Kingship sat down. He kept his hands on the edge of the desk before him, as though ready to rise again in an instant.
Gant lit his cigarette. He sat silently for a moment, regarding it thoughtfully and working his lower lip with his teeth, as though awaiting a time signal. Then he began to speak in the easy, fluid, announcer's voice.
'When she left Caldwell,' he said, 'Ellen wrote a letter to Bud Corliss. I happened to read that letter soon after Ellen arrived in Blue River. It made quite an impression on me, since it described a murder suspect whom I resembled much too closely for comfort.' He smiled. 'I read the letter twice, and carefully, as you can imagine.
'On the night Ellen was killed, Eldon Chesser, that lover of prima-facie evidence, asked me if Ellen were my girlfriend. It was probably the only constructive thing he ever did during his entire detectival career, because it set me thinking of friend Corliss. Partly to take my mind off Ellen, who was God-knows-where with an armed killed, and partly because I liked her and wondered what kind of a man she liked, I thought about that letter which was still fresh in my mind and which was my only source of information about my 'rival,' Bud Corliss.'
Gant paused for a second, and then continued. 'At first it seemed to contain nothing; a name-Dear Bud -and an address on the envelope-Burton Corliss, something-or-other Roosevelt Street, Caldwell, Wisconsin. No other clues. But on further reflection I found several bits of information in Ellen's letter, and I was able to fit them together into an even bigger piece of information about Bud Corliss; it seemed insignificant at the time; a purely external fact about him rather than an indication of his personality, which was what I was really looking for. But that fact stayed with me, and today it seems significant indeed.'
'Go ahead,' Kingship said as Gant drew on Ms cigarette.
Gant leaned back comfortably. 'First of all: Ellen wrote Bud that she wouldn't fall behind in her work while away from Caldwell because she would be able to get all the notes from him. Now, Ellen was a senior, which meant that she was taking advanced courses. In every college senior courses are closed to freshmen and often to sophomores. If Bud shared all Ellen's classes-they probably made out their programs together-it meant that he was conceivably a. sophomore, but in all probability a junior or a senior.
'Secondly: at one point in the letter Ellen described her behavior during her first three years at Caldwell, which apparently differed from her behavior after Dorothy's death. She described how she had been 'the rah-rah girl,' and then she said, and I think I remember the exact words, 'You wouldn't recognize me.' Which meant, as clearly as could possibly be, that Bud had not seen her during those first three years. This would be highly conceivable at a good-sized university like Stoddard, but we come to third- 'Thirdly: Caldwell is a very small college; one tenth the size of Stoddard, Ellen wrote, and she was giving it the benefit of doubt. I checked in the Almanac this morning; Stoddard has over twelve thousand students; Caldwell, barely eight hundred. Furthermore, Ellen mentioned in the letter that she hadn't wanted Dorothy to come to Caldwell precisely because it was the kind of place where everyone knew everybody else and knew what they were doing.
'So, we add one, two, and three: Bud Corliss, who is at least in his third year of college, was a stranger to Ellen at the beginning of her fourth year, despite the fact that they both attended a very small school where, I understand, the social side of life plays hob with the scholastic. All of which can be explained in only one way and can be condensed to a simple statement of fact; the fact which seemed insignificant last March, but today seems like the most important fact in Ellen's letter. Bud Corliss was a transfer student, and he transferred to Caldwell in September of 1950, at the beginning of Ellen's fourth year and after Dorothy's death.'
Kingship frowned. 'I don't see what-'
'We come now to today, December 24, 1951,'
Gant said, crushing his cigarette in an ashtray, 'when my mother, bless her, brings the prodigal son breakfast in bed, along with The New York Times. And there, on the society page, is the name of Kingship. Miss Marion Kingship to wed Mr. Burton Corliss. Imagine my surprise. Now, my mind, in addition to being insatiably curious and highly analytical, is also very dirty. It looks to me, says I, as though the new member of the domestic sales division was determined not to be disqualified from the Kingship Copper sweepstakes.'
