“So I put Sheila out of my way. I saw to it that the police should suggest that I search her boudoir. I found the dancer’s letter in her desk, when I was rummaging through her papers, and slipped it into my pocket. Later I destroyed it. I took the body to the marsh in Barbara’s car instead of my own, to avoid any chance of being recognized. The one thing I hadn’t counted on was that I should meet Barbara in the hall when I was carrying out the body. She had been aroused by the sound of our voices, and had heard the crash of Sheila’s fall. She stood there on the steps, her hand on her throat, and looked at me. She said absolutely nothing. But she knew. And she couldn’t see it as I saw it, as merely the necessary adjustment to a problem. I saw the horror in her eyes. And yet, she said nothing. She would have gone through life in the shadow of that horror. I knew that I could trust Barbara. The words that I had cast aside meant too much to her.”

  “Yes,” said Peter. “You could trust Barbara.”

  “Of course, the horror in her eyes should have meant nothing to me. Her loyalty should have been merely one of those useful weaknesses of humanity which I had learned to count upon. Pretty playthings!”

  “Yes,” Peter said again, “the useless, impractical virtues—incorruptible beauty. Barbara is like that.”

  “But I discovered my own weakness. It was hard to live with that horror in Barbara’s eyes. I hope you can make it clear to Barbara that I loved her.”

  “Yes,” said Peter, “I will make it clear.”

  “It won’t matter to me, of course. I shall not know. And yet, somehow, it does seem to matter.”

  “I think it matters. You can count on me.”

  “I know I can count on you. You live by words—they mean something to you. Queer, isn’t it? Honour, loyalty, trust—just words. And yet you live by them. They are your reality. And in the end, I have to count on them. And yet, I was the master of them all. I could save myself. Only, if I carried it through, if I saved myself, I should be branded as a failure. I should have to admit that for the first time I had taken a case which I could not solve. You were right when you taunted me with that.”

  “I’m sorry,” Peter said painfully. “I’m sorry I put it to you like that.”

  “Oh, but I had already put it to myself! And if I let myself fail—there would always be the horror in Barbara’s eyes.”

  “You see!” Peter exclaimed eagerly. “You were not the complete egoist, after all! There was a flaw in your crystal. Or perhaps the flaw was the other thing—the thing that enslaved your intelligence to one narrow personal ambition. I don’t know——”

  “It’s rather an academic point, isn’t it?” The doctor smiled.

  “Don’t!” Peter cried. “I can’t bear it!”

  “But it’s nothing to make such a fuss about! And I rather fancy I’ve written a thing or two which will be remembered when all this has dropped into the limbo of forgotten news. After all, I’ve done some good work, Peter.” Dr. Cavanaugh methodically stamped out the stub of his cigar against the side of the ash tray and half drew another from his pocket. Then he slipped it back again. “No,” he murmured, “there isn’t time. I don’t suppose, Peter, you’d care to shake hands with me, for good-bye? Silly of me to care about a thing like that!”

  Peter rose stiffly from his chair. His lips were pressed tightly together, and his throat ached unbearably. Dr. Cavanaugh opened the drawer of his desk. Peter’s eye caught the gleam of a shining cylinder. Peter set his jaw, but it was too late. The tears were on his cheeks as he held out his hand.

  “Good-bye, my friend,” he said. Then it came to him to add the words the doctor would most wish to take with him. “The world will remember you as a great man.”

  The pressure of the doctor’s hand was firm and warm.

  “Good-bye, Peter,” he said cheerfully. “You’d better go and find Barbara. I think she’s in the little sitting room. I don’t want her to be startled by the shot.”

  Chapter LIII

  BARBARA WAS drowsing in the big chair by the fire. Peter came gently behind her, and held both hands over her ears. She looked up at him dreamily, only half awake. A muffled report came from the doctor’s office.

  “What is that!” Barbara struggled to her feet, but Peter’s arms were warm and close around her.

  “It’s all right, darling. It’s all right,” he crooned.

  She put up her hand to his face, and looked wonderingly at her wet fingers.

  Peter sat down in the big chair and held her close, as if she were a child.

  “It’s all over now, dear. After all, it was the only way, the best way. There is nothing more to hide. Just remember that your father was a great man—and that he was good to you.”

  “You—know?”

  “I know everything. He has told me all about it. And he chose to go out—this way. After all, you wouldn’t have wanted it otherwise. Do you realize, Barbara, that there wasn’t a shadow of proof against him—that he never could have been brought to trial? And yet he chose to wipe the page clean. He cleared up his last case, Barbara. He didn’t save himself.”

  Barbara sat up suddenly straight, lifting her head from Peter’s shoulder. Her eyes were like brown depths of water in the sun. For the first time they were clear of horror. Her hands were clasped tight against her breast.

  “Do you know, Peter,” she said, “I think I am rather proud of my father. I think I will marry you, Peter.”

  “Yes,” Peter said. He wished Cavanaugh could have known that; but it was too late now. It flashed across his mind that Barbara was really Cavanaugh’s daughter, that he had lied at the last to give her peace of mind. Perhaps. Well, let it go. Cavanaugh would have been glad to know that Barbara was no longer ashamed or afraid of her inheritance. Let that one tribute remain his.

  “Will it have to come out? Will they have to know that he—did it? Couldn’t it end—like this?”

  “But he wanted them to know! He wanted them to know that he hadn’t really failed to solve the case. He gave me a note to Jimmy. He gave it to the Herald.”

  “Peter, you couldn’t!” Barbara pushed herself away from his arms, and rose to her feet in horrified protest. “You couldn’t do a thing like that! All his great reputation, all those years of fine work, the record of his powerful intellect—crashed, smirched! You mustn’t do it, Peter. You couldn’t do that for the sake of a story in your paper.”

  “It is a great story, Barbara, there’s no doubt about that. But you’ll have to believe me when I say that I’d have suppressed it. I’d have let my paper down. You don’t know quite what that means, I think. But I’d have done it. Only your father wanted me to have it. He didn’t want his last case to be chalked up against him as his first failure.”

  “But he didn’t see! He never saw things quite like ordinary people. For all his greatness, in that sense he wasn’t quite sane. He didn’t see that his confession would show that his whole life, his whole personality was a colossal failure—that he wasn’t in reality the man of high integrity that everyone believed him to be. I couldn’t bear that, Peter! We must protect him, protect his name, even against himself.”

  Peter’s mouth twitched with the monstrous irony of it. Cavanaugh was to be denied his last triumph, after all. And yet it was the proof that Barbara had loved him. Would he have sacrificed his terrific ambition for the proof of that love? He had tried to live beyond good and evil, beyond emotion. He had laughed at the standards painfully reared by humanity. And yet, in the end, those standards had triumphed in his soul. “I’d like her to know that I loved her, Peter—that is my weakness.” His weakness—or another and saner strength?

  “I believe he would let you have it your way, Barbara. I believe he would give you that—but he would smile when he did it.”

  Peter reached out his hand with the sheet from the prescription pad which Dr. Cavanaugh had given him. He held it over the coals that twinkled redly in the grate until the corners turned brown. Then as the paper burst into flames, he dropped it into the fire and watched it flare for a moment and then subside in a little heap of white ash.

  “There goes the biggest scoop the Herald ever had,” he murmured. “God help me if Jimmy ever finds it out!”

  A little clock on the mantelpiece tinkled out twelve strokes. The sound brought Peter to himself. Once again he was on the job—Peter Piper of the Herald. He lifted Barbara gently, and gently deposited her in the big chair.

  “Listen to me, dear,” he said. “I’ve got to telephone this to the office first. Then I shall have to call the—the other people who must be notified. You shall hear just what I say. But I want you to sit quite still in that chair.”

  He vanished briefly into the doctor’s office. Dr. Cavanaugh had done his job cleanly and expertly, as he did everything. There was nothing there that would horrify Barbara when the time came for her to look. Peter touched the dead hand gently. On the corner of the desk lay a nickel—Dr. Cavanaugh’s last bet with his own judgment. Peter wondered what that bet had been. Then he took the nickel, wrapped it in a piece of paper, and slipped it into his pocket.

