More Dead Than Alive (David Mallin Detective series Book 15) Read online

  I looked at him in surprise. “You realized? But I told you, David. He loves her.”

  He grimaced. “I’ll have to take your word for it, though it’s a funny way to go about things. But I didn’t quite mean that. Put it another way. Why was the music expected to upset her?”

  “Because she failed at ballet, or at least believes she did.”

  “Or because that music was used for the doll illusion on the stage?”

  “It could be that.”

  “But she loved working that illusion… the way she spoke to you about it. How, then, could its music upset her?”

  “It’s finished, David. It’s been finished for some time, and she loved it because it combined working with Konrad with her beloved ballet. But now… now there was going to be nothing more glamorous than being fired at in a wooden cabinet. Perhaps Anthony is taunting her with that.”

  “Telling her,” he mused, “that now she’s got nothing.”

  We looked at each other. I couldn’t help shuddering. There was something in David’s eyes I had not seen before.

  Then the door bounced open and George came in, excited and red in the face.

  “Dave, you ever read any Edgar Allan Poe?”

  We stared at him.

  Five

  For this, it seemed, we had need of Auden Sundry. We found him walking the battlements in a huge old greatcoat and declaiming from Hamlet.

  “I wanted to be an actor,” he said, the mood still gripping him so that he bent gravely over my hand and kissed it. “We must now all take arms against a sea of troubles.”

  “We need you in the room to do a bit of opposing,” said David. “You’ll want to take charge of his drawings and descriptions.”

  “His… you found them? Good Lord! But we covered every inch!”

  “George found them.”

  We trooped up the spiral staircase, George in the lead like a huge, excited schoolboy. He flung open the door.

  From his manner, I had expected papers to be strewn over the table, but it was bare. George had the lights on because, although it was not yet noon, the window was too small to admit much light. Everything seemed as it had been.

  “I remembered Poe,” George explained. “I read him when I was a kid. ‘The Purloined Letter’. Remember? The room was searched and searched for that document, because they assumed it’d be well hidden away. And all the time, there it was where a letter’s supposed to be – in the letter-rack. So I thought, where else to hide his plans and descriptions than in plain sight?”

  He began to unpin the black-and-white photographs from the board along the wall. They were all ten by eights, from way back when Konrad hung face down in glass-fronted tanks, to more recent days when Amaryllis graced the stage with him. George put them in a pile on the table, and simply turned them over. There, on their backs, were the details of every illusion Konrad Klimax had used, progressing gradually to the cabinet.

  Beside me, Sundry took a deep, sighing breath, and reached out his hands, his fingertips lightly brushing them. “This makes me happier than I ever expected to be in this benighted castle.”

  Then he turned away, as though the emotion stifled him.

  I was surprised that he hadn’t pounced on them.

  “But the drawings are there,” I said. “There’ll be details of how the cabinet worked. Don’t you want to see?”

  “I know how it worked.”

  “But you always said—”

  “Out of loyalty to a dear friend, Elsa. But I’m not inexperienced. Naturally I saw how it would work, and what he intended. Or at least, how it had to work.”

  “You sound sad.”

  He smiled into eternity above my shoulder. “Because it could never have been used, that’s why. Oh, I made some remark about him using an empty quarry or a firing range, but that was my enthusiasm breaking free. In practice, it would have needed a stage, careful curtaining, special lighting – and he would not have been allowed to use the gun.”

  George spoke roughly, I thought, breaking the mood. “Then come and explain it to us.”

  “If I must. But what good can it do you now?”

  “I don’t know,” said David. “But tell us.”

  “Then I don’t need his drawings.”

  And George, completely deflated, watched him morosely as he went over to the cabinet. The drawings he had spent so many hours to discover were, it seemed, purely of academic interest.

  “You could have said,” he grumbled.

  Sundry turned, with one of his charming smiles. He wheeled the cabinet into the center of the room. I was vaguely aware that Fisher had entered the room. Without looking at him, I could feel his anxious interest.

