Randall Garrett - Too Many Magicians

“The point we have all tended to overlook is that a man need not be in the same room with another in order to kill him. There was no one else in Goodman Georges Barbour’s room when he was stabbed, true — and yet he fell so near the door that it is not only quite possible but very probable that someone standing in the hall stabbed him.”

“Come now,” said Commander Lord Ashley, “that may be possible with Goodman Georges, but it certainly does not apply to Master Sir James.”

“Oh, but it does, My Lord Commander,” Lord Darcy said. “Given the proper implement, Master Sir James might easily have been stabbed from the hallway outside his room.”

“But — through a locked door?” asked Lord John Quetzal.

“Why not?” asked Lord Darcy. “Locked doors are not impermeable. The doors to the rooms in the Royal Steward are very old — couple of centuries or more. Look at the size of the key required to open them. And then look at the size of the keyhole required to admit such a large, heavy key. Although the door to Sir James’ room was locked, its keyhole was easily large enough to admit a one-inch wide blade.”

Lord Darcy looked at Master Sean O Lochlainn. “You have a question, Master Sean?”

“That I do, my lord. I agree with you that the blade that stabbed Master Sir James came in through the keyhole. At your suggestion, I took scrapings from the keyhole and found traces of Sir James’ blood. But” — he smiled a little — “if your lordship will pardon me, I suggest a demonstration of how a man could be given a high downward stab through a keyhole.”

“I agree,” said Lord Darcy. “First, I must direct the Court’s attention to the peculiar bloodstain near the door. A full description of that bloodstain appears in the written record.”

My lord the Marquis nodded. “It does. Proceed, my lord Advocate.”

Lord Darcy turned and looked to his right at Lord Bontriomphe. “Would you ask Sir Frederique to bring in the door?”

Lord Bontriomphe reached behind him and pulled a cord. The rear door opened and Sir Frederique Bruleur, followed by an assistant, brought in a heavy oaken door. They placed it in the center of the room between the area of yellow chairs and the Marquis’ desk, and held it upright.

“This demonstration is necessary,” said Lord Darcy. “This door is exactly similar to the one on Sir James’ room. It is taken from another room of the Royal Steward Hotel. Can all of you see both sides of it? Good.

“Master Sean, would you do me the favor of playing the part of your late colleague?”

“Of course, my lord.”

“Excellent. Now, you will stand on” — he gestured — “ that side of the door, so that the door handle and keyhole are on your left . For the purposes of this demonstration, I shall play the part of the murderer.” He picked up a sheet of paper from Lord Bontriomphe’s desk. “Now, let’s see. Lord Ashley, might I borrow your sword?”

Without a word, Commander Ashley drew his narrow-bladed Naval sword from its sheath and presented it to Lord Darcy.

“Thank you, Commander. You have been most helpful throughout this entire investigation.

“Now, Master Sean, if you will take your place, we shall enact this small play. You must all assume that what you are about to see actually occurred, but you must not assume that the words I use were those that were actually used. There may have been slight variations.”

Master Sean stood on one side of the door. Lord Darcy walked up to the other and rapped.

“Who is there?” said Master Sean.

“Special courier from the Admiralty,” said Lord Darcy in a high-pitched voice that did not sound like his own.

“You were supposed to pick up the envelope at the desk,” said Master Sean.

“I know, Sir James,” said Lord Darcy in the same high-pitched voice, “but this is a special message from Captain Smollett.”

“Oh, very well,” said Master Sean, “just push it under the door.”

“I am to deliver it only into your hands,” said Lord Darcy, and with that he inserted the tip of the sword blade into the keyhole.

“Just push it under,” said Master Sean, “and I’ll take it. It will have been delivered into my hand.”

“Very well, Sir James,” said Lord Darcy. He knelt and, still keeping the tip of the sword blade in the keyhole, he pushed the paper underneath the door.

Master Sean, on the other side, bent over to pick it up.

And, at that point, Lord Darcy thrust forward with the sword.

There was a metallic scrape as the sword point touched Master Sean’s chest.

Immediately Lord Darcy pulled the sword back. Master Sean gasped realistically, staggered back several feet, then fell to the floor. Lord Darcy pulled the paper from beneath the door and stood up.

“Master Sean,” he said, “happens to be wearing an excellent shirt of chain mail — which, unfortunately, Master Sir James was not.

“You see, then, what happened. Master Sir James, bending over to pick up the proffered envelope, presented his left breast to the keyhole.

“The sword came through and stabbed him. A single drop of his blood fell — half of it falling upon the carpet, the other half upon the presumed message. The blade itself would stop the flow of blood until it was withdrawn and Master Sir James staggered back away from the door.

“He collapsed in a state of shock. His wound, though deep, was not immediately dangerous, since the blade had not severed any of the larger blood vessels, nor pierced the lung. There was some bleeding, but not a great deal. He lay there for approximately half an hour.

“The weapon had, however, cut the wall of the great pulmonic aorta to such an extent that there was only a layer of tissue keeping it intact.

“At half past nine, Master Sean, who had an appointment with him at that time, rapped on the door.

“The noise of the knocking roused Master Sir James from his stupor. He must have known that time had passed; he must have been aware that it was Master Sean at the door. Lifting himself from the floor, he grabbed at his desk, upon which were lying the key to his room and his silver-bladed contact cutter. He cried out to Master Sean for help.

“But this increased strain was too much for the thin layer of tissue which had thus far held the walls of the pulmonic aorta together. The increased pressure burst the walls of the blood vessel, spurting forth Sir James’ life blood. Sir James collapsed again to the floor, dropping the knife and his key. He died within seconds.”

Master Sean arose from the floor, carefully brushing off his magician’s robe. Sir Frederique and his assistant removed the door.

“If it please the Court,” the Irish sorcerer said, “the angle at which My Lord Darcy’s thrust struck my chest would account exactly for the wound in Sir James’ body.”

Lord Darcy carefully put the sword he was holding on Lard Bontriomphe’s desk. “You see, then,” he said, “how Master James was killed, and how he died.

“Now, as to what happened:

“We must go back to the mysterious Goodman FitzJean. That Tuesday morning, he had discovered that Goodman Georges was a double agent. It became necessary to kill him. He walked up to Goodman Georges’ room and knocked on the door. When Goodman Georges opened the door, FitzJean thrust forward with a knife and killed him. Naturally, there was no evidence that anyone was in the room with Georges Barbour, simply because there wasn’t. FitzJean was standing in the hallway.

“Barbour had already discovered FitzJean’s identity and, earlier that morning, had sent a letter to Zed — Sir James Zwinge. FitzJean, in order to keep his identity from being discovered, came here to London. Then he managed to get hold of a communication, which — so he believed — reported his identity to the Admiralty. It was, he thought, a letter to the Admiralty reporting the information from Barbour which disclosed FitzJean’s identity. He immediately went up to Sir James’ room, and, using that same envelope, which, of course, would identify it as an Admiralty message, tricked Sir James into bending over near the keyhole” — Lord Darcy gestured with one hand — “with the results which Master Sean and I have just displayed to you.”