Too Many Magicians Page 26

  “Thank you, Commander. You have been most helpful throughout this entire investigation.

  “Now, Master Sean, if you will take your place, we shall enact this small play. You must all assume that what you are about to see actually occurred, but you must not assume that the words I use were those that were actually used. There may have been slight variations.”

  Master Sean stood on one side of the door. Lord Darcy walked up to the other and rapped.

  “Who is there?” said Master Sean.

  “Special courier from the Admiralty,” said Lord Darcy in a high-pitched voice that did not sound like his own.

  “You were supposed to pick up the envelope at the desk,” said Master Sean.

  “I know, Sir James,” said Lord Darcy in the same high-pitched voice, “but this is a special message from Captain Smollett.”

  “Oh, very well,” said Master Sean, “just push it under the door.”

  “I am to deliver it only into your hands,” said Lord Darcy, and with that he inserted the tip of the sword blade into the keyhole.

  “Just push it under,” said Master Sean, “and I’ll take it. It will have been delivered into my hand.”

  “Very well, Sir James,” said Lord Darcy. He knelt and, still keeping the tip of the sword blade in the keyhole, he pushed the paper underneath the door.

  Master Sean, on the other side, bent over to pick it up.

  And, at that point, Lord Darcy thrust forward with the sword.

  There was a metallic scrape as the sword point touched Master Sean’s chest.

  Immediately Lord Darcy pulled the sword back. Master Sean gasped realistically, staggered back several feet, then fell to the floor. Lord Darcy pulled the paper from beneath the door and stood up.

  “Master Sean,” he said, “happens to be wearing an excellent shirt of chain mail—which, unfortunately, Master Sir James was not.

  “You see, then, what happened. Master Sir James, bending over to pick up the proffered envelope, presented his left breast to the keyhole.

  “The sword came through and stabbed him. A single drop of his blood fell—half of it falling upon the carpet, the other half upon the presumed message. The blade itself would stop the flow of blood until it was withdrawn and Master Sir James staggered back away from the door.

  “He collapsed in a state of shock. His wound, though deep, was not immediately dangerous, since the blade had not severed any of the larger blood vessels, nor pierced the lung. There was some bleeding, but not a great deal. He lay there for approximately half an hour.

  “The weapon had, however, cut the wall of the great pulmonic aorta to such an extent that there was only a layer of tissue keeping it intact.

  “At half past nine, Master Sean, who had an appointment with him at that time, rapped on the door.

  “The noise of the knocking roused Master Sir James from his stupor. He must have known that time had passed; he must have been aware that it was Master Sean at the door. Lifting himself from the floor, he grabbed at his desk, upon which were lying the key to his room and his silver-bladed contact cutter. He cried out to Master Sean for help.

  “But this increased strain was too much for the thin layer of tissue which had thus far held the walls of the pulmonic aorta together. The increased pressure burst the walls of the blood vessel, spurting forth Sir James’s life blood. Sir James collapsed again to the floor, dropping the knife and his key. He died within seconds.”

  Master Sean arose from the floor, carefully brushing off his magician’s robe. Sir Frederique and his assistant removed the door.

  “If it please the Court,” the Irish sorcerer said, “the angle at which My Lord Darcy’s thrust struck my chest would account exactly for the wound in Sir James’s body.”

  Lord Darcy carefully put the sword he was holding on Lord Bontriomphe’s desk. “You see, then,” he said, “how Master James was killed, and how he died.

  “Now, as to what happened:

  “We must go back to the mysterious Goodman FitzJean. That Tuesday morning, he had discovered that Goodman Georges was a double agent. It became necessary to kill him. He walked up to Goodman Georges’ room and knocked on the door. When Goodman Georges opened the door, FitzJean thrust forward with a knife and killed him. Naturally, there was no evidence that anyone was in the room with Georges Barbour, simply because there wasn’t. FitzJean was standing in the hallway.

