The members, led by Nathan, entered the room. Baines immediately began studying the solenoid lock, while Jordon began tracing the wire from the lock around the room to the push button located on the night stand next to the bed. Nathan walked to the edge of the bed and looked down at the representation of his former wife, gun in hand, staring with sightless eyes at the canopy. In the mannequin’s right temple was a dark hole pocked with powder burns above a slight trickle of reddish-brown blood. Nathan bit his lower lip and felt the cold sweat on his forehead.
“Quite realistic, isn’t it?”
Nathan turned to see Sims-Danton standing by his side. He nodded. “Yes, very.”
Sims-Danton clapped his hands. “Very well, gentlemen. Baines, Jordon – you’re jumping the gun.” The two errant members gathered with the others around the Major as he introduced the problem.
“First, gentlemen, we have Martha Griever, the former Mrs Stanton Atwood. When Mr Atwood passed away, he left her a fortune of some eighteen million dollars, which she subsequently doubled. Then-” the Major bowed toward Nathan “- Mr Griever entered the picture.”
Nathan turned away from the still figure on the bed. The Major drew a small notebook from his left breast pocket and continued. “After a brief period of courtship, Nathan Griever was wed to the former Mrs Atwood, who promptly became an alcoholic as well as a raving paranoiac.” He plucked the monocle from his eye and raised an eyebrow in Nathan’s direction. “Forgive me if my description is harsh, Mr Griever.”
Nathan shrugged. “It was more than generous, Major.” He pointed toward the door. “You can see how she rigged up her bedroom. No one could enter or leave unless she pressed the button on her night stand and, even so, you had to stand outside her door and shout for twenty minutes to convince her to press the button. She probably would have had a closed-circuit TV camera put in if she could have allowed a stranger in to do the installation.”
Stepany raised a hand and cleared his throat. “If you please, Mr Griever – how was she able to leave the room herself?”
Nathan shook his head. “Except for two visits to the hospital, she never did. Both of those times, she had me prop the door open with a wooden chock.”
Baines nodded, then rubbed his chin. “That, I think, would give Mr Griever ample opportunity to examine the room undisturbed.” He turned to Nathan. “Correct?”
“Yes.”
Sims-Danton held up a hand. “One moment, gentlemen – I am almost finished.” He flipped a page of his notebook. “After the discovery of the body, the police found the room as you now see it. The pistol in Mrs Griever’s hand was registered to her, and only her own fingerprints were on the weapon. However, the bullet’s entry path aroused suspicion, since for Mrs Griever to have done herself in, she would have had to hold the pistol in a possible, but very awkward, position.” Sims-Danton formed a representation of a gun with his right forefinger and thumb, held the “barrel” next to his right temple, then rotated his wrist until the “gun” was in front of his face. The path at such an angle would enter the right temple and exit behind the left ear.
Humpheries frowned and shook his head. “Sloppy. Very sloppy, Mr Griever.”
The Major held up a hand. “One moment, Charles. The test is whether or not Mr Griever got away with it. As you can see by his presence here, he obviously did. In fact, though his motive was undeniable and Mrs Griever’s death a highly probable murder, our candidate for membership was not even brought to trial. He was held on suspicion for a few days, but they had to release him because they couldn’t figure out how he did it.”
He turned to Nathan. “Mr Griever, before the members begin trying to crack this nut, I would like you to examine the room very closely to make sure everything is as it was when the police entered the room.”
Nathan went to the door and examined the lock, checked the pictures on the walls, noted the absence of windows and air vents, and went to the night stand and checked the objects there. He raised his eyebrows as he checked the labels on the numerous prescription pills, drops, sprays, and powders his wife had always kept handy. Everything was accurate, down to and including the printed name of the pharmacy. The half-filled, open bottle of whiskey – her brand – stood behind the pills next to a pitcher of ice water and a half-filled glass of the whiskey-water mixture she loved so well. The push button that controlled the door lock was in its proper place on the edge of the night stand near the bed, and Nathan would have sworn that even the scratches in the brass cover surrounding the button were identical to the original. He reached out his hand, pushed the button, and heard the lock buzz and click open. He released the button, the buzzing stopped, and the lock’s heavy spring shot the bolt into its extended position.
Nathan nodded and looked at the wiring that led from the back of the night stand, in which the battery was contained. It was stapled around the baseboard behind the bed and around the room, until it came to the door, where it was attached to the solenoid’s contacts. He examined the wire to make certain it hadn’t been disturbed. The wires in the original bedroom had been painted down the last time the room had been decorated. Nathan raised his brows and nodded in admiration. The paint was the identical color.
He faced the members. “As far as I can see, everything is exactly the way it was when the police entered the room.”
Sims-Danton smiled. “Before we begin, gentlemen, I should add that from the time the maid Angela met Mr Griever at the door, he was under constant observation. In addition, the police conducted a thorough search of his room and the rest of the house. Nothing that could have been used in the murder was found – at least, in the opinion of the police. Shall we begin?”
Jordon rubbed his chin and held one hand toward the lock and the other toward the push button. “There seems little doubt that the problem is to keep the lock open long enough for the murderer to escape, but then to allow the lock to close, fastening the door shut.” He turned to Sims-Danton. “I say, Evan, do we have a replica of the door in good condition – before the doorjamb was splintered?”
“Of course.” The Major went to the door, pulled it open, and waved his hand. The doorman and another liveried servant carried in a pre-hung steel door fitted with a stand. They set it upright in the center of the room, bowed, and left.
Baines examined the door, pressed the push button, and nodded as the lock buzzed and clicked open. He pulled the door open and released the push button. “Jolly good.” He pointed at the lock. “Now, gentlemen, I prefer the simple to the complex. Let us say that the murderer gains entrance to the room, uses the wooden block to chock it open-” he smiled “- kills Mrs Griever, then leaves. He holds the door open, removes the chock, takes a credit card thusly-” Baines removed a plastic card from his pocket” – pushes in the lock’s bolt, closes the door, and pulls the card out through the space between the doorjamb and the door.”
Major Sims-Danton nodded. “Is that your choice, Wallace?”
“Yes.”
The Major turned to the others. “Very well, gentlemen – have at it.”
Stepany stepped to the door replica, placed a finger against the lock’s dead bolt, and pushed. “Wallace, old man, I’m afraid this ends your theory.”
Baines stooped over and looked at the lock. “Eh?”
“The bolt doesn’t move. Obviously, the solenoid operates a key of some kind that falls in place when the solenoid is not energized.”
Baines shrugged and the Major nodded at Stepany. “Eddie, are you ready to have a go?”