Outside, there was a jaunty whistle, a crunch of heels on gravel, then a shout. “I want to get out of the road here and park. I’ll be right back.”
There was the roar of an engine, a whine of tires and a rattle of gravel, then the metallic bang-crash of one car slamming into another.
“Damn!” cried the voice. “You were in my way!”
The sheriff swore under his breath. “Can’t even drive and he wants to be sheriff.” He walked toward the, other side of the cabin.
Verner followed into the dimly lighted bathroom, stepped into the shower cabinet and pulled the plastic curtain along its rod so that nearly all of the shower was visible except where he stood. Then he waited.
From outside came a loud complaining voice. “You were parked crooked!”
“Crooked?” came the sheriff’s voice, thick with anger. “Do you think this is a parking lot? Can’t you watch where you’re going? Where did you hit it?”
“Doesn’t look like there’s any damage done! Or if there is, I’m good for it. You check her over. I’ve got to get some stuff Ellen wants.”
There was the sound of the cabin door opening, then rapidly approaching heavy footsteps, the sound of hoarse breathing just behind Verner, then the opposite side of the shower stall lit up briefly as a light shone quickly around the bathroom. The sheriff called from outside, “Where are you?”
There was a brief grunt, then the heavy footsteps went into Grove’s room.
There was a moment’s quiet.
Verner stepped softly out, to glance into the room.
At the front door of the cabin, he saw a squat figure in a worn hunting jacket at the door’s lower edge.
Silently, Verner stepped into the room behind him.
In the other end of the cabin, the sheriff called angrily, “Come out of there!” The sheriff’s purposeful stride grew suddenly loud.
Verner watched as a small hammer disappeared into the hunting jacket. From the rough figure came a little chuckle, a quick “Yes, sir!” and then the man shot back the bolt, twisted the key in the lock, and snapped the chain free.
Verner blocked the bathroom door with his foot, and threw his weight against it, holding it shut despite the other man’s advantage in leverage. There was a rough intake of breath, and Verner was looking into a pair of eyes that glinted with cunning.
Across the room, the sheriff shouted, “Hold it! What’s this?”
The squat figure gave a sudden powerful wrench at the door, jerked it partly open, leaned outside, and then abruptly he was back in the room, glaring triumphantly.
“If I want, I’ll go out! All right, who are you? What are you doing here?”
Verner stepped back from the door, very slightly stooped, his motions relaxed and somehow suggesting the movement of a big cat.
There was a brief tense hesitation.
At the door, the porcine figure stepped back, fists balled.
Verner’s hand shot out, to slam home the bolt.
Verner said, “He took the hinge pins out and replaced them. He just threw them outside. You might as well arrest him for the murder of his cousin.”
In the beams of the parked sheriff’s cars, the deputy handed back a piece of shining metal, similar to a large nail, but less pointed on the end. The deputy shook his head.
“He must have rolled that one in his hand when he threw it. There was oil on it, and about half his right thumb print.” The deputy frowned as he looked at the hinge-pin. He cleared his throat, but the sheriff spoke first, to Verner, his tone crisp and confident.
“All right, we’ll go back inside, and see if this checks out.”
They entered Grove’s side of the cabin, and the sheriff shut the door firmly. With an odd expression on his face, he looked at the hinge-pins. He glanced at the door, then at Verner.
“This may be clear to you. But what good did it do him to change the hinge-pins?”
“You remember the little dent in the wood under the U-shaped receiver?”
“Yes. I don’t see how it got there. The bolt slid past it without touching, and that U would protect it from being bumped.”
“Suppose the bolt did make that mark? What would that mean about the position of the door?”
The sheriff touched his chin. Suddenly his eyes widened.
“The hinge side of the door would have been away from the door frame, and lock side against the frame... The door would have been partly turned on that bolt as if the bolt were the hinge!”
“And what,” said Verner, “would that say about the hinges?”
The sheriff glanced at the door, which had the standard type of butt hinges. Each hinge was made in three parts — a vertical pin which served as a pivot, and two separate metal plates, one attached to the door, and the other to the doorway. Each plate bore curving pieces of metal which clasped the pin. With the pin removed, the plates would come apart.
The sheriff shook his head. “I’ve been looking at the wrong edge of this door.”
He unlocked the door, took out a big pocket knife, and, using the screwdriver blade of his knife, worked loose the pins, which were somewhat thicker than the others, and less shiny, with blunt ends. He called a deputy, and dropped out the pins in a box.
“Check these for prints, just in case.”
He set the lock side of the dismounted door near the lock side of the frame, and steadying the door with one hand, connected the safety chain, pushed the bolt all the way out, and turned the key in its lock so that the lock bolt slid out. He lifted the door by the wooden crosspieces, eased it into the doorframe, the bolt sliding into its U-shaped rod, the lock-bolt sliding into its hole, and the chain, already fastened, clinking against the door. The hinge-halves bumped together, the sheriff worked the door slightly up and down, and first the lower and then the upper hinge slid together.
“Now,” said the sheriff, “we need to have the hinge-pins in. Since they fit in straight up-and-down, they’ll drop of their own weight, if they’re held upright just in the top of the hinge, and if they’re ground down a little and oiled, like the pins that were in this door. But, how could he hold them upright on the inside while he was outside working the door back into place?... Let’s see... Yes, a little thread would do it, looped around the hinge-pin and tacked outside the door.”
The sheriff took the hinge-pins, held each in turn at the top of its hinge, and released it. Each dropped partly into place, then stopped. He worked the door back and forth, then lightly rapped it with his fist. The hinge-pins dropped into place. He unlocked and opened the door, took the bedside lamp on its long extension cord, and carefully examined the hinge side of the doorframe.
“Look.”
Verner saw a tiny hole, above and outside of each hinge, made apparently by a pin or tack.
They examined the screen door, to find a little vertical groove in the wood at the top of the door, directly above the lock lever, and a corresponding groove at the bottom of the door directly below the lock-lever.
“A piece of strong Nylon thread,” said the sheriff, “wound around that lock lever, and run out the top of that screen door, and the other end run out the bottom, would do it. If he drew on both ends of the cord, the thread would hold tight around the lever. He could pull down from outside the door, and lock the lock. Then if he let go one end of the thread, and pulled on the other, the thread would slip free and slide out. The same with those hinge-pins. Once he was outside, all he had to do was to hold one end of the thread, and let go of the other end. The hinge pin would drop down partly into place, the thread would slip free, he could rattle the door a little to work the pin down all the way, and the door would be locked, with him outside.”
The sheriff grinned suddenly, and looked at Verner. “Now that you’ve got it worked out, I can explain it. Now, let’s try it, from outside. Here, you start these pins, after the door’s in place.”