PINNACLE BOOKS NEW YORK (16 page)

"Incontestable
alibis arouse my suspicions," re
marked
Holmes. "But it is no matter since I have
learned
what I wish to know. Gentlemen, a prima
facie
case for your consideration."

The
very manner in which he leaned back in his
chair
told the story. The calm theorist of Baker
Street
was ready with another
tour de force
.

"Daily
study of the journals makes one privy to
seemingly
odd incidents which prove helpful in
solving
puzzles. Cedric Folks is attempting a career
in
art and had a showing recently. In covering the event, Michael stated
in print that the painter was
obviously
trying to emulate the French Impression
ist
Pissarro, but that his paintings created naught
but
a false impression. This acid critique elicited
much
ribald laughter in art circles, and Folks, I
must
assume, became livid with rage. Recall his
stormy
departure from the presence of the art
critic.
You did mention that he slammed the outer
door
loudly."

The
Scot, his eyes intent on Holmes, nodded
briefly.

"Now,
Mr. Mac, regarding the upstairs study
where
Michael met his end. It is sizeable?"

"More
than thirty feet in length."

"And
the door to the study is adjacent to the
staircase?"

"How
did you know that?"

"To
fit my reconstruction, it had to be."

I
thought my friend's smile was somewhat smug
but
quelled the thought, being on tenterhooks for
the
denouement.

Holmes
resumed his summation. "Three mem
bers
of the household, not counting the corpse, and
three
visitors during the day. The man from the
museum
and the vicar can be ruled out, surely, for
complete
lack of motive, not to mention means. But
Cedric
Folks, the irate artist, had motive. Of the others, the servants are
given an alibi by Vanessa Claremont. She had motive. They did not.
Miss
Claremont has an alibi."

"If
she does, I canna see it."

"Come
now! A frail young woman shoots Michael
with
a .450 Adams revolver? I doubt she could even
manage
the trigger pull of such a heavy-caliber
weapon.
But to expect her to fire it with the
accuracy
of a marksman over a distance of thirty
feet
is asking the impossible."

"Could
she not have been close to Michael when
she
shot him?" MacDonald was far from convinced.

"Had
Miss Claremont been near the victim, the
bullet
would have torn through his head. You said it was lodged in his
brain. Come, come, Inspector;
we are
speaking of a heavy piece of ordinance with
high
muzzle velocity."

MacDonald
shot me a sheepish look. "He's right,
you
know," was his grudging admission.

"He
usually is," I replied.

"I
ruled out your prime suspect promptly," con
tinued
Holmes. "When Cedric Folks rushed down
the
stairs shortly before five, he opened the front door and then slammed
it shut without his leaving the house. Instead, he concealed himself
within. Behind a convenient sofa, perhaps. The butler, thinking he
had left, locked up the house. Outside
there
was the sound of the departing hansom.
When
the time seemed right, Folks stole up the
stairs,
opened the door to the study and, as Michael
turned
at the sound, he fired from the doorway. He
did
attend Sandhurst, you said. I'll wager you will
learn
that he is an excellent shot. Wiping the gun
clean,
he threw it into the murder room and raced
down
the stairs to hide below. The body was discovered, the butler rushed
outside, and Miss
Claremont fainted. At
this point Folks escaped
from the house
unnoticed, though he might have
done so
later, when the constable arrived and all
attention
was directed to the first-floor study,
where
the victim's body lay. There's your case for you, MacDonald, all tied
up neatly." The detective directed a smile at me. "And the
resolution did not
require Watson's
braving the elements after all."

The
inspector was shaking his head. "I've a
thought
that I'm going to look like a fool, but
there's
one wee matter, Mr. Holmes. If Folks did not
leave
the house around five, how was it that the
hansom
that brought him departed?"

"But
that's the whole key to the matter. I can
reconstruct
what happened but how can you prove
it
in court? Folks hired the cab and instructed its
driver
to leave when he slammed the front door. He
gave
the man a sizeable fee, no doubt. The hansom
driver
is the tool to force a confession from Folks.
Just
locate him and you have your witness to the
fact
that the artist did not leave the Michael
mansion
at five o'clock."

At
last MacDonald seemed satisfied. "That artist
fellow
will learn that it doesn't pay to have a temper that matches his
hair."

