A Puzzle for fools (26 page)

"And very difficult to climb down,** murmured Geddes with a smile. "It almost ruined my suit, as you can see."

Green spun round on him. "You mean you really got out of that thing?"

The Englishman nodded. "Yes. Thanks to Dr. Lenz."

We were all moving rather dazedly back to our seats when the door from the corridor opened for a second time and Warren marched in accompanied by Dr. Stevens.

The night attendant was almost unrecognizable. A long cut above his lip had been lavishly painted with iodine. One cheek was so swollen that the eye was practically invisible. His lank hair hung rakishly over his forehead.

While we stared at him in blank stupidity, he fumbled in his pocket and produced a telegram.

"For Mr. Duluth," he muttered.

Eagerly I tore open the envelope and saw Prince Warberg's name at the foot of the paper. As I read through my fellow producer's message, I blushed once more to the roots of my hair. Now, and now only, had the full extent of my folly dawned upon me. And yet there were crumbs of comfort. My reasoning had been dead right. I had merely applied it to the wrong man.

"He fought like a wild cat," Warren was saying indignantly to the director. "I had a pretty tough time holding him and he didn't play square or I wouldn't be messed up like this." His gaze switched to Clarke in reluctant admiration. "If it hadn't been for Clarke coming and helping, I guess he'd have gotten away."

The young detective looked rather sheepish. The rest of us stared from him to Warren to the plump figure of Dr. Stevens. Captain Green was completely at sea by now and very annoyed about it.

"Can't someone around here talk straight?" he complained.

Lenz turned to him gravely. "I said that you had an excellent man on your staff, captain. I think Mr. Clarke deserves public congratulation. At the time I could not understand his unexpected explosion of mirth, but I see now that he had to provide himself with some reason for leaving the room. I gather that he guessed my particular explanation of the crime and he was intelligent enough to go out and help Warren. That was one of the quickest bits of thinking I have ever encountered."

His bearded face positively beamed as he bowed with ceremonious dignity to Clarke.

"I suppose that the bulge in your pocket is a revolver?" he asked calmly. "I trust it is fully loaded and that you have Mr. Geddes well covered."

"Yes, sir. Ever since we came in."

Dr. Lenz could not have hoped for a more successful audience reaction. Everyone in the room focused astonished attention upon that little tableau by the wall—the flushed young detective with his hand thrust in his coat pocket, the calm, lounging figure of the Englishman.

"Excellent, Clarke." The director's tone was affectionate. "But I think it might be a good move to handcuff him, also."

He turned to Green, throwing out his hands in a rueful gesture.

"You see, captain, this is where Mr. Duluth and I differ. Mr. Geddes is the man whom I believe to be Mr. Laribee's son-in-law."

THE CAPTAIN seemed to find words too much for him, but at a nod from Clarke, one of the officers managed to control his confusion sufficiently to step forward and slip a pair of handcuffs onto the Englishman's wrists.

Geddes himself made no move. His face was as expressionless as Moreno's had been when he had been the center of accusation.

"Melodrama in one act by a successful charlatan," he murmured.

Dr. Lenz looked at him and then at his manacled wrists. He gave a little sigh.

"Mr. Geddes is right. I'm afraid I have been something of a charlatan with my demonstration, but I—er—saw no other final curtain for the melodrama. You see, I deliberately led you all astray. That learned thesis,
Witchcraft and Medicine
, does not give one a magic formula for the strait-jacket trick. In fact—" he looked mildly apologetic, "it states emphatically that no one but a natural contortionist such as Mr. Geddes, could succeed in performing it."

"But how ... ?" broke in Green.

"I see that I have been guilty of confusing you all, " continued the director. "I merely hoped to persuade Mr. Geddes, the natural contortionist, into giving us a
demonstratio ad oculo
s. He was kind enough to oblige me. I already had my suspicions when he and Mr. Duluth came to me this evening. And it dawned on me that he would be exceptionally eager for an opportunity to escape. I suggested the little strait-jacket episode, hoping he would volunteer as a subject and make an exit through examining room window. He was kind enough to satisfy me on that score, too. He proved his guilt not only by wanting to escape, but also by being able to escape. I had already written instructions to Warren to keep a close eye on him and to wait on guard beneath the window."

"And was he hard to handle when he came down that drain-pipe!" remarked the night attendant grimly. "Contortionist, indeed! I’d call him an eel."

