A Spoonful of Luger (56 page)

“Now
look
here,
George,”
he
said
dangerously,
“if
you’re
going
to
come
up
with
some
daft
theory
about
it
being
stuck
down
his
gullet
after
he
was
dead ... ”

He
was
waving
his
finger
under
my
nose.
I
just
stood
and
waited
for
it
to
finish.
He
faltered
to
an
end.

“Frank,
you’re
not
listening.
Think
of
it
again.
How
could
the
murder
gun
have
got
into
the
locked
box?
We’ve
removed
all
the
other
possibilities,
so
the
answer
is
that
it
did
not.
The
box
simply
was
not
locked.”

“But
man,
man,”
he
cried,
“why
would
Cleave
swallow
the
blasted
key
if
the
box
was
open?
He
wouldn’t
achieve
anything
by
it.”

“You’ve
just
made
the
basic
incorrect assumption,”
I
pointed
out.
“You’ve
missed
out
the
word
voluntarily.
That’s
what
you
mean
by
swallow,
and
it’s
what
we
all
took
for
granted.
But
that’s
the
one
word
that
solves
it
all.
The
swallowing
wasn’t
voluntary,
Frank.
It
was
compulsory.”

“You
mean
the
murderer
made
him
swallow
it?”

“Hasn’t
it
been
giving
you
an
uneasy
feeling
all
along?
Would
you
swallow
a
key,
even
a
small
one
like
that?
Not
unless
you
had
to.
If
somebody
stood
there
and
said:
get
it
down,
you
would.
If
he
was
waving
a
gun
at
you.
And
this
chap
was
waving
a
gun
at
Cleave.
Perhaps
he
forced
him
first
into
opening
the
box,
or
perhaps
it
was
already
open.
But
the
murderer
wanted
that
key
down
Cleave’s
gullet.
Not
simply
hidden
behind
a
tongue
or
in
a
cheek,
oh
no,
he
wanted
it
right
down,
where
nobody
could
ever
say
it’d
been
put
after
Cleave
was
dead
—
as
you’ve
just
said.
So,
a
prod
with
the
Luger
under
the
nose
to
help
it
down, and
that
was
one
key
accounted
for.
It’d
be
found
—
sure
to
be,
because
everybody
knows
that
murder
victims
get
cut
up.
He
wanted
it
to
be
found.
Otherwise
—why
not
simply
throw
it
away?”

“But
what
did
he
gain
by
it?”
Bycroft
protested.

And
Sprague
put
in
his
rough
voice.
“Yeah
—
what?”
As
though
any
failure
to
explain
would
excuse
the
outburst
of
violence
for
which
he
was
obviously
poised.

I
shrugged.
“He
gained
what
actually
happened.
You
assumed
that
that
particular
key
couldn’t
have
been
used
to
open
the
box.
Obviously,
therefore,
some
other
key
had,
because
the
murder
gun
was
inside.
So
you’d
assume,
beyond
any
doubt,
that
the
duplicate
key
had
been
used.
And
who
had
that
duplicate
in
his
possession?
Why
—
Norman
Lyle
had.
And
who
had
a
damn
good
motive
for
wanting
to
get
into
that
box?
Norman
Lyle.
Frank,
it’s
obvious.
This
was
intended as
a
cast-iron
frame
up.”

“But
you
can’t
frame
a
dead
man.
Norman
Lyle
had
been
dead
a
week.”

“But
the
murderer
didn’t
know
that.
Norman
hadn’t
turned
up
the
previous
Saturday.
There
was
a
chance
he’d
come
this
one.
The
murderer
had
to
assume
he
would.
If
he
didn’t — well,
the
frame-up
still
existed
because
Norman
had
the
only
key
to
the
box,
and
all
that
could
look
wrong
would
be
the
log
book,
which
would
still
be
in
the
box.”

“There
you
are
then!”
said
Sprague
in
triumph.

And
Bycroft
said
mildly:
“George.”

I
ploughed
on.
“So
what
does
that
tell
you
about
our
murderer?”
I
asked.
“He
had
to
be
somebody
— ”

“George,”
said
Bycroft,
“hold
on
a
sec.”

“What’s
wrong?
The
reasoning’s
valid,
isn’t
it?”

“Oh,
it’s
splendid.
You’ve
just
proved
that
it
had
to
be
somebody
who
didn’t
know
Norman
was
dead.
And
George, not
so
long
ago
you
proved
— equally conclusively
—
that
Randall
couldn’t
have
done
it
because
he
didn’t
know
Norman
was
dead.”

“Now
wait
a
minute.
There’s
other things
— ”

“And
there
I
was,
all
convinced
by
your
sad
story
of
Randall
suffering
because
he
wasn’t
sure.
Rubbish,
that’s
all
it
is.
He
was
hanging
around
here
the
past
week
— ”

“To
see
if
anything
had
come
in,”
I
shouted.

“Or
looking
for
a
chance
to
get
hold
of
a
gun?
Oh
come
on,
George,
you’ve
ploughed
him
in.”