by Paul Halter
Charles Cullen shrugged his shoulders. ‘No, of course not, but I think there’s a glimmer of a clue there.’
‘You’re very warm, but that’s not the answer. Still, I think I’ve given you enough information to solve the puzzle. Any thoughts?’
Cullen emptied his glass before answering:
‘Sorry to disappoint you, but despite all the interesting snippets, I still feel it was the chief suspect. Mainly because of the window. You haven’t told me why it was open like that on a winter evening. It doesn’t make sense. Unless Philip himself had an explanation?’
‘As a matter of fact, the inspector did ask him and it’s very simple. After Colonel Strange had flown off the handle, he opened the window wide so as to get some fresh air and try to cool down.’
‘And what about the study door being locked? Did he have an explanation for that? Did the colonel also do that?’
‘Yes. As soon as Philip had explained the subject of the meeting, Colonel Strange made a show of locking the door and declaring that nobody would leave until the matter was settled. According to Rose, that was completely in character.’
The superintendent shook his head in defeat.
‘Well, in that case, I give up. Jasper, the servant, has a cast-iron alibi because he was with Rose at the time of the crime. And that, of course, eliminates her as well. That leaves the young officer who lost a hand on the Belgian front. One can readily imagine him falling for the girl even on the very first night, but it’s quite a stretch to imagine that he immediately set about trying to rid himself of her fiancé by killing the colonel and framing his rival. And how could he have shot the fellow as he was leaving? From your own account, the angle of flight rules out the arrow having been fired from anywhere near the front door. And anyway, how could he have manipulated a crossbow with just one hand? It’s completely impossible, just like everything else in this damned story… arrows appearing from nowhere and gongs sounding all by themselves!’
Dr. Twist smiled knowingly. ‘But in fact, the solution to the whole mystery lies in those two elements. Remember the circumstances: it was just after hearing the sound that Philip saw the colonel collapse, mortally wounded by a crossbow arrow. Think carefully, that wasn’t a coincidence: there was a clear connection between the strange noise and the arrow.’
Charles Cullen looked perplexed.
‘Quite frankly, I don’t see it. If anything, the problem is more complicated than ever. Am I supposed to believe the legend whereby the sound of the gong presages death and disaster? Or that someone familiar with the gong’s deadly powers succeeded in invoking them?’
The celebrated criminologist shook his head. “No, of course not. You’re not looking at this the right way. I’m afraid you’re allowing the legend to influence your thinking. Once again, think how short a time elapsed between the sound and the fatal wounding of the colonel.’
‘Put me out of my misery,’ announced Cullen, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. ‘Just tell me what happened.’
‘Philip was exonerated,’ replied Twist reflectively. ‘He escaped the rope, but not his fate. One month after his release, he was killed in an accident at the factory.’
‘Well, that’s all very sad,’ observed the superintendent. ‘But what about the solution to the puzzle?’
‘I hate to disappoint you, my dear fellow, but it’s simplicity itself. When you hear it, you’re going to kick yourself.’
‘Well then, give me a clue, for heaven’s sake.’
‘Very well. You’ve heard of William Tell, no doubt. The Swiss archer who had to shoot an apple from the top of his son’s head or die himself.’
With difficulty, the policeman controlled himself. ‘Of course, everyone knows the story. Get on with it!’
‘Well, it’s the key to the whole mystery. Except in this case it was an orange, not an apple. An orange perched on the hat of the snowman at the bottom of the cul-de-sac. It was reminiscent of William Tell and his son, wasn’t it? And it was too tempting. One of the revellers thrown out of the pub couldn’t resist trying out the crossbow he’d just bought, which was in the suitcase he was carrying. On the way to the pub, he’d noticed the snowman and, in particular, the orange stuck on its head. On the way back, after he and his friend had sunk a few, he recalled that the seller had challenged him to be worthy of William Tell and spear the fruit. When next they saw the snowman, they were at the top of the cul-de-sac, about ninety feet from it–—not a great distance for a crossbow. The orange on top of its head was illuminated by the light of the streetlamp. And that’s the solution to the mystery, because the two jokers confessed to the inspector. A simple accident, the result of a drunken bet.’
