Роберт Колби - Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 17, No. 4, April 1972

Naturally his first choice would be Vernon. The capture of an escaped con, a murderer as well, could gain him a headline or two — but Vernon wasn’t available, so Dirk would have to do.

After May’s body was taken away, and the technicians had left, Sheriff Tomlin settled down to questioning a sullen Dirk. I eased out of the Ten-in-One tent, lit a cigar and strolled the midway, deep in thought.

The midway was totally deserted now. The only light, aside from the single string overhead, came from the cook tent up front. I paused in front of the House of Mirrors. I was uneasy over the second knife missing from Dirk’s case. Yet, if Vernon had been on the lot, had killed May, he’d be long gone by this time.

I dropped the cigar butt into the damp shavings and ground it out under my toe. Abruptly the front of the Glass House behind me blazed with light, the clown heads on each side of the entrance opening and closing enormous, hinged mouths, idiotic, recorded laughter pouring from them. A Glass House, ours called the House of Mirrors, is a structure of complicated glass corridors through which a paying customer wanders trying to find a way out. What he thinks are doors turn out to be mirrors, and vice versa. Most carnivals have one, for even though Glass Houses are usually a losing proposition, they are as traditional as Ferris wheels and merry-go-rounds.

I squinted against the glare of light, peering into the glittering mirrors. A wanderer in the glass maze is reflected again and again and can be seen as he blunders nose-first into mirror after mirror, providing a hilarious and free spectator sport.

Now I saw, somewhere in the center of the maze, what seemed to be the figure of a man in a kneeling position, as though in prayer. If you’re familiar with the maze, you can walk all the way through and out again without faltering. I’d never mastered it. I was as much without a sense of direction inside as any mark. I thought of calling out, but I knew I couldn’t be heard over the insane laughter, and I didn’t know where the switches were.

With a sigh I tentatively stepped inside the House of Mirrors and was immediately lost in the glass maze. I stumbled and blundered, bumping my nose against solid glass until it began to throb like a sore tooth, and all the while I could see the crouching figure, now behind me, now ahead, never any closer. All the while, the canned laughter issuing from the speakers hidden in the hinged clown mouths assailed my ears until I wanted to scream.

After an eternity I made the right choice and stood beside the kneeling figure. I squatted and touched a finger to the back of the neck. Cold as ice. At the pressure of my finger the figure slowly toppled, falling on its side. It was Vernon Raines, his darkly handsome face contorted in death.

I had found Dirk’s other missing knife.

Both of Vernon’s hands were wrapped tightly around the knife handle, which was driven to the hilt just below the rib cage. Blood was thick and dark on the floor. From the position in which he’d been kneeling, he could have fallen on the knife, or committed suicide. He was in the typical hara-kiri position. Except Vernon wasn’t Oriental, and I wouldn’t have thought...

I frisked him quickly. I didn’t find the strip of skin from May’s back. I went through his pockets a second time, looking for signs of dried blood and finding none.

Without warning the canned laughter shut off. I jumped to my feet, shocked by a sudden silence that was almost painful.

Then a voice came over the loudspeakers. “Patch, is that you in there? We can see you...”

I couldn’t see out, of course. I nodded several times.

“All right, stay there. We’ll be right in.” It was Bernie’s voice.

It took them only a few minutes to reach me — Bernie, Sheriff Tomlin, and two of his men. There wasn’t room enough for all of us in the small corridor formed by the mirrors, and the two deputies were stacked up around the turn. Their images were repeated endlessly in the mirrors, and I had the smothering sensation of being surrounded.

Bernie said, “We heard the laughter and wondered...” He stopped, staring at the body. “It’s Vernon. Is he dead?”

“He’s dead.”

Sheriff Tomlin said alertly, “Vernon Raines? The escaped convict?”

I nodded. “None other, Sheriff.”

“That seems to be it then,” the sheriff said with satisfaction. “He came back, killed the woman, then killed himself.”

I started to comment, then changed my mind and said instead, “It’s too close in here. Let’s go outside.”

The sheriff turned to one of his men and told him to get the medical examiner back. The man started out and crashed face-on into a mirror. He retreated, cursing and rubbing his nose. Bernie took the lead and guided us out. I drew a grateful gulp of fresh air and busied myself lighting a cigar.

I felt the sheriffs hard stare. “Like I said inside, that seems to wrap it up.”

I sighed heavily. “It leaves a lot of questions that way, Sheriff.”

“Such as?”

“Such as, why did he kill May?”

“Jealousy. She was playing around with this other guy, this knife swallower.”

“That was long over, as I understand it. And it was long over with Vernon and May, too. At least as far as she was concerned. It was over when she learned Vernon was a bank robber.”

“But she was still keeping in touch with him. Otherwise how did he know where to find her so quickly, the way you carnies jump from town to town, week after week?”

“That’s easy. The carnie bible.”

He stared. “The carnie bible?”

“The magazine, Amusement Business. It lists show dates and locations of all carnivals. All carnies read it religiously, even one in prison like Vernon.”

The sheriff subsided, grumbling.

I went on, “Why did Vernon kill himself, if he did, in about the hardest way possible?”

“How should I know? Remorse, any number of reasons.”

“And what happened to the piece of skin from May’s back?”

“I don’t think anybody can answer that one.” He snorted laughter. “Maybe one of your carnie freaks is a cannibal.”

It wasn’t at all funny, but I let it pass. “I think I know what happened to it.”

“Do you, now? Well, I’d be right interested in hearing.” His slow voice dripped sarcasm.

“That square of skin is some sort of map showing where Vernon hid the loot from the Midfork bank holdup. He was going to prison for the rest of his life, but he wanted a permanent map showing where the loot was hidden in case he ever managed to escape.”

“So? He came back and killed her for it.”

“He doesn’t have it on him. I happened to look for the thing.”

“What right did you... All right, you didn’t find it. So?”

“So, somebody, knowing Vernon had escaped and was on his way here for May and the map, killed May, peeled the skin off, then waylaid Vernon and killed him as well. That’s why two knives were taken from Dirk’s case instead of one. Two murders were planned all along. Now the murderer has a clear path to the hundred grand.”

“ Who’s got a clear path? Do you know?”

“I think so, yeah. Bernie?”

Bernie, standing beside me and silent all the while, jumped. “Yes, Patch. What is it?”

“What did you do with the tattoo, Bernie?”

“Me...? You’re out of your mind, Patch!”

“Not the way I’ve got it figured.” I dropped the cigar butt and ground it out. “You told me you didn’t know what tattoo was missing. I don’t believe that. You’d know if a freak in the Ten-in-One had so much as a hangnail. And with May right under your nose day after day... You knew, Bernie. You may not have known what it meant at first, but you found out. Either May told you or you guessed. It’s possible May knew what the tattoo meant and told you. She was conscientious that way and figured she could trust you. You were biding your time, probably until we played Midfork this year, but suddenly you couldn’t wait any longer. With Vernon out of the pen and on his way here, you had to act...”