by Ellery Queen
"Who cares what's happened?" said Charley Paxton grimly. "I want to know who it is!"
"Me, too," said Sergeant Velie, feeling his head. "Put the finger on him once for all, Maestro, so we can stop shadow-boxin' and get in there and punch."
Inspector Queen was regarding his eminent son with suspicion. "Ellery, is this another 'trap' of yours?"
Ellery sighed, and sat down in the straight-backed chair to lean forward with his elbows on his knees. "It rather reminds me," he began, "of Mother Goose—"
"Oh, my gosh," groaned the Sergeant.
"Who killed Robert and Maclyn? 'I,' said the Sparrow," murmured Mr. Queen, unabashed. "Wonderful how those jingles which were originally political and social satires keep cropping up in this case. I don't know if the Cock Robin thing was one of those, but I do know the identity of the Sparrow. Except, Charley, that I can't tell you the *who' without first telling you the 'how.' You wouldn't believe me otherwise."
"Tell it any way you please," begged Sheila. "But tell it, Ellery!"
Ellery lit a cigaret slowly. "Thurlow bought fourteen guns when he launched his dueling career. Fourteen ... Sergeant, bow many of those did you manage to round up?"
Velie started. "Who, me? Twelve."
"Yes. Specifically, the two used in the duel with Bob Potts, the one the Old Woman stole from Thurlow's hoard in that false closet of his, and the nine you found there afterwards, Sergeant. Twelve in all. Twelve out of the fourteen we knew Thurlow had purchased from the small-arms department of Cornwall & Ritchey. So two were missing."
Ellery looked about absently for an ashtray. Sheila jumped up and brought him one. He smiled at her, and she ran back to her chair. "Two were missing," he resumed, "and subsequently we discovered which two. They were exact duplicates in manufacture and type of the two guns Thurlow had produced for his duel with Bob: a .25-caliber Colt Pocket Model automatic, and a Smith & Wesson number unknown as the S. & W. .38/32 revolver, with a 2-inch barrel.
"That struck me as a curious fact. For what were the first twelve weapons?" Ellery took his inventory from his wallet. "A Colt .25 automatic, Pocket Model; a Smith & Wesson .38—the .38/32 revolver with 2-inch barrel; a Harrington & Richardson .22, Trapper Model; an Iver Johnson .32 Special, safety hammerless automatic; a Schmeisser .25 automatic, safety Pocket Model; a Stevens .22 Long Rifle, single-shot Target pistol; an I. J. Champion .22 Target single action; a Stoeger Luger, 7.65 millimeter, refinished; a New Model Mauser of 7.63 millimeter caliber with a ten-shot magazine; a High Standard hammerless automatic Short, .22 caliber; a Browning 1912 of 9-millimeter caliber; and an Ortgies of 6.35-millimeter caliber."
Ellery tucked away his memorandum. "I even remarked at the time that every one of the twelve guns listed was of different manufacture. I might have added what was evident from the list itself: that not only were the twelve utterly different in manufacture, but they were as nearly varied in caliber and type as one could reasonably gather in a gun shop.
"Yet the thirteenth and fourteenth weapons—the two missing ones—were exact duplicates of the first two on the list; not merely similar, but identical." Ellery stared at them. "In other words, there were two pairs of guns in the fourteen items Thurlow bought at Cornwall & Ritchey's. Why? Why two Colt .25 automatics of the Pocket Model type, whose overall length is only four and a half inches, as we pointed out at the time? Why two S. & W. .38/32's, whose overall length is only six and one-quarter inches? Hardly dueling pistols, by the way!—although of course they could serve that purpose. There were much larger and longer pistols in Thurlow's arsenal for such romantic bravura as a duel at dawn. Why those, and such little fellows, too?"
"Coincidence?" asked Sheila.
"It might have been coincidence," admitted Ellery. "But the weight of logic was against it, Sheila. Because what happened? In giving Bob his choice of weapons at the dinner table the evening before the duel, Thurlow didn't offer Bob one of a pair of guns—one of the pair of Colt .25 automatics we know he had at that time, or one of the pair of Smith & Wessons—which would have been the natural thing to do in a duel. No, Thurlow offered Bob his choice of two quite dissimilar weapons. Coincidence? Hardly. I could only say to myself: There must have been some purpose, some motive, some plan behind this."