  Sundry flung open the cabinet’s door. “You see, empty,” he declaimed in a stage voice. He slapped the inside surfaces to prove it. “But you’ll notice that the corner uprights are rather more solid than the sides, if only to hold the whole thing rigid. In practice, they’ll be hollow, with inside each one a tiny compressed-air bottle. And what Konrad has done – this being his genius – is arrange a series of arms and levers so that a touch on a switch or a valve sends the base, on which the assistant would be standing, lifting up rapidly to the top.”

  He ran his fingers up and down the edges of the door opening. “Ah, I see. There’s a valve operated by the door itself. Shut the door, and the lifting floor operates automatically. It probably took a second, maybe two. Konrad spoke of two seconds before he fired a shot through the cabinet.”

  At the thought, I felt a prickling down my spine. No wonder Amaryllis had been determined not to be his assistant on this one.

  “And what position is it in now?” David asked.

  “I’d say… yes… in the operated position. The platform’s at the top. A pity. We might have tried it, but I just can’t see…”

  George was standing at the table, riffling through the photos. “It’s all here,” he said in a bored voice. “If anybody’d care to look. There’s a lever, just at the bottom, behind—”

  “I have it,” Sundry cut in, his voice mildly excited, and he stood back as the platform slid downwards with a gentle hiss. “I wonder… if he didn’t need fresh air bottles for each attempt… perhaps we might try it with a dummy.”

  “I see no reason why not,” said David solemnly.

  Sundry was delighted. His step was eager as he moved towards the dummy beneath the window.

  “No, not that one,” said David sharply. “One out of the cupboard.”

  Sundry raised his eyebrows in surprise, but nevertheless went to get one.

  Theoretically, the dummies would have to weigh the same as the proposed victim, Amaryllis. I doubted she was much above six stone, say ninety pounds. Sundry returned with the dummy clasped to him, making the effort one would expect for such a weight. It was limp, but once he’d got it inside, the cabinet itself held it upright. Sundry poised the door.

  “Ready?”

  We were certainly ready. David nodded, and Sundry slammed the door. Then, magnificently, soundlessly, the dummy popped out of the top, though, being limp, it at once flopped over and fell down to the floor at our feet.

  “Working all right now,” said David, his voice expressionless.

  I was feeling breathless, just from watching it. The whole operation had taken no more than a second, and in fact the dummy had made a small leap into the air at the top.

  “It would of course take some considerable experience on the assistant’s part,” said Sundry with some doubt. “Most people would simply black-out. She’d need training, rather like the astronauts. You can see how far ahead Konrad’s thinking was. All the modern sciences.”

  “But…” David was frowning. “It’d need some sort of cover. As it is now, she’d simply appear in plain sight of the audience.”

  “It’s all here,” George cut in, “if you’d only take the time to read it. There’s a curtain or something comes down at the front, just level with the top edge. Damn it all, i
t’d be bloody obvious.”

  “No.” Sundry was gentle. “The lighting would see to that. This is why I said it would need a stage. All that sort of thing is part of the illusionist’s expertise. It’s all a matter of lighting and the deflection of interest. Konrad to one side, with the gun leveled. All eyes would be on the center of the cabinet, and not the top. In practice, she’d reach up for a trapeze, or something like that, behind the forward curtain. There’d be the terrific emotional impact of the shot, the wood actually splintering from the cabinet walls, and he’d fling open the door, and she’d be gone. He could then tilt the cabinet, remove the top platform if he liked, and show it empty from top to bottom, restore it, shut the door, and she could be back there, inside, in five seconds.”

  If, I thought grimly, she was still alive. And nobody seemed pleased. George I could understand; he was like a child, eager in his discovery of a profound fact of life, only to be told: yes, dear, now go and play. David I could not understand. He was tense, his eyes deep and… hurt? Yes, hurt. Sundry was clearly disappointed, in spite of his professional enthusiasm, that Konrad had not explored more deeply into the untried. And Fisher? I looked at him, and realized that he was, of all of us, quite delighted.

