“It was evident that he must have secretly hired this Kidd scoundrel to kidnap him — probably telling the monster that it was a practical joke of some sort; or if he told him the truth, paying him sufficient blood-money to insure his temporary silence at least. Kummer involved Rosa because he wanted a witness to what happened — a reliable witness who could tell the police after the event how courageously her uncle had acted, and how helpless he had been in the clutches of the gorilla-like Kidd. Then, too, it was expedient to get Rosa out of the way, where she couldn’t spoil the ruse of the false note.
“The whole theatrical business must have been rehearsed between him and Kidd, even to the punch to Kidd’s belly and the blow which rendered Kummer ‘unconscious.’ All for Rosa’s benefit. The touch about Kidd’s apparently mistaking Kummer for Marco — to the extent of actually addressing him as Marco! — was an inspiration designed to prepare the police for the innocence of Kummer and the murder of Marco apparently by an outsider or some one in the house. Kummer was smart enough to realize that the police wouldn’t accept Kidd as the actual murderer of Marco; there was no connection at all between the two. So he had Kidd ‘telephone’ to some one — in Rosa’s hearing, of course; that was very carefully planned, you may be sure — as if Kidd were reporting to an outside employer; as if there were a higher-up (other than Kummer himself, of course). With Kummer lying on the sand ‘unconscious’ while this call was being made, the deception was perfect. What actually happened, I suppose, was that Kidd dialled one of the Godfrey numbers, waited until he heard the click on the other end which signalled that some one had picked up a receiver or plugged in for a call, instantly pressed his thumb down on his own instrument to break the connection, and then calmly proceeded to conduct a one-sided conversation. No, no, we all erred about this wonderful Captain Kidd, as Kummer sardonically expected us to. He must have been anything but stupid to have followed orders so closely and executed them so flawlessly. Bit of a maritime actor.”
“But how did Kummer work the business of the typed note? He was out of the house when it was—”
“Found? Of course. But not when it was planted. He left it in Tiller’s closet downstairs just after dinner and just before he asked Rosa to accompany him outside for a chat. He knew Tiller wouldn’t find the note until nine-thirty — by the way, another qualification of the murderer, this knowledge of Tiller’s habits — when it would be presumed that it had been typed and left after Kidd’s call to his ‘superior.’ You will recall, too, that Cort received an anonymous telephone message the morning we blundered on the young lady in Waring’s cottage, telling Cort where he might find Rosa. That call, of course, came from Kummer. Wherever he had been hiding out along the coast, he risked making a public appearance just for the sake of that call. I imagine he would rather have given himself up than harmed a hair of that girl’s head. He wanted to make sure she was found as quickly as possible.”
“Doesn’t seem like it, considering the fact that he plunged her into hot water by signing her name to the note.”
Ellery shook his head. “He knew she would have a strong alibi: couldn’t type and found trussed up in Waring’s shack. He didn’t mind having the police think the note was framed; in fact, he preferred it for Rosa’s sake. And remember, if Marco hadn’t been careless about the destruction of the note it never would have been found at all and Rosa wouldn’t have been involved in that connection.”
They were approaching a large town and the traffic had thickened to an uncomfortable degree. For some time Ellery occupied himself blasphemously with the business of keeping the Duesenberg out of trouble. Judge Macklin sat nursing his chin, deep in thought.
“How much,” he demanded suddenly, “do you believe is true in Kummer’s confession?”
“Eh? I don’t know what you mean.”
They crawled into a busy main street. “You know, I’ve been wondering about what he said concerning this Kidd monster last night. I mean after he explained that he had taken advantage of the storm to make a dramatic re-entrance, deliberately scuttling the cruiser and swimming for his life to shore. He admitted that in his first story — about having killed Kidd in a fight yesterday evening on the boat — he had been mendacious. Then he said that what really happened was that as soon as they got out of sight of Spanish Cape in Waring’s cruiser Saturday night — after the ‘kidnaping’ — he landed the boat in an isolated spot, paid Kidd off, and sent him packing. Gave us the impression deliberately that Kidd is alive and has departed for parts unknown. But somehow it didn’t ring true.”
“Oh, nonsense,” snapped Ellery, honking his klaxon. His face convulsed as he leaned out of the car and yelled to a crowding taxicab with the righteous wrath of all motormaniacs: “What the hell d’ye think you’re doing?” Then he grinned and pulled his head back. “As a matter of fact, when I had evolved Kummer as the murderer of Marco I naturally asked myself what had become of Kidd. He had obviously been the merest tool. The question was: Had he known the truth, or had Kummer deceived him as to the genuine purpose behind the hocus-pocus of the ‘kidnaping’? And I saw that two things militated against a crime en double... You suspect Kummer has murdered Kidd, too?”
“I will confess,” murmured the Judge with a frown, “that some such thought had entered my mind.”
“No,” said Ellery. “I’m sure he didn’t. For one thing, it was not necessary for Kummer to tell Kidd what he really intended to do. And for another, Kummer is not what is known as a ‘natural’ killer. He is a thoroughly sane human being, as law-abiding as the next fellow. He isn’t the kind of man who would lose his head. He isn’t the kind of man who would deprive a fellow-creature of life merely for the sake of killing or because there was a faint chance mercy would rebound. Kidd, a scoundrel, was no doubt handsomely paid. Even if he has read about the murder somewhere and has considered blackmailing Kummer, he would be deterred by the realization that he himself was an accessory to the crime. This was Kummer’s protection against his hireling. No, no, Kummer told the truth.”
Neither spoke again until they had left the town behind and were on the open road once more. The air had a bite to it that was a foretaste of autumn, and the old gentleman suddenly shivered.
“What’s the matter?” asked Ellery solicitously. “Cold?”
“I don’t know,” chuckled the Judge, “whether it’s a reaction from the murder or the wind, but I believe I am.”
Inexplicably, Ellery stopped the car. He sprang out, opened the crowded rumbleseat, rummaged about, and then brought forth something black, soft, and bulky.
“What’s that?” asked the old gentleman suspiciously. “Where’d you get it? I don’t recall—”
“Drape it around your shoulders, pop,” said Ellery, jumping into the car and flinging the thing over the old man’s knees. “It’s a little memento of our experience.”
“What on earth—” began the Judge, astonished, as he shook the garment out.
“The would-be murderer of justice, the detour on the road of logic,” cried Ellery in oratorical fashion, releasing the handbrake. “Couldn’t resist it. Matter of plain truth, I swiped it from under Moley’s nose this morning!”
Judge Macklin held it up. It was John Marco’s black cape.
The old gentleman shivered again, drew a breath, and then with a brave gesture flung the cape over his shoulders. Ellery heeled the accelerator, grinning. And after a while the old gentleman began to sing in a robust baritone the interminable chorus of Anchors Aweigh.