“Impossible,” said Leroy. “A man’s forehead doesn’t expand or contract in a matter of forty-eight hours, King! Perhaps having his hand on his head in the picture changes the visual impression of his face.”
Carol spoke up in a challenging tone. “I just thought of something,” she said, “and I don’t want either of you geniuses to take credit for it. Okay?”
“Okay.” Danforth grinned at her. “The credit is entirely yours for whatever it is you’ve thought of. What is it?”
Carol said, “There is a way a man’s forehead can grow higher—”
“I know how!” said Helen suddenly.
Carol went on as though she had not been interrupted. “I’ll try not to be too technical about this, but when one is dealing with rudimentary intelligences—”
“Come on, come on,” Leroy urged her. “What you’re trying to say is that Speaker wore a hairpiece, aren’t you? And in this picture the hairpiece has slipped back on his head a bit?”
“What I’m trying to say,” Carol exclaimed with an indignant look at Leroy, “is that I’m going to join Women’s Lib! Tomorrow!”
Danforth stared at the picture in his hand. “By George, that’s it, Mart! Speaker’s not smoothing back his hair — he’s trying to hold it on! Or trying to resettle his hairpiece farther forward on his forehead!”
Leroy nodded. “It must have come loose from its moorings during the Borneo shore excursion.”
“Poor Mr. Speaker was bald!” Helen said. “No wonder he’s embarrassed in the picture. If your hairpiece suddenly came unstuck—”
Thoughtfully Leroy said, “Embarrassed? I’m not sure that’s the right word.”
“Why not?” demanded Carol. “Here’s a man who wears a wig to conceal his baldness from his fellow passengers. And suddenly his wig comes loose. Wouldn’t you be embarrassed?” Danforth, still studying the snapshot, said, “I’d say Mr. Speaker looks more scared than embarrassed.”
“Scared?” Helen said. “Why would he be scared? Or who would he be scared of?”
“There you have me,” said Danforth. “But it’s, certainly not the blowgun salesman, naked or not.”
“In view of the circumstances surrounding his demise,” suggested Leroy, “I’d say he was scared of having his picture taken with his wig at half mast.”
“Why?” asked Carol.
“Because he didn’t want to be seen that way. To avoid it he was willing to try theft, bribery, assault, and possibly even murder on Gregory. Just to keep this picture out of circulation.”
“Why?” asked Carol. “This is the last time I’ll ask you.”
“For fear somebody who saw this picture might recognize him. That seems to be obvious.” Danforth gazed over the rail at the long foam-capped swells that paraded by the ship. “Recognize his true identity, that is.”
“Whoa!” Helen said. “Are you saying that Calvin Speaker wasn’t Calvin Speaker? That he was somebody else?”
“Could be,” said Leroy judiciously. “Very probable, in fact. Give me another look at that picture, King.” Then, after a moment’s study, “The sideburns and mustache could be fake, too.”
“Or recently grown,” added Danforth, “to go with the wig.”
Leroy brooded over the photograph in his hand. “At this point I could bear to take a look at Calvin Speaker’s remains. Couldn’t you?”
“We’d better go to the Captain, then,” said Danforth, “because Dr. Hagen has had me and my curiosity up to here by now. He’ll defend his domain from us with drawn sword, I’m afraid, unless the Captain intercedes.”
At pre-luncheon cocktails Leroy and Danforth reported to their wives.
“Captain Thorsen went with us,” Danforth said, “so the doctor grudgingly let us look at Speaker before they put him in the — er — ship’s freezer.”
“Ghouls!” said Helen, shivering.
“The sideburns are genuine, but the mustache was fake, it turned out,” said Leroy.
“So Calvin Speaker wasn’t Calvin Speaker?”
“Right,” said Leroy. He smiled at his wife.
She put her head on one side and regarded him narrowly. “You want me to ask who Calvin Speaker really was, don’t you?”
“Please,” said her husband, still smiling.
“All right, who was he?” Helen obliged him. “Anybody we know?”
“Nobody we know,” said Danforth. “But old Mr. Total Recall, he knew him all right — once the doctor removed the wig and mustache.”
Leroy nodded complacently. “It was child’s play for me to identify this bald character known to us as Calvin Speaker.”
Carol and Helen knew they were being baited. They also knew that Leroy did have an excellent memory. So his wife couldn’t resist repeating her question: “Who was Calvin
Speaker, Mart?”
“Clark Anselm,” said Leroy.
Helen looked blank. So did Carol. “Who on earth is Clark Anselm?” Carol finally asked.
“Number Three on the F.B.I.’s most-wanted list, that’s who,” Danforth explained. “The bank robber who blew up the City Savings and Trust in San Francisco four months ago. Killing two people in the process. And escaping scot-free with eighty-some thousand dollars of the bank’s money. Mart recognized him from seeing his picture in the newspapers at the time.”
“That sweet Calvin Speaker a bank robber?” Helen protested.
“Then why do you suppose he was carrying sixty-seven thousand dollars in cash with him on this cruise?” Leroy asked. “Captain Thorsen had his cabin searched, at our suggestion, and they found big bundles of U.S. currency stashed away all over the joint.”
“The money from the bank?”
“Most of it, anyway,” Leroy grinned at his wife. “I also remembered, fortunately, that a reward of five thousand dollars was offered for Clark Anselm’s apprehension.”
“Whee!” Helen crowed. “Order us another drink, Carol — I think we’ve just earned ourselves five thousand dollars!”
Danforth shook his head. “Sorry, ladies. The reward is for someone more deserving.”
“If you mean who I think you mean, I will join Women’s Lib!” said Carol indignantly. “Leroy King?”
“Wrong again,” Danforth said. “Gregory. The ship’s photographer. He’ll get the reward if they take our recommendation. After all, he’s the one who really exposed Anselm.”
No one laughed at the pun. Helen rocked in her chair as though in pain. “There goes our five thousand dollars!” she moaned. “Excuse me, will you, while I put on my sackcloth dress and throw dust on my head?”
“Forget the dust on the head, darling,” advised Leroy. “Remember what happened to Calvin Speaker.”
Criminalimerick
You Know My Methods, Don’t You?
by D. R. Bensen{© 1971 by D. R. Bensen.}
The client’s confused and distraught,
But Holmes sees the problem is fraught
With amusing details
And — it never once fails —
Some lessons that Watson gets taught.
Mr. Anonymous
by Lika Van Ness{© 1971 by Lika Van Ness.}
This is the 362nd “first story” to be published by Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine… a subtle, tantalizing story that clutches you at the end, won’t let you go, won’t let you pull away…
The author, Lika Van Ness, has not told us much about herself. She is a New York journalist whose off-work hours are spent exploring the city, seeing new movies, cooking, reading, writing — and “wondering where the time went.”