‘Okay, motive or not?’
‘Possible but questionable!’
‘We list that as a near miss then! What about his wife who, at the time of the shooting, was his fiancée?’
‘Sally, by her own admission,’ said Giles with a sigh, ‘suggested the reason she was not brought home to the family until the end of October was because Edgar didn’t think his father would approve. Now, if Sally had a motive it had to correspond to that of her fiance at the time - namely to protect a loved one! But I’m clutching at straws; there may be other motives but I cannot fathom them out for the moment!’
‘Opportunity?’
‘We know she went upstairs to wash her hair and presumably took a shower locking the bathroom door until she was alerted by Edgar about the shooting downstairs. She was, therefore, beyond the scrutiny of anyone until Edgar banged on her door and, if she had the insider information about a secret entry, I suppose she could have used it! But I fail to see how she could have had that information when she was visiting Edgar’s home for the first time!’
‘Okay, again! A question mark against her on that score, leaving us with the issue of probability, Giles?’
‘I guess Sally would support Edgar but only in a secondary capacity. Unless evidence to the contrary is produced the probability of her committing murder and, more importantly, killing her prospective father-in-law must be put on the back burner for a while longer!’
‘If you’ll excuse me, boys,’ Jennifer announced with a stifled yawn. ‘I have to be in the Courthouse tomorrow, so I’ll clear things up in the kitchen and go to bed!’
‘Giles and I will finish this list of suspects, darling, then put this to bed as well. See you in the morning!’
When Jennifer had gone A.B. poured a couple of bourbons and both men, friends for only a few hours, settled down to finish their smokes and analyse the last two on the list of suspects - the retainers George and Doreen Gardner.
‘From what you said in your account of the happenings at Maskelyne Hall, George and Doreen have been with the family for three decades or more and appear to be a devoted pair who enjoy the atmosphere of the place. In your opinion do either of them have a motive?’
‘I did think so at first, but on further examination I’d have to say...no! Unless the rumour that George was to be sacked had some foundation, in which case his wife would have been dismissed as well. There doesn’t appear to be any strong reason for murder. But, as I’ve said before, there’s no smoke without fire. The murder of Jack Ramsden, in order to prevent being fired, was no sure thing with such a close-knit family!’
‘The description of their duties on the night of the illusion, gave both George and Doreen ideal opportunities to have full control over entry.’ said A.B.
The American Professor picked up the memo pad once more and scribbled a few lines.
‘Had Doreen left the windows unlocked it is fairly safe to assume they would go unnoticed by the magician,’ he continued outlining his premise. ‘And by locking them immediately on her return to the library she would’ve created the hermetically sealed chamber effect. The other means of entry, the door, was in fact locked from the outside, by the magician’s wife, who was supervised by his youngest son. George, who was the only one outside those windows, was able to gain entry, do whatever had to be done, and get out again. His actions would be undetected unless, of course, some other member of the family happened to be in the vicinity and that is something over which he had no control.’
‘Yes, but why take a chance that no one else came on the scene? Nevertheless, there were two very simple and obvious means of entry, as you correctly point out - the door and the windows - and all the time I’ve been searching for a complicated way in. I believe I’ve already considered those and rejected them but I do agree they demand extra investigation.’
‘Taking the hypothesis a little further there are several pieces in your story that also demand more scrutiny.’ A.B.said as he made additional scribbles on the pad and Giles tried very hard to keep awake.
‘Who suggested you go riding with Laura? Answer - George!’
‘Who had the opportunity to tamper with the stirrup leathers? Answer - George and Laura!’
‘Who was in the cellar when you had your encounter with the Iron Maiden? Answer - George (who admitted being there attending the central heating) and don’t forget Laura who assisted you out of the place!’
‘Who were diagonally opposite at the seance table and were able to move the glass to whatever position was required? Answer -George and Doreen!’
‘Look over that list and who is the common denominator? Answer - George! With Laura and Doreen coming second and third!’
‘Coincidence rearing the ugly head again?’ Giles insisted with a questioning smile.
‘Maybe! Maybe!’ Abe Berkeley said slapping his hands loudly on both thighs. ‘I was going to let you into my secrets about coincidences involving renowned leaders of our great Constitution but they can wait!’
Berkeley rose and casually poured two more drinks. ‘Look, Giles it’s getting late and you’ve had a long day, let’s have “one for the road", granted that the road we’ll be taking is the short one to our respective beds. Tomorrow is another day!’
Stubbing out his cigar and draining his glass before being overcome by the oncoming sleep, Giles was a compliant participant when shown the way to his bedroom where he could lay down undisturbed and unmolested for a good few hours - or so he thought!
’Are you asleep, Giles?’
Being roughly shaken in the middle of the night in a strange bed was not an idea he was particularly enamoured with.
‘I don’t think so, Holmes,’ he said, trying hard to sound jocular. ‘But God knows I should be! I was dreaming about Conan Doyle’s excellent sleuth until I was rudely interrupted!’
As soon as the bedside lamp was switched on the sight that met his eyes was of a tall lean man with aquiline features dressed in a long Cashmere dressing gown, the spitting image of the person in his dream.
