The Statue of Three Lies

by David Cargill

  The two men sat, as they usually did once a week in London, but this time it was different. This time, instead of being in a club, hotel lounge or premises of The Magic Circle, they were in the library of a house in Scotland, where one of them had enjoyed many childhood days and was now narrating the story of a magician’s “trick” that had gone badly wrong, and possibly ended in murder, less than a month before Agatha Christie’s play The Mousetrap had opened on stage.

  Freddie, silent as a watchful cat throughout the narration, listening to every word, finally clasped both hands and, with index fingers together, touched them to his lips in deep thought.

  ‘Quite a tale!’ he said with a sigh. ‘Or nine tales if you take into account all who are suspects in this possible crime!’

  ‘Or ten tales if we include the cat in this impossible crime!’

  ‘I like that, Giles. The cat being Jack, of course! The Cat o’ Nine Tales! Yes I really like that,’ said Freddie with obvious relish at the play on words. ‘So where do we start?’

  ‘We’ll start with the cat! Mr Jack Ramsden.’

  ‘Okay!’

  ‘And if you put the questions and I give the answers, to the best of my knowledge, we may get as close to the truth as is humanly possible.’

  ‘I’ll go along with that!’ Freddie nodded in agreement. ‘Now what do we know of Jack Ramsden?’

  ‘I’d known him since I was a boy. He was a man of integrity, methodical in most activities and close to being a perfectionist. He was down-to-earth, a true Yorkshire man! He had no time for spongers! He was a craftsman who loved cabinet making and magic as art forms and, you’ll appreciate this Freddie, wasn’t averse to having a bob or two on the horses.’

  ‘Is it possible he might have been in financial difficulties? You know! A losing run at the races, maybe?’

  ‘I don’t honestly think so! I know what you’re getting at. You’re thinking of suicide! Let’s leave that for the moment!’

  ‘Why would he get rid of his assistant just a month or so before his spectacular birthday illusion for his wife? Did she walk out on him or was she told to go?’

  ‘I think she was blackmailing him! She wanted extra money. They argued and she left. That’s the way I see it! Reading between the lines he more than likely told her to like it or lump it!’

  ‘But if he did that, and she left, would that not have upset his plans for the illusion?’

  ’Yes! Unless he decided to change the illusion. You see he was a brilliant improviser. He could take an illusion and adapt it to give it an entirely new slant. On the other hand he might just have decided to...!’

  ‘To what?’

  ‘To...get a new assistant!’

  ‘But he didn’t do that, did he?’

  ‘Not that I know of! Unless.?’

  ‘Unless what, Giles? Out with it!’

  ‘Unless Jack persuaded a member of his family to act as his assistant! But which one?’

  ‘There is another possibility I think you should consider.’

  ‘And what is that?’

  ‘If his intention all along had been suicide, might he not have deliberately antagonised his original assistant and forced her to leave, so that his being alone on the night of the illusion would be seen as entirely accidental and not of his doing, thus making suicide an easier possibility without any premeditation being suspected?’

  ‘A good try, Freddie. I’ll give you that. But, if suicide was what he intended, why did he not make a proper job of it? After all he was a bit of a perfectionist and I remember Laura’s words to me on the phone, that night in London, when I’d decided to accept her cry for help. When I asked her about the possibility of suicide she said, “If he had wanted to do that he would’ve made a bloody good job of it” As it happened he was only wounded, though I grant you he never recovered.’

  ‘Okay, Giles! I take your point! Now, don’t laugh at this next theory, but if Jack had decided to commit suicide and make it look like an accident or even murder.! What then?’

  ‘That’s something I haven’t considered! But why would he do that?’

  ‘If suicide was the only way out for him, and we have yet to establish any motive for such an act, what better for a magician than to leave behind the puzzle of an impossible sequence of circumstances. You know.. .a locked room murder that wasn’t!’

