Mike Ashley - The Mammoth Book of Locked-Room Mysteries And Impossible Crimes

“Fourteen pounds,” he announced. “A massive club indeed. A weapon fit for a Samson. That’s what struck down Simon Winkler. So heavy and deadly when full” – he emptied the water into the sink and tossed the can into the air – “and so light and harmless when empty.”

“But-” Roberts began.

“How was the blow delivered? Jerry Lockley’s theory of yesterday was close to the mark.”

Jerry tapped his brow, but Roberts shook his head. “Mr Strang, neither of those ladies could toss something that heavy eight feet from the second floor onto-”

“No, Paul.” The teachers finger traced a diagonal in the air. “It was eight feet from the gable to the eaves. But that’s on a diagonal, down a sloping roof. The actual horizontal distance couldn’t have been much more than four feet, maybe less.”

“Even so, a can full of water being heaved four feet? By two old women who weren’t even on the same floor? What are you trying to give me?”

“You’re forgetting something. On that centre gable there was a means to suspend the can beyond the edge of the roof. Think, Paul. All of you. Think back to Jacob Winkler. Remember what-”

“The flagpole!” cried Jerry Lockley. “Hey, yeah. A can attached to the rope on that flagpole and pulleyed out to clear the roof.”

“And since the pole was for a large flag, it would be fairly sturdy,” nodded the teacher.

Then Jerry shook his head. “No way, Mr Strang.”

“Why, Jerry?”

“Look, the can is hanging there, right? Maybe getting full of water from the rain. But you want us to believe it just happened to break loose at exactly the right time? I ain’t buying that.”

“Of course not. You see, when the can was hauled out to the end of the flagpole, it was empty. And the rain was simply a cover for what really happened.”

“Huh?”

“What did Lucille Winkler tell Father Penn she’d been doing the week before the rain?”

“Moving lawn sprinklers. So what?”

“Hoses,” said the teacher. “Think of the lengths of hose required to water that huge yard. Put together they’d make an incredible length.”

Jerry’s finger moved upward and then horizontally, making an inverted L in the air. Then a broad grin split his face. “That’s why you asked about the laundry room, ain’t it, Mr Strang?”

“You mean-” Roberts began.

Mr Strang nodded. “Imagine a length of hose attached to a faucet in the laundry room – a faucet which had to be threaded to accommodate the washing machine and to which a garden hose could therefore be attached. Imagine that hose leading out the laundry window, up the rear of the house, through the upper hallway to the middle gable in front. Think of it snaking out along the flagpole with its open end directly over a sprinkling can hanging there.”

“I see what you mean,” said the detective. “But you still haven’t answered the boy’s question. How could the can be made to break loose at exactly the right time?”

“As I said earlier, the gardening tools were out of place, considering the weather,” Mr Strang answered. “But there’s another incongruous element here, Paul. Do you recall what Father Penn was reading while waiting for Lucille in the living room?”

“Yeah, a book on fishing. So?”

“In a house inhabited by two aged spinsters? Highly unlikely reading material, wouldn’t you say? No, that book was in the house for a specific purpose.”

“What purpose?”

“Research. On fishing line.”

“Huh?”

“Fishing line,” Mr Strang repeated. “It’s the one type of string or cord that’s made to extremely close breaking tolerances. That’s so those who catch fish on lighter lines will receive more credit for the skill than those who use heavier tackle. And there’s a line which breaks at a strain of twelve pounds. The breaking strain is precise to within an ounce or so. I verified that yesterday with a call to Morey’s Sport Shop.”

Mr Strang preened, brushing at the wrinkled lapels of his jacket as if he were wearing regal finery. “In summary, class -Paul – here’s how the murder must have been accomplished. The Winkler women invited Simon to call on a day when heavy rain was a certainty. That morning Lucille lowered a long length of hose from an upstairs rear window to the window in the laundry room and attached one end of the hose to the tap in the laundry room. The other end was led to the front center gable, where both hose and sprinkling can were tied to the flagpole rope by the same piece of twelve-pound-test fishing line. This apparatus was hauled out to a point directly above the front stoop. The sheer wall of the house, which left neither Father Penn nor Simon Winkler protected from the pelting rain, also had nothing to divert the can in its fall. Oh, I’m sure Lucille tested the rig several times in previous weeks to get the trajectory exactly right. Just as I’m sure she tested the amount of time it took the can to fill to a point where the line would break.

“On the appointed day the sisters invite Father Penn to visit – the perfect, incorruptible, unimpeachable witness. Finally the three of them see Simon arriving. At that point Agnes suggests tea. Why? As an excuse for her sister to leave the room, of course. Then the sisters had their private little joke.”

“What joke?” asked Roberts.

“You’ll recall that as Simon was getting out of the taxi, Father Penn noticed a strange look which passed between the ladies. And then, what did Lucille say to Agnes?”

“Why-” Roberts’s eyes widened. “It was ‘ I ’ ll put the water on ’.”

There was a collective gasp from the students.

“I see you catch my meaning,” said the teacher. “On her way to the kitchen Lucille enters the laundry room and turns on the tap to a degree determined by earlier practise. As Simon arrives at the door, the can above his head is filling.”

“Wouldn’t he have seen it hanging there?” asked Roberts.

“Unlikely. In a rainstorm the tendency is to lower the head into the collar of the coat.” Mr Strang proceeded to demonstrate. “Inside the front door Lucille fumbles with the bolt. After all, the timing may not be absolutely perfect. She must wait for the can to drop.

“At length it does, smashing into Simon’s skull with almost the force of a cannonball. The can drops to one side, spilling its contents onto the already soaked earth, and lands innocently among the strategically placed gardening tools. The hose above snaps back to the roof, and its stream of water sluices across the shingles and into the gutters, joining the torrent gushing down the leaders.”

“But weren’t those two taking a big chance?” Roberts asked. “I mean, what if Simon had moved just a little bit to one side or the other?”

“Not too big a chance,” was the reply. “You see, Simon had to open the storm door to get at the knocker. Now when he heard Lucille fumbling with the lock inside, it would be instinctive for him to hold the storm door open so he could get inside in a hurry. And at that point his position would be as predictable as the phases of the moon.”

“But wouldn’t we have seen that hose draped through the house when we came to investigate?” asked the detective.

“Probably – if it had been left in place. But Lucille went back into the house to call the police. I suspect that it was then she turned off the water in the laundry room and disconnected the hose. Then she slipped upstairs and dragged the rest of the hosing through the house and pushed it out the rear window. Once it fell to the ground out in back, it became just an innocent length of rubber tubing.”

The old teacher made a stiff but elegant bow to his class. “Alpha and omega,” he said, grinning. “Do any of you have any questions?”