The General snapped, “Guard?” and the guard at once stepped over to block the lobby exit, feeling for his holster. “You go on up to Agon’s office, Ellery, and see what it tells you — it’s all right, I’ve locked the laboratory door.” The General turned his grim glance on the head of Bethesda University and the murdered man’s widow. “I’ll be up in a minute.”
General Carter stepped out of the elevator and said, “Well, Ellery?”
Ellery straightened up from the physicist’s office desk. He had found Agon’s body seated at the desk and slumped forward, a steel letter-knife sticking out of his back. The office was a shambles.
“Look at this, General.”
“Where’d you find that?”
“In Agon’s right fist, crumpled into a ball.”
Ellery had smoothed it out. It was a small square memorandum slip, in the center of which something had been written in pencil. It looked like a script letter of the alphabet:
“E,” General Carter said. “What the devil’s that supposed to mean?”
Ellery’s glance lifted. “Then it isn’t a symbol connected with the project, General — code letter, anything like that?”
“No. You mean to tell me Agon wrote this before he died?”
“Apparently the stab wasn’t immediately fatal, although Agon’s killer might have thought it was. Agon must have revived, or played dead, until his killer left, and then, calling on his remaining strength, penciled this symbol. If it has no special meaning for you, General, then we’re confronted with a dying message in the classic tradition — Agon’s left a clue to his murderer’s identity.”
The General grunted at such outlandish notions. “Why couldn’t he have just written the name?”
“The classic objection. The classic reply to which is that he was afraid his killer might come back, notice it, and destroy it,” Ellery said unhappily, “which I’ll admit has never really satisfied me.” He was scowling at the symbol in great puzzlement.
General Carter fell back on orderly facts. “All I know is, only one person came up here tonight, and that was Dunwoody. I happen to know that Dunwoody’s in love with Pola Agon. In fact, they had a blowup about it at the Agons’ house last night — Agon himself told me about it, and that’s why I was in Dunwoody’s office this evening. I don’t give a damn about these people’s private lives, but Agon was important to the United States, and I couldn’t have him upset. Dunwoody admits he lost his temper when Agon accused him of making a play for Mrs. Agon — called Agon a lot of nasty names. But he claims he cooled down overnight, and came up here tonight to apologize to Agon.
“For my money,” the General went on grimly, “Dunwoody came up her tonight to kill Agon. It’s my hunch that this Pola Agon is a cleverly planted enemy agent, out after Agon’s experimental notes. She’s played Mata Hari to Dunwoody — she’s sexy enough! — and got him to do her dirty work. It wouldn’t be the first time an old fool’s turned traitor because of his hormones! But we’ll find those notes — they haven’t had time to get them away. Ellery, you listening?”
“E,” Ellery said.
“What?”
“E,” Ellery repeated. “It doesn’t fit with the name James G. Dunwoody — or with Pola Agon, for that matter. Could it refer to Einstein’s E=mc2, where E stands for energy...?” He broke off suddenly. “Well, well! Maybe it isn’t an E after all, General!”
He had moved the memorandum slip a quarter turn clockwise. What General Carter now saw was:
“But turned that way it’s an M!” the General exclaimed. “Who’s M? There’s no initial M in this either.” He eyed the dead physicist’s phone nervously. “Look, Ellery, thanks and all that, but I can’t sit on this much longer. I’ve got to notify the President...”
“Wait,” Ellery murmured. He had given the memo slip another quarter turn clockwise.
“Now it’s a 3!”
“Does 3 mean anything to you or the project, General?”
“No more than the others.”
“Visitor number 3...? Let me see that check-in book of his.” Ellery seized the duplicate visitors’ book on the dead man’s desk. “Agon’s third visitor this week was...”
“Who?” General Carter rasped. “I’ll have him picked up right away!”
“It was you, General,” Ellery said. “Of course, I assume—”
“Of course,” the General said, reddening. “Now what the deuce are you doing?”
Ellery was giving the memo sheet still another clockwise quarter turn. And now, astonishingly, it read:
“W?”
“No,” Ellery said slowly. “I don’t think it’s a W... General, wasn’t Agon of Greek extraction?”
“So what?”
“So Agon might well have intended this to stand for the Greek letter omega. The omega looks very like an English small script w.”
“Omega. The end.” The General snorted. “This was certainly Agon’s end. Poetry yet!”
“I doubt if a scientist in extremis would be likely to think in poetic terms. Numbers would be more in character. And omega is the last letter of the twenty-four letter Greek alphabet. Number twenty-four, General. Doesn’t something strike you?”
General Carter threw up his hands. “No! What?”
“Twenty-four’s proximity to the number of visitors Agon actually received up here this week — which was twenty-three, you’ll recall, Dr. Dunwoody tonight being the twenty-third. Surely that suggests that Agon meant to indicate a twenty-fourth visitor — someone who came after Dunwoody? And if that’s true, Agon’s killer was his twenty-fourth visitor. That’s what Agon was trying to tell us!”
“It doesn’t tell me a thing.”
“It tells us why Agon didn’t write his killer’s name or initials. He denoted his visitor by number, not because he was afraid the killer might return and destroy the clue — a pretty far-fetched thought process for a man nine-tenths dead! — but because he simply didn’t know his murderer s name.”
General Carter’s eyes narrowed. “But that would mean it was someone Agon knew only by sight!”
“Exactly,” Ellery said. “And if you’ll do a security recheck on the skunk, General, you’ll find it’s his loyalty to the United States, not Mrs. Agon’s or Dunwoody’s, that’s been subverted.”
“What skunk?” the General bellowed.
“The only skunk who could have got up here without signing in. That worried-looking night guard on duty in the lobby.”
101
The Homicidal Hiccup
John D. MacDonald
You say you’ve been reading the series of articles in the Baker City Journal about how Mayor Willison cleaned up the city?
Brother, those articles are written for the sucker trade — meaning no offense, you understand.
Oh, I’ll admit that the city is clean now — but not because of Willison. Willison is a cloth-head. He doesn’t even know how Baker City got cleaned up. Being a politician, he’s glad to jump in and take credit, naturally.
That’s right. I know exactly how it happened, and it isn’t going to be printed in any newspapers, even if I am a reporter. You spring for a few rounds of bourbon and I’ll give it to you — just the way it happened.
You know about Johnny Howard. I don’t pretend to understand him, or the guys like him. Maybe something happens when they’re little kids, and by the time they get grown up, they have to run everything.