  ‘My knowledge of suicides is rather patchy, Freddie, but I do believe that, when it comes down to the final fateful moment of truth, the victims try to make the end as comfortable as they can. The use of a cushion for the head-in-the-gas-oven method, padding for the rope when hanging is used and the application of make-up in the cases when the female of the species is about to take an overdose! No sign of that in this case and, with rifle and bullet available, not to mention a stiletto dagger, surely Jack could have improvised several methods of a way-out death!’

  ‘So we’re fairly confident we can rule out suicide. What about the voices in the room?’

  ‘But there was only Jack’s voice! Isabella wasn’t convinced she heard more than one voice. She merely said it sounded as if he was speaking to someone.’

  ‘Not like you then, Giles, when you’re talking to yourself? Do you think he wanted it to sound like there was more than one person in the room?’

  ‘I’m sure of it! In fact I’ll go even further. I believe there was more than one in here that night!’

  ‘But why was the other person’s voice not heard?’

  ‘Has it occurred to you that the other person may not have wished to be recognised by those outside the room but was either following instructions or disobeying instructions depending on whether the illusion was still the main purpose of the deception or murder was the real intent.’

  ‘There could be another explanation, Giles! Your last answer has just given me an idea! What if the second person in the room not only did not wish to be recognised by those outside the room...but did not wish to be recognised by the magician inside the room?’

  ‘You know that’s something I mentioned to Mrs. Ramsden as a possibility!’

  Both men looked at each other in silence as the possibility of Freddie’s idea took shape in their minds.

  It was the knock on the door and the clink of teacups that brought both men out of their hypnotic trance.

  ‘Goodness me!’ exclaimed Mrs. Doreen Gardner as she shuffled across and set her tray down on the mahogany table. ‘You can’t possibly see to talk to each other. It’s getting quite dark in here!’ She switched on the standard lamp before crossing to each set of windows and drawing the curtains. ‘I thought you might enjoy a pot of tea so I.!’

  ’And some of your homemade delights!’ interrupted Freddie with boyish enthusiasm.

  Cook beamed her appreciation. ‘There’s seconds, if you want more!’ She turned to leave.

  ‘Before you go, Mrs. Gardner!’

  ‘Doreen, please! Like the old days, Giles!’

  ‘I have no problem with that, Doreen! Just like the good old days,’ The Prof hesitated before speaking again. ‘I realise how distressing it all is but I want to take you back in time. To that night; the night of Mr. Ramsden’s...’ he hesitated again before completing the sentence, ‘...Mr. Ramsden’s accident.’

  ‘What is it you want to know?’ Her manner was a little brusque.

  ‘You were in this room with all the others when he was about to get ready for his birthday entertainment?’

  ‘Yes, that’s correct!’

  ‘Did Mr. Ramsden ask you to do anything?’ ‘Yes, he did! He asked me, as he always did on these occasions, to make sure that curtains were drawn on all the windows.’ ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Yes, he said I was to make absolutely sure that every window was locked.’ She stopped abruptly and appeared to be struggling to recall something. ‘Oh, yes and he also said I was to do the same thing after the performance. To make certain nothing had been tampered with.’

  ‘And did you do that?’

  ‘Y
es! Except that there was no performance!’

  ‘Hmm! I know and I’m sorry. Did you hear the shot?’

  ‘Yes, but I didn’t pay too much attention to it. It was just a bang and I wasn’t sure what it was. It was normal to wait until called back to the library.’

  ‘Where were you when the gun was fired?’

  ‘In the kitchen where I was supposed to be!’

  ‘Was the back door locked?’

  ‘Yes, it was!’

  ‘So no one could get into the house that way?’

  ‘That’s right!’

  ‘You said it was normal to wait until called back to the library, so how was it you went back there?’

  ’Well after the shot was fired there was a commotion in the hall and I sensed something was wrong!’

  ‘When you got to the library who was there? Can you remember?’

  ‘Yes, Isa...I mean Isabella was there. She was kneeling beside her husband.’

  ‘Was she the only one?’

  ‘No, not quite! Edgar pushed past me on his way out. He was shouting something about getting the girls and dashed off. I think he went upstairs.’