‘I still don’t understand,’ announced the superintendent, now at the limit of his patience. ‘If things happened the way you describe, the archer was well outside the line of fire as defined by the police experts. Unless Colonel Strange, in direct conflict with Philip’s testimony, stuck his head out of the window at that precise moment and then fell back wounded into the room.’
‘You’re still off the mark, even though I drew your attention to the warning sound of the Gong of Doom or, more precisely, the strange reverberations Philip heard at the moment of the killing. It was in fact caused by the crossbow arrow that was deflected from its course and struck its victim’s neck after flying through the open window. And, as you know, a crossbow bolt, even on ricochet, retains a remarkable force and momentum.’
‘But what the devil could it have struck? A brick? Ridiculous! There has to be a hard, smooth, metallic surface for it to happen and there was nothing like that in the street, according to your own account.’
‘But there was! A round, smooth metallic surface as obvious as the nose on your face: the bronze lamppost which, by the way, resonates when struck—and which Philip’s fervent imagination mistook for the sound of a gong. Think back to my description of the scene and envisage the respective positions of the archer, the lamppost and the victim. Connect the dots and you have the precise path of the projectile. And you have to admit that the explanation is childishly simple.’
JACOB’S LADDER
‘Even so, gentlemen, I believe there are crimes that are even more incomprehensible: crimes so unbelievable they can’t even be explained by the presence of the supernatural.’
One could have heard a pin drop in the Hades Club after Major Patrick Merle spoke those words. Seated by the fire, Dr. Twist and Superintendent Charles Cullen stared at the newcomer with astonishment. The complicated criminal case they had been discussing seemed to pale into insignificance if the claims of this debonair and forceful visitor were to be believed. The interruption could not be allowed to go unquestioned. Explanations were called for.
The superintendent, himself an energetic sixty-year-old of proud bearing, observed somewhat condescendingly that he hadn’t had the pleasure of an introduction. The major, obviously embarrassed, passed a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair before extending his hand with a sheepish smile and describing himself as a former police sergeant in the department of the Lot in France who had married an English girl and entered Her Majesty’s service.
Older than his friend Cullen, Dr.Twist was notable for his height and his thin frame. But for the mischievous gleam in his eye and his childlike expression, he could have passed for some sort of Don Quixote—one who tilted at murderers rather than windmills. Affably, he invited Merle to explain his remark.
With a thoughtful air, the major turned towards the black marble mantelpiece, on which stood the statue of the Prince of Darkness.
‘The facts and nothing but the facts,’ he announced. ‘Even though they go back a very long way. I was barely twenty-five years old and had just been made sergeant. I’d been assigned to a station in a village near Cahors in the Midi-Pyrenees. The circumstances of the incident we had been called in to investigate were so baffling we felt as though we were dealing with a divine presence. Or a miracle, if you can use the term f
or such a sad event. Judge for yourselves: in the middle of a completely isolated area, and in the presence of witnesses, a man was found whose body had been smashed as the result of a precipitous drop, as if he had fallen from the sky.’
As the doctor and the superintendent exchanged surprised glances, the only sound to be heard was the crackling of the fire in the grate. The major continued:
‘I remember as if it were yesterday. It was a July afternoon in the late 1930s and the postman had just handed me an urgent telegram from my superior, Inspector Letellier, ordering me to drop everything and meet him at “Crows Corner”, a spot out in the open country three or four miles from the village. It was about four o’clock in the afternoon and it was stiflingly hot which was unusual, even for that time of year. I hopped on my bicycle and pedalled like the devil to where Inspector Letellier was waiting in his car with both doors opened wide. He was a solid, reliable sort, but with a tendency to lose his temper when things got too complicated, which was obviously the case here. He was rather corpulent and mopped his brow frequently as he explained that one of the Amalric brothers had been found dead in very strange circumstances which he would explain in more detail on the way there.
