‘A look at the wound next. There’s blood all over the inside of that light tweed overcoat, and blood on his inner clothes. But the wound is of small consequence. He’s got his handkerchief and his adhesive tape, and he can plug himself up like a horse gored in the bull-ring. Károly Horváth, whom nothing can kill, can afford to chuckle at this. He feels as steady and fresh as ever. But he patches himself up – hence the blood in the bathroom of Burnaby’s flat – and tries to collect his wits. What time is it? Good God! he’s late; it’s just on a quarter to ten. Got to get out of here and hurry home before they catch him . . .

  ‘And he leaves the lights on. When they burnt up a shilling’s worth and went out in the later course of the night, we don’t know. They were on three-quarters of an hour afterwards, anyhow, when Rosette saw them.

  ‘But I think that his sanity returns as he hurries home. Is he caught? It seems inevitable. Yet is there any loophole, any ghost of a fighting chance, however thin? You see, whatever else Grimaud is, he’s a fighter. He’s a shrewd, theatrical, imaginative, sneering, common-sense blackguard: but don’t forget that he’s also a fighter. He wasn’t all of a black colour, you know. He would murder a brother, but I question whether he would murder a friend or a woman who loved him. In any case, is there some way out? There’s one chance, so thin that it’s almost useless; but the only one. That’s to carry through his original scheme and pretend that Fley has called on him and given him that wound in his own house. Fley still has the gun. It will be Grimaud’s word, and his witnesses’ word, that he never left the house all evening! Whereas they can swear that Fley did come to see him – and then let the damned police try to prove anything! Why not? The snow? It’s stopped snowing, and Fley won’t have left a track. Grimaud has thrown away the rope Fley was supposed to have used. But it’s a toss-up, a last daring of the devil, the only course in an extremity . . .

  ‘Fley shot him at about twenty minutes to ten. He gets back here at a quarter to ten or a little after. Getting into the house without leaving a footprint? Easy! for a man with a constitution like an ox, and only slightly wounded. (By the way, I believe he was really wounded only slightly, and that he’d live now to hang, if he hadn’t done certain things; you’ll see.) He’ll return by way of the steps down to the areaway, and the area door, as arranged. – How? Well, there is a coating of snow on the areaway steps, of course. But the entrance to the areaway steps is beside the next house, isn’t it? Yes. And, at the foot of the area steps, the basement door is protected from snow by a projection: the projection of the main front steps overhanging. So that there is no snow exactly in front of the area door. If he can get down there without leaving a mark—

  ‘He can. He can approach from the other direction, as though he were going to the house next door, and then simply jump down the area steps to the cleared patch below . . . Don’t I seem to remember a thud, as of some one falling, which some one heard just before the front-door bell rang?’

  ‘But he didn’t ring the front-door bell!’

  ‘Oh yes, he did – but from inside. After he’d gone into the house by way of the area door, and up to where Ernestine Dumont was waiting for him. Then they were ready to perform their illusion.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Hadley. ‘Now we come to the illusion. How was it done, and how do you know how it was done?’

  Dr Fell sat back and tapped his finger tips together as though he were marshalling facts.

  ‘How do I know? Well, I think my first suggestion was the weight of that picture.’ He pointed sleepily at the big slashed canvas leaning against the wall. ‘Yes, it was the weight of the picture. That wasn’t very helpful, until I remembered something else . . .’

  ‘Weight of the picture? Yes, the picture,’ growled Hadley. ‘I’d forgotten that. How does it figure in the blasted business, anyhow? What did Grimaud mean to do with that?’

  ‘H’mf, ha, yes. That’s what I wondered, you see.’

  ‘But the weight of the picture, man! It doesn’t weigh very much. You yourself picked it up with one hand and turned it round in the air.’

