The Seven of Calvary
Page 20
G: THE POINT OF THE EYE AND THE TOOTH.”
Again Dr. Ashwin paused and filled his glass. “Gentlemen,” he said, “I believe that that concludes my exposition.”
The group sat in silence for a full minute. Then Alex spoke. “Dr. Griswold’s first objection still holds, you know that very well. You’ve no proof.”
“I know that, Mr. Bruce. For my part, I want no proof. Self-defense has always seemed to me the strongest of justifications.”
Alex smiled slowly. “I admit nothing, you understand.”
“I understand.”
“But since you are so ingenious, Dr. Ashwin, at perceiving the obvious, allow me to remind you that the case is not yet closed. The third attack was a failure, and I am still alive.”
“And, you wish to imply, in peril of your life? True.”
“Well?” Alex spread his hands and looked questioningly at Dr. Ashwin.
“Well … I understand that you admit nothing, Mr. Bruce, but, if my theories were correct, this is the advice that I should give: Make out a complete statement of all you know concerning the case. Add to it the evidence of the old man at Zolotoy’s and, if you wish, the corroborating evidence which I received from Chicago. Make clear beyond a doubt why you killed Paul Lennox (granting always my suppositions) and why he had wished to kill you and with whose aid. Seal this statement and turn it over to someone whom you trust—I offer myself as candidate for the position—with instructions to hand the contents over to the police and the newspapers in case of your sudden death. Inform your assailant of what you have done. I think she will realize that the publication of such a document, even though its statements are incapable of legal proof, would be sufficient to ruin her forever in the eyes of the world and, even more important, in the eyes of her father. However much she loved her lover, however much she wishes to avenge his death, I cannot help believing that she loves her own life and her financial security even more.”
Alex thought a moment and then nodded. “Thanks,” he said. “That seems like good advice—of course, granted the premises. Anything else?”
“Yes,” Dr. Ashwin replied emphatically. “For God’s sake get a divorce!”
The ensuing half hour was anticlimactically pleasant. Aided ably by Dr. Griswold, Ashwin turned the conversation to general literary topics, and the evening ended as a quiet and cultured symposium.
At last Alex Bruce rose. “I’m afraid I must be getting home,” he said. “I want to do a good bit of writing this evening. Thank you for your hospitality, Dr. Ashwin; I think I shall drop into your classroom tomorrow. I may have something to give you.”
Kurt also rose. “I shall walk home with you, Alex,” he offered. “I should ever regret it were anything to happen.” His words were ordinary enough, but in his voice Martin read an intense feeling of gratitude toward the man who had avenged his uncle.
Martin lingered for one more glass of Scotch, after first fetching a second glass of water for Dr. Griswold, who had sat in blinking silence during the farewells. At last, sipping his chaste drink, he spoke. “It was an admirable exposition, Ashwin,” he said. “I should describe it, however, as a piece of criticism rather than of scholarship. You have offered conviction rather than proof.”
“It is probably just as well.” Ashwin settled back in his swivel-chair. “If I had had definite proof, my conscience might have rebuked me for not going to the police—as I assuredly should not have done. I am not a sentimentalist who condones murder, but I feel that Mr. Bruce had quite as much right as the State—more, if anything—to execute the murderer of Dr. Schaedel.”
Dr. Griswold nodded. “And you, Martin, as a loyal Watson, are you completely satisfied with your master’s exposition of the case?”
Martin roused himself. “All but one thing. Dr. Ashwin, you mentioned all of your supposedly helpful little points but the last—
H: THE POINT OF THE SEVEN OF CALVARY.”
“Mr. Lamb, you are a slave-driver. For this I shall punish you mercilessly when we commence reading the Hitopadeça on Friday. The Seven of Calvary was at first a completely meaningless symbol—a pointless red herring, to mix metaphors. Thanks to Mr. Lennox, it assumed a false meaning as the symbol of a non-existent sect. And thanks to Mr. Bruce and Miss Wood, it assumed an even more confusing meaning as a symbol of private vengeance.
