“As a matter of fact, the more I thought over this deduction the more convinced I became of its truth. There was at least one psychological confirmation of the sex of the criminal — a small point, but it is on small points that the world’s most startling discoveries are built.”
“What was that?” demanded the judge.
“It was the curious phenomenon of the lipstick that wasn’t used,” smiled Ellery.
They were puzzled. Pollinger scrubbed his chin and said: “The lipstick that wasn’t used? By George, Queen, that sounds like something out of Doyle.”
“A handsome compliment. Surely it’s evident? We knew that the criminal, who at the time we supposed to be a woman, found it necessary in an emergency to write a note to Andrea. We knew that there were no ordinary writing implements available — I’ll take that up later — and that ‘she’ was forced to char a cork in order to write. A laborious process, eh? Well, didn’t it occur to you that every woman, almost without exception, carries with her a natural writing instrument? A lipstick? Why go through the slow and unsatisfactory process of charring a cork when all she had to do was open her bag, take out her lipstick, and write? The answer was, psychologically, that she had no lipstick. This in itself pointed to the fact that the ‘woman’ wasn’t a woman at all, but a man.”
“Well, suppose by chance this was really a woman and she didn’t carry a lipstick?” argued Judge Menander. “It’s possible.”
“Very well, it’s possible. But there was Andrea lying on the floor, unconscious! Didn’t Andrea have a bag? Didn’t Andrea, a woman, carry a woman’s natural weapon, a lipstick? Of course she did; it was unnecessary to mention it. Then why didn’t this ‘woman’ open Andrea’s bag and borrow Andrea’s lipstick to write with? The answer again was that ‘she’ didn’t think of it. But a woman would have thought of it, being a woman. Again a psychological indication of a man.”
“But lipsticks in these modern days of scientific criminology,” objected Pollinger, “can be traced by the chemical formula.”
“Can they? How nice. But then why didn’t the criminal use Andrea’s lipstick? Even if it were traced, it would be traced back to Andrea, not the criminal. No, no, no matter how you look at it, there is still psychological confirmation in this point that the criminal was a man masquerading as a woman. We now have, in fact, two points of description in the murderer’s portrait: he is a man, and he smokes most probably a pipe.”
“Beautiful, beautiful,” said the Judge again.
“Now,” said Ellery briskly. “The use of paper-matches inevitably suggested a match-packet. I asked Andrea specifically if she couldn’t remember having seen anything else on the table — with a packet in mind. Of course, the criminal might have put the packet away in his pocket, but then again he might not have done so. Remember again that Andrea’s appearance that night was unexpected and came directly after the crime when the murderer was still not finished with the bloody work at hand. Yes, said Andrea, she did remember that when she saw the six matches in the plate there was also a closed paper match-packet on the table near it. Perfect! It gave me the last clue.”
“I confess,” said the Judge ruefully, “that I don’t see how.”
“Well, perhaps you aren’t aware of a further fact which also came out in Andrea’s story the other day. That was that when she recovered consciousness, the packet was gone. Now, if it was gone, the criminal had taken it away. Why?”
A little flicker of interest disturbed the beatific expression on Bill’s face. “Why not, El? Smokers do that all the time. Especially pipe-smokers; they’re always running short of matches. They use the packet and put it right back in their pockets.
“Touché,” murmured Ellery, “but not in a vital spot, my son. Putting it back in your pocket implies that there are still matches left in the packet, n’est-ce pas?”
“Of course!”
“But you see,” said Ellery gently, “there couldn’t have been any matches left in the packet the criminal first used.”
“Hold on, young man,” said the Judge in haste. “This seems to be the magic I referred to. How do you arrive at that remarkable conclusion?”
“By a simple process. How many matches were found in the plate — all the matches, those used for smoking and those used for charring the cork?”
“Twenty, I believe.”
“How many matches are there in these cheap, common, universal match-packets?”
“Twenty.”
“Precisely. What does that mean? That means that at least one packet of matches was fully depleted by the criminal in the shack that night. Even if the criminal didn’t start with a full, fresh packet but with, say, a packet already started and having only ten matches left, and then pulled out another packet to complete the total of twenty found, the first packet would have been emptied in the process.
“Well, there we were with one empty packet. Yet the criminal took it away with him. Why? People don’t do that, you know. When you use up a packet, you throw it away.”
“Ordinary people, perhaps,” retorted Pollinger, “but you’re forgetting that this man was a murderer on the scene of his crime, Queen. He might have taken his packet away out of sheer caution — not to leave a clue.”
“Aptly phrased,” murmured Ellery with a sly grin. “Not to leave a clue. But how would an ordinary packet of matches leave a clue, Pollinger? These things are used for advertising anything and everything under the sun. You may say that the product or place advertised on the cover has an address which the murderer might feel would leave a trail to his place of origin or recent movements. Indefensible; you can’t base a single conclusion on the address of a match-packet advertisement. In New York you may be handed a packet originating in Akron, Tampa, or Evansville. I’ve been given packets with my purchases of cigarets and tobacco emanating from as far away as San Francisco. No, no, it wasn’t the address or the advertisement on the packet that forced the murderer to take it away.” Ellery paused. “Yet take it away he did. Why? What other kind of clue was he afraid the leaving of the packet might give? Obviously a clue, direct or indirect, that would lead to himself — a clue to his identity.” The two men nodded soberly; the three on the sofa sat forward.
“Now, remember this. From the beginning the murderer was afraid that Andrea had seen something damning on the scene of the crime. It couldn’t have been his face or figure; he had struck her from behind and she had never had an opportunity to glimpse the person who assaulted her. Yet he must have considered what Andrea saw of terrible importance: he took time out on the scene of his crime, still smoking with the blood of the victim, to go through that slow and difficult process of writing the note; he wired her another warning the day after the crime; he sent her a more subtle warning only last Saturday when he felt the trail getting hot. These things were fraught with peril for him, even though he negotiated them without detection. Nevertheless, he persisted in warning Andrea to keep quiet. Why? Why? What had she seen, or what did he fear she had seen, that made him so apprehensive? It could only have been that match-packet which he had taken away and which she had observed on the table with the six match-stubs just before she was struck on the head.
“But we’re looking for a reason for his having taken the packet away. There’s only one feasible reason. The packet was closed. He knew that; it was lying on the table in full view. Whatever it was that worried him about that packet, it was something simple, direct, seen at once, understood in a flash, and connected with the outside of the packet. Was he afraid she had recognized it as belonging to him? Implausible; people don’t ordinarily ‘recognize’ match-packets, and even if they do anyone else might be using an identical one. So it could only have been that there was an insignia, a monogram perhaps, some simple inscription on the cover of that packet which Andrea could identify at once with a specific individual.”