Milo was saying, 'Some of you have criticized the classic detective novel for being unrealistic. At our last meeting I heard the word preposterous.'
'From me. I'll repeat it this week if you like,' said Jessica.
'No need. Improbability, John Dickson Carr boldly tells us in The Hollow Man, is not to be despised. It isn't a fatal flaw. On the contrary, it is the chief glory of the detective story- and that is as true of the books you people espouse as of those I prefer to read. We are drawn irresistibly to the improbable. Does anyone deny it? Rupert's mean streets and Jessica's lady sleuths are never more engaging than when some crime is committed in bizarre, unaccountable circumstances. And the supreme situation, the purest challenge to probability any writer has devised is the locked room puzzle.'
Rupert couldn't resist saying, 'Absolute piffle.'
Milo glared at him. 'You're going to tell us that no locked room murder ever really happened, no doubt. You'd be wrong. Before The Hollow Man was published, a Chinese laundryman was found murdered in New York in a locked room, and there have been other cases since. But I won't be sidetracked. My words may not impress you, but I fancy that Dickson Carr's might.'
He brandished his copy of The Hollow Man like an evangelist preacher and Shirley-Ann secretly thought back to Rupert's remark about the Sunday school.
'Chapter seventeen is entitled 'The Locked-Room Lecture.' Ideally, fellow Bloodhounds, I should have liked to read it in the kind of setting Dickson Carr describes, after dinner, around the glow of a table lamp, with the wine bottles empty and coffee on the table and snowflakes drifting past the windows. But I suppose a church crypt is not a bad alternative.'
With his audience well primed for the treat in store, Milo opened the book and glanced first at the Contents page. He turned to the right chapter. Then he blinked, frowned, and said, 'How odd. I don't remember using this as a book-mark.' He picked an envelope from between the pages and glanced at it.
He went silent. The envelope was yellow with age, the address in fine copperplate so faded that it was barely legible. In the top right corner was a single postage stamp with the head of Queen Victoria on a black background and the words ONE PENNY along the lower border. The stamp was overprinted with a cancellation mark saying PAID. Just below and to the right was the postmark, remarkably even and clear:
BATH
MY 2
1840
Chapter Twelve
'It's impossible,' said Milo, blushing deeply. He stared at the flimsy envelope lying across the open book. 'Impossible.'
Miss Chilmark, seated on his left, had her hand pressed to her mouth. She swayed away from Milo as if he were contagious. A second bout of hyperventilation could not be ruled out.
On Milo's other side, Jessica took a long look and then raised her eyebrows across the circle at the others seated opposite.
'What is it?' Polly asked. 'What have you got there, Milo?'
Rupert, having leaned across Jessica to see for himself, said, 'Hey ho. What a turnup!'
'Somebody tell me,' said Polly, becoming petulant.
'It would appear to be the missing Penny Black,' said Rupert. 'Milo, my old fruit, I salute you. I wouldn't have dreamed that you of all people would turn out to be the most wanted man in Bath.'
'But I didn't steal it,' Milo blurted out. 'I'm no thief.'
'You're among friends.' Rupert went on as if he hadn't heard. 'If we're honest, most of us have a sneaking admiration for you. This was brilliantly worked out. You don't need to say any more. Just shut the book, and we'll all behave as if nothing happened.'
Milo's hands were shaking. He fumbled with the book and practically knocked the envelope to the floor.
'Careful!' said Jessica. 'It's worth a fortune.'
'I didn't take it,' Milo insisted. 'I don't know anything about this.'
'You can be frank with us,' said Jessica. 'Rupert's right. We'll stand by you if you promise to give it back and say no more about it. We can keep a secret. That's a fair offer, isn't it?' She appealed to the rest of the circle.
'But I've done nothing wrong,' Milo shrilled. 'This is the first time I've ever laid eyes on the thing. Really.'
'How did it get into your book?' asked Shirley-Ann.
'I haven't the faintest idea.'
'None of us could have slipped it between the pages,' said Polly, and then undermined the statement by adding, 'Could we?'
'It's been here on my lap all the time,' said Milo. 'I'm not accusing any of you, but someone planted it on me, and I'd like to know how.'
'What about when Marlowe came in and upset Miss Chilmark?' Shirley-Ann suggested. 'In the confusion-'
'No,' Milo interrupted her. 'I kept hold of the book. I didn't leave my chair. It must have been done before I got here, but I can't fathom how. Someone must have broken into my boat. Oh dear, this is so distressing.'
Shirley-Ann recalled being told that Milo lived on a narrowboat on the canal. 'Have you had any visitors lately? Anyone you left alone for a few minutes?'
'Not for weeks.'
'Do you lock the boat when you're not there?'
'Of course. I have a damned great padlock. I carry the key on my key ring.' He produced it from his pocket. 'This one. You see? I bought it from Foxton's. You get a guarantee that no other lock with a similar key has been sold from the same shop-and they're the only people who sell them in the west of England.' He sighed heavily. 'What am I going to do?'
'Go to the police,' said Polly.
'They're going to give me a bad time, aren't they? They're not going to believe this.'
Nobody said so, but Milo's reading of events was probably right. His camp manner wasn't likely to help him at the police station.
Shirley-Ann said, 'Couldn't you just send it back to the Postal Museum in an envelope?'
'That's what Rupert and I said in effect,' said Jessica. 'The trouble is, there are six of us who know about this. He's going to have to rely on us all keeping the secret. Who's to say that any one of us won't let the cat out of the bag in some unguarded moment? Then he'd be in far worse trouble.'
Polly said, 'I don't really agree that we should stay silent. I think Milo ought to go to the police directly.'
'So do I,' chimed in Miss Chilmark. 'Let the truth come out, whatever it is. What do the rest of you think? What about you?' she said to Shirley-Ann.
'I think the decision is up to Milo. I don't mind staying quiet if he doesn't want to get involved.'
'And you?' demanded Miss Chilmark, swinging around to face Sid.
Sid's shoulders were hunched as usual. He said, without looking up from the floor, 'I can stay quiet.'
'No one will argue with that,' said Rupert. 'Milo, my old cobber, the house is divided. Four of us are willing to turn a blind eye, and two want to hand you over to the rozzers.'
'That isn't right,' Polly protested. 'Milo tells us he knows nothing about this, and I'm willing to believe him. He has nothing to fear from the police. The sooner he reports this and gives them the chance to catch the real thief, the better.'
'My sentiments exactly,' said Miss Chilmark.
Milo gave a nod. 'You're right, of course. I'd better hand this in as soon as possible.'
'Do you want anyone to go with you?' Polly asked. 'We can all back up your story. We're solidly behind you, Milo.'
Milo thanked her and said he thought he would rather go alone. He placed the precious envelope tightly