  “Barbour had already discovered FitzJean’s identity and, earlier that morning, had sent a letter to Zed—Sir James Zwinge. FitzJean, in order to keep his identity from being discovered, came here to London. Then he managed to get hold of a communication, which—so he believed—reported his identity to the Admiralty. It was, he thought, a letter to the Admiralty reporting the information from Barbour which disclosed FitzJean’s identity. He immediately went up to Sir James’s room, and, using that same envelope, which, of course, would identify it as an Admiralty message, tricked Sir James into bending over near the keyhole”—Lord Darcy gestured with one hand—“with the results which Master Sean and I have just displayed to you.”

  His eyes moved over the silent group before him. “By this time, of course, you all realize who the killer is. But, fortunately, we have further proof. You see, he failed to see the possibility of an error in his assumptions. He assumed that a letter sent by Barbour on the morning of Tuesday, October 25th, would arrive very early in the morning of Wednesday, the 26th, the following day. He further assumed that Barbour would have sent the letter to the Royal Steward Hotel, and that Barbour’s letter, plus his own communication, was what was contained in the envelope addressed to the Admiralty by Sir James Zwinge.

  “But, he failed to realize that Barbour might not have known that Sir James was at the Royal Steward, that indeed it was far more probable, from that point of view, for Barbour to address the letter to Sir James here at the Palace du Marquis.”

  He rose from his chair and walked to the desk of the Marquis. “May I have the envelope, my lord Justice?” he asked.

  Without a word, the Marquis de London handed Lord Darcy a pale blue envelope.

  Lord Darcy looked at it. “This is postmarked Cherbourg. Tuesday October 25, is marked as the posting date, and is marked as having been received on Wednesday morning, the 26th. It is addressed to Sir James Zwinge.”

  He turned back toward the group, and noted with approval that Chief Master-at-Arms Hennely Grayme had moved up directly behind one man.

  “There was one peculiarity about these communications,” he continued blandly. “Master Sir James had given to his agents special paper and ink, a special blue sealing wax, and a special seal. These had been magically treated so that unless the envelope was opened by either Master Sir James himself or by Captain Smollett, the paper within would be blank. Am I correct, Captain Smollett?”

  “Yes, m’lud.”

  Lord Darcy looked at the envelope in his hand. “That is why this envelope has not been opened. Only you can open it, Captain, and we have reason to believe that it will disclose to you the identity of the so-called Goodman FitzJean—Sir James’s murderer. Would you be so good as to open it?”

  The Naval officer took the envelope, broke the blue seal, lifted the flap, and took out a sheet of paper. “Addressed to Sir James,” he said. “Barbour’s handwriting; I recognize it.”

  He did not read the entire letter. When he was halfway through, his head turned to his left. “You!” he said, in a low, angry, shocked voice.

  Commander Lord Ashley rose to his feet and his right hand reached toward his sword scabbard.

  And then he suddenly realized it was empty, that the sword was halfway across the room, on Lord Bontriomphe’s desk. At the moment of that realization, he recognized one other thing—that there was something pressed against his back.

  Chief Master-at-Arms Hennely Grayme, holding his pistol steady, said, “Don’t try anything, my lord. You’ve killed enough as it is.”

  “Have you anything to say, Commander?�
� Lord Darcy asked.

  Ashley opened his mouth, closed it, swallowed, then opened it again to speak. His eyes seemed to be focused upon something in the far distance.

  “You have me, my lords,” he said hoarsely. “I’m sorry I had to kill anybody, but … but, you would have thought me a traitor, you see. I needed the money, but I would never have betrayed the Empire. I didn’t know the secret.” He stopped again and put his left hand over his eyes. “I knew that Barbour was a Polish agent. I didn’t know he was a double agent. I thought I could get some money from him. But I … I wouldn’t have betrayed my King. I was just afraid someone would think I had, after that.”

  He stopped, took his hand down. “My lords,” his voice quivered as he tried to keep it even, “I should like to make my confession to Father Patrique. After that, I should like to make my confession to the Court.”

  The Marquis de London nodded at Lord Darcy. He nodded back at the Marquis. “You have the Crown’s permission, my lord,” said Lord Darcy, “but I must ask you to leave behind your scabbard and your jacket.”