  “Well,” he claimed, “that explains how the cabinet got itself against the door.” He looked round for approval. “Well, doesn’t it? You saw – that thing’s quite powerful. It’s like a gun, shooting the dummy out. And every action has an equal and opposite reaction. I learnt that at school. The dummy shot up because the cabinet pressed down against the floor.”

  Dear man, he was quite excited. David smiled at him. “So?”

  “So imagine that Konrad had got it standing with its door facing the room door, with the dummy inside. You saw how Auden slammed it… well, perhaps Konrad slammed the cabinet door a little too hard, and the cabinet toppled over backwards as it operated. Then the dummy would be thrown out sideways instead of upwards – landing where it is now, under the window – and the cabinet itself, which would be perched on a couple of its castors at that time, would shoot back against the door.”

  “And?” asked David calmly.

  “He threw himself out of the window.”

  The abrupt, slightly ridiculous, ending to his explanation annoyed me. And the reasoning was so self-contradictory that I could not help bursting in: “But surely…”

  Then David turned to me, eyes grave, his mouth stern. And he smiled. “You tell him, Elsa.” As though it might come better from a woman!

  “Well, it seemed to me… if the dummy was thrown out, that was what it was supposed to do, and that would surely mean a success for Konrad. Poor man, and Amaryllis has told me how his first few attempts were successful, and only the later ones failures. So it does seem rather strange that he’d take his life if he’d just achieved a success.” I looked at Fisher sadly. He had a tendency to splutter when he was building up to an angry outburst. “Really, you know,” I said, trying to be kind, “you should think more about it before pouncing in, though we can all appreciate how very much you’d prefer it to be suicide.”

  “Damn it all, it explains—”

  “No, no. It doesn’t. Because, you see, it wasn’t a successful attempt, because there’s only one bullet hole in the cabinet wall. Where did that bullet go except into the dummy? So it couldn’t have shot out. And anyway, when you come to think of it, if the cabinet toppled, as you suggested, Martin, would Konrad even fire his shot, and if he did, he’d surely have had difficulty even hitting the cabinet while it was toppling. So really, you know, the whole idea isn’t very sound. Do you think I said that right, David?”

  “I couldn’t have put it better,” he said, and his eyes were smiling.

  “Women’s logic!” cried Fisher, more savagely than I thought the situation deserved. “But Clarice is your friend, of course.”

  “But you said she’s yours, too,” I said, annoyed myself.

  David spoke with that quiet voice that means he’s close to the danger point. I glanced at him warningly, but he said it, just the same.

  “Fisher’s naturally worried about losing £200,000. Don’t worry, Elsa, he’s not as stupid as he sounded. He can see what it means.”

  “What the hell d’you mean, £200,000!” Martin shouted. “That’s the double-indemnity…”

  “Ah!” David sounded disappointed. “I was wrong, Elsa, he is as stupid as—”

  “What’re you trying to do to me!”

  And behind us, George laughed. I was sorry for Martin, but he’d brought it on himself. He seemed trapped, and not sure by what. He looked round wildly, and Sundry tapped him on the shoulder.

  “Better listen to what he’s got to say.”

  “Yes,” said David, “if you’ll stop jumping about for a bit. Actually, your idea about the cabinet sliding back was quite good. Valid, I think. It’d explain how it got like that, and in a logical way. I wasn’t too keen with the idea that he’d simply shoved it there, just to make sure that nobody thought there was anybody else in here with him. Yes, I do think the cabinet toppled as it operated, and shot back, like a cannon firing, against the door.”

  “Will you say it!” said Fisher tensely.

  “You want to tell him, George?”

  “No.” And George, too, sounded violent.

