I’ve been building a case against a straw dummy. Gurney had no more motive to kill Kimball than I do. Private eye Bailey dropped a bombshell – it seems that Kimball was barking up the wrong tree. His wife was playing around – but not with Gurney.”

“Dave Hooker?”

“Correct. By process of elimination. It’s not too surprising when you come to think about it. Hooker is good-looking, in a fuzzy sort of way. But he has a way of making himself – well, sort of invisible; it takes a real effort of concentration to pay attention to him when he talks. So it’s really no wonder that Kimball picked the wrong man.”

“Did Bailey communicate his discovery to his client?”

“No. Bailey’s instructions were to avoid any contact until seven this morning, at which time he planned to present his evidence and watch Kimball’s jaw drop. But somebody got to Kimball before he did.”

Sheilan raised his eyebrows. “The question being – who? Whom do you favor, Jerry? The so-called Invisible Man, with his shining motive? Leo Gurney, with his sinister past? Or Margaret Kimball, with her ironclad alibi? How did they stand up under questioning?”

“A more nerveless bunch of suspects I never saw,” said Doran, “I questioned them individually and collectively for three solid hours without extracting one useful piece of information. Hooker and his lady friend expressed no regrets about their activities; she remained calm the whole time, and he was even helpful. Suggested I look for some way the knife could have been fired like a bullet from a gun-” Doran made vague, harpoon-like gestures “- and reeled back on a string through one of the air vents in the car. I informed him that the air vents were covered with a fine wire mesh which showed no signs of tampering; he shrugged and grinned and looked oh so apologetic.

“Gurney grinned the whole time, like a damned orangutan. Volunteered nothing, swore he’d never had a thing to do with Kimball’s wife, and didn’t bat an eye when I brought up the little matter of his record.” Doran grimaced and took a pull at his drink. “Dead end,” he said, “to an embarrassing afternoon. Bailey sat in on the whole interrogation, wooden-faced as a cigar-store Indian. I gather that his opinion of the abilities of the force have been confirmed in spades.” But then Doran saw that his host wasn’t listening.

Sheilan had moved from his chair and was standing in front of one of the big windows. Outside, the twilight had vanished and been replaced by blind darkness.

Doran was silent for a moment. Then he said, “Well, the force is asking for a second opinion. What do you make of it?”

Sheilan turned and looked at him speculatively. “I make a great deal of it,” he said, “Before I can be sure, you’ll have to answer three questions.”

“Three questions,” said Doran, settling back, “Fire away.”

“One: can you tell me what floor of the hotel each of the three suspects was staying on?”

Silently Doran pulled out his notebook and consulted it. “The Kimballs had a room on the eleventh floor,” he said. “Gurney and Hooker had single rooms on the ninth and fifth floors, respectively.”

“Excellent,” said Sheilan. “Question Number Two: can you tell me something more about the elevator? The outer doors – not what you called the inner doors, but the ones on the various floors – how can they be opened?”

“They open automatically, of course, when the elevator comes to rest at each floor. When the elevator is on some other floor, they can be opened from the outside with a key, and from the inside by exerting pressure on a lock-bar-”

“And Question Number Three,” Sheilan interrupted, rubbing his palms together. “Is there a laundry chute?”

Doran blinked. “I’ll have to use your phone,” he said. And a few minutes later, in a brief conversation with the hotel manager, Doran established that there was no laundry chute in the Hotel Bowman.

Sheilan seemed satisfied. “Just a frill,” he explained, “but a possibility that had to be considered. If there had been a laundry chute, it would have spoiled the logical symmetry of my deductions.”

“I’m listening,” said Doran.

“I should hope you would be,” said Sheilan. “Now, to begin with, you will have noticed the imprint of a magician on this murder. A very special kind of legerdemain was required to bring off the elevator trick. Does that suggest anything to you?”

“Not much,” said Doran. “Our suspects are really a trio of magicians. Leo Gurney knows every trick of the trade, so does Dave Hooker, and for that matter, so does Margaret Kimball, who was her husband’s assistant for a number of years-although as you pointed out she does have an ironclad alibi.”

“Now that you mention it,” said Sheilan, “there’s a very close resemblance between the Problem of the Hermetically Sealed Room and the Problem of the Ironclad Alibi. No, I’m not talking about Margaret Kimball – not, for that matter, any of your trio of magician-suspects.”

“Do you mean there’s someone else? A fourth magician?”

“Precisely. A fourth magician who has played the Invisible Man much better than Dave Hooker and completely eluded your hawk-like instincts. Someone who had a better motive for murder than Margaret Kimball, Dave Hooker, and Leo Gurney all rolled into one. Someone who is apparently safe from suspicion-”

“Bailey!” breathed Doran. “The one person-”

“Bailey!” Sheilan let out a snort. “Let’s not be fantastic! He and the desk clerk alibi each other. No, the person I am referring to is safe from suspicion for a very convincing reason – he happens to be dead. That’s right, the person I’m talking about is Charles Kimball.”

“I see,” said Doran slowly.

“No, I’m afraid you don’t,” said Sheilan, “It’s a complicated business. Charles Kimball is dead, but he is still the only murderer we have to deal with. Jerry, you’ve been holding this puzzle upside down.