"But what?" Inspector Queen frowned.
"Well, Dad, what was the effect of Bob's choosing one of the two dissimilar guns Thurlow offered him? This: that no matter which weapon Bob chose—whether he chose the Colt automatic or the Smith & Wesson revolver— Thurlow was left not with one gun for himself, but a pair."
"A pair!" exclaimed Charley. "Of course! Since Bob picked the Smith & Wesson, Thurlow was left with two identical Colts!"
"And it would have been the same if Bob had selected the Colt," nodded Ellery. "Thurlow couldn't lose, you see—he had to be left with a pair of identical weapons. The question was: What was the advantage to Thurlow in this? I couldn't answer it then; but I can now!"
"Wait a minute, son," said the Inspector irritably. "I don't see what difference it would have made if Thurlow'd been left with a dozen identical guns."
"Why not?"
"Why not? Because Thurlow couldn't have murdered Bob Potts, that's why not. From the time you left that Colt .25 in Thurlow's bedroom with a blank in it till you handed Thurlow that same gun the next morning at the duel, Thurlow couldn't possibly have touched it. You said so yourself!"
"That's right, Maestro," said Sergeant Velie. "He never could of got into his bedroom during the night to take the blank out and put the live bullet in the gun—he was with Miss Brent and Charley Paxton, and later you, all the time."
"Either here in the study with us," nodded Charley, "or in Club Bongo, where all four of us went that night after you came downstairs from putting the blank-loaded gun in Thurlow's room, Ellery."
"Not only that," added Inspector Queen, "but you told me yourself, Ellery, that the only ones who positively did not have opportunity to switch bullets in that gun in Thurlow's room were Charley, Miss Brent, and Thurlow."
"From the facts, Maestro," chided the Sergeant. "From the facts."
Ellery smiled sadly. "How you all belabor the 'facts'! Although I shouldn't cast the first stone—I did a bit of belaboring myself. I agree: Thurlow could not have replaced the blank cartridge with the live one in that Colt I left on his highboy."
"Then what are you talking about?" expostulated his father.
"Just this," said Ellery crisply. "Thurlow murdered his brother Bob deliberately nevertheless."
"Huh?" Sergeant Velie reamed his right ear doubtfully.
"Thurlow murdered—" Sheila stopped.
"But Ellery," protested Charley Paxton, "you just got through admitting—"
"That Thurlow couldn't have replaced the blank with the live cartridge, Charley? So I did. And I still do. But don't you people see that by having two identical guns, Thurlow not only prepared a colossal alibi for himself but pulled off a seemingly impossible murder, too? Look!" Ellery jumped up, grinding out his cigaret. "We all assumed that the killer replaced the blank in the Colt with a live bullet; we all assumed that this was the only possible way in which Bob Potts could have been murdered. But suppose that blank had never been replaced?"
They gaped at him.
"Suppose the blank-loaded Colt was not used in the duel at all, but the other Colt was used—the duplicate Colt?"
At that the Inspector groaned and clapped his palms to his gray head in an agony of realization.
"Very fundamental," said Mr. Queen, lighting a fresh cigaret. "Thurlow didn't use the Colt .25 we'd put the blank cartridge in. He simply used the other Colt .25, loaded with a live bullet. The attack on me a few minutes ago proved this—proves that Thurlow switched the two Colt .25's just before his duel with Bob, switched them right under our noses. How does the attempt on my life in this room prove this?
"Well, ever since Bob's death, the Colt that killed him—the one we know had a live bullet in it because it killed him, the C
olt that Thurlow aimed at him—has been in your possession, Dad, as the murder weapon, the vital piece of evidence. Today Horatio Potts found the duplicate Colt .25 in the sycamore tree on the estate. A few minutes ago that duplicate Colt was fired at me at point-blank range. Yet there was no mark on me, no bullet hole, no abrasion on my steel vest, no powder burn; and no bullet or bullet hole or sign of ricochet anywhere in this room. Only possible explanation: That duplicate Colt fired at me tonight was loaded with a blank cartridge. But we'd loaded a Colt .25 with a blank cartridge for Thurlow to use in his duel with Robert!