  “I don’t think you’ll mind my keeping this—in memory of a great man,” he said aloud, to the dead, upturned face.

  When he came back to the little sitting room, he walked at once to the telephone in the corner. He did not want Barbara to see that his eyes were wet. She was sitting in the big chair where he had left her, her head lifted bravely, her face calm with a great serenity. There were lines of pain about her mouth, but in her eyes was peace.

  “Keep on ringing till they do answer,” Peter said harshly into the telephone. “Jimmy? Well, you’ll have to wake up for this. Dr. Cavanaugh has just committed suicide—a sudden breakdown due to overwork on the Ellsworth case. I was present. No, nobody else. Yes, it’s exclusive, absolutely.”

  “I’ll be right down.” Jimmy’s raucous voice over the wire was audible in the quiet room. “Meet you at the office in half an hour. Get all the dope.”

  “I’ve got it,” said Peter.

  “Now that Dr. Cavanaugh’s dead, I suppose we never shall get the rights of the tule marsh murder.” Jimmy’s voice was hoarse with disappointment. “Lord, what a chance he missed! He’s the only man that stood a chance of solving it.”

  “No,” Peter admitted. “With Dr. Cavanaugh dead, I doubt if the case will ever be solved. But, Jimmy, that’s not all. I’ve another piece of front page news for you. I’m going to be married.”

  “The deuce you are! And I suppose, as usual, you want it known that she’s the eighth wonder of the world? Well, that can wait. You leg it down to the office.”

  “It’s not going to wait very long,” Peter assured him. “It’s the real dope that I’m going to marry the loveliest girl in the world!”

  “Hell!” said Jimmy. “That’s not news.”

  THE END

  DISCUSSION QUESTIONS

  Did any aspects of the plot date the story? If so, which?

  Would the story be different if it were set in the present day? If so, how?

  Did the social context of the time play a role in the narrative? If so, how?

  If you were one of the main characters, would you have acted differently at any point in the story?

  Did you identify with any of the characters? If so, which?

  What skills or qualities make Peter Piper an effective sleuth?

  Did this book remind you of any present day authors? If so, which?

  OTTO PENZLER PRESENTS

  AMERICAN MYSTERY CLASSICS

  All titles are available in hardcover and in trade paperback.

  Order from your favorite bookstore or from The Mysterious Bookshop, 58 Warren Street, New York, N.Y. 10007

  (www.mysteriousbookshop.com).

  Charlotte Armstrong, The Chocolate Cobweb. When Amanda Garth was born, a mix-up caused the hospital to briefly hand her over to the prestigious Garrison family instead of to her birth parents. The error was quickly fixed, Amanda was never told, and the secret was forgotten for twenty-three years … until her aunt revealed it in casual conversation. But what if the initial switch never actually occurred? Introduction by A. J. Finn.

  Charlotte Armstrong, The Unsuspected. First published in 1946, this suspenseful novel opens with a young woman who has ostensibly hanged herself, leaving a suicide note. Her friend doesn’t believe it and begins an investigation that puts her own life in jeopardy. It was filmed in 1947 starring Claude Rains and Joan Caulfield. Introduction by Otto Penzler.

  Anthony Boucher, The Case of the Baker Street Irregulars. When a studio announces a new hard-boiled Sherlock Holmes film, the Baker Street Irregulars begin a campaign to discredit it. Attempting to mollify them, the producers invite members to the set, where threats are received, each referring to one of the original Holmes tales, followed by murder. Fortunately, the amateur sleuths use Holmesian lessons to solve the crime. Introduction by Otto Penzler.

  Anthony Boucher, Rocket to the Morgue. Hilary Foulkes has made so many enemies that it is difficult to speculate who was responsible for stabbing him nearly to death in a room with only one door. This classic locked room mystery is populated by such thinly disguised science fiction legends as Robert Heinlein, L. Ron Hubbard, and John W. Campbell. Introduction by F. Paul Wilson.

  Fredric Brown, The Fabulous Clipjoint. When Wallace Hunter is found dead in an alley after a long night of drinking, the police don’t really care. But his teenage son Ed and his uncle Am, the carnival worker, are convinced that some things don’t add up and the crime isn’t what it seems to be. Edgar Award-winner. Introduction by Lawrence Block.

  John Dickson Carr, The Crooked Hinge. Selected by a group of mystery experts as one of the 15 best impossible crime novels ever written, this is one of Gideon Fell’s greatest challenges. Estranged from his family for 25 years, Sir John Farnleigh returns to England from America to claim his inheritance but another person turns up claiming that he can prove he is the real Sir John. Inevitably, one of them is murdered. Introduction by Charles Todd.

  John Dickson Carr, The Eight of Swords. When Gideon Fell arrives at a crime scene, it appears to be straightforward enough. A man has been shot to death in an unlocked room and the likely perpetrator was a recent visitor. But Fell discovers inconsistencies and his investigations are complicated by an apparent poltergeist, some American gangsters, and two meddling amateur sleuths. Introduction by Otto Penzler.

  John Dickson Carr, The Mad Hatter Mystery. A prankster has been stealing top hats all around London. Gideon Fell suspects that the same person may be responsible for the theft of a manuscript of a long-lost story by Edgar Allan Poe. The hats reappear in unexpected but conspicuous places but, when one is found on the head of a corpse by the Tower of London, it is evident that the thefts are more than pranks. Introduction by Otto Penzler.

  John Dickson Carr, The Plague Court Murders. When a spiritual medium employed to rid a haunted house of a malevolent spirit is found stabbed to death in a locked stone hut on the grounds, Sir Henry Merrivale seeks a logical solution to a ghostly crime. Introduction by Michael Dirda.

  John Dickson Carr, The Red Widow Murders. In a “haunted” town house, the room known as the Red Widow’s Chamber has a deadly reputation. Eight people investigate and the one who draws the ace of spades must sleep in it while the door is watched all night by the others. In the morning, the inmate has been poisoned. Enter Sir Henry Merrivale to solve the crime. Introduction by Tom Mead.

  Frances Crane, The Turquoise Shop. In an arty little New Mexico town, Mona Brandon has arrived from the East and becomes the subject of gossip about her money, her influence, and the corpse in the nearby desert who may be her husband. Pat Holly, who runs the local gift shop, is as interested as anyone in the goings on—but even more in Pat Abbott, the detective investigating the possible murder. Introduction by Anne Hillerman.

  Todd Downing, Vultures in the Sky. There is no end to the series of terrifying events that befall a luxury train bound for Mexico. First, a man dies when the train passes through a dark tunnel, then it comes to an abrupt stop in the middle of the desert. More deaths occur when night falls and the passengers panic when they realize they are trapped with a murderer on the loose. Introduction by James Sallis.

  Mignon G. Eberhart, Murder by an Aristocrat. Nurse Keate is called to help a man who has been “accidentally” shot in the shoulder, but then he is murdered while convalescing, and it becomes clear that there was no accident. The New Yorker wrote than “Eberhart can weave an almost flawless mystery.” Introduction by Nancy Pickard.

  Erle Stanley Gardner, The Case of the Baited Hook. The promise of thousands of dollars leads Perry Mason to take on a mysterious case, only to learn that he will not be defending the male caller but a beautiful woman whose identity is hidden behind a mask. Introduction by Otto Penzler.

  Erle Stanley Gardner, The Case of the Borrowed Brunette. A mysterious man named Mr. Hines has advertised a job for a woman who has to fulfill very specific physical requirements. Eva Martell, pretty but struggling in her career as a model, takes the job but her aunt smells a rat and hires Perry Mason to investigate. Her fears are realized when Hines turns up in the apartment with a bullet hole in his head. Introduction by Otto Penzler.

  Erle Stanley Gardner, The Case of the Careless Kitten. Helen Kendal receives a mysterious phone call from her vanished uncle Franklin, long presumed dead, who urges her to contact Perry Mason. Soon, she finds herself the main suspect in the murder of an unfamiliar man. Her kitten has just survived a poisoning attempt—as has her aunt Matilda. What is the connection between Franklin’s return and the murder attempts? Introduction by Otto Penzler.