“HIGH DOOM”

Manawatu Times, Volume 61, Issue 45, 24 February 1936, Page 9

“HIGH DOOM”

(By J. L. Morrissey)

McKnight breathed a sigh of relief at this, for it showed him that whatever the Commissonor's attitude towards him might be, it Had not so far affetced his official status. Another constable was standing at the door of the studio and McKnight spoke to him. “Inspector Carswell been here yet?” he asked and the man nodded. “Hero at seven this morning he was, sir,” was the reply. “He left ten minutes ago and says he’ll most likely be back in half an hour.” McKnight walked again into the studio and, standing six feet from the easel, allowed his eyes to roam round the room carefully. Empty now of human beings, it looked more ominous than it had done on the previous evening beneath the electric light and, walking to one of the windows, he pulled aside the curtains to let In the morning sun. A shaft of its yellow radiance fell athwart the curtain easel and upon a dark stain on the floor in front of it. Missing Glass. In silence, McKnight walked round the room “considering everything he -came across.' Then he stopped and, holding up his left hand, ticked off on its fingers the names of those who had been present. Carswell, Paola, Loder, Mrs Martin, Martel. That made five. Barker was out of it for the obvious reason, and so was MoKnlght himself. His mind went off at a tangent and his eyes swept the floor. Everything lay as it had looked the night before, untouched by any hand. Yet there was a glass missing. Seven people had been served with cocktails that night. Martel, Loder, Mrs Martin, Paola, Carswell, McKnight, and, lastly, Ilarker had taken one himself. The detective remembered distinctly that the tray had been empty and had been lifted by Barker on to a sideboard. Barker's own glass had been set out on his paint-table before he fell, McKnight remembered that, and it now lay shattered on the floor, broken when the lights had gone out. Yet there were left only four glasses. MoKnlght’s own glass he had set down on the empty tray, and it was still, there. One glass was missing. Two were set back upon the Moorish table he had righted last night. One was resting on the sideboard, and one lay in the middle of the floor, its stem broken, rolling slightly as the floor creaked to his tread. Be considered it with fascinated eyes. Seven glasses . . . six left. Where was the seventh? The idea held him spellbound. If he could discover whose was the seventh glass and where it was, then might he be sure that he had the murderer of Barker In his grasp. The Motlvo? But Paola had killed the artist . . . that was a certainty. There were no two ways of looking at it. It was Paola’s crime. The weapon fitted, the motive ... ah I what was the motive? Was he 1o think his original idea was right, namely that Barker.’ and the Italian had been working _ in concert until now? Paola, turning upon the artist, had struck him down in death.. IL. .seemed, as though that must be, right. Since Barker’s death McKnight’s original suspicions of his complicity with the earlier crime had been dulled. Now they sprang again to life, full-armed and revitalised. Just such a thing as Paola would do! Smouldering with hatred for some fancied or real wrong done him, he had slain his partner In hot bloqd, little reckoning the consequences. Supposing, oh I Just supposing that his was the vendetta against the Five. Supposing Martin h-Set been the first . . . Harker the second. Who would the third be? He breathed a sigh of rerelief as a firm step sounded in the passage outside. His fancies were beginning to ride him like hags. The air was close in the studio. “Thank heaven you’ve come, Carswell,” he greeted his subordinate. “I’ve been prowling round here looking for something ...” “Looking for something, sir?” ejaculated Carswell, and McKnight nodded. “Yes, the seventh cocktail glass.” Carswell’s face had fallen when ha had stepped Into the room. Now ha looked more woebegone than ever. “You’ll have to pull yourself together, Mr McKnight,” he said warningly. Tve just been speaking to the Commissioner about you, and he says ...” “Wants to see me, eh?” cut in McKnight, and Carswell nodded dismally. “If I was to tell you what he said about you, sir,” he said, “you’d pusli my face in. I’m to tell you to report to him at Scotland Yard as soon as 1 see you. He's been ringing you up al your flat all morning and can’t get an answer." “Dreadfully bad service we have in our district,” said McKnight blandly With Carswell’s coming he had recovered much of his sangfroid and now he smiled into the little man i face amiably. “Leave that for a while old man, he said wheedmgly, ‘and bend youi mind to this little problem. Now you see, last night seven cocktail glasses were handed out and none were lefl on the tray . . He went on to explain to Carswell what he had_ been thinking, and, when he had finished, Carswell remained for a few momenta in frowning silence.

CHAPTER L. The slashed Picture.