'Now look here, Mr. Gant-'
'I considered,' Gant went on, 'how when one sister was killed he proceeded directly to the next one. Beloved of two of the Kingship daughters. Two out of three. Not a bad score.
'And then the analytical side and the dirty side of my brain blended, and I thought: three out of three would have been an even better score for Mr. Burton Corliss who transferred to Caldwell College in September of 1950.'
Kingship stood up, staring at Gant 'A random thought,' Gant said. 'Wildly improbable. But easily removed from the realm of doubt A simple matter of sliding out from under the breakfast tray, going to the bookcase, and taking there from The Stoddard Flame, yearbook for 1950.' He displayed the large blue leatherette book with its white- lettered cover. 'In the sophomore section,' he said, 'there are several interesting photographs. One of Dorothy Kingship and one of Dwight Powell, both of whom are now dead. None of Gordon Gant; didn't have five spare bucks to have my face recorded for posterity. But many sophomores did, among them-' He opened the book to a page marked by a strip of newsprint, turned the volume around and put it down on the desk, his fingers stabbing one of the checker- board photographs. He recited the inscription beside it from memory: 'Corliss, Burton quote Bud unquote, Menasset, Mass., Liberal Arts.'
Kingship sat down again. He looked at the photograph, hardly larger than a postage stamp. Then he looked at Gant. Gant reached forward, turned a few pages, and pointed to another picture. It was Dorothy. Kingship looked at that, too. Then he looked up again.
Gant said, 'It struck me as awfully odd. I thought you should know.'
'Why?' Kingship asked stolidly. 'What is this supposed to be leading up to?'
'May I ask you one question, Mr. Kingship, before I answer that?'
'Go ahead.'
'He never told you he went to Stoddard, did he?'
'No. But we've never discussed things like that,' he explained quickly. 'He must have told Marion. Marion must know.'
'I don't think she does.'
'Why not?' Kingship demanded.
'The Times. Marion gave them the information for that article, didn't she? The bride-to-be usually does.'
'Well?'
'Well there's no mention of Stoddard. And in the other wedding and engagement articles, it's mentioned when someone's attended more than one school.'
'Maybe she just didn't bother to tell them.'
'Maybe. Or maybe she doesn't know. Maybe Ellen didn't know either.'
'All right, now what are you saying, mister?'
'Don't be sore at me, Mr. Kingship. The facts speak for themselves; I didn't invent them.' Gant closed the year book and put it in his lap. 'There are two possibilities,' he said. 'Either Corliss told Marion that he attended Stoddard, in which case it might conceivably be a coincidence; he went to Stoddard and he transferred to Caldwell; he might not have known Dorothy any more than he knew me.' He paused. 'Or else, he didn't tell Marion he went there.'
'Which means?' Kingship challenged. 'Which means that he must have been involved with Dorothy in some way. Why else would he conceal it?' Gant looked down at the book in his lap. 'There was a man who wanted Dorothy out of the way because he had gotten her pregnant...'
Kingship stared at him. 'You're back to the same thing! Someone killed Dorothy, then killed Ellen... You've got this-this cockeyed moving picture theory and you don't want to admit...' Gant was silent. 'Bud?' Kingship asked incredulously. He sat back. He shook his head, smiling pityingly. 'Come on, now,' he said. 'That's crazy. Just crazy.' He kept shaking his head-'What do you think that boy is, a maniac?' -and smiling-'You've got this crazy idea...'
'All right,' Gant said, 'it's crazy. For the time being. But if he didn't tell Marion he went to Stoddard, then in some way he must have been involved with Dorothy. And if he was involved with Dorothy, and then Ellen, and now with Marion,-then he was goddamned good and determined to marry one of your daughters! Any one!'
The smile left Kingship's face slowly, draining it of expression. His hands were motionless on the edge of the desk.
'That isn't so crazy, I take it.'
Kingship removed his glasses. He blinked a couple of times and then straightened up. 'I have to speak to
