The Skeleton in the Clock

the back of both legs, when Fleet fell in a way where that couldn't have happened. Then the gaff would be blown.

'At the post-mortem there wasn't much danger — everybody's concentrated on the stomach-contents, as usual — of too-close investigation. Laurier had sworn (which was the lie I told you about) there hadn't been other injuries to the body. But Aunt Cicely intervened, weepin' and pleadin'. And at her insistence old Laurier… amputated just above both ankles before burial.

'It was a fat-headed thing to do; but our Cicely pleaded they couldn't prove anything against her boy, which was true, if that was done. Also (here I'm on ground I don't know) there had to be hanky-panky with the undertaker.

'I won't go into grisly details,' growled H.M., 'about how Laurier removed flesh and sinew from what was left It was only long afterwards, when age wore on him and he got a bit senile, that he built the skeleton-clock for his parlour, where everybody could see but nobody knew, as his penance. Anybody here examined that clock?'

'Yes. I have,' said Martin out of a thick throat

'Did you look inside? Look close?'

'There was some kind of platform round the ankles and feet, apparently to keep the skeleton upright…'

'Dr. Laurier took his old anatomical-specimen skeleton,' said H.M., 'He removed what had to be removed, and he attached — what had to be attached. It was a skillful job of fittin'. But any medical man could have seen at a glance that the ankle-bones and feet of a big man don't belong to the skeleton of a small man. Unless there's a wooden platform built up round 'em which gives you only a glimpse of the feet and curves round the ankles. You cant probe the truth about that skeleton until you take it out of the clock. And I hadn't time before Sophie stole it

'So y'see, as regards that nasty business of murder on the roof, there was only a twelve-year crawlin' back unseen, and out to his governess now screamin' what he'd done and how he'd got to be protected. That's why they took five minutes to get round. Nobody'd notice if Ricky Fleet was scared. Nobody'd notice him anyway. But it must 'a' made him nearly faint when he thought he saw God lookin' down from his father's study window.

'You,' and H.M. pointed to Stannard, 'said something else to the grown-up Ricky Fleet that shook his nerve too. You called him a 'grubby little boy.' It was twistin' and wrigglin' in his mind just later when I asked him about his father and Ricky Fleet blurted out: 'He never minded how filthy dirty you got' He was thinkin' about how almighty dirty he got when he crawled along that concrete roof to kill his father.'

There was a long silence. H.M. picked up his whisky-and-soda, and drained the glass with a volcanic gurgle. Then he set it down.

'There's not much more to tell except what you know already,' he went on. 'That expedition to the prison on Saturday night…'

'Where,' Ruth said, 'Ricky later killed Enid Puckston. H.M., why?'

'Listen, my wench. Young Fleet said himself it was an 'expression.' An outlet. Did you ever see a golfer smash a golf-club against a tree? Or a woman throw a whole breakfast-tray in somebody's face? Well, that's normal; he wasn't.”

'Burn it Ricky Fleet had been hurt His girl preferred somebody else to him. His vanity was scratched raw. There was young Drake, the cause of it all. He wouldn't dare face Drake without a weapon, anymore than he'd have dared face his father. (That was still lurkin' got it?) But he had to hurt, had to inflict pain on a helpless person, before he killed Drake.

'No, It's not pretty. I warned you long ago it wasn't.”

'He prepared it all beforehand. Do you recall, when you were all sitting in that dark back garden just before you started t for the prison, how he kept rushin’ back to the house — apparently to see how his mother was?'' 'Yes,' said Martin. 'Very well'

'The last time, just before you left, he made his preparations. On this occasion he was goin' to give you a good grownup sophisticated alibi He had the dagger and its sheath. He cut his own arm, got plenty of blood for the dagger; and the sheath would hold it without staining him, except for smears on the handle, if he wrapped it in a handkerchief and put it in his pocket Just as you later did when you shoved it in Dr. Laurier's pocket

'You went to the prison. Who deliberately called your attention to that pile of rapiers and daggers in the condemned cell? He did. You didn't find the dagger, as he'd hoped when he shoved it in there under cover of so much darkness. But back he went with Drake after the fencin' match—'

'By the way,' demanded Martin, 'was 'young' Dr. Laurier concerned in this?'

'Not in the least son. He's only a bit of a snob, that's all. His most valued patient is Sophie there, and when he had tea with her on Saturday she must have dropped a hint that 'Captain' Drake was endangerin’ Jenny's marriage. Hence the faintly sinister hints in the bar-parlour when he first met you.'

'But to get back to—?'

'Sure, if you'll stop interrupting. Ricky Fleet when you and he went back to get corks, smackin' well made sure you'd find the dagger. He helped tumble over some swords and put his light straight on it. As to how the weapons got there, it's clear he'd been using the prison for some time…'

'Using it? He told me,' said Martin, 'he'd often wanted to explore the place, but he couldn't get in.'

'Oh, my son!' H.M. said dismally. 'Anybody could get in there. You don't have to be a locksmith to understand that. You just have to go and take a dekko at the main gates. The bigger the lock, the simpler it is. And the easier it is to get a wax impression, if anybody wants to.

'Son, there were too many doors with oiled hinges inside that place, as our friend Stannard pointed out. Even if Stannard himself had been up to some kind of funny business—'

Here the barrister chuckled.

'— why in the name of Esau should he have oiled the hinges of those high front gates? Admittedly all your party were goln’ there. No; it was somebody who wanted no betraying gate-creaks when he slipped in.

'Ricky Fleet had been usin' the prison for his amorous adventures, Pan-pipes and nature-worship, which weren't of a sadistic kind. Masters has discovered he got back the rapier-dagger collection from the ghost-village…

'Ghost-village? You saw it Built beyond the prison. The Governor's house was there. George Fleet gave that collection to Major Colwell, and Major Colwell left it behind when everybody decamped. So Ricky Fleet had a second dagger, very like the first, when he led Enid Puckston toward the prison to kill her.'

Martin cleared his throat 'H.M. Was she one of Ricky's —?'

H.M.'s expression was heavy and bitter.

'No, son. That's the real irony of this case. She liked and admired him an awful lot, as I could tell when I heard her mention him at the pub. That's all it amounted to. But— haven't you wondered why Puckston sent those anonymous postcards in the first place?'

'You mean she wasn't one of Ricky's conquests, but—?'

'Her father thought she might be,' replied H.M.

He was silent for a moment, glowering.

'Mind you, Puckston didn't know the boy Richard Fleet had done that murder years ago. He'd seen what he knew was the light on a cricket-bat He guessed nobody but a kid could have crawled under that ledge unseen. He had no proof and anyway he didn't want trouble. But if Enid had fallen for this bloke years later—! So he sent the postcards, with her help but without her knowin'; and then he thinks she's been killed, by the same boy grown up, because she knows too much! Do you wonder at Puckston's state of mind on Sunday night?'

'No,' Martin answered. 'No. I don't wonder.'

'Anyway, Ricky Fleet took that gal to the prison, to see a 'ghost-hunt', at goin' on for one in the morning. He butchered her with all the hate in him. He left the body under the gallows-trap, as a rare sight for somebody if the trap was opened. Masters has told you that story, including the reversed alibi. Finally, Fleet slipped out again without a whisper to catch Masters's ear.

'I don't think, though, he slept very well the rest of the night And then you two,' H.M.'s finger indicated Martin and Jenny, 'had to go yellin' under the windows at going on for five in the morning, and give him his heaven-gilded