  Without a word, Commander Lord Ashley dropped his sword belt on the chair behind him, removed his jacket and put it on top of it.

  “Chief Hennely,” the Marquis de London said, “I charge you to take this man prisoner upon his own admission. Take him to the outer room, where the Reverend Father may hear his sacramental confession. You will observe the laws pertaining thereto.”

  “Yes, my lord,” said Chief Hennely, and the three of them left the room.

  “And now, my lord Advocate,” said the Marquis. “Would you kindly report the full story to the Court and the witnesses present.”

  Lord Darcy bowed. “I shall, my lord.

  “I first began to suspect Ashley when I saw that, according to the register, he had come into the hotel at 8:48 on Wednesday, giving as his business there the delivery of a message for Master Sean—and yet he had not even attempted to locate Master Sean until 9:25, when he spoke to Lord Bontriomphe. But that is neither here nor there, my lord. Here is what happened.

  “As he told us, Ashley needed money. I will explain why in a few moments. He attempted to sell a secret he did not have and could not prove he had. Finally he was reduced to accepting a payment of one hundred golden sovereigns from Georges Barbour merely to identify himself.

  “On Monday night when he arrived in Cherbourg, he went to Barbour to identify himself and was told that he would be paid the following morning. Then, Tuesday morning, Commander Ashley was told to take the hundred sovereigns to Goodman Georges.

  “At that point, he panicked—not as you or I might think of panic, but cold, frightened panic, for that is the way Ashley’s mind works.

  “He knew that once he took the money to Barbour in his own persona, Barbour would recognize him. Besides, he knew that his scheme had fallen through, since Barbour was a double agent. So he went up to Barbour’s room, and, when Barbour opened the door, Ashley stabbed him, using a cheap knife he had bought for the purpose.

  “Then he reported the murder, assisted by the fact that the concierge of Barbour’s rooming house had, fortunately for him, been out for a few minutes before Lord Ashley arrived. But he also found that, in the meantime, the information as to his identity had already been sent to Zed. Therefore, he had to cut off that information; he had to prevent it from reaching the Admiralty.”

  Lord Darcy took a deep breath. “In a way,” he said, “you might say that I assisted him. Naturally, I did not know at that time that Ashley was a killer. Therefore, I made a request that he transmit a message to Master Sean. That enabled him to get into the Royal Steward Hotel.

  “At 6:30 Wednesday morning, the mail from Cherbourg was delivered to the Royal Steward. Master Sir James picked up his at 7:00. Then, having decoded the messages he received, he went down to the desk and asked a man whom he trusted, Goodman Paul Nichols, to hold an envelope for an Admiralty courier, and at the same time he sent one of the hotel boys to the Admiralty with a message for Smollett to pick up the packet.

  “Sir James returned to his room, followed by the Damoselle. Tia. There followed the discussion and argument which all of you have heard of. When Tia left, Master Sir James locked his door for the last time. At 8:48 Lord Ashley arrived, ostensibly looking for Master Sean. He walked up to the registration desk and started to ask for Master Sean. But Paul Nichols immediately assumed that he was the courier from the Admiralty.”

  Lord Darcy gestured with an open hand. “This can’t be proved, of course, but it fits in precisely. Nichols must have said something like this: ‘Ah, Commander, you are the courier from the Admiralty to pick up Sir James’s packet?’ And what could Lord Ashley do? He said, ‘Yes.’ He took the packet. Sir James’s room number was on the outside of that envelope, and Lord Ashley went directly to that room.

  “Then he and Sir James played out some version of the little act that Master Sean and I enacted.”

  He made a slight gesture with one hand. “And there I should like to point out a peculiar thing. Murderers are quite often—more often than we like to think—very lucky. It is quite possible that sheer luck could have allowed an ordinary person to kill Sir James in the precise manner in which he was killed. An ordinary person, if luck were with him, could have made that thrust through the door after having decoyed Sir James into just the right position, and the results would have been the same as they actually were.