  ‘What did you do then?’

  ‘I checked the windows!’

  ‘Were they still locked?’

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘And the curtains? Were they still drawn?’

  ‘Yes, they were. I swear to God!’

  ‘No need to do that, Doreen! I won’t keep you much longer. Now, after you checked the curtains, what more did you notice?’

  ‘Isabella seemed to be listening to what Jack was trying to say. Her ear was very close to his mouth. Victor came rushing in and went straight over to the gun on the stand. My husband, George, said he’d call for an ambulance but Victor said it had already been done. I could see Conrad and Mabel just inside the doorway. I didn’t notice them come in. Laura elbowed her way through the group. She was wearing a white bathrobe and was still in her bare feet. She seemed distraught and was calling “Daddy, Daddy!” Most of the others stood in shocked silence, except for Sally. She was standing at the back with her fiance, Edgar, and she was asking if Jack was dead!’

  Mrs. Gardner, having given a fairly graphic account of what happened shortly after the shot was fired, was now breathing heavily and starting to tremble.

  ‘The ordeal is almost finished, Doreen. There’s one final question I must ask. Where did you go after you left the library?’

  ‘I waited with Isabella until she was satisfied she could no longer hear Jack say any more. I took her off to the lounge and gave her a brandy.’

  ‘You have been very observant, Doreen. And of tremendous help. Before you go is there any news of Laura?’

  Mrs. Gardner brightened up. ‘Why, yes,’ she said, ‘I’ve just been up to her bedroom with some tea and she intends coming down for dinner.’

  ‘That’s great news, Doreen. And thanks for the refreshments though I may need something a little stronger later on to ease the aches and pains!’

  ‘Are you sore, Professor?’

  ‘Just unaccustomed to riding horses over fences, that’s all!’

  Mrs. Doreen Gardner left the room without further comment, but with shoulders heaving in a silent chuckle.

  Freddie Oldsworth, who had never uttered a word throughout the entire interrogation, stood up and stretched.

  ‘That would appear to eliminate the cook as a murder suspect!’ he said. ‘Even you must concede that.’

  ‘Yes, possibly, but it doesn’t eliminate her in the role of accomplice!’

  ‘How do you figure that out?’

  ‘Well don’t you see that Mrs. Gardner, by locking the windows and checking them again after the shooting, was partly ensuring a locked room situation? But only if she carried out her duties as she said. What if she didn’t lock them before going to the kitchen? What if she left them unlocked until she returned to the library after the shooting, allowing someone to enter and leave by the windows? What if she then locked them after her accomplice had made an escape making it look as if the windows had remained locked? And who was outside the windows making sure there was no jiggery pokery?’

  ‘George Gardner, her husband and faithful retainer!’ Freddie allowed the words to softly leave his lips giving them added emphasis. ‘Opportunity, I give you that! A definite possibility if you can conceive of a motive. But, if George entered by a window, surely Jack Ramsden would have been suspicious of his entrance?’

  ‘But not if he’d been chosen, by Jack, to be his new assistant.’

  ‘Okay, Giles! If Jack had asked George to be his assistant Mrs. Gardner would have locked the windows and Jack, the magician, would have been the one to unlock them and allow the assistant access. Agreed?’

  ‘Yes!’

  ’But if George had used the rifle and shot the magician then made his escape via the unlocked windows, they would still have been unlocked when Mrs. Gardner returned to check them after the shot was fired, for the simple reason that the victim of the shooting fell to the floor and couldn’t relock them. Unless Mrs. Gardner...!’

  ‘Exactly, Freddie! It is perfectly conceivable that Mrs. Gardner, finding the windows unlocked, on her return, and quickly putting two and two together, immediately reached the conclusion that her husband was the probable assailant and therefore relocked them in order to protect him from discovery.’

  The indefatigable Freddie, who had been leaning forward with elbows on the library table and with chin cupped in both hands, now stretched inactive limbs and pressed his frame back into the leather support of his chair.