“On each appearance, the Seven of Calvary had a different meaning. The first, or Schaedel-Seven, meant nothing. The second, or Lennox-Seven, meant ‘Here lies the murderer of Dr. Schaedel.’ The third, or Worthing-Seven, meant ‘Boogie, boogie, boogie! Here come the Vignards!’ And the fourth, or Bruce-Seven, meant ‘Paul Lennox can still strike, even from beyond the grave.’”
“Then the point …?”
“The Point of the Seven of Calvary, Mr. Lamb, is that it had no point.” With which Dr. Ashwin poured the last drops from his bottle of Highland Cream.
Postlude
I poured the last of the coffee as Martin finished his narrative.
“Well, Tony,” he asked lightly, “are you content?”
“Content with Ashwin’s explanations? Quite, and rather inclined to kick myself around a block or two. But I would like some footnotes.”
“Footnotes?”
“A little of the what-became-of-who business.”
Martin settled back in a manner which reminded me of his descriptions of Ashwin in the swivel-chair. Their corruption had apparently been mutual. “Alex,” he began, “apparently carried out Dr. Ashwin’s suggestion. At least I know that he gave him a large sealed envelope and that the Seven of Calvary never appeared again. He got his divorce in Reno, and I think that Robert R. Wood knew as little of his daughter’s divorce as he did of her marriage. Alex has a decent job now with a chemical firm, and is engaged to a pleasant sweet girl. I introduced them—I always do—rates on request. The rest of Cynthia’s life story is too long to go into now; I’ll tell it to you some other time. Suffice it that she’s quite lived up to her early promise.”
“And the others?”
“The Leshins returned to Europe in May and never came back to Berkeley, although I heard that a very good offer had been made him. He was an excellent lecturer. Associations, I suppose.… The same reason that I refused when Drexel wanted to try Don Juan Returns again the next semester. It was produced eventually by the Federal Theatre Project in Los Angeles, with quite astounding criminological results. Maybe it really is a jinx play … but that’s another story, and an even longer one.”
“And Kurt?”
“The illness of General Pompilio Sanchez proved fatal, which effectively removed the necessity of Lupe’s marrying her father’s choice. She and Kurt are married now and living in Los Angeles—very happy when last I saw them, with an amazing infant which has Kurt’s features and Lupe’s complexion. Don’t ask me what became of Boritsin and Worthing—I haven’t the least idea, and don’t much care.”
“Two more questions, Martin. I am a strict host who exacts payment in full for French toast and bacon.”
“And worth it at that. What are they?”
“Has Ashwin had any further chances of proving his detective ability?”
“Tony,” Martin smiled, “I begin to suspect your motives.… But I tell you what—We’ll both call on him some night soon and you can get all the fascinating facts. The Maskeleyne cipher ought to appeal to you, and that odd business about the Angels’ Flight—a problem that really should belong to Dr. Fell. But the other question?”
“What’s become of the entrancing Mona?”
“Oh,” a little too carelessly, “she’s still in Berkeley. And that reminds me, Tony—mind if I use your phone?”
I nodded, and Martin stepped eagerly into the next room. As I lit a cigarette and began in my mind to frame Martin’s narrative into possible shape for a novel, I could hear his voice.
“Hello. International House? … May I speak to Miss Morales, please?”
Well, I thought, a love story needn’t necessa
rily spoil the novel.
EXPLICIT
About the Author
Anthony Boucher was an American author, critic, and editor, who wrote several classic mystery novels, short stories, science fiction, and radio dramas. Between 1942 and 1947 he acted as reviewer of mostly mystery fiction for the San Francisco Chronicle.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1937 by the Estate of Anthony Boucher
Cover design by Ian Koviak
ISBN: 978-1-5040-5743-1
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ANTHONY BOUCHER
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