‘The Amalric brothers were well known in the area. They were rich merchants whose wealth came from their relentless and pitiless negotiating skills. They had destroyed all those who had tried to avoid paying their debts. More than one unfortunate had blown his brains out after tangling with them. The two older brothers, Mathias and Jacob, lived off the profits from the sale of a flourishing fabric business in Paris. They now lived in an isolated farm next to a dried-up lake just below where we were. Henri, the youngest, only visited the region on rare occasions. I don’t know whether he was on good terms with his brothers or not, but apparently he had chosen to stay in the capital where he had a real-estate business. He was polite, discreet and handsome and, at about thirty years old, the most sociable of the three.
‘Mathias, the eldest, was tall and as dry and thin as a beanpole, with a head like a bird of prey. With his cunning, calculating mind, he was the brains of the family. Jacob was a confirmed bachelor of some forty years, plump, and with an unctuous amiability. More cultivated than his brother, he nevertheless lived in his shadow, deferring to him on almost every decision. Both of them were pious, but Jacob had made the study of the Bible his obsession since arriving in the region. The patrons of Les Trois Lavandières, an inn he frequented in the nearby village of Lassac, swore that his studies had begun to addle his brain. It was Jacob who had died earlier in the day.
‘At this point, it would perhaps be helpful if I described the lie of the land because it’s an important aspect of the affair. It’s undoubtedly the most arid part of the region, and has been so for several years. There’s very little that’s green and it mostly looks like the more desolate parts of the Auvergne with its mineral outcrops. For miles around, the soil is infertile and stony, with the occasional cluster of heather or the rare stunted tree as the only vegetation. The inspector and I found ourselves standing on a small hill, the highest point in the area, from which a gentle slope descended towards the Amalric farm located due south, next to a muddy pond. Normally, people travelled to the farm from Lassac, further to the south. From there the road wound its way north—a journey of fifteen minutes or more because of the bad road surface. The other way was via the path the inspector and I had taken that led down from the hill. It was badly pitted—a veritable ankle-trap—and obviously only traversable on foot, which also took about a quarter of an hour. But from where I had set out, that was quite a time-saver, because otherwise the inspector would have had to go back to Lassac and then follow the winding road up.
‘That was why he had arranged to meet me at such an isolated spot as Crows Corner. There were in fact several crows in the neighbourhood, who had found refuge in an abandoned farm we reached after five minutes of walking. One of them, proudly perched on the edge of a well, might well have been a harbinger of the death that had just recently occurred. It took flight as we approached, vanishing in the blinding sunlight. It was at that point that Inspector Letellier chose to show his hand:
‘“I called you, Merle, because—as you’ve probably realised—this is a very tricky case.”
‘“I hope you haven’t overestimated me, sir,” I replied with false modesty.
‘“I haven’t forgotten your last two cases, which you solved in a flash while we old fogies were stumped. So here are the facts. The victim was, as you know, a confirmed bachelor and something of a dreamer, who was quite happy to talk about himself after a few pints at Les Trois Lavandières. In the last few weeks, however, he’d been more of a dreamer than ever. Several times, he claimed to have seen a golden ladder reaching to the sky.”
‘“Jacob’s Ladder!” I exclaimed.
‘“Precisely. Just like in the Bible,” confirmed the inspector.
‘“So I suppose he’d decided to get married and raise a family?”
‘“ Well, I’ll be blowed, Merle. Are you some sort of a soothsayer ?”
‘“No, chief. That’s what the Bible says about Jacob’s dream.”’