  Dr Fell sat up with an air of some excitement. ‘Exactly. You’ve hit it. I picked it up with one hand and swung it round . . . Then why should it take two husky men, the cabman and one extra, to carry it upstairs?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It did, you know. That was twice pointed out to us. Grimaud, when he took it from Burnaby’s studio, easily carried it downstairs. Yet, when he returned here with that same painting late in the afternoon, two people had a job carting it up. Where had it picked up so much weight all of a sudden? He didn’t have glass put in it – you can see that for yourself. Where was Grimaud all that time, the morning when he bought the picture and the afternoon when he returned with it? It’s much too big a thing to carry about with you for pleasure. Why was Grimaud so insistent on having the picture all wrapped up?

  ‘It wasn’t a very far-fetched deduction to think that he used that picture as a blind to hide something that the men were carrying up, unintentionally, along with it. Something in the same parcel. Something very big . . . seven feet by four . . . h’m . . .’

  ‘But there couldn’t have been anything,’ objected Hadley, ‘or we’d have found it in this room, wouldn’t we? Besides, in any case the thing must have been almost absolutely flat, or it would have been noticed in the wrappings of the picture. What sort of object is it that’s as big as seven feet by four, and yet thin enough not to be noticed inside the wrappings of a picture; what’s as huge a business as that picture, which can nevertheless be spirited out of sight whenever you wish?’

  ‘A mirror,’ said Dr Fell.

  After a sort of thunderous silence, while Hadley rose from his chair, Dr Fell went on sleepily: ‘And it can be spirited out of sight, as you put it, merely by being pushed up the flue of that very broad chimney – where we’ve all tried to get our fists, by the way – and propped up on the ledge inside where the chimney turns. You don’t need magic. You only need to be damnably strong in the arms and shoulders.’

  ‘You mean,’ cried Hadley, ‘that damned stage trick . . .’

  ‘A new version of the stage trick,’ said Dr Fell, ‘and a very good one which is practical if you care to try it. Now, look round this room. You see the door? What do you see in the wall directly opposite the door?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Hadley. ‘I mean, he’s had the bookcases cleared away in a big space on either side. There’s blank panelled wall, that’s all.’

  ‘Exactly. And do you see any furniture in a line between the door and that wall?’

  ‘No. It’s cleared.’

  ‘So if you were out in that hall looking in, you would see only black carpet, no furniture, and to the rear an expanse of blank oak-panelled wall?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Now, Ted, open the door and look out into the hall,’ said Dr Fell. ‘What about the walls and carpet out there?’

  Rampole made a feint of looking, although he knew. ‘They’re just the same,’ he said. ‘The floor is one solid carpet running to the baseboards, like this one, and the panelling is the same.’

  ‘Right! By the way, Hadley,’ pursued Dr Fell, still drowsily, ‘you might drag out that mirror from behind the bookcase over there. It’s been behind the bookcase since yesterday afternoon, when Drayman found it in the chimney. It was lifting it down that brought on his stroke. We’ll try a little experiment. I don’t think any of the household will interrupt us up here, but we can head off anybody who does. I want you to take that mirror, Hadley, and set it up just inside the door – so that when you open the door (it opens inwards and to the right, you see, as you come in from the hall) the edge of the door at its outermost swing is a few inches away from the mirror.’

  The superintendent with some difficulty trundled out the object he found behind the bookcase. It was bigger than a tailor’s swinging mirror; several inches, in fact, higher and wider than the door. Its base rested flat on the carpet, and it was supported upright by a heavy swing-base on the right-hand side as you faced it. Hadley regarded it curiously.

  ‘Set it up inside the door?’

  ‘Yes. The door will only swing open a short distance; you’ll see an aperture only a couple of feet wide at the most . . . Try it!’

  ‘I know, but if you do that . . . well, somebody sitting in the room down at the end of the hall, where Mills was, would see his own reflection smack in the middle of the mirror.’

  ‘Not at all. Not at the angle – a slight angle, but enough; a poor thing, but mine own – not at the angle to which I’m going to tilt it. You’ll see. The two of you go down there where Mills was while I adjust it. Keep your eyes off until I sing out.’

  Hadley, muttering that it was damned foolishness, but highly interested in spite of that, tramped down after Rampole. They kept their eyes off until they heard the doctor’s hail, and then turned round.