Holmes'
self-satisfied expression vanished. "Let
us
run that last statement by again, Mr. Mac. You
imply
that Folks is redheaded?"

"You
don't know him?"

"Never
set eyes on the fellow."

"Well
I suspect there's some Irish in his back
ground,
for he is a carrot top and that's a fact."

MacDonald
had risen from his chair and I helped
him
on with his topcoat. "You've tied him up in a knot, Mr. Holmes,
and I'm grateful," continued the Scot, his normally dour
expression erased by grim satisfaction.

Holmes
did not share his enthusiasm. "The third
caller
at the Michael mansion is your murderer, Mr.
Mac,
but his identity is still to be proven."

"Come
now, Mr. Holmes. You always were one
for
dotting the
i
s
and crossing the
t
s
but I've got
my
man, thanks to you."

Holmes
shrugged. "Cedric Folks will certainly have to be questioned,
but if there is any problem
relative to
him, we shall speak again on the
matter."

It
was after Inspector MacDonald left that
Holmes
turned toward me with a lazy smile.
"At
first glance, this matter seemed bizarre in
deed.
An
outré
affair.
But it was all quite simple,
really."

Surely
his words wrote
finis
to
the matter, but his
manner did not.

"Please
don't say
elementary
,"
I
replied. "You surely solved
MacDonald's problem, and mine as
well
since our departure into the night was not
necessary
at all."

"In
a short while MacDonald may not be as
satisfied
with the resolution of the Michael death as
he
is right now. However, we did exonerate Miss Vanessa Claremont, which
was the matter of im
mediate
importance. The so-called Cedric Folks is a
sticky
wicket, I fear."

"You
say so-called?" My query was automatic,
for
this had to be the fly in Holmes' ointment.

"A
redheaded man presented himself at the
Michael
abode and called himself Cedric Folks. I
have
doubts about his being the irate painter."

"But
why? Folks had a motive for wishing to do
Michael
in."

"Agreed.
Injured pride and rage, fueled by an
artistic
temperament, can cause feelings to run
high,
but not often to the white heat required for
murder.
Then we have the matter of Trelawney to
consider."

"Surely
there is no connection."

"Possibly
not. However young Charles Trelawney
was
the prime suspect because the stationmaster at Shaw saw him get off
the six o'clock special. He
testified,
as I recall, that there were but two
arrivals.
Charles and a redheaded stranger."

"Dear
me," I mouthed with a frown. "I'd quite
forgotten
about that. Do you think the same red
headed
man
. . ."

Holmes
rose briskly to his feet and began pacing
the
length of our sitting room.
"Let us
not jump to assumptions, but just consider this as a possibility. We
have two murders, with a redheaded man on the scene of both. Not
necessarily the same person, but it does give one
pause.
One way to disguise identity is to alter one's
appearance,
presenting to the unobservant eye an
inconspicuous
and false figure. Another is to adopt
a
striking characteristic."

"Like
red hair," I cried suddenly. "You envision
an
assassin using a wig so that anyone noting his
presence
would identify him as being redheaded.
Which,
of course, he is not," I added, and was
rather
pleased with my understanding of Holmes'
idea.

"We
are in agreement on that last point," said the
sleuth,
returning to his favorite chair beside the
fire.

"But
wait. Holmes, are you not running far
afield?
Could not the banker Trelawney have been killed by Horace Ledbetter?
Mightn't Michael have
been shot by the
real Cedric Folks in the manner
you
outlined to MacDonald?"

"Agreed
on both points," replied Holmes with a
prompt
acceptance that made me suspicious.

"Yet
something got your hackles up," I con
tinued.
"Some clue perhaps?" My voice dwindled
away
as I racked my brains to no avail.

There
was a mischievous twinkle in Holmes'
sharp
eyes. "The third caller on the departed
Michael
made a singular statement to the butler,
Herndon."

"A
message from Shadrach?" I said, dredging words from my memory.
"You suggested a code."

"Sounds
like one." Holmes' relaxed thoughtful
mood
vanished and his expression sharpened. "But
I
have played you false, good fellow. I do have
certain
information that you are not privy to.
Evidently
MacDonald as well, since he made no
mention
of it."

Holmes
was gazing into the fireplace. A silence
fell
between us which I did not break, knowing well
that
he was considering a theory.