‘Is there something wrong?’
‘No, not wrong, but I couldn’t sleep! My brain was ticking over and I have an idea. So preposterous it might, conceivably, be the elusive answer you’ve been chasing. D’ya wanna hear it? Here grab this, and come on through.’
Throwing a dressing gown on to the bed the American turned and made for the door. ‘I’ll make fresh coffee!’
‘Much of the graphic happenings of your week-end in Scotland have been going round and round in my head and I’ve been trying to make sense of something!’ A.B. said as both men sat drinking coffee.
‘This preposterous idea of yours; what is it?’
‘It’s only a hunch, mind you, but let me ask you a question first. What kind of a man was he?’
The Prof, looking decidedly bleary-eyed, could utter only one word, ‘Who?’
‘Your magician friend, Jack Ramsden! Drink up your coffee!’
‘How do you mean - what kind of a man was he?’
‘Well, wasn’t he badly let down by his assistant shortly before the illusion was due to be performed? I just wondered if he’d bear a grudge?’
‘He could be bloody-minded, that’s for sure, but bear a grudge? Possibly! What are you hinting at?’
‘What if Jack planned to get even by throwing suspicion on his ex-assistant by arranging a failed suicide that subsequent investigators could be persuaded to believe was a failed attempted murder!’
‘I’m not sure I follow!’
’The magician might have entrusted one of the family or one of the retained staff to enter using the hidden route and with the rifle and stand mathematically in a position to be fired to hit a position on, say a shoulder to wound and not kill, the new assistant could remove any evidence of a suicide attempt leaving the wounded man in what appeared to be a sealed chamber. Had the magician survived, as he expected, he could accuse his former assistant with the damning evidence that she was the only one in poss
ession of the secret entrance to the library and was therefore the only one who could have carried out the shooting.’
‘But how could Jack be sure the gun was aimed at a non vital spot?’
‘He couldn’t, but I’m certain that in history you can produce examples of magicians working with crossbows, firearms, tomahawks and throwing knives calculated, within an inch or so, to hit or miss a given target and, although I accept that my idea is a little extraordinary, I believe so was Jack. I did say it was preposterous -but not impossible! Even if the ex-assistant had an alibi she would be hard-pressed to provide a believable case for her successful defence!’
‘So you think it might have been an attempted suicide made to appear as attempted murder - an audacious plan that went badly wrong and, of course, whoever had been a party to the plan on the night would be unable to make such an accusation with the magician dead?’ The Prof took a sip of coffee and his eyes showed the wheels in motion.
‘But whatever made you contemplate such a preposterous idea?’
‘Why, it was one of the last things Jack said to his wife before he became unconscious.
"I never meant it to end like this!"’
Chapter 16
HOW A BOTTLE OPENER CAN OPEN
MORE THAN BOTTLES
The Prof checked his watch shortly after leaving the19th century town house as he strolled along the French-styled boulevard in the warm hazy sunshine of Boston on the morning before Thanksgiving Day.
After a breakfast of wild blueberry pancakes in a stack with butter and blueberry syrup, freshly squeezed orange juice, and coffee, he felt equipped to make a start at interpreting some of the notes he’d found in a dead man’s diary of fourteen years ago.
He removed the white linen handkerchief from the trouser pocket of his dark grey three-piece suit; a handkerchief knotted in three places to remind him of important things to do, and instantly recalled his first port of call as the Boston Public Library.
The second knot, he was sure, had to be The Statler Hotel and the third knot...? Hmm...perhaps the third one was to remind him not to forget what the other two were for?
He checked his watch again. He’d more than three hours before he was due to meet his American host for lunch...time enough to put a toe in the water and get cracking on the final phase of his quest for a solution to the mystery of Maskelyne Hall.
With overcoat open and hands in pockets he sauntered past the seated statue of abolitionist William Garrison, one of about half-a-dozen statues in the wide mall, with two lines of trees desperately clinging to the last of their leaves splashed with striking autumnal colours.
At the corner of Commonwealth Avenue and Clarendon Street he wandered past the Romanesque Style First Baptist Church, stopping briefly to admire the square bell tower with the decorative frieze modelled in Paris by Bartholdi, the sculptor who created The Statue of Liberty.
The faces on the frieze, depicting the sacraments, were of some prominent Bostonians, including Henry Wadsworth Longfellow whose poem about Haunted Houses had been quoted by Mabel during an evening discussion at Maskelyne Hall.
Was this another of those coincidences...or an ominous portent perhaps? The Prof smiled and walked on.
He turned right into Newbury Street, the name of which brought back vivid memories, whilst in the RAF, of watching racehorses exercising on the downs near Greenham Common, Newbury, at a time when he himself was engaged in target practice.
Newbury Street was a place of art galleries and sidewalk cafes and, as he passed the Cafe Florian, Boston’s oldest and most authentic coffee house, he was immediately reminded of that third knot in the handkerchief - he was due to meet A.B. there, later on, for a spot of lunch.
