"Now if s notorious that Manning won't tan. He just turns lobster pink. That helped with the misdirection too. Suppose, for instance, that Manning had covered his body from feet to the very top of the neck with the ordinary, dark, plain suntan stuff you can buy anywhere? Suppose he'd put on two or three coats of it, a heavy and dark tan? That stuffs not water-proof, but it's strongly water-resistant It wouldn't come off in water if he stayed there only a brief time.
"Would it seem, to a casual glance, that he'd be wearing brown socks? Yes! Because if you think back"—again H.M.'s relentless finger stabbed at Cy—"the cork-soled bathin' shoes Stuffy gave us had leather caps to hide the toes. And Manning's, you saw, were just like 'em.
"But what would be Manning's game, in dressin' up like that under his white clothes, and making himself as brown as an Indian...
"Stop the bus! There's only one other person at that place who's tanned to the colour of an Indian; that's Huntington Davis.
"Is there any other resemblance between these two? Stab a pig's ear—there is! Davis is lean and athletic. Manning is also lean and wiry; he's twenty years older than Davis, but he's kept his figure. Last night in fact, Manning's wife said he had the arms and shoulders and torso of a man twenty years younger.
"And that's not all, my fatheads. They're both just the same height."
Crystal was completely taken aback.
"The same height?" she repeated.
"Will you cast your mind back, my wench," said H.M., "to Monday night in the drawing room, while there was a thunderstorm? Your old man and Davis were havin' a row. They were standing up facing each other: straight as grenadiers, lookin' at each other on dead-straight eye level. Ah, you got it now!
"But, there is one difference between those two—if, say, you saw 'em both from behind. Davis has glossy black hair. Your old man's hair is silver grey. And back we circle to the rummy fact that Manning, with a paper wadding inside his hat, has smackin' well determined to cover his hair.
"True. Now suppose Manning had dyed his hair black, again from any of those washes you can all buy from the druggist? Could he conceal the black hair? Easy! He wears his grey hair rather long; I but, as you'll have observed, he's got it cropped up beside the ears. So there wouldn't be a hint of sideburns. At the back he's got a mufflin' scarf together with a hat pulled well down.
"Finally, let's imagine he's got under his loose clothes a pair of scarlet swimming trunks.
"As an imaginary test, now, you take Fred Manning and Huntington Davis. You have 'em both the same height, the same build, the same colour of tan, the same black hair. You stand 'em side by side, with their backs to you, about forty feet away—which is the breadth of the pool. And I'd defy any casual acquaintance to tell 'em apart"
"Then there was some kind of substitution?" demanded Cy. "Uh-huh."
"But even so!" blurted Crystal. "How on earth...?"
"Easy as pie. You'll hear that. But now lemme direct your attention back to clue number one: the bust of Robert Browning. That'll show us the voices, the expressions, the feelings, the psychological clues on top of the physical, that led up to this."
In the corridor at La Guardia Airport, a luggage truck rattled past. A voice, hollow over a loud-speaker, made H.M. jump and fuss until District Attorney Byles told him to look at the clock.
"You've got plenty of time," the District Attorney pointed out "Go on."
"On Monday afternoon," snapped H.M., "Manning came back from lunch at a little past three o'clock, having left behind a hocussing crumpled envelope for you." And he looked at Byles, who remained unabashed.
"Manning went into his office. The receptionist called his name, and he went over to see her. She told him, uneasy-like, that Jean and Davis were in his office. He didn't seem to like it but he just asked whether his secretary was in her office.
"Now you can see the next through the eyes and hear it through the ears of that secretary, Miss Engels. She was sittin' in a cubicle next to his own office, a cubicle with glass sides which don't reach the ceiling. Or you can follow it as though it had been written down for you.
"Back Manning strides to his office. On the floor, proppin' the door a neat way open, is the marble bust of Browning. Why was it there?
"If anybody suggests it was there to help the air conditioning, that's eyewash. Air conditioning's the same in any room. Manning looks murderous when he sees that bust, looks a? though he hates seeing it If he hates it there, all he's got to do is pick it up and close the door behind him. But he leaves it there. Why?
"And why, again, did Miss Engels sound so flustered when he called her on the talk-back? Why did she say she 'didn't want to disturb him' with a phone call? Because of course, she'd heard everything they said—through that open door. Just as Manning meant her to.
"In other words," H.M. emphasized, sticking out his head, "that whole scene in the office was a fake: arranged, rehearsed, and intended to be heard. All three persons in the office were in on the scheme."
Crystal, fidgeting with her handbag, cut him short
"I've already heard," she hesitated, "that Jean was mixed up in it too. But it's impossible! Jean? If she happened to be mixed up in it..."
"Only innocently!" H.M. interrupted, with a malignant glare but a real and deep sincerity. "Jean hadn't any idea about dirty work. She really is honest and naive. She's a poor actress; and you may have noticed it in her behavior later. I had one pretty awful session with her when—wait! She thought she was only protecting her father.
"Here's a gal"—H.M.'s gesture conjured up Jean's image—"who's full of lofty romantic ideas. Next to Davis, her father's her idol. If he says to her he's ruined, he's embezzled a lot of money and has to run away with more—well, that's always happenin' in films. She’ll think it's only natural.
"The one mistake made with Jean"—here H.M. pointed to Crystal—"was to tell her about The Woman and call her a fan dancer. I don't think Manning realized its effect until she blurted it out in the off ice—which wasn't acting—and I think a detached observer would have sworn it took him off-guard.
"But Jean was loyal.
"And there's one thing more, in that office recital, which wasn't acting. Manning really hated and despised Davis, just as Davis hated him. That’s the secret
"That's why the recpetionist at Manning's office was so upset when she told him Davis was there. The whole office must have known, before any question of disappearance arose. Even at second hand, dye see, I can hear Manning's real feelings sort of burn and quiver through that scene.
"Oh, not when he stagily shouts, 'Get out!' No, my children! When he's quiet? when Manning's himself. 'I was wondering,' to Davis, 'why you and I dislike each other so much.' And to Davis's, 'Do you trust me?' we hear that almost whispered, 'Not one millionth of an inch.'"
Sir Henry Merrivale smote his fist on the arm of the bench.
"And that he declared, "was the crux of the whole plan. He'd got his wife back. Maybe he did have friends in the world! He'd be completely happy if he could do just one more thing. Gil there"—and H.M. pointed to the District Attorney—"kept asking the same question over and over.
"'Why,' Gil wanted to know in a ravin' way, 'did he pretend he'd stolen money if he hadn’t stolen money? Why blacken his name? Why this disappearance if it wasn't necessary?'
"The answer is short and sweet Huntington Davis.
"Jean, the favourite child, is in love with Davis. She wouldn't have listened to a word against him; you all know that. Manning was going to prove to Jean, prove beyond question, that her adored Young Hero was actually a smilin', crafty, worthless s.o.b."