  The hallway was gloomy and high enough. Its black-carpeted length ran down to a closed door. Dr Fell stood outside that door, like an overfat master of ceremonies about to unveil a statue. He stood a little to the right of the door, well back from it against the wall, and had his hand stretched out across to the knob.

  ‘Here she goes!’ he grunted, and quickly opened the door – hesitated – and closed it. ‘Well? What did you see?’

  ‘I saw the room inside,’ returned Hadley. ‘Or at least I thought I did. I saw the carpet, and the rear wall. It seemed a very big room.’

  ‘You didn’t see that,’ said Dr Fell. ‘As a matter of fact, you saw the reflection of the panelled wall immediately to the right of the door where you’re standing, and the carpet going up to it. That’s why it seemed so big a room: you were looking at a double length of reflection. This mirror is bigger than the door, you know. And you didn’t see a reflection of the door itself because it opens inwards to the right. If you looked carefully, you might have seen a line of what looks like shadow just along the top edge of the door. That’s where the top edge of the mirror inevitably reflects, being taller, an inch or so of the inner top edge of the door. But your attention would be concentrated on any figures you saw . . . Did you see me, by the way?’

  DIAGRAM TO ILLUSTRATE ILLUSION

  Man whose own reflection is seen by watcher, but appearing three inches taller than reflection because watcher, thirty feet away, is sitting down on a much lower level of observation.

  Confederate who opens and shuts door.

  Watcher.

  In testing this illusion, one important point must be observed. No light must fall directly on the mirror, else there will be a reflected dazzle to betray its presence. It will be seen that a spotlight from the niche on the stairs has been caused to fall across the line of the door, but not in a position to catch any reflection. No light is in the hall, and the workroom light does not penetrate far. In the study itself, the light comes from the chandelier in a very high ceiling, thus coming almost directly over the top of the mirror. It will throw, therefore, very little shadow of this mirror into the hall; and such shadow as it does throw will be obscured by the counter-shadow of the man standing before the door.

  ‘No; you were too far over. You had your arm across the door to the knob, and kept back.’

  ‘Yes. As Dumont was standing. Now try a last experiment before I explain how the whole mechanism worked. Ted, you sit down in the chair behind that desk – where Mills was sitting. You’re very much taller than he is, but it will illustrate the idea. I’m going to stand outside, with this door open, and look at myself in the mirror. Now, you can’t mistake ME, either from the front or the rear; but then I’m more distinguishable than some people. Just tell me what you see.’

  In the ghostly light, with the door partly open, the effect was rather eerie. A figure of Dr Fell stood inside the door, peering out at another figure of Dr Fell standing on the threshold and confronting himself – fixed and motionless, with a startled look.

  ‘I don’t touch the door, you see,’ a voice boomed at them. By the illusion of the moving lips Rampole would have sworn that the Dr Fell inside the door was speaking. The mirror threw the voice back like a sounding-board. ‘Somebody obligingly opens and closes the door for me – somebody standing at my right. I don’t touch the door, or my reflection would have to do likewise. Quick, what do you notice?’

  ‘Why – one of you is very much taller,’ said Rampole, studying the images.

  ‘Which one?’

  ‘You yourself: the figure in the hall.’

  ‘Exactly. First because you’re seeing it at a distance, but the most important thing is that you’re sitting down. To a man the size of Mills I should look like a giant. Hey? H’mf. Hah. Yes. Now if I make a quick move to dodge in at that door (supposing me to be capable of such a manœuvre), and at the same time my confederate at the right makes a quick confusing move with me and slams the door, in the muddled illusion the figure inside seems to be—?’

  ‘Jumping in front of you to keep you out.’

  ‘Yes. Now come and read the evidence, if Hadley has it.’

  When they were again in the room, past the tilted mirror which Hadley moved back, Dr Fell sank into a chair, sighing wheezily.

  ‘I’m sorry, gents. I should have realized the truth long before, from the careful, methodical, exact Mr Mills’ evidence. Let me see if I can repeat from memory his exact words. Check me up, Hadley. H’m.’ He rapped his knuckles against his head and scowled. ‘Like this:

  ‘“She [Dumont] was about to knock at the door when I was startled to see the tall man come upstairs directly after us. She turned round and saw him. She exclaimed certain words . . . The tall man made no reply. He walked to the door, and without haste turned down the collar of his coat and removed his cap, which he placed in his overcoat pocket . . .”