  “But that was not the way that Commander Ashley operated. The Commander has one advantage: Occasionally, in times of emotional stress, he is able to see a short time into the future.

  “I call your attention again to that keyhole. The door is thick. The keyhole, though large enough to admit the blade of a Naval sword, allows very little play for it. There is no way to aim that blade except in the direction the keyhole guides it.

  “Even when Sir James was maneuvered into position by the Commander’s use of the letter under the door, the odds against Sir James’s being in precisely the right position were formidable.

  “Just think of the positions it is possible to take to pull a piece of paper from under a door.

  “The attitude which Sir James actually assumed is the most likely one, but would any reasonably intelligent murderer depend upon it? I think not.

  “This, then, was another of the many clues which led me to identify Commander Lord Ashley as the murderer. Because of the emotional tension he was undergoing, his prophetic ability allowed him to know—know beyond any shadow of a doubt—precisely where Sir James would be and when he would be there. And he knew exactly what he would have to do to get Sir James into that position.

  “Sir James would not allow Commander Ashley in the room; he would not unlock the door for him. Therefore, Ashley had to kill him by the only means available. And because of his touch of the Talent, he was able to do so.

  “The sword went through the keyhole in a straight line. A single drop of blood fell—half of it on the carpet, the other half on the envelope.

  “I think that is perfectly clear. Lord Ashley then returned the envelope to his pocket and his sword to his sheath. That is why I asked him to leave both jacket and scabbard.”

  He gestured toward the chair where the Commander had left his sword belt and jacket. Master Sean had already looked the jacket over.

  “You were right, my lord,” he said, “there’s a smear on the inside of his jacket pocket, and I have no doubt that there’ll be another inside the scabbard.”

  “Nor do I,” agreed Lord Darcy. “Let me continue. At that point, Lord Ashley realized something else. He realized that one man—and one man only—knew that he had picked up that packet.

  “I don’t know exactly how Paul Nichols died, but I respectfully suggest to the Court that it was something like this:

  “Commander Lord Ashley arrived back in the lobby just at 9:00 and saw Nichols leaving. The hallway toward the back door is easily visible from the lobby; he must have seen Nichols leaving his own office.


  “He went back and told Nichols some kind of story, and lured him into the furniture room. A quick blow to the head and a rope around the neck”—Lord Darcy snapped his fingers—“and Goodman Paul Nichols was eliminated as a witness.

  “Then, I think, panic must have struck Lord Ashley again. Standing there in that closet, over the body of a man he had just strangled, he wanted to see what was in that packet. He tore it open, scattering pieces of blue sealing wax over the body of the man he had just killed.

  “And, of course, he saw nothing, for the papers came out a total blank. I presume he burnt those papers later. It would have been the intelligent thing to do.

  “But he still had one more thing to do. He had to relay my message to Master Sean.

  “He found Lord Bontriomphe in the lobby and—well, you all know what happened after that.

  “However, I’d like to point out in passing that Lord Ashley actually returned to the lobby around 9:10, although he did not speak to Bontriomphe until 9:25. The obvious assumption is that he was afraid to speak to any sorcerer for fear that his emotional state would give him away, and that not until he saw Lord Bontriomphe could he find the courage to speak to anyone.”

  Captain Smollett raised his right hand and the golden stripes of rank at his cuff gleamed in the gaslight. “A question, m’lud, if I may.” His normal hearty complexion now seemed somewhat grayed. It is not easy for the head of an Intelligence operation to discover that one of his most trusted men has betrayed him.

  “Of course, Captain. What is it?”

  “I think I understand what the Commander did and how he did it. What I don’t understand is why. D’you have any idea, my lord?”

  “Until just a few hours ago, Captain, that was the main thing that bothered me. His motive was a desire for money. As a matter of fact, a conversation I had with him yesterday at the Admiralty showed that he could only think of betrayal in terms of money. Every motive that he attributed to other possible suspects had a monetary basis.

  “But, until the raid at the Manzana de Oro I did not understand the motive behind the motive. I did not know why he needed money so badly.