“And in order to justify that conclusion, Sergeant, you don’t have to disregard any ‘insignificant’ details. In other words, there were fresh sheets on the bed, because the bed had not been slept in. The alarm clock ran down at two forty-seven because the murderer left the cabin at approximately six-twenty o’clock in the afternoon, at which time he wound the alarm clock, after having carefully planted all the other bits of evidence. The reason the alarm which went off at five-thirty the next morning wasn’t shut off is because the only occupant of that cabin was dead. And the reason the murderer was so solicitous about the welfare of the parrot was that he wanted the parrot to perjure itself by reciting the lines which the murderer had been at some pains to teach it — ‘Put down that gun, Helen... don’t shoot... My God, you’ve shot me.’ The fire was laid in the fireplace because Sabin hadn’t had reason to light it that afternoon. He was wearing a sweater because the sun had just got off the roof and it was cooling off, but he was murdered before it had become cool enough to light the fire.
“Sabin let the murderer in, because the murderer was someone whom he knew, yet Sabin had reason to believe he was in some danger. He had secured a gun from his wife, in order to protect himself. The murderer also had a gun which he intended to use, but after he entered the cabin he saw this derringer lying on the table near the bed, and he immediately realized the advantage of killing Sabin with that gun rather than with the one he’d brought. The murderer had only to pick it up and shoot. Now then, Sergeant, will you kindly tell me what is wrong with that theory? Will you kindly interpret any of the evidence to indicate that it is erroneous, and will you please explain to the jury why your whole fine-spun thread of accusation depends on nothing stronger than a string of fish?”
Sergeant Holcomb squirmed uncomfortably in his chair, then blurted out, “Well, I don’t believe Steve Watkins did it. That’s just an out you’ve thought of to protect Helen Monteith.”
“But what’s wrong with that theory?” Mason asked.
“Everything,” Sergeant Holcomb asserted.
“Point out one single inconsistency between it and the known facts.”
Sergeant Holcomb suddenly started to laugh. “How,” he demanded, “could Sabin have been killed at four o’clock in the afternoon of Monday, the fifth of September, and yet call his secretary on the long distance telephone, at ten o’clock in the evening of the fifth, and tell him everything was okay?”
“He couldn’t,” Mason admitted, “for the very good reason that he didn’t.”
“Well, that shoots your theory full of holes,” Sergeant Holcomb announced triumphantly. “... Er... that is...”
“Exactly,” Mason said; “as you have so suddenly realized, Sergeant, Richard Waid is the murderer.”
Sheriff Barnes jumped to his feet. “Where’s Richard Waid?” he asked.
The spectators exchanged blank glances. Two of the people near the door said, “If he was that young chap who was sitting in this chair, he got up and went out about two minutes ago.”
The coroner said suddenly, “I’m going to adjourn this inquest for half an hour.”
A hubbub of excited voices filled the room where the inquest was being held; chairs overturned as those nearest the door went rushing out pell-mell to the sidewalk. Sheriff Barnes, calling to one of his deputies, said, “Get on the teletype, watch every road out of town, get the city police to call all cars.”
Mason turned to Helen Monteith and grinned. “That,” he said, “I fancy, will be about all.”
Chapter thirteen
Mason sat in Sheriff Barnes’ office, waiting patiently for the formalities incident to the release of Helen Monteith, who sat, as one in a daze, in a chair by the door.
Sheriff Barnes, pausing intermittently to check on telephone reports which were pouring in, tried to readjust the situation in his mind, through questions which he asked of Mason.
“I don’t see yet just how you figured it,” he said.
“Very simple,” Mason told him. “The murderer must have been someone who had access to the parrot, someone who had planned the murder for a long time; someone who intended to pin the crime on Helen Watkins Sabin, since he probably knew nothing of Helen Monteith. Since he knew Sabin usually took the parrot with him when he went to the cabin on the opening of the fishing season, this person, who must have been someone residing in the house, started in educating the parrot to say, ‘Drop that gun, Helen... don’t shoot... My God, you’ve shot me!’ The whole crime had been carefully planned. Sabin was due to appear on Monday, the fifth, pick up the parrot, and go to the cabin for his fishing. The murderer had his plans all arranged, even to his manufactured alibi.
“And then, Sabin upset plans somewhat by appearing on the second and picking up the parrot. Taking the parrot with him, he heard the bird suddenly spring his new lines — ‘Drop that gun, Helen... don’t shoot... My God, you’ve shot me!’
“Probably no one will ever know just what happened after that, but Sabin either felt that his life was in danger, or else Casanova’s repeated statements got on his nerves. He wanted to have a parrot around him, either because he liked parrots, or because in some way he wanted to fool the potential murderer — and I’m frank to confess that this substitution of the parrots has me guessing, and I won’t rest until I’ve found out — if I ever can — just what was back of it.
“This much we do know: Sabin became alarmed. He switched parrots and got Miss Monteith to get a gun for him. Despite those precautions, he was murdered. The murderer naturally assumed that the parrot in the cage was Casanova, and took excellent steps to see that it didn’t die before Sabin’s body was discovered.
“Sabin, in the meantime, thought that he was getting a divorce — that is, he thought his wife was getting one. He thought that he would soon be free to follow up the bigamous marriage ceremony in Mexico with a perfectly legal marriage ceremony elsewhere.
“Waid, lying in wait in the cabin, in which he had ensconced himself so that he could overhear all the telephone conversations which took place over Sabin’s telephone, was waiting for the proper moment to strike.”
“Why was he so anxious to hear the telephone conversations?” the sheriff inquired.
“Because the success of his entire plan depended upon leaving in an airplane with Steve Watkins, at such a time that it would apparently give him an alibi. The only excuse they had to do this was the appointment Sabin had made to pay over a hundred thousand dollars to his wife in New York. He knew that Sabin was in constant telephone communication with his wife in Reno. Therefore, he had to be certain that nothing went wrong.
“While he was listening on the telephone, he heard Sabin put in a call for Bolding, the examiner of questioned documents, realized suddenly that if Sabin sent Bolding the specimens of handwriting of all the persons with whom he’d had business dealings, those handwriting specimens would include some of his own; that the handwriting expert would break down the endorsements on the back of those forged checks, and brand him as a forger. He realized, suddenly, that whatever he was to do had to be done swiftly. I think he had intended to wait until eight o’clock before committing the murder. He had his string of fish already caught, the evidence all ready to plant. Then, that telephone call came through. He knew that he had to get to Sabin before those documents went into the mail, so he jumped up and ran out of the cabin without even pausing to pick up the cigarette he had laid down on the table when he heard the telephone call come through.”