  “Ah, well…” David shrugged. “Look at it like this. Assume, as we’ve got to, that he was trying his cabinet, and it was standing just like Martin said it was, with its door facing the room door. And once again it failed. When he fired his shot his dummy hadn’t moved. So… as Anthony explained… he’d open the cabinet door and yank the dummy out and toss it to where it is now, under the window. And then what’d he do? Well, we’ve seen our friend Auden sticking his head inside… I’d suggest that Konrad did much the same. His first thought’d be to find out what had gone wrong. And maybe he stumbled, had to step forward to save himself, and found himself actually inside the thing. Then, with his stumbling and what-not, it’d perhaps topple over backwards, just as Martin said it could have done. Only maybe it was closer to the window than we’ve got it now, and, as it fell over, the door fell shut. And then… ironical when you come to consider it… then he achieved his first success for quite a while, and it projected him out in an arc, through the window, and at the same time the cabinet shot back against the door, as it was found. Doubly ironical, really, because Martin’s helped us to see the truth, which is that Konrad died during the operation of an illusion, and cost Martin’s company £200,000.”

  “I’m not having it!” shouted Fisher frantically, but Sundry walked forward and solemnly shook David’s hand, no doubt eternally grateful for David’s help for his life-long friend’s widow. Then why did I imagine that his quiet smile was just a little cynical?

  “Better go and tell the widow, hadn’t we?” asked George.

  I didn’t know what to make of George. It was not like him to sulk, but he was giving the appearance of still resenting the lack of appreciation for his own bit of detection.

  “Better bring your photos along, George,” I said, seeing that David was heading for the door. “I think it was a simply splendid piece of reasoning, finding those drawings.”

  He looked down at my arm, and his heavy face lightened for a moment. Then he shook his head stubbornly. “No, it wasn’t. Poe thought of it first. But, Elsa, have you thought, if Auden Sundry knew how it operated, why didn’t he say so? And I’ll bet he knew where the drawings were, all the time.”

  “Now, George, you mustn’t be angry with him. I’m sure he’d have said, in due course.”

  “When it seemed we weren’t going to come across them, you mean?”

  “I didn’t mean that. You’re acting very strangely, George.”

  “I’m simply wondering how many more things he would have brought to our attention, if we hadn’t got round to them.” He shook his head shaggily, worried. “Come on, Elsa, we’re going to lose them if we don’t hurry.”

  “Leave it
to David to break the news.” I was feeling relieved that it was over, and refused to be concerned about George’s premonitions. Now I couldn’t wait to get away from the place. I hadn’t realized how much the somber atmosphere of the castle was depressing me.

  “Pleased?” he asked.

  “Umm.”

  “I hope David is.”

  And as we made our way down those spiral stone stairs, for the last time I hoped, I couldn’t help remembering that David had not seemed pleased at all.

  Six

  We discovered them in the Pink Lounge. David held the floor, and his explanation to Clarice was given in a crisp and unemotional voice, when you’d have expected more triumph, if only restrained. Clarice was standing by the fireplace, as though she’d sensed something in the way of a revelation, but that the actual details of Konrad’s end she found chilling. Though, of course, up to that moment there had been perhaps a slight chance that… no, of course he had to be dead, and she had known it. But her dark eyes were watching David’s face with intensity.

  Anthony was, for once, serious. When George and I arrived, David was well into it, and Anthony still stood by his hi-fi with a hand full of sleeves, but he put them down with an impatient gesture and, unthinkingly it seemed, wandered over and sat on the arm of the easy chair in which Amaryllis sat bunched and withdrawn, her face white and her fingers interlocked.

  Anthony said once: “Get on with it!” But it was background noise, and evidence only that he was way ahead of David’s reasoning.

  “And so,” said David, “we’ve got at least a logical explanation of what happened, though it’s not for us to make decisions. But I’ll see the police, so that it can all be presented to the inquest jury…”

  “I’m not having it!” shouted Fisher. “Who the hell’re you to say it was this way or that way? Give me time, and I’ll knock the whole thing to pieces.”

  “As I said,” David ploughed on, “it’ll be up to the inquest jury, who’ll of course take note of any other evidence our friend Fisher likes to present. And when they’ve examined Konrad’s drawings and seen the cabinet—”