Robert Alter - 101 Mystery Stories

The dead man was face down on the dark hardwood floor. He was frail and old, and the house was sturdy and old, redolent of Victorian dignity. It was the house where he had been born.

The wide stairs climbed for two tall stories, with two landings for each floor. He lay in the center of the stairwell, twenty-five feet below a dusty skylight. The gray daylight came down through the skylight and glinted on the heavy ornate hilt and pommel of the broadsword that pinned the man to the dark floor.

The hilt was of gold and silver, and there was a large red stone set into the pommel. The gold — and the red of stone and red of blood on the white shirt — were the only touches of color.

Riggs saw that when they brought him in. They let him look for a few moments. He knew he would not forget it, ever. The bright momentary light of a police flash bulb filled the hallway, and they turned him away, a hand pushing his shoulder.

There were many people in the book-lined study. He saw Angela at once, her face too white, her eyes shocked and enormous, sitting on a straight chair. He started toward her but they caught his arm; and the wide, bald, tires-eyed stranger who sat behind the old desk said, “Take the girl across the hall and put Riggs in that chair.”

Angela gave him a frail smile and he tried to respond. They took her out. He sat where she had been.

The bald man looked at him for a long moment. “You’ll answer questions willingly?”

“Of course.” A doughy young man in the opposite corner took notes with a fountain pen.

“Name and occupation?”

“Howard Riggs. Research assistant at the University, Department of Psychology.”

“How long have you known the deceased?”

“I’ve known Dr. Hilber for three years. I met him through his niece, Angela Manley, when I was in the Graduate School. I believe he’d retired two or three years before I met him. He was head of the Archeology—”

“We know his history. How much have you been told about this?”

“Not very much. Just that he was dead and I was wanted here. I didn’t know he’d been...”

“What is your relationship to his niece?”

“We’re to be married in June when the spring semester ends.”

“Were you in this house today?”

“Yes, sir. I went to church with Angela. I picked her up here and brought her back here. We walked. We had some coffee here and then I went back to the lab. I’m running an experiment using laboratory animals. I have to...”

“What time did you leave this house?”

“I’d say it was eleven-thirty this morning I’ve been in the lab ever since, until those men came and...”

“Were you alone at the lab?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you see Dr. Hilber when you were here?”

“No, sir.”

“Did Miss Manley inform you that she was going to stay here? Did she say anything about going out?”

“She wanted me to go for a walk. I couldn’t. I had to get back. We sometimes walk up in the hills back of here.”

“Did you know that Miss Manley is the sole heir?”

“I guess I did. I mean I remember him saying once that she was his only living relative. So I would assume...”

“Did you know he had substantial paid-up insurance policies?”

“No, sir.”

“He opposed this marriage, did he not?”

“No, sir. He was in favor of it. He opposed it at first. He didn’t want to be left alone. But after I agreed to move in here after we’re married... you see, he wasn’t well.”

“You had many arguments with him, did you not?”

Riggs frowned. “Not like you mean. They were intellectual arguments. He thought my specialty is a son of... pseudoscience. He was a stubborn man, sir.”

“You became angry at him.”

Riggs shrugged. “Many times. But not... importantly angry.”

The study door opened and two men came in. The man in uniform who had come in said to the bald man, “Can’t raise a print off that sword, Captain. It wouldn’t have to be wiped. It’s just a bad surface.”

The bald captain nodded impatiently. He looked at the second man who had come in. “Doctor?” he said.

“Steve, it’s pretty weird,” the doctor said. He sat down and crossed long legs. “That sword is like a razor. It was sunk right into the wood.”

“If it was shoved through him and he fell on his face, of course it would be stuck in the wood.”

“Not like that, Steve. It’s a two-edged sword. If he fell after it was through him it would be knocked back. Some of the shirt fibers were carried into the wound. No, Steve, the sword went into him after he was stretched out on his face.”

“Knocked out?”

“No sign of it.”

“Check stomach contents and so forth to see if he was doped.”

“That’ll be done. But does it make sense?”

“How do you mean?”

“If you’re going to kill a man, do you dope him, stretch him out on the floor and chunk a knife down through him? Now here’s something else. After we got him out of the way we found another hole in the floor. A fresh hole, about four inches from where the sword dug in. It’s a deeper hole, but it looks to me as if it was made the same way, by the same sword. And there was only one hole in the professor.”

The captain got up quickly and went out. Most of the men followed him. Howard Riggs got up and went out, too. He was not stopped. He saw Angela in the small room across the hall. He walked by the man outside her door and went to her. She stood up quickly as he approached. Her face was pale, her eyes enormous. He took her cold hands in his. “Darling,” she said, “they act so...”

“I know. I know. Don’t let it hurt. Please.”

“But he’s dead, and the way they look at me. As if...” She began to cry and he held the trembling slenderness of her in his arms, murmuring reassurances, trying to conceal from her how inept and confused he felt in the face of the obvious hostility of the police.

The hard voice behind him said, “You’re not supposed to be in here.” A hand rested heavily on his shoulder.

Riggs turned out from under the hand and released Angela. He looked back at her as he left the room. She stood and managed a smile. It was a frail, wan smile, but it was good to see. He hoped he had strengthened her.

Out in the hall the captain was on his knees examining the gouges in the dark wood. He craned his neck back and looked straight up. The men around him did the same. It was a curious tableau.

The captain gave an order and the sword was brought to him. The blade had been cleaned. He hefted it in his hand, took a half cut at the air.

“Heavy damn thing,” he said. He glanced at Riggs. “Ever see it before?”

“It’s from Dr. Hilber’s collection of antique edged weapons. It dates from the twelfth century. He said he believed it was taken on one of the early crusades. The second, I think.”

“You men move back down the hall,” the captain said. He plodded up the stairs, the incongrous sword gleaming in his hairy fist. Soon he was out of sight, and they could hear him climbing the second flight. There was silence — and then a silvery shimmer in the gray light of the stairwell. The sword flashed down, chunked deeply into the floor and stood there, vibrationless.

The captain came back down. He grasped the hilt with both hands, planted his feet, grunted as he wrenched it out of the floor. He smiled at Riggs. “I look at her and I say she could just about lift a sword like this. She couldn’t stick it through the old man, but she could drop it through him.”

“You’re out of your mind!”

“The other hole is where she made a test run when he was out, to see if it would fall right. She says she came back from her walk and found him. But I find clumsy attempts to make it look like a prowler did it. The jade collection in his bedroom is all messed up. We got to check it against his inventory. Dirt tracked into that room where the weapons are. Silver dumped on the floor in the dining room. If Doc wasn’t on the ball, that stage setting might have sold me. Might have. But now we know it was dropped through him, and it was no theft murder, even if she tried to make it look that way.”