"Conclusion: The weapon fired at me tonight was that first gun, the gun that had been on Thurlow's highboy the whole night before the duel, the gun I'd run up to fetch for him, the gun I'd handed him at dawn and which he immediately put, you'll recall, into the right-hand pocket of his tweed jacket . . . The gun he did not take out of that pocket a few moments later! Yes, Thurlow switched guns on us under our eyes; and how he did it becomes childishly apparent once you recognize the basic fact that he did switch guns. The fact that, having two guns, he had no need to switch bullets was the strongest and wiliest part of Thurlow's plan. It made it possible for him to create an unassailable alibi. He must have eavesdropped and overheard our plan to replace the live bullet with a blank in the only Colt .25 we knew at the time he possessed. But he knew he had a duplicate Colt. So why not let us go through with our plan to draw the death out of the first Colt, give himself that powerful alibi, and still manage to kill Robert? Moreover, under such circumstances that he'd seem the witless tool of some mysterious other person?
"Thurlow snatched his opportunity. Sheila, he permitted you to get him 'out of the way.' Charley, he welcomed your joining him and Sheila here in the study later. And he must have been beside himself with delight when I came down, too, to join the party. Then what did he do? If you'll recall, it was Thurlow who suggested going to Club Bongo; it was Thurlow who managed things so that we stayed out all night and didn't get back until it was time for the duel—whereupon it could never be said that he'd had opportunity to switch bullets in that gun in his room at any time after I placed the blank-loaded weapon there. How were we to know that all the previous evening, all that night at Club Bongo, all the early morning coining back to the grounds, Thurlow had the duplicate Colt .25, loaded with a lethal bullet, in his right-hand pocket?
"And now observe how cunning he is. We get back, and he sends me upstairs to his room to fetch the blank-loaded Colt, under the 'artless* pretense that I'm his second! For it must not be said afterwards that Thurlow Potts for even two minutes was alone with that gun ...
"I fetched the gun, playing the dupe, handed it to Thurlow in sight of numerous witnesses, and he slipped it at once into his coat pocket.
"The dueling silliness began. Thurlow took a Colt .25 from that pocket. How were we to know that it was not the same weapon, loaded with a blank? How were we to know that the Colt he took out of that pocket was a duplicate of the one I had just handed him, a weapon identical in shape and size and appearance, and that the one just handed him was still in his pocket? And remained there?"
Inspector Queen groaned. "Who'd ever think to search the nut? We didn't even know at the time that there were duplicate Colt .25's!"
"No, we did not. And Thurlow knew we didn't. He was running no risks. Later, he simply disposed of the first Colt—hid it in that starling's nest in the sycamore tree, the blank cartridge still in it."
"And then, of course," muttered the Inspector, "he pulled that second challenge—to Mac—as a fake and a cover-up. By that time we were sure to pass his part in the killing off as irresponsible craziness. So he murders Mac in an ordinary way during the night, while we're expecting a duel in the morning. Clever is right."
"But why'd he kill the twins?" demanded Sergeant Velie.
Sheila said: "Because he hated them," and began to cry.
"Stop it, darling," said Charley, putting his arms about her. "Or I'll take you out of here."
"It's just that it's the same old story—hate, insanity—" Sheila sobbed.
"Not at all," said Mr. Queen dryly. She looked up quickly; they were all startled. "There's no insanity in Thurlow's murder plan, believe me. It was cold, brutal, logical, criminal ruthlessness."
"Now how do you figure that?" demanded Paxton.
"Yes, what in time did he gain by killing the twins?" echoed the Inspector.
"What did he gain?" Ellery nodded. "Very pointed question, Dad. Let's explore it a bit. But first let's state an interesting fact: This is not a case of one murder; it's a case of two. ALL RIGHT. Who gained most by the deaths of both Bob and Mac?"
They were silent.
'Thurlow, and only Thurlow," Ellery answered himself. "Let me show you why I say that.
"What would have happened if Bob and Mac had not been murdered? When the Old Woman died, there'd automatically be an election to determine the new President of the Board of Directors of the Potts Shoe Company. Seven people would have the right to vote in that election, as everyone knew from her will, which we were told was a matter of common knowledge in the household for years.