  ‘You see, gents? He had to do that, because the reflection couldn’t show a cap and couldn’t show a collar turned up when the figure inside must appear to be wearing a dressing-gown. But I wondered why he was so methodical about that, since apparently he didn’t remove the mask—’

  ‘Yes, what about that mask? Mills says he didn’t—’

  ‘Mills didn’t see him take it off; I’ll show you why as soon as we go on with Mills:

  ‘“Madame Dumont cried out something, shrank back against the wall, and hurried to open the door. Dr Grimaud appeared on the threshold—”

  ‘Appeared! That’s precisely what he did do. Our methodical witness is uncomfortably exact. But Dumont? There was the first flaw. A frightened woman, looking up at a terrifying figure while she’s standing before the door of a room in which there’s a man who will protect her, doesn’t shrink back. She rushes towards the door to get protection. Anyhow, follow Mills’ testimony. He says Grimaud was not wearing his eye-glasses (they wouldn’t have fitted behind that mask). But the natural movement of a man inside, I thought, would have been to raise his glasses. Grimaud – according to Mills – stands stockstill the whole time; like the stranger, with his hands in his pockets. Now for the damning part. Mills says: “I am under the impression that Madame Dumont, although she was shrinking back against the wall, closed the door after him. I recall that she had her hand on the knob.” Not a natural action for her, either! She contradicted him – but Mills was right.’

  Dr Fell gestured.

  ‘No use going on with all this. But here was my difficulty: if Grimaud was alone in that room, if he simply walked in on his own reflection, what became of his clothes? What about that long black overcoat, the brown peaked cap, even the false face? They weren’t in the room. Then I remembered that Ernestine Dumont’s profession had been the making of costumes for the opera and ballet; I remembered a story O’Rourke had told us; and I knew—’

  ‘Well?’’

  ‘That Grimaud had burnt them,’ said Dr Fell. ‘He had burnt them because they were made of paper, like the uniform of the Vanishing Horseman described by O’Rourke. He couldn’t risk the long and dangerous business of burning real clothes in that fire; he had to work too fast. They had to be torn up and burnt. And bundles of loose, blank sheets of writing-paper – perfectly blank! – had to be burned on top of them to hide the fact that some of it was coloured paper. Dangerous letters! Oh, Bacchus, I could murder myself for thinking such a thing!’ He shook his fist. ‘When there was no blood-trail, no blood-stain at all, going to the drawer in his desk where he did keep his important papers! And there was another reason for burning papers . . . they had to conceal the fragments of the “shot.”’

  ‘Shot?’

  ‘Don’t forget that a pistol was supposed to have been fired in that room. Of course, what the witnesses really heard was the noise of a heavy firecracker – pinched from the hoard Drayman always keeps, as you know, for Guy Fawkes night. Drayman discovered the missing thunderbolt; I think that’s how he tumbled to the scheme, and why he kept muttering about “fireworks.” Well, the fragments of an exploding firecracker fly wide. They’re heavy reënforced cardboard, hard to burn, and they had to be destroyed in the fire or hidden in that drift of papers. I found some of them. Of course, we should have realized no bullet had really been fired. Modern cartridges – such as you informed me were used in that Colt revolver – have smokeless powder. You can smell it, but you can’t see it. And yet there was a haze in this room (left by the firecracker) even after the window was up.

  ‘Ah, well, let’s recapitulate! Grimaud’s heavy crêpe-paper uniform consisted of a black coat – black like a dressing-gown, long like a dressing-gown, and having at the front shiny lapels which would show like a dressing-gown when you turned down the collar to face your own image. It consisted of a paper cap, to which the false face was attached – so that in sweeping off the cap you simply folded both together and shoved ’em into your pocket. (The real dressing-gown, by the way, was already in this room while Grimaud was out.) And the black “uniform,” early last evening, had been incautiously hung up in the closet downstairs.