“I thought you were sure it was Paola,” he said at last, and AlcKnighi ilicked his Angers irritably. “The glass,” he said querulously “Concentrate on the glass. Leave Paola out of it for a moment and think about the glass. Who was the person who held that glass when the lights went out, what did that person do with it then, and, Anally, where is it now?” “Have you searched, the room?” came from Carswell helplessly. “No," replied McKnight thoughtfully. “I haven’t searched the room For this reason. No one in this room last night had any reason for hiding the glass here.. What I’m thinkng about is'that the person who had it wanted to hide it indefinitely . . . do you see . . . wanted to take it right out of our way . . . finish it . . . destroy it. Now do you see, man?” Carswell assumed that worried, aunted look he always took on when a luestion was asked him to which he

Instalment 38.

had not the fainest clue of the answer. 1-Ie took his bowler hat off with his left hand and' scratched his black hair with his right. "■ Mcknight's eyes were gleaming as he hissed out one word: “Finger-prints 1” ■Carswell jumped slightly and reset his hat on his head. it “Finger-prints on the glass . . . he said vaguely, and McKnight nodded his head vigorously. “Yes. Finger-prints on the glass and on the knife. Carswell, the man who killed Marker last night is a very clever man. He is filled with the cunning of the very devil. His mind works with the speed of lightning. He can execute a complicated movement like a flash of electrlcty. Think what happened hero last night. He switched off the light . . . then with a clear picture in his mind of the position of that dagger on the table, he stabbed Marker in the back, put his empty glass in his pocket, and then . . . what did he do then . . . ?" he stopped helplessly and spread out his hands. You’re Sure ” “You’re sure it was a man?’’ said Carswell, feeling that the question was a trifle foolish but aware that he must at least, seem to be following the thread of his superior’s reasoning. McKnight started and looked at him queerly. , “Sure It was a man?’’ he repeated, then he laughed and clapped Carswell on the shoulder. “Absolutely, old man, he said, you see, Mrs Martin was the only woman In the room, and she was soared stiff of Paola all the time, and she fainted when the lights went out. It was a man, Carswell, a man —or perhaps I should’ say a devil. He did all that I said in under one minute, and only had no time to remove the paint-knife, wipe It, and hide It. His brain told him that in that flash there would be no time for that, for he oouid not be quite sure how Harker would fall. The finger-prints must remain on the knife, therefore he would remove the only other object in the room that might betray him—his glass. Besides, Carswell,” he added inconsequently, “Mrs Martin loved Harker, and she isn’t likely to have killed the rnan she loved." „ . Carswell stood with his feet set wide apart. An obstinate expression had come into his red face. “I can’t agree with you, sir, he said sturdily. “You’re too much up in the clouds for me. I’ve got Paola under lock and key, and I'm going to charge him with the murder of Harker, even if you don’t.” McKnight raised an eyebrow at this mutiny. “What are you going to use as evidence?” he asked, with a slow smile and Carswell grinned broadly. “The evidence of my own senses, “The knife . . . Ah, yes, the knife," repeated McKnight. “01 course you’ve examined the knife for finger-prints and compared them with the Italian's?" Carswell made no reply, and McKnight went on ruthlessly—- “ You’ve found that they are the same, and therefore you are going to charge Paola with the murder. Is that it?” . “Well . . Carswell tried to speak, but the words came out lamely. All In a Minute. “Oh, you haven’t compared the two yet then,” McKnight said without mercy. “In fact, I don’t suppose you ■have looked for finger-prints On the knife at all. . . • Look here, which of these glasses was Paola s He whirled round and swept his hand to the two on the Moorish table and the one on the sidebroad. Carswell stepped unhesitatingly to tho. sidebroad and pointed to the one glass that stood upon it. “This one it was. I took it out of his hand myself when you arrested him, and if nothing’s been touched in here this is still it.” “There you are, you see,” said McKnight, who could not resist the thrust. “That disposes of Paola at once. You say you took it out of his hand when I arrested him. Man, Carswell, don’t you seo what that means? It means he had it in his hand all the while the lights were out. He never set it down or dropped it. And I defy any man living, whether he have the speed and cunning of all the conjurors, to switoh out a light, stab a man, all in under a minute, with one hand." Carswell looked slightly crestfallen and did his beat to maintain bis attitude. “This is merely palaver, McKnight,” he said .obstinately. “I can’t be bothered with this sort of thing, if you can. I have my job to do, and you yourself last night told me to take Paola away. You yourself held him as the murderer then.” “Ah I But then, Carswell, I hadn’t seen the six glasses. But never mind, you go ahead with It. You won’t get very far, I can promise you that. Take away that glass and examine it for prints. Then compare them with those of Paola. You'll find them the same. Then examine the dagger for prints, and compare, them with Paola’s. And I can tell you here and now that you’ll find that those two aren't the same. You do that and you'll see.” He oouid not resist a smile at the emotions that chased themselves over the little man’s features. Carswell’s own proper pride fought with his loyalty to his chief and the ways of his chief. Suddenly MoKlnght left him, and going to the picture again drew the cord that held the green curtain across it. For the ’second time he looked upon that ploture of a man’s dream, but now with what violence the dream had been shattered 1

“Who’s Done That?"

Somewhere within himself McKnight was conscious of a little shook, but his main centre of intelligence was not surprised by what ho saw. It was as though a man absorbed in the intricacies of a jig-saw puzzle should miss one of the pieces and then see it in an unaccustomed place. He would merely welcome it as a piece necessary .to the whole design; he would see nothing shooking or abnormal in it. Thus McKnight, but upon Carswell it had a very different effeot. He gave a shout and came over to the detective. “By Jove I” he said. “Who’s 'done that?" Transversely across the canvas from