"But I still don't know what made you suspect Geddes in the first place, Dr. Lenz," put in John Clarke.

"Simply because he did not react correctly to the drugs we have been giving him. Dr. Stevens and Dr. Moreno have been writing a paper on narcolepsy and they have been worried that Mr. Geddes was the only unsuccessful case in their series treated with benzedrine sulphate. I see now that he was obliged to simulate his attacks whenever it suited his purposes."

"But that fit he threw… !" exclaimed Green incredulously.

"A most convincing fake, Captain, learned from the fakirs." Lenz picked up
Witchcraft and Medicine
. 'The most valuable thing I gleaned from this excellent volume was that the Indian fakirs can induce a state of rigidity in their muscles which makes them look like corpses. They can go at will into what appears to be a profound slumber. In fact, they could act very satisfactorily all the symptoms of narcolepsy and cataplexy. And, as we all know, the fakirs are the most accomplished conjurers and illusionists in the world. Mr. Geddes comes from India. Obviously, with his potentially profitable gifts of ventriloquism and contortion, he was a very diligent pupil."

For the first time since the director had started to speak, Geddes showed some signs of interest. He smiled contemptuously and turned his suave gaze upon me.

"Of course I come from India, Duluth," he said, "but the rest is all so bloody silly. Can't you explain to them what a farce it is?"

I was still holding Prince Warberg's telegram in my hand. I felt anger rising up in me as I looked into the Englishman's eyes.

"Yes," I said slowly, "I can explain the farce all right but it's rather embarrassing to have to let the world know just how much the joke is on me. I might have guessed from the beginning that, since your room was next to mine, you were the only person who could have scared me with that voice the first night. I might have guessed that all the warnings you pretended to get were just a fake build-up to give you an excuse for getting away when the getting was good. I certainly should have guessed the truth from that psycho-analytical experiment of mine. You were the only person who showed a murderer's reaction to 'the thing on the slab.' "

Green started to say something, but I went on, ignoring him.

"Incidentally, I've just figured out what it was that Fogarty found out about you. He'd been to England and he told me once your face was familiar. He must suddenly have remembered that he'd seen you on the boards in London as Mahatma, the Oriental Wonder or whatever you called yourself. I guess he was very thrilled when the great maestro himself offered to teach him the strait-jacket trick."

Geddes glanced indifferently at his manacled hands. "It might be a good idea, Duluth, if you told the police how I myself was attacked this afternoon."

"I've already told them," I returned, grimly. "But I didn't realize then just how simple it must have been for an expert contortionist to tie himself up in a few bandages. Of course, it was generous of you to help me out with that musical place business, but I see now what a break it was for you. Just as soon as you knew we were getting onto the trail of the son-in-law, you realized you'd have to leave in a hurry. That phoney scheme gave you a chance to plant the will on Moreno when he took you to the surgery for your medicine. With any luck you'd have made your get-away after all. Too bad Dr. Lenz wasn't as dumb as I was."

The Englishman shrugged. Even then he showed no sign of being disconcerted. The British control which I had found so praiseworthy in the past still seemed unshakable, in spite of the handcuffs and the surrounding group of policemen. My anger had reached a pitch beyond my own control now.

"So we were just buddies!" I exclaimed. "And it was all too, too sweet. But I happen to be sentimental enough to feel rather nasty when a pal goes back on me. You may have been a whiz as Mahatma, the Oriental Wonder, but to me you're just a new low in scum. What you tried to do to Miss Pattison was one of the filthiest, cruelest tricks I'm ever likely to come up against in a long, long time."

I was all set to get really opprobrious when the captain interrupted me.

"What's in that telegram you've got?" he exclaimed materialistically. "That's what I want to know."

"Oh, yes, the telegram," I said ironically, "I'd momentarily overlooked that clinching piece of evidence. Listen to this."

I smoothed out the crinkly paper and read:

JUST GOT SYLVIA DAWN IN HOLLYWOOD LONG DISTANCE DARN YOU STOP SEEMS HARMLESS AND SHOULD SAY PUNK ACTRESS STOP VERY CONCERNED ABOUT HUSBAND WHO SHE THINKS HAS DESERTED BECAUSE WENT EAST SOME MONTHS AGO AND LEFT NO FORWARDING ADDRESS STOP HUSBAND ENGLISH BORN INDIA THIRTY FOUR HANDSOME SMALL MUSTACHE WHEN FEELS LIKE IT STOP NO ENGAGEMENTS THIS COUNTRY BUT SOME SUCCESS IN ENGLAND IN TWENTY NINE AS MAHATMA ORIENTAL MAGICIAN OR WONDER STOP CONJUROR CONTORTIONIST AND ALL THAT STUFF NO GOOD THESE DAYS NOT EVEN TO YOU STOP SYLVIA SAYS ONE YEAR CALCUTTA MEDICAL SCHOOL STOP PHOTOGRAPH COMING AIR MAIL STOP SYLVIA ALSO SAYS IF YOU KNOW WHEREABOUTS PLEASE TELL BECAUSE PULLING OUT HAIR BY ROOTS STOP DONT SAY IM NOT GOOD FRIEND STOP ARE YOU REALLY THAT CRAZY STOP

Signed
PRINCE

I broke off suddenly. All the others were staring in fascination at Geddes. Mrs. Fogarty gave a slight cry of alarm as suddenly the Englishman stiffened and lurched forward onto the floor. It was typical of those cataplectic-cum-narcoleptic seizures which I had witnessed so often before and which had so often aroused my sympathy.

"How unfortunate !" I exclaimed "The telegram has brought on another attack."

It must have been the essential doctor in Stevens that made him bend anxiously over the Englishman as the others dashed forward. There was a general confusion of arms and legs.

I shall never know exactly what happened next. It was impossible to tell whether or not Geddes had slipped out of the handcuffs. But one hand, at least, seemed to be free. With incredible speed, he struck upward at Dr. Stevens with the manacles and sent him spinning across the room. Then, in a flash, he was on his feet

"Stop him!"

The captain's voice rang out rather fatuously, but the rest of us were still too dazed for any instantaneous response. Dodging in and out with amazing agility, Geddes passed Green, Mrs. Fogarty, Miss Brush, and Moreno. While we were still milling pointlessly around, he had reached the examining room and was making a dash for the open window.

"Stop him!" shouted the captain again.

This time we were galvanized into action. I was caught in the general rush as everyone started in pursuit

"Well, even if you don't fight fair ... !"

I heard Warren's exultant voice as we all crowded into the small examining room. By the window two figures were battling frenziedly.

"Don't shoot!" yelled Green to no one in particular.

For an instant I caught a glimpse of Warren's bloody face as his arms clamped like a strait-jacket around Geddes' shoulder. His expression was one of triumphant ecstasy.

"Got him this time!" he panted.

Swiftly Clarke and the two officers sprang forward, and at length the three of them managed to pinion the wildly struggling body of the Englishman.

We all stood around, gazing rather stupidly. There were a lot of pointless exclamations and gasps. Then, cool and clarion, Dr. Lenz' voice rose above the cacophony.

"This should be a lesson to us all," he said. "Never trust to handcuffs when you're arresting a magician."

The State alienist had come and gone. Green and his men had gone, too, taking Geddes with them. The director's office seemed strangely quiet as, one by one, the staff began to disperse to their various duties. Dr. Moreno and his ex-Miss Brush were the last to leave. I stopped them at the door.

"My apologies are as heartfelt as my congratulations," I began. "I only hope that your being married—"

"Shush, please!" Miss Brush smiled at me with warning sweetness. "You'll get me fired, Mr. Duluth, if you ever so much as mention marriage. In the interests of psychiatry I must go on being the professional wicked woman. But not quite as wicked as you probably thought that night when you saw Dr. Moreno in my room and I lent you his bedroom slippers."

"I'm afraid I'm a bum detective," I said, smiling back at her. "The clue of the missing slippers went clean over my head, even though they were right there under my feet."

In perfect unison the Morenos displayed their perfect, hygienic teeth.

"And after having insulted your wife by failing to see the obvious, Moreno," I went on apologetically, "I blithely accused her husband of murder."

"Psychiatrists are often called worse things than that," he replied equably. "And really, I'm not surprised at you thinking me a man of violence, Duluth. You were, I believe, a witness to several violent exhibitions of domestic discord between my wife and myself. I am unreasonable, I suppose, but at times I feel she takes her—er— professional duties a little too seriously. Even a psychiatrist is not immune to personal jealousy, especially—" his dark eyes caressed his wife's face, "when he is still practically a bridegroom."