Read Online Death from a Top Hat by Clayton Rawson - Free Book Online Page A

teleportation to levitation, werewolves to banshees. Sir Oliver Lodge, William Crookes, and Professor Zoellner were convinced of the truth of spiritism. Conan Doyle took photographs of fairies—the winged variety—and Dr. Alexander Cannon, a member of the British Medical Association’s Executive Council, says he has made thought take objective form and seriously warns his readers to beware of the evil forces set up in the ether by black magicians. And he cites instances. Madame Blavatsky still has her followers, and Evangeline Adams’ writings on that hardy perennial of the divinatory systems, astrology, are still best sellers. A recent convention of the National Association of Fortune Tellers in Trenton, New Jersey, voted to picket all tearooms employing non-association tea-leaf readers. They also introduced to a waiting world a new method of divination or skrying, beer suds reading. Pennsylvania still has its witches, the rite of exorcism for diabolic possession has by no means fallen into complete disuse and Satanic Masses are still—” 3
    Gavigan held up his hands to stem the flood of information and said, “Sure, sure, I know. I’ve got a niece who believes in Santa Claus and has a theory about storks. So what? I still think the Doctor was off his nut.” The Inspector hastily dismissed the whole subject and addressed me, “Harte, you bring Merlini up to date while I clean up a few odds and ends before we get those vaudeville acts next door in here for questioning.”
    I assented, and he turned to issue a brisk flow of orders. Brady was busily messing up the place with an insufflator that belched clouds of aluminum powder. Gavigan began a painstaking examination of the room, part of the time on his hands and knees. I noticed that he kept an ear tuned in on the rapid resume which I rattled off for Merlini.
    When I mentioned the difficulty with the lights, Gavigan added a marginal note. “The electrician found all the fuses blown. And new ones popped out as fast as they were put in. He deduced a short. Then he found a penny in a light socket. After removing that he blew some more fuses. Then finally he discovered that pennies had been put in five different outlets. He blew about four sets of fuses finding that out. Does that information mean anything to anybody?
    “Doesn’t sound very illuminating, to say the least,” Merlini commented. “Let’s hear more, Ross, lots more.”
    As my recital progressed, his eyes beamed like those of a small boy with his first bicycle. His quick, alert movements indicated a growing inner excitement, though his face, except for the eyes, was bland and inscrutable. I took my story up to the arrival of the Homicide Squad, and Gavigan, rejoining us at that point, added a brief summary of the subsequent events. Merlini inspected Duvallo’s card and the pieces of torn handkerchief, Gavigan having brought the one from the kitchen back with him.
    “No sliding panels or secret exits,” Gavigan concluded. “Three walls of this apartment are outside ones. The fourth, along the hall there, is plastered on both sides, and you can’t conceal a door in a wall like that. And anyway, just to be sure, I’ve looked. Ditto for the ceiling, of course. As for the floor—well, with the carpet rolled aside you can see for yourself, and, besides, Malloy says that a trap door would drop one straight into the bedroom of a maiden lady who’d yell bloody murder at the very thought. Just why the blazes a murderer has to go and commit a murder like this, I don’t know. It’s the damnedest—”
    “It’s a swell alibi, isn’t it?” Merlini said. “If you can’t explain how it was done you can’t convict. You might know who the murderer is, place him right on the scene, and have a dozen witnesses, but just as long as he isn’t actually seen within or leaving this room, he’s quite safe—as long as the impossible situation isn’t punctured, of course. It’s also possible that he may be a