Schafer regarded Gavigan. “The Chief’s right,” he said. “I don’t know why you’ve changed your mind, but we’re not taking any chances. And we have got enough on them to keep them behind bars for a good long time. Take ’em away, Hooper, and watch them.”
“Are you telling me?” Hooper growled.
Chapter Twenty
Chariot Races
Misdirection is a short-circuiting of the mind. Mother Goose supplied an admirable example with the man who, going to Saint Ives, met a polygamist with seven wives, each of whom carried seven sacks that held a total of 343 cats and 2,401 kittens. The misdirected mind multiplies to discover how many were going to Saint Ives. Since the puzzle is a sort of practical joke on paper the misdirection has to be considerable. In practice, so much misdirection is unnecessary. A few well-chosen, well-timed words can, and have, vanished an elephant!
Hooper started forward abruptly. He stopped even more abruptly when Schafer suddenly let loose with a fusillade of profanity that was every bit as good as anything Hooper had yet emitted. Hooper looked around, startled, and his eyes popped. For the moment he was at a loss even for cuss words.
Merlini walked away from them; and we saw that Hooper’s cuff, which had been on Merlini’s wrist, now encircled Captain Schafer’s arm outside his coat sleeve. Schafer and Hooper were linked like the Siamese twins. Merlini held a key at his fingertips, and as Hooper saw it he said, “Goddammit! He picked my pocket!” Then he grabbed at the key. But as he did so, it flickered like Merlini’s famous half-dollar and vanished with the same dispatch.
“No you don’t, Chief,” Merlini said, spreading his empty palms. “I’m in Dutch so far now that it couldn’t be much worse. That key won’t appear again unless you and the Captain agree to calm down and listen to the Inspector and myself solve this murder. And furthermore, if you’re real good, I might even promise not to let any reporters know what a pushover that nice new jail of yours is. The taxpayers of the county might think they had bought a turkey — or appointed one!”
Hooper was purple. “Stevens,” he roared, “search that man and get that key!”
“It won’t do any good,” Merlini said. “When I vanish something it stays vanished, unless I want to—”
Inspector Gavigan had had enough. “Merlini!” He did some roaring himself. “Produce that key at once! And give it to Hooper. You hear me?”
“If you say so, Inspector,” Merlini replied. “But you’d better figure out some way to call them off. The solution you’ve got for this case won’t stand up under a good stiff push. And I can’t give you a better one if I’m going to have to collect the evidence I need from a jail cell. If we don’t get this murderer within the next few minutes we may never—”
Gavigan came through then. “Hooper,” he said, “you’re way late. These men, both of them are in my custody. I arrested them last week. You can have them after I’m through with them. But, until I give different orders, they’re staying here.”
“That’s more like it,” Merlini said. He closed his empty left hand, made a pass over it with his right, and opened it again slowly. The key lay on his palm. He gave it to Stevens, who unlocked the cuffs.
Both Schafer and Hooper eyed Gavigan with deep suspicion, but they simmered impotently. Schafer released me.
Gavigan said, “Okay, Merlini, Wave your wand, but wave it fast and use your best spells, because you’ve got to produce something damn good.”
“I know. And I could produce an elephant on an empty stage with more confidence.” He turned to me “Ross—”
Detective Brady stepped from among the cops, dicks, and troopers who had followed in Schafer’s and Hooper’s wake. “Inspector,” he said, “just as we left, a teletype message came in from upstate. The State Police picked up the Duke the other side of Utica. They tailed him for speeding, and when he started shooting they let him have it, and winged him.”
Merlini turned to him. “Did he have the money?”
“No,” Brady said. “He had a couple of grand in bills in his hip pocket. But he didn’t have what we’ve been after.”
Merlini looked at him a moment, without speaking. Then he said, “Inspector, I want a word with you in private.”
They moved off to one side out of earshot, and for a good ten minutes Merlini poured words into the Inspector’s ear. I tried to move closer, but Schafer gave me a warning glare and I gave it up. Schafer and Hooper muttered to themselves. Mac Wiley leaned against a stake and watched Merlini and Gavigan with the worried look that had come to be his usual expression. O’Halloran chewed dejectedly at his gum. The news of the Duke’s capture by someone other than himself was obviously a disappointment.
I wasn’t too cheerful myself. I had the answer of the case under my hat, a whirling, coruscating humdinger of a solution, and Merlini was over there spilling it into Gavigan’s ear — grabbing off all the glory for himself. I gave my theory another once-over in my mind. I couldn’t see any holes. Maybe I would come out on top after all. Merlini, I was beginning to suspect, had a theory that differed from mine; he hadn’t picked the same murderer after all. If he had, why was he stalling, why had he said he needed more evidence? My theory was so easily checked. It stood or fell on one point — the true identity of—
Gavigan called, “Hooper, Schafer. Step over here a minute, please. And you, Brady.”
At my elbow a voice asked, “What’s happening? Have they found the murderer?”
I turned to see Joy Pattison. She had changed from her ring costume and wore a close-fitting sweater and riding breeches. Keith stood beside her, his arm in hers.
“There are four theories to date,” I replied. “And I think we’re going to strike fire with one of them any minute now. You’d better stick around. Did you know that the will had been found, Joy, and that you’re a third owner of the show?”
They both stared at me. “Pauline have it?” Keith asked.
I nodded.
Joy said, “After what has happened, I don’t think I want it.”
“It’s yours anyway,” I said.
Schafer approached us. “The Inspector wants to use your trailer for a few minutes, Miss Pattison. Some questioning.”
“Why, yes,” she said. “Yes, of course.”
“You, Atterbury, and Wiley wait for him there. Harte, too.” Schafer turned, jerked his thumb at me, and spoke to Stevens. “You go with ’em. Watch this guy. O’Halloran, Mayo must be nearly finished with his Wild West act. Wait for him and take him down, too.”
As we started off, Schafer added, “Oh, yes, and Merlini wants to know if you can let him have a spool of white cotton thread, Miss Pattison.”
“White cotton—”
“Do you have it?” Schafer asked.
“Yes.”
“Okay. Robbins, you bring it back here.” He turned on his heel and walked off.
As we moved away, Joy said, “Robbins, what does he want with white cotton thread?”
“I don’t know, Miss. He might be figuring to catch a murderer with it.”
We followed orders. Joy’s trailer was the last one in line near the farther end of the big top. There were some camp chairs near it. We sat down and waited. No one said very much. I lit a cigarette and mentally polished up my theory, piecing in some additional facts and checking it over for weak spots. I couldn’t find any. As far as I could see, the machinery turned over nicely on all eight cylinders.