Consulting the map, given to him by his host at breakfast, he turned left into Dartmouth Street and was soon approaching Copley Square to his left and, facing the square on the opposite side, the magnificent structure of the Boston Public Library.
He crossed the street and walked towards the building constructed of Milford granite blocks set on a broad granite platform. The greyish-white stone reflected faint pinkish lights and the ornamental cornice above the frieze at the top of the facade, where it met the red-tiled roof, was topped by a green copper cresting.
As he climbed the steps leading to the three entrance arches flanked on either side by two seated female figures in bronze representing Art and Science, he glanced up to the keystone above the central arch on which was sculpted the helmeted head of Minerva, goddess of wisdom.
Above that he read the words FREE -To-ALL then, with a quickening heart beat he moved forward into the vestibule and took the first steps towards finding out what Jack Ramsden found in this beautiful city fourteen years before that sparked off the excitement that ultimately led to his death.
Inside the building the walls and vaulted ceiling were of pink marble with the floor inlaid with patterned marble and, from a knowledgeable attendant, he learned that the three doorways leading to the Main Entrance Hall were copied from the entrance to the Acropolis of Athens; one of the reasons, he thought, why Boston was accepted as the Athens of America.
In the deep niche, on the left as he entered, was a bronze statue of a dashing aristocratic cavalier who had been beheaded in England in mid to late 17th century for rebellion against the king and The Prof reflected on the possibility of another rebellion against the king at Maskelyne Hall being yet one more coincidence that would eventually take a hand in exposing an ingenious murderer who’d stop at nothing in order to kill in cold blood.
He checked his watch again and decided he’d better get a move on.
Heading for one of the three doorways leading to the Main Entrance Hall he was stunned when he learned, from the same obliging attendant, that each of the six doors, made of bronze, weighed fifteen hundred pounds. Symbolic figures sculpted and arranged in pairs represented Music and Poetry, Knowledge and Wisdom, and Truth and Romance and, once again he saw the figures as epitomizing much of what he sought on both sides of the Atlantic.
He asked where he was able to examine copies of newspapers and was directed to a small flight of stairs just off the first floor entrance.
Further information that original paper copies in bound volumes might take a day or so to be delivered from an off-site depository was less encouraging, but those were available on microfilm for reading without much delay. It all depended on the titles required.
Upstairs he was well received by a capable young woman who advised him that a search of the Boston Globe or Boston Herald might reveal details of the 1952 magicians’ convention, but they were on microfilm.
They were, however, available in bound volumes, which were stored in the library basement and could be retrieved on presentation of a call slip and a valid library card. When he asked how these could be obtained he was told he’d have to produce identification and be vouched for by some person known to the library.
Gentle persuasion and a short call to Harvard College by the librarian on his behalf did the trick.
After a short wait bound copies of both newspapers for May and June 1952 were brought to him and he started to look through them for articles relating to the Convention.
For the best part of one and a half hours he waded through page after page but to no avail.
Totally disconsolate he returned the non-productive volumes to the librarian and was ready to leave when he was called back.
‘Excuse me sir,’ she said, but there’s an outside chance you might find what you’re looking for in the Boston Sunday Globe. Would you like to search?’ Her smile was irresistible and the decision to hang on a bit longer wasn’t difficult to make.
Going straight to the Boston Sunday Globe of June 1, 1952 he scanned each page in turn until the article on page 37 caught his eye.
Nothing to Hide!
Magicians Say It’s Fraud, But Who’ll Believe ‘Em
By PAUL BENZAQUIN
BULLETIN - The Statler Hotel, headquarters for the Am
erican Society of Magicians’ convention disappeared in a puff of blue smoke last night. It was later found in the bottom of a silk hat beside a small rabbit. Police with-held details and it was rumored their report had been changed into a three-dollar bill by one of the delegates.
The remainder of the article detailed many of the close-on manipulators and sleight of hand experts including the great Chanin -"openly regarded as the best."
There was no mention of anyone with the initials K.A. but The Prof was more than satisfied with the facts already obtained.
He thanked the librarian for her splendid assistance, checked his watch again and, leaving behind the classical elegance of the Boston Public Library, headed for Newbury Street and the Cafe Florian for his lunchtime meeting with Professor Berkeley.
’I take it you were successful in reading our local journals.’ Abe Berkeley said as the two men sat down to lunch. ‘The young woman I spoke to, on the phone, seemed satisfied with the credentials I presented on your behalf!’
‘Oh yes! I was treated with the utmost courtesy and, to my knowledge, at no time did they call out the FBI!’
‘Super news - I’m relieved to hear it!’ Berkeley replied snapping his fingers to get the attention of a waiter. ‘What’s next?’
‘The Statler Hotel, where the Golden Anniversary Convention of the Society of American Magicians was held.’
‘The hotel you’re looking for has changed hands since 1952; it is now owned by the Hilton Hotel chain and goes by the name of the Statler Hilton. You’ll find it in Providence Street and, although there’s been a change of name, many older residents of Boston still refer to it as the Statler.’Giles brought out the map and A.B. pointed to a place not far from where they were sitting.
The Statue of Three Lies Page 22