  ‘So’, he said, clasping his hands behind his neck, ‘having established that George Gardner could have entered by the windows if he’d been acting as Jack’s new assistant, how would you see his entrance if he hadn’t been the assistant? Wouldn’t Jack have been suspicious and raised the alarm?’

  ‘Yes, yes! I doubt we could arrive at any other conclusion. Unless.!’

  ‘Yes, Giles?’

  ‘I was going to say unless he was disguised!’

  ‘Oh, come off it, Giles. George would have had to be another Lon Chaney to adopt a disguise capable of fooling Jack! After all, he’s small, stocky and white-haired! Anyway he wouldn’t have had time to apply the necessary make-up!’

  ‘Ah, yes! I don’t doubt your premise, Freddie, but there are methods of disguise other than the use of make-up! And take only seconds to put on!’

  ‘I’m listening, old son!’

  ‘Have you ever seen movie news reels of gatherings of that secret organisation the Ku Klux Klan?’ The Prof spoke in a low whisper. ‘Members are clad, from head to foot in white robes and hoods and, I’ll wager, you’d be hard put to distinguish one from another.’

  Freddie unclasped his hands from behind his neck.

  ‘Substitute,’ he said, with admiration for his colleague beaming out of his face, ‘a magician’s black robe and hood for those white ones and you could, just could, present the illusion of.! Was that what you meant, last night, when you mentioned the word “black” in the game?’

  ‘I’ll come to that later!’

  ‘You cunning old fox!’

  Afternoon lengthened into early evening as both men, apart from the occasional short exercise walk around the library and its contents, sat and pondered over the events of Jack Ramsden’s last night as told by Isabella Ramsden and relayed by Giles.

  Freddie continued to ask pertinent questions with answers, hypothesis and explanation fed back to him where possible.

  He made a strong case against Mrs. Ramsden, as a suspect, citing the facts that she was the first to enter the room after the gun was fired and, although the youngest son, Edgar, had followed her in, there was probably a short interval when she was alone with her husband after Edgar dashed off to alert the girls using the bathrooms.

  His theory that Mrs. Ramsden might have used a revolver, fitted with a silencer, to do the killing during that short time she was alone was pooh-poohed a
nd dismissed out of hand. Too bulky to hide and not as silent as you’d expect were convincing arguments but the coup de grâce was the forensic evidence. The bullet that killed Jack Ramsden had been fired from the rifle on the stand. It was then agreed she could also have acted as an accomplice but, in that case, her accomplice could only have been Edgar as he’d been in her company, outside the door, throughout.

  Laura, who had gone for a bath and Edgar’s fiancee, Sally, now his wife, who had used the alternate bathroom in which to wash her hair seemed, on the face of it, to have reasonable alibis, but only if you believed that they had, in fact, gone to the bathrooms as had been stated. Still, either one or both, for that matter, could have gone upstairs then gained access to the library using a concealed entrance that was yet to be discovered. Far too much about their movements was still cloaked in mystery.

  The same applied to eldest son, Victor. He had allegedly gone to the lounge, on his own, but there wasn’t a shred of evidence to support this and, although his attitude to his father appeared to be one of animosity, a lot more information was required before an accusation could be laid at his door.

  Conrad and his wife, Mabel, were similar enigmas. Their walkabout, that night, outside in the grounds of Maskelyne Hall, in the darkness, provided opportunity, if such were needed, to commit a heinous crime of devilish execution. But why? And, more importantly, how? Answers to those questions would have to wait.

  The verbal tennis tournament between the two companions that had volleyed and smashed possibility, probability, conjecture and presumption back and forth for several hours finally broke up when Giles looked at his watch.

  ‘Good God,’ he exclaimed, ‘we’ll be late for dinner, if we don’t hurry!’

  ‘Didn’t notice it until your clarion call,’ said Freddie, getting to his feet, ‘but the pangs of hunger are starting to gnaw at the inner man!’His jocular remark was in direct contrast to that of Giles who grabbed his friend by the arm as they prepared to leave the library.