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Authors: John Dickson Carr
Tags: General Fiction
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entered by the French windows?
5. Describe this person’s costume.
6. What was he carrying in his right hand? Describe this object.
7. Describe his actions. Did he remove anything from the table?
8. What did he give me to swallow? How long did it take me to swallow it?
9. How long was he in the room?
10. What person or persons spoke? What was said?
N.B.— The LITERALLY correct answer must be given to each of the above questions, or the answer will not count.
“It looks straightforward enough,” muttered Major Crow, “but there are catches. See the N.B. And you certainly seem to be right about the fake swallowing, Inspector. See question 8. Still——”
He folded up the paper and handed it to Elliot, who put it carefully away in his note book. Then Major Crow backed away towards the double-doors, his eyes fixed on the clock.
“Still, as I was saying——”
A shaft of light cut across the Music Room as the door to the hall opened. The silhouette of a man was framed there, and they saw a bald head gleam against the light.
“Hullo!” said a voice, sharp and going a little high, “Who’s in there? What are you doing there?”
“Police,” said Major Crow. “It’s all right; come in, Ingram. Put the lights on, will you?”
After fumbling a moment on the wrong side of the door, the newcomer groped behind the Boule cabinet and switched them on. And Elliot realised that his first brief impression of Professor Gilbert Ingram, gained in a courtyard at Pompeii, would have to be revised a little.
Professor Ingram’s round, shining, amiable face, his tendency towards portliness and his somewhat bouncing movements, gave the impression that he was short and tubby. This was aided by the twinkle of a guileless-seeming blue eye, a button nose, and two tufts of dark hair ruffled out over the ears on either side of his baldness. He had a trick of lowering his head and looking up with a quizzical expression which matched his attitude towards life. But all this looked subdued now; subdued, and a trifle scared. His face was mottled with colour; his shirt-front, which had a deep crease, bulged out around the waistcoat like dough rising in an oven; and he brushed the fingers of his right hand together as though to remove chalk from them. Actually, Elliot saw, he was of middle height, and he was not noticeably fat.
“Reconstructing, eh?” he suggested. “Good evening, Major. Good evening, Superintendent.”
His manner had a casual courtesy which included everybody in the flick of a smile, like the flick of a whip over a team of horses. Elliot’s chief impression was of a strong and penetrating intelligence looking out of that guileless face.
“And this, I suppose,” he added hesitantly, “is the Scotland Yard man Joe Chesney was telling me about? Good evening, Inspector.”
“Yes,” said Major Crow. He went on with some abruptness. “Look here, you know—we’re depending on you.”
“Depending on me?”
“Well, you’re a professor of psychology. You wouldn’t be fooled by tricks. You said you wouldn’t. You can tell us what really happened in this damned show. Can’t you?”
Professor Ingram took a quick look through the double doors. His expression altered still more.
“I think so,” he said grimly.
“Well, there you are!” said Major Crow, with a gesture of rising argumentativeness. “Miss Wills has told us there was some jiggery-pokery intended.”
“Oh. You’ve seen her?”
“Yes. And, from what we can gather, this whole show was designed as a series of traps——”
“It was more than that,” said Professor Ingram, looking him straight in the eyes. “I happen to know it was designed to show how the chocolates at Mrs. Terry’s shop were poisoned without anyone seeing the murderer do it”
Chapter VI
PREPARE FOR TRAPS
To hide the association of several new thoughts, Elliot walked into the office before anybody commented. He switched on the green-shaded lamp over the
5. Describe this person’s costume.
6. What was he carrying in his right hand? Describe this object.
7. Describe his actions. Did he remove anything from the table?
8. What did he give me to swallow? How long did it take me to swallow it?
9. How long was he in the room?
10. What person or persons spoke? What was said?
N.B.— The LITERALLY correct answer must be given to each of the above questions, or the answer will not count.
“It looks straightforward enough,” muttered Major Crow, “but there are catches. See the N.B. And you certainly seem to be right about the fake swallowing, Inspector. See question 8. Still——”
He folded up the paper and handed it to Elliot, who put it carefully away in his note book. Then Major Crow backed away towards the double-doors, his eyes fixed on the clock.
“Still, as I was saying——”
A shaft of light cut across the Music Room as the door to the hall opened. The silhouette of a man was framed there, and they saw a bald head gleam against the light.
“Hullo!” said a voice, sharp and going a little high, “Who’s in there? What are you doing there?”
“Police,” said Major Crow. “It’s all right; come in, Ingram. Put the lights on, will you?”
After fumbling a moment on the wrong side of the door, the newcomer groped behind the Boule cabinet and switched them on. And Elliot realised that his first brief impression of Professor Gilbert Ingram, gained in a courtyard at Pompeii, would have to be revised a little.
Professor Ingram’s round, shining, amiable face, his tendency towards portliness and his somewhat bouncing movements, gave the impression that he was short and tubby. This was aided by the twinkle of a guileless-seeming blue eye, a button nose, and two tufts of dark hair ruffled out over the ears on either side of his baldness. He had a trick of lowering his head and looking up with a quizzical expression which matched his attitude towards life. But all this looked subdued now; subdued, and a trifle scared. His face was mottled with colour; his shirt-front, which had a deep crease, bulged out around the waistcoat like dough rising in an oven; and he brushed the fingers of his right hand together as though to remove chalk from them. Actually, Elliot saw, he was of middle height, and he was not noticeably fat.
“Reconstructing, eh?” he suggested. “Good evening, Major. Good evening, Superintendent.”
His manner had a casual courtesy which included everybody in the flick of a smile, like the flick of a whip over a team of horses. Elliot’s chief impression was of a strong and penetrating intelligence looking out of that guileless face.
“And this, I suppose,” he added hesitantly, “is the Scotland Yard man Joe Chesney was telling me about? Good evening, Inspector.”
“Yes,” said Major Crow. He went on with some abruptness. “Look here, you know—we’re depending on you.”
“Depending on me?”
“Well, you’re a professor of psychology. You wouldn’t be fooled by tricks. You said you wouldn’t. You can tell us what really happened in this damned show. Can’t you?”
Professor Ingram took a quick look through the double doors. His expression altered still more.
“I think so,” he said grimly.
“Well, there you are!” said Major Crow, with a gesture of rising argumentativeness. “Miss Wills has told us there was some jiggery-pokery intended.”
“Oh. You’ve seen her?”
“Yes. And, from what we can gather, this whole show was designed as a series of traps——”
“It was more than that,” said Professor Ingram, looking him straight in the eyes. “I happen to know it was designed to show how the chocolates at Mrs. Terry’s shop were poisoned without anyone seeing the murderer do it”
Chapter VI
PREPARE FOR TRAPS
To hide the association of several new thoughts, Elliot walked into the office before anybody commented. He switched on the green-shaded lamp over the
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