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Authors: John Dickson Carr
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thirteen, you will know that each hand is devilish difficult to take off … Ames’s murderer presumably needed only the minute-hand. He could remove it without disturbing the other. Why, then, did he take the time and trouble—and in those steel stable clocks it’s no easy job at all—to pinch the other hand? I can’t believe it was any instinct of tidiness. But why?”
“Another weapon?”
Dr. Fell shook his head. “That’s the trouble; it couldn’t be, or the whole business would be understandable. By the looks of things, that minute-hand is approximately nine inches long. Therefore, in usual measurements, the short hour-hand couldn’t possibly be long enough to serve as a weapon, when any normal fist gripped round it, there would remain at most an inch and a half of steel at the business end. You’re not going to do any serious damage with that, especially as the barb hasn’t a cutting edge. So why, why, why pinch the little one?”
He stuck a cigar in his mouth and passed his case to Hadley and Melson. Then he broke off the heads of several matches trying to strike a light. Hadley, with an irritable gesture, drew some folded sheets of paper out of one envelope on the table.
“And that’s not the worst puzzle,” said Dr. Fell. “Most of it lies in the behaviour of a certain gentleman named Boscombe and another named Stanley. I intended to ask you about that. I dare say you remember Peter Stan … What’s the matter?”
Hadley uttered a satisfied snort. “Only a fact, that’s all! In the first line of this report. Three words of Ames tell more than six chapters of other people I could mention. Can you understand this?
“‘Following up my report dated 1st September, I now believe I can establish conclusively that the woman who murdered Evan Thomas Manders, shop-walker, at Gamridge’s Stores August 27th last, lives at Number 16 Lincoln’s Inn Fields …’”
6
Inspector Ames’s Reports
“G O ON,” SAID DR. FELL, as Hadley stopped abruptly. “What else?”
Hadley was running his eye down the short, laboriously written sheet. He threw off his hat and loosened his overcoat as though to assist him. His annoyance grew.
“Damn the secretive little blighter! He says … H’m, ’m. Not a definite word in the whole business, unless there’s something in an earlier report. He’d never talk until he was ready to ask for a warrant, ever since Stanley nearly stole his thunder in the Hope-Hastings—” Suddenly Hadley looked up. “Is my hearing getting as muddled as my brain, or did I hear you mention a name like Stanley just a moment ago?”
“You did.”
“But it’s not—?”
“It’s the Peter Stanley who had your position about twelve or thirteen years ago. He’s upstairs now. And that’s what I wanted to ask you. I remembered in a hazy sort of way that he resigned, or something of the sort, but I couldn’t fix the details.”
Hadley stared across at the fireplace. “He ‘resigned’ for shooting dead an unarmed man who was making no resistance at the arrest,” Hadley said, grimly. “Furthermore, for precipitating an arrest to get the credit when poor old Ames hadn’t worked out all the details. I ought to know. I got my promotion in the shuffle; that was at the reorganization in 1919, when the Big Four were created. It wasn’t entirely Stanley’s fault. He’d insisted on active service in the war; his nerves were shot to blazes, and he wasn’t in shape to be trusted with anything bigger than a cap-pistol. That was why they let him ‘resign.’ But he put four bullets in the head of old Hope, who was a bank-absconder and timid as a rabbit—” Hadley shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t like this, Fell. Not a little bit. Why didn’t you tell me he was mixed up in this thing? It—well, it reflects discredit on the Force if some newspaper happens to dig it up. As for Stanley—” His eyes narrowed and he stopped uneasily.
“You’ve got more pressing worries for the
“Another weapon?”
Dr. Fell shook his head. “That’s the trouble; it couldn’t be, or the whole business would be understandable. By the looks of things, that minute-hand is approximately nine inches long. Therefore, in usual measurements, the short hour-hand couldn’t possibly be long enough to serve as a weapon, when any normal fist gripped round it, there would remain at most an inch and a half of steel at the business end. You’re not going to do any serious damage with that, especially as the barb hasn’t a cutting edge. So why, why, why pinch the little one?”
He stuck a cigar in his mouth and passed his case to Hadley and Melson. Then he broke off the heads of several matches trying to strike a light. Hadley, with an irritable gesture, drew some folded sheets of paper out of one envelope on the table.
“And that’s not the worst puzzle,” said Dr. Fell. “Most of it lies in the behaviour of a certain gentleman named Boscombe and another named Stanley. I intended to ask you about that. I dare say you remember Peter Stan … What’s the matter?”
Hadley uttered a satisfied snort. “Only a fact, that’s all! In the first line of this report. Three words of Ames tell more than six chapters of other people I could mention. Can you understand this?
“‘Following up my report dated 1st September, I now believe I can establish conclusively that the woman who murdered Evan Thomas Manders, shop-walker, at Gamridge’s Stores August 27th last, lives at Number 16 Lincoln’s Inn Fields …’”
6
Inspector Ames’s Reports
“G O ON,” SAID DR. FELL, as Hadley stopped abruptly. “What else?”
Hadley was running his eye down the short, laboriously written sheet. He threw off his hat and loosened his overcoat as though to assist him. His annoyance grew.
“Damn the secretive little blighter! He says … H’m, ’m. Not a definite word in the whole business, unless there’s something in an earlier report. He’d never talk until he was ready to ask for a warrant, ever since Stanley nearly stole his thunder in the Hope-Hastings—” Suddenly Hadley looked up. “Is my hearing getting as muddled as my brain, or did I hear you mention a name like Stanley just a moment ago?”
“You did.”
“But it’s not—?”
“It’s the Peter Stanley who had your position about twelve or thirteen years ago. He’s upstairs now. And that’s what I wanted to ask you. I remembered in a hazy sort of way that he resigned, or something of the sort, but I couldn’t fix the details.”
Hadley stared across at the fireplace. “He ‘resigned’ for shooting dead an unarmed man who was making no resistance at the arrest,” Hadley said, grimly. “Furthermore, for precipitating an arrest to get the credit when poor old Ames hadn’t worked out all the details. I ought to know. I got my promotion in the shuffle; that was at the reorganization in 1919, when the Big Four were created. It wasn’t entirely Stanley’s fault. He’d insisted on active service in the war; his nerves were shot to blazes, and he wasn’t in shape to be trusted with anything bigger than a cap-pistol. That was why they let him ‘resign.’ But he put four bullets in the head of old Hope, who was a bank-absconder and timid as a rabbit—” Hadley shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t like this, Fell. Not a little bit. Why didn’t you tell me he was mixed up in this thing? It—well, it reflects discredit on the Force if some newspaper happens to dig it up. As for Stanley—” His eyes narrowed and he stopped uneasily.
“You’ve got more pressing worries for the
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