The Eight of Swords

'— for nearly an hour and a half, then, X was in this room. Doctor, every detail fits into place. Depping, in disguise, left here for a nefarious purpose, an illegal purpose…'

Dr. Fell stroked his moustache. 'It is considered so. Yes. He took his gun along, you see… Are you beginning to have a nebulous idea as to what happened to the missing bullet?'

'Oh, my God!' said Morley Standish suddenly.

'Ghosts of the past will now gather round' continued Dr. Fell, 'to gibber that crusty old Depping was a very, very dangerous man on whom to try any games. I expect his use of American words, when drunk, came naturally to him… It occurs to me that poor old Louis Spinelli will never try any blackmailing tricks again. If he isn't as dead as Garibaldi at this moment, I am very much mistaken.'

They all looked at the dead smirk on Depping's face; at the neatness of his clothes, the orderly books, and the silver bowl of roses on the dinner table.

'My friend,' declared the bishop, as though he were beginning a speech, 'on the admirable completeness with which you have conjured a case out of evidence which does not exist and facts which have not been demonstrated, I must offer my sincerest congratulations… Hem. On the other hand, you must be aware that everything you have said indicates a plot between Depping and X. Depping was going out to commit a murder. It is simplicity itself. He left a colleague here to prove him an alibi.'

Dr. Fell ruffled the hair at his temples. For a long time he blinked across the room. A new, disturbing idea seemed to strike him.

'You know…' he said. 'By the Lord, I believe it would be better, if for the present, we agreed on that. I don't believe it is precisely true; and yet my own idea— which is not so very different from yours in essentials— is open to such an overpowering objection that… Yes, let's assume what you say. Let's say Depping left somebody here, to growl something through the door in case he should be approached—'

'And this person,' interposed the bishop grimly, 'came here determined to kill Depping just as Depping meant to kill Spinelli.'

'Yes. Now we are on safe ground. Gentlemen, no more beautiful opportunity for murder ever presented itself with a proof of innocence attached. Look at it! If Depping thought he was safe to kill Spinelli, then X must have roared with mirth to see how safely he could kill Depping..

'Don't you see,' he demanded, pounding his fist on his knee, 'how it would work out? It explains our problem as to why Depping walked through the door in disguise. In the original plan, Depping had never intended to do that. To do that, after he had killed Spinelli, would have been idiotic and dangerous. His alibi was planted in his study. He should have returned there as he left— by the balcony door, unseen, to shed his disguise. A suspicious man in loud clothes, with a mysterious manner and an American accent, who deliberately walked in his front door… why, it would have started every tongue in the countryside wagging. If Spinelli were discovered dead — another suspicious American— then inquiries would lead straight to Depping to ask what he knew about it. They might not prove him guilty of murder, but your respectable, studious country gentleman would be in for an uncomfortable lot of explaining.'

Morley Standish cleared his throat. 'Then, hang it, why did he?' he asked.

'That's the infernal beauty of X's scheme… Depping came in the front door because he couldn't get in any other way. Do you see it? X caught him in the neatest kind of trap. Depping had gone out the balcony door, leaving the key in it; instructing X to lock it behind him, and admit him when he returned… Remember, that's your theory; I told you that in many features mine is different… but, anyway, Depping returns just as the thunderstorm breaks, and he can't get in-'

'Because X won't let him in,' said the bishop.

'Well, it can scarcely have been so crude as that. That's where your hypothesis wobbles a bit; to keep Depping unsuspicious, X would have had to spin some yarn about losing the key. It would sound improbable. I think I have a better explanation, but it works out on the same principle… And there you are. There's the door locked, and bars on every window. There's Depping fairly caught out in a heavy storm, in a disguise he can't possibly explain!

'The stiff and scholarly Mr. Depping known hereabouts,' he went on musingly, 'wearing a music-hall suit… Where can he go? How can he dispose of that garb? Picture yourself, Bishop Donovan, caught in an English village at night and in a storm, dressed up as Charles Chaplin just after having committed a murder

… Depping was fairly in the soup. He'd got to get into his house unsuspected, and all the windows were barred. And he had to get in quickly; every minute his accomplice remained there increased the danger of detection both for himself and his accomplice. He could even talk to his accomplice, through the bars of the balcony window, but he couldn't get in…

'And here's X with a suggestion — you know what it was. Lights short-circuited, American visitor enters, identities are restored. It was a dangerous risk, but the lesser of two bad positions for Depping. For X it was the boon of an American visitor who would be supposed to have shot Depping when, later on, Depping was found murdered. And it very nearly succeeded.'

The bishop went over the desk, and for a time he looked down at the dead man with an expression in which were mingled compassion and disgust.

'The Lord gave—' ' he said, and stopped. When he turned again, there was a quizzical expression in his eyes.

'You are a persuasive speaker, doctor,' he said. 'An unusually persuasive speaker. All this has been explained so coherently that I have been forgetting the basis on which all the assumptions rest: that is, the death of Spinelli. I have read of brilliant pieces of deduction to unravel crimes. But I must compliment you on your brilliance in unravelling a murder we don't know has been committed'

Dr. Fell was not abashed. 'Oh, I'm a bit of a charlatan,' he acknowledged affably. 'Still, I’ll wager you two junior mathematics masters against a curate that it took place as I've indicated. That door over there leads to Depping's bedroom. If you care to make a search, you'll probably find evidence to support me. Personally, I'm lazy…'

'Look here,' said Morley Standish. There's something you've got to promise. You say old Depping was a crook in the past, and probably worse; that's what you believe, anyhow…'

His big stride brought him to the side of Dr. Fell's chair, and his face was painfully earnest; he had the uncertain look of a man who feels that showing an emotion would be an incorrect thing, but is determined to force it over by lowering his voice and speaking very fast.

'Well, to tell you the truth. I'm not surprised. I’ve been thinking things, myself. You'll say that's disloyal-'

Tut,' grunted Dr. Fell. 'Why?'

'— but there it is. Now do you realize what a mess well all be in when this gets out? Scandal, publicity, slime… My God, don't you see it? They may even try to stop my marriage; they will try, if I know my mother. They won't succeed, but that's not the point. Why does everybody have to be subjected to this? Why…' His puzzled expression as he glanced at each of them, puzzled and baffled and rather desperate, seemed to demand the reason for the injustice of having criminals in the world just when he was on the point of matrimony. 'What good purpose will it serve to drag all this out? Can you tell me that?'

'I take it, my boy,' said the bishop, 'that you do not care whether your fiancee's father had been a criminal? Or a murderer?'

Two muscles worked up the sides of Morley’s jaws. His eyes were puzzled.

'I don't care,' he said simply, 'if the old swine committed every murder in Chicago… But why does it have to be made public?'

'But you want the truth to come out, don't you?'

'Yes, I suppose I do,' admitted Morley, rubbing his forehead. 'That's the rules. Got to play fair. But why can't they just catch him and hang him quietly, without anybody knowing…? Tm talking rot, of course, but if I could make you understand what I mean… Why do the damned newspapers have a right to splash out all the scandal they like just because a man's been murdered? Why can't you administer justice in private, the same as you make a law or perform an operation?'

'That, Mr. Standish,' Dr. Fell said, 'is a problem for discussion over half-a-dozen bottles of beer. But for the moment I don't think you need worry about scandal. I was coming to that: I mean our plan of campaign… Do you see what we've got to do?'

'No,' said Morley hopelessly. 'I wish I could.'