Buffet for Unwelcome Guests(66)

‘With a dying man in his arms—his friend?’

‘I wonder if the poor neutered cat felt so very warmly towards the full Tom after all? And think of the dividends! The photograph—but that was a bonus—of the great, defiant gesture; the reputation ever afterwards for heedless courage. Some defiance!—he knew perfectly well there wouldn’t be another shot. The murderer hadn’t got the wrong man at all. It was meant for Tom.’

‘But Tom himself said—’

‘Just recall the way that went,’ said Inspector Block. ‘The man was bleeding at the mouth, hardly in good shape for clear articulation. Mysterioso listened, then he called the woman to come close. He told her what the man was saying: “Thank God they only got me—it was meant for you.” He told them all. The woman listened to the choked-out words, and believed what she’d been told. No doubt Tom gasped out something like, “My God, he’s got me! He really meant it!”—something like that. Don’t you see, the magician forced the card on her?—she heard what he told her to hear, that’s all.’

‘Some opportunist!’

‘He’d shown that in the matter of the letters. This was only an extension of that.’

‘Tom would bring the first letter to his master—I daresay there weren’t many secrets between those two. I wonder,’ said Inspector Block, ‘what Mysterioso’s first reaction would have been?’

‘Jealousy,’ said Mr. Photoze.

‘I think so too; especially after what we heard tonight. I think Mr. Mysterioso wanted those letters for himself. So—all sorts of good reasons to the man: you’re in danger; this idiot, whoever he is, might try something funny. The police won’t bother much about you, but if I were to ask for protection—And Tom, after long years in “the business”, would be the first to appreciate, the value of the publicity, the anxious fans, the eager sensation-seekers, flocking to performances with the subconscious hope that something tragic would happen—as they flock to the circus.’

‘Why no letters before that?’

‘I think,’ said Block slowly, ‘that all the way along, this was a crime arising out of opportunity. And here was the first opportunity. The months passed, the baby was born, Robbins fumed and was sick with anger; he couldn’t just go and beat up the seducer—he was in the police, and the police wouldn’t stand for that sort of thing; and more important, he wasn’t going to let the world know of his shame. But then—well, Mysterioso told us that these invitations to lay cornerstones and whatnot were arranged months in advance; and the first people to know about forthcoming events are the local police. Suddenly P.C. Robbins learned that his enemy was coming to Thrushford.

‘Threats at first, meaningless probably, just to give the seducer a bad time, with the vague hope that when he comes to Thrushford with his master, one may be able to add some small frightening shock just to shake him up. But the seducer turns it all to his own advantage, makes a sort of public joke of it, hands the letters to another man. The rankling anger grows and grows and begins to take on a more positive quality. And then the second opportunity presents itself.

‘I don’t know which came first—the rifle or the post of duty outside the unfinished wing. Either could have been fiddled, I daresay, having achieved the other. Not too difficult, for example, for a policeman to come by a weapon. Some old lady finds the gun after her husband’s death, hardly dares to touch the nasty dangerous thing, knows nothing certainly of numbers and identification marks, hands it over to the first copper, and thinks no more about it. He may have had it stashed away for years, or from the time his suspicions were first aroused; by the time it came to be used, the hander-over could be dead or senile or have moved elsewhere—certainly it was never traced. At any rate, with it in his possession and a perfect place at his disposal for using it, he began seriously to think about taking action. He thought out a plan, worked on it, and brought it off. And damn near perfect it turned out to be.’

‘No one guessed at the time how the thing was done?’

‘My higher-ups may have; but it was all so tenuous. Still, he’d lived in the flats where Mysterioso had visited; they must have had some suspicions—’

‘Only, I had lived there too.’

‘That’s right. And been on the scene of the crime also. So how to choose between the two of you when it seemed impossible for either of you to have done it? At any rate, they cooked up some excuse and got rid of him—I remember him as a difficult chap, brooding and touchy—well, no wonder! I daresay they weren’t sorry to let him go. It wasn’t till tonight…’ He laughed. ‘It hit you at the same moment?—how it had been done. I remember how you stopped and stared and said, “Dear God!” ’