"With Robert and Maclyn alive, one of them would necessarily have been nominated to take full charge of the huge shoe enterprise. This was brought out at the actual election the day after the Old Woman's death; you said it yourself, Sheila, rather bitterly." Sheila nodded in a puzzled way. "Now suppose the twins had not been murdered? Suppose at your mother's death, Sheila, the twins were still alive? One of them would have been nominated, and he would have been sure of the following votes: his own, his twin's, Sheila's, and Mr. Underhill's. Neither Louella nor Horatio had the desire or capacity to head the business. Thurlow, then, would have been the opposing candidate. Now, who would have voted for Thurlow?
"Well, who did vote for Thurlow—in the election that was held? Louella, Horatio and Thurlow himself. In other words, had the twins remained alive, one of them would have been elected over Thurlow by a vote of four to three."
"That's it," said Charley softly.
"By a plurality of one," exclaimed Velie.
"Thurlow would have lost..." mused the Inspector.
"Yes, Thurlow would have lost by a vote of four to three," murmured Ellery. "Knowing Thurlow's sensitivity, what wouldn't this have meant to him? Deflated, 'disgraced' in his own eyes, forced to take a back seat to the two younger men when all his adult life he had been waiting for his mother to die so that he could reign supreme in the family! Yes, defeat in the election would have been the supreme insult of Thurlow's life. And not only that. He knew that as soon as his mother passed on, Sheila and the twins and their father intended to take back Steve's real name, Brent. This meant that the Potts business might eventually lose even its name. At best, it would be in the hands of those whom Thurlow had always considered outsiders—not true Pottses.
"Knowing to what lengths Thurlow has gone in the past to avenge fancied insults and ridicule where the name of Potts was concerned, it's easy to believe that his intensely concentrated ego dictated a plan whereby he would seize control of the business on his mother's hourly expected death (page Dr. Innis) and avert the 'catastrophe' of seeing the Potts name possibly lost to a grieving posterity. And what was the only way he could accomplish this? The only way? By eliminating the two brothers who stood in his path, the two who not alone controlled two vital votes but who, both of them, were logical candidates to head the firm on the Old Woman's death.
"And so—Bob and Mac died by Thurlow's hand, and in the election, instead of losing by a vote of four to three, he won by a vote of three to two. Oh, no," said Mr. Queen, shaking his head, "there was no madness in Thurlow when he hatched this little mess of eggs. Or should I say the crime was sane if the criminal was not.... Granted Thurlow's obsession with the name of Potts, everything he planned and executed afterwards wa8 severely logical."
"Yes," said Sheila slowly. "I was stupid not to have seen it. Louella, Horatio—why should they care? All they've
ever asked was to be let alone. But Thurlow—he's been a frustrated little shadow of my mother all his life."
"What do you think, Dad," asked Ellery, "of my Sparrow?"
"I buy it, son," the Inspector said simply. "But there's one little detail you haven't supplied."
"What's that?"
"Proof. Proof that District Attorney Sampson'll cock an eye at," continued the Inspector, "and say: 'Dick, we've got a case for the courts.' "
And there fell upon them the long silence.
"You'll have to dig up the proof yourself, Dad," said Ellery at last, uncoiling his long legs. "All I can do is supply the truth."
"Yeah. The trouble is," said Sergeant Velie, dryly, "they ought to fix up a new set o' laws for you, Maestro. The kind of case you make out—it puts the finger on murderers but it don't put 'em where they can get a hot foot in the seat."
Ellery shrugged. "Not my province, Sergeant. Ordinarily at this stage I'd say to hell with it and go home to my orphaned typewriter. But I must admit—" his eye wandered to Sheila Brent— "in this case I'd feel better seeing Thurlow safely behind bars before I retire, like his sister Louella, to my ivory tower."
"Wait," said Charley Paxton. He was shaking his head. "I think I can supply one important fact that'll tie Thurlow up to at least one of the murders—Bob's. I'm a fool!"
"Two-times killer isn't any the less dead for being burned for only one," said the Inspector. "What have you got, Charley?"
"I should have told you long ago, Inspector, only it didn't mean anything to me till Ellery just explained about the duplicate guns. Some time ago—you'll be able to check the exact date—Thurlow asked me the name of my tailor."
"Your tailor!" Ellery's brows rose. "Never a dull moment. What about it, Charley?"
"I gave it to him, assuming he wanted to order a suit. Next thing I knew, I got a bill from the tailor—I still have it somewhere, and that's evidence for the D.A.—charging me for repairs made on 'a tweed suit jacket.' "
"Tweed?"
