With a growl H.M. added, "That's Huntington Davis."
19
In the broad concrete corridor at La Guardia Airport, where few persons lingered and they could have privacy, Sir Henry Merrivale and his party were gathered.
In front of him stood Crystal Manning and Cy Norton. A little to one side stood District Attorney Byles, his blue chin as clean-shaven and his clothes as well-pressed as though he had not been up all night.
"Now listen, H.M.," Cy was saying, "will you look at that clock up there?"
"I know, son! I know! But..."
"It's now ten o'clock. Your plane doesn't leave until eleven-forty-five. You can't possibly miss it, you're here!"
The day outside was blue and brilliant, with kindling sunshine. Heat waves were already beginning to tremble in the concrete corridor.
"We already knew the whole framework of the story," Cy persisted, "as to what Manning intended to do up through what he did do or missed doing. What remains is that gap in the middle— the disappearance from the pool, and what happened between Manning and Davis at the cenotaph."
"Agreed!" said Crystal.
"The District Attorney, to judge by the way he's grinning," Cy continued, "already knows. But Crystal and I don't. Now tell us!"
"All right, all right," growled H.M. as though utterly weary. Actually he would not have missed this for worlds.
Again scorning a noble Corona Corona offered by Byles, H.M. produced and lit a stogy in defiance of rules. For a time he scowled over it
"Now I told you at the swimming pool," he went on, "that from the start we had three whackin' great clues, which would produce others. I’ll name them again. One: a bust of Robert Browning. Two, predicted and soon found: a piece of soggy wet newspaper, about seven inches long by an inch wide, folded over several times. Three: a big pair of garden shears."
"Wait a minute," intervened Cy. "Aren't you forgetting the wrist watch and the socks?"
H.M. regarded him sourly.
"Oh, ah. We'll include those. That makes four clues.
"Now for the moment he went on, chewing at the lighted stogy, "I’ll ask you to forget the bust of Browning. That's the real key to an important scene, when I wasn't there. The scene was played by Manning and Jean and Davis, in Manning's office after lunch on Monday. I heard about it from Jean when we were drivin' out to Maralarch the same evening. More important, last night I had a long talk on the phone (which same I told the hot-dog salesman) with Miss Engels. Miss Engels is Manning's secretary. That scene was so awful illuminating, in certain aspects, that we're goin' to put it aside for the moment." H.M. grunted.
"So we return to me," he tapped himself on the chest, "just after Manning took a header into the pool on Tuesday morning. I was as mad as a hornet and completely flum-diddled. But one thing did stick in my onion vaguely. When Manning dived into the water, why didn't his hat fall off!"
"His hat?" echoed Crystal.
"Crystal's mother," Cy blurted, "said last night the hat was connected with it. But what’s this about the hat not falling off?"
"It didn't fall," said H.M. He pointed at Cy. "You yourself can testify the hat came floatingup to the surface after Manning was out of sight And that's very rummy, if you just consider it
"Manning, as you all know, wore a loose-fitting Panama hat. Loose fitting! He wore it at the pool. I was so sort of intrigued that last night, in the way of experiment, I bought one myself."
Here H.M. touched his own Panama hat. He pushed it forward, then backwards, then sideways, a performance accompanied by a wicked leer.
"It's the kind, not uncommon, that hasn't got a sweatband. Last night, for instance"—here H.M. pointed at Byles, who grinned—"I was at the Stanley Studio talkin' on the telephone to you. I was mad again, and I got a good grip on the phone and just bent forward, and my hat fell off. But early in the morning (to go back to it) I wondered how Manning could take a header without losin' his tile.
"It wasn't reasonable to think he had stuck on his hat with glue or cement. So, just wondering, I remembered the makeshift we all use when we want to make a loose hat tight. A piece of soft newspaper, folded over a number of times, an inch wide by six or seven inches long, inside the brim of the hat
"I asked for it, and it was in the pool. Cor!
"Than Manning was ruddy well determined to make his hat stay on. It had meaning! It had to have meaning! It might mean this or that. But the first and likeliest of a trickster's dodges would be..."
"Would be—what?" prompted Cy.
"To cover up his hair," answered H.M.
"Next," continued H.M., silencing a burst of questions, "we had that whackin' great pair of gardener's shears. He flourished 'em in our faces. As I said then, he went out of his way to tell an unnecessary lie. He even told Stuffy to swear he was trimmin' the hedge.
"But he hadn't been trimmin' any hedge. The shears were dry, with no bits of hedge, and I proved it Why did he go out of his way to do that unless this was a part of his scheme too? Bein' prepared for misdirection, I could see the shears were only used to distract attention from something else—somethin' that was under our eyes, but we didn't notice.''
"Stop!" insisted Cy. "There wasn't anything under our eyes that we didn't notice!"
"Haven't you forgotten," demanded H.M., "that Manning also wore a pair of big white cotton gloves? Gardener's gloves?"
There was a silence, while Cy's memory brought back those gloves.
"First he's got to conceal his hair," H.M. went on, "and now he's got to conceal his hands.
"Then, only a little bit later, I got my real eye opener.
"I was talking to Gil here and a lot of people in the library. Good old Howard Betterton charged in. Betterton insisted on a conference with the District Attorney. I was dragged with 'em, and Bob Manning came with us, into the study next door. I was sitting there by a chess table. But the double doors wouldn't quite close, if you remember, and I could still hear what was being said in the library."
Crystal, vivid in a blue and white dress, stared at him.
"But Cy and I were in the library!" she said. "There wasn't anybody else, after Jean rushed out"
"Uh-huh," agreed H.M. "All the same while I was in the study a-drowsin', I heard a remark that took my scalp off. When the meaning burst in the old man's onion, I upset the whole goddam chess table—and had to blame it on Bob."
"But what did you hear?" asked Crystal. "And who said it?"
"You said it," retorted H.M.
"Y'see," he went on, "Cy here had been talking about Jean's slight tan. And you said. 'Oh, that’s artificial. Ifs suntan lotion Jean gets from the druggist'
"Now there really is, they tell me, one suntan preparation that won't come off in water no matter how much you swim. But we'll not trouble about that, because I didn't trouble about it then or later. Somethin' else rose up, like a collywobble out of a graveyard, and walloped the old man again.
"Manning, when he strolled down to the pool, had apparently been wearin' a pair of socks. At least, I thought so. But the socks weren't in the pool later! You"—and here H.M. pointed at Cy— "what colour were those socks?"
"I must repeat," said Cy, "that I didn't notice the socks; But Jean told me their colour afterwards. They were brown."
"Brown!" said H.M. "And now see the string of rummy facts which can't be coincidences!
"We've got Manning's glove-covered hands plus a scarf that hides all his neck plus brown socks that aren't there plus mention of a suntan lotion.