‘“ Hmm,” muttered Letellier. “Of course. My Old Testament is a bit rusty. No matter. It would seem that our Jacob came to the same conclusion. Anyway, he suddenly took it into his head to marry Victorine, the daughter of the innkeeper Maurice Auriol. She’s very pretty and, incidentally, about half his age. Jacob was so sure this was the right thing to do that he claimed he’d actually seen the golden ladder itself reaching to the sky. Obviously, since he’d been the only one to see it, it was clear to one and all that he was going off his rocker. He’d written to his brother Henri, asking him to come down to discuss some important business: no doubt his marriage plans. Henri arrived late last night and stayed at Les Trois Lavandières. He only got to the farm this morning.
‘“At nine o’clock, as was his custom, Jacob set out on his morning walk. His brother Mathias noticed nothing unusual. He himself stayed indoors, checking some accounts and quietly finishing his breakfast. At ten o’clock he heard his brother cry out in a state of great excitement: ‘“Mathias, the ladder is here! It’s here, just in front of the house! It must be a sign. This time, I’m going to climb it.”
‘“Accustomed to his brother’s ravings, Mathias merely went as far as the door to take a quick look outside. He saw no one near the pond. No Jacob. No ladder. He shrugged his shoulders without giving the matter another thought, and resumed his accounting. A few minutes later a long and hideous scream rent the air, followed by a dull, muffled noise heavy enough to shake the windows. After a few seconds of stunned silence, Mathias went outside. The first thing he saw was an open sports car pulling up in front of the house. It was driven by the youngest brother Henri who looked shocked and anxious, for he, too, had heard the dreadful scream. It was at that point they noticed a broken body lying outstretched on the stony bank of the pond. It was Jacob, and it was immediately obvious there was nothing to be done for him. So together they drove back down to Lassac to alert the police.”
‘It was nearly five o’clock by the time the inspector and I arrived at the scene of the crime. We were both perspiring profusely and there was no relieving breeze coming from the dirty grey pond. The victim had already been taken away, but there were still several policemen pursuing their investigations around the premises. Turning towards the muddy sheet of water, Letellier observed:
‘“Look at the banks of the pond, Merle. You can see a rather peculiar halo, no doubt due to the water level having receded several feet over the last few years. But never mind that: look at the yellow chalk stones scattered on the bank. They’re typical of the area and that’s where the body was found, at the spot just in front of us. It’s a pity they’ve taken the body away, or you’d have a clearer picture of the terrible damage. Broken bones, severe contusions—.”
‘“But what the devil happened?” I asked. “Was he hit with a club, or an iron bar, or
something else?”
‘“Nothing like that,” replied the inspector, lifting his eyes heavenwards. “We haven’t found traces of any kind of weapon, at least not so far. His wounds are more consistent with a fall from a great height.”
‘“But that’s not possible,” I blurted out, following his gaze. “Unless you give some credence to the tale of the golden ladder.”
‘There wasn’t a cloud in the pure blue sky, and the sun, a deep bronze disc, seemed to be looking down and mocking us.
‘“I know, Merle,” said my superior officer. “But those are the preliminary conclusions of the medical examiner and his assistant. And, I may add, of anyone who’s seen the body. But I want to wait for the autopsy report before jumping to any conclusions.”’
Merle stopped and looked at his audience, a mischievous gleam in his eye:
‘So, what do you think of it so far, gentlemen? Amazing, is it not?’
‘Amazing is an understatement,’ observed Dr. Twist, as happy as a child being read his favourite bedtime story. ‘I’ve never heard anything so extraordinary in my life. But I’m going to follow the example of your old superior officer, and reserve judgment until I’ve heard the results of the autopsy.’
Superintendent Cullen nodded his head in agreement and Merle continued:
‘Quite. In that case, I’ll jump ahead in the story and tell you what the expert said—or rather the experts, because the medical examiner took the precaution of consulting with a number of eminent colleagues before releasing his verdict. They were unanimous: death was undoubtedly the result of a fall from a great height—at least sixty feet. Jacob’s injuries: disjointed limbs, multiple fractures and widespread contusions were like those suffered following defenestration and other fatal falls.’
Dr. Twist and the superintendent exchanged surprised glances and the latter, after a brief moment of reflection, suggested:
