CHAPTER XXVI

THE RUSSIAN EXPLAINS

The Russian beamed upon the dazed and frightened circle about him.

“I have given you,” he said with his characteristic pedantic air, “a concrete demonstration of the _modus operandi_ of as ingenious and carefully planned a crime as it has been my privilege to study. I realize that to some of you the subject has been extremely painful.”

He looked at Mary Breese paternally.

“But even you, Miss Breese, and your family should find consolation in the thought that the man responsible for the tragedy in your lives has finally been brought to punishment.” He turned abruptly to Rice. “Will you care to explain the reasons for your horrible crimes, or shall I do it?”

Rice looked down at the floor. Outwardly he had recovered his composure. His face was a mask.

“Very well,” said the Russian. “I shall be content with second-hand information and guesswork, since you will not oblige. Now, Miss Breese and gentlemen, we must first enter into the motives that prompted the first of Mr. Rice’s crimes. It is my guess that Mr. Rice deserted you, Mr. Breese, during the unpleasantness of the divorce trial at his own suggestion. He suggested to you that if he became Mrs. Breese’s business adviser, he could keep an eye out for your interests. He might even be able to patch up your domestic differences. Am I right?”

“Yes,” said Breese, staring incredulously at Rice while he answered. “He did suggest just that.”

“His real reason, of course,” continued the Russian, “was to get his hands on Mrs. Breese’s extensive properties. Mr. Rice was a promoter by trade and a soldier of fortune by inclination. We must go deeply into his character to understand and appreciate his motives. Until the time he met you in Paris, Mr. Breese, he had led a hand to mouth existence. Association with you helped him float a few ventures, some of them successful, some of them failures. His ambition was boundless.”

“You asked him to Riga. It is my theory, Mr. Rice, that you were acquainted with the Baron Peter Setovski before you met him in Riga on the occasion of the marriage of my friend, the Count, to Miss Breese. I cannot prove it. It is my guess that the Baron knew of some disreputable incident--one of many--in your past, and threatened to expose you to Mr. Breese. You took an effective way out, and my friend, the Count, was implicated. This is only a theory. I cannot prove it. Perhaps you care to comment, Mr. Rice?”

But the promoter looked disdainfully at him and said nothing.

“Very well,” the Russian shrugged his shoulders. “We leave theory and proceed to facts. For a long time I was led astray in this case by a series of suspicious circumstances that signified nothing. It so happens that any human being is capable of murder under certain circumstances. Otherwise, no murder would remain unsolved. All murderers would be labelled, or even licensed. But I joke. It is in bad taste.

“In this case, we were faced with the problem of a very unusual woman. She had been separated from her husband, and attached herself to a worthless young man who has not been even faithful to her. It was only natural that suspicion should seek out these two. Mr. Smith chose one suspect. And I the other.

“I say nothing of my friend, the Count. He managed to confuse us for but an instant with his confession. He, too, suspected the elder Breese and sought to protect the father of the girl he loves.

“Now I am frank to say that until the murder of the wireless operator, I was completely lost in this case. Inexcusably so. But then my brain recovered its strength. I ploughed ahead. After all, it was obvious. Behold! Of all those who knew and might have killed Mrs. Breese, only one was absent from the house at the time. He was equipped with a magnificent alibi. He was dining at the American Minister’s.

“I thought to myself: ‘Suppose I wanted to murder this woman! What would be my first move?’ Naturally, my first move would be to protect myself. Mr. Thomas made no such move. Mr. Breese made no such move. Then I thought to myself: ‘What is the best way of protecting oneself while committing murder?’ And my logical brain replied: ‘By not being present at the scene of the crime.’

“But you would say that is impossible. No. Then one must seek an accomplice. I worked on that basis for many days, looking for the accomplice. Naturally, when Trenholm was killed, I judged immediately that he was the accomplice. But no one saw Trenholm near the scene of the crime. I could not understand it.

“Then I delved into Trenholm’s background. He was a wireless operator. He was a mechanic. I sought any and every possible means of connecting him with this house. Methodically by elimination, I finally came to the radio set. I saw light.

“Remember, Trenholm never met Mrs. Breese. He was but recently engaged for the yacht. At this point, I must interrupt myself to say that the mechanical murder is not unfamiliar to me. It is the refuge of either cowards or master criminals. In my country, bombs have been placed in pianos, and even attached to typewriters. But these devices make fearful noise, and are open to detection.

“So it remained for our friend, Rice, to single out Mr. Trenholm. What his arguments were I do not know, and it does not matter. In any case, this is what Mr. Trenholm did for Mr. Rice.” The Russian pulled open the case of the radio. “Mr. Trenholm took an ordinary revolver, equipped with a silencer, quite common these days. He placed it upon this small stand. He built a lever, a small piece of metal, connecting with the dial and the trigger of the revolver. Come closer and you shall see. The revolver is no longer loaded. Observe that when the dial comes to sixty, the lever has pressed the trigger back and the revolver explodes. Observe that the weapon is so placed in the aperture for the loud speaker that its explosion leaves no mark upon the instrument.

“Simple, is it not? Now, Mr. Rice had, as I have indicated, certain reasons for ridding himself of Mrs. Breese. He had been her business adviser, and consequently handled her funds. Unfortunately, Mr. Rice diverted these funds to his own use, and some of his ventures and speculations were unsuccessful.

“At this very time, Mrs. Breese proposed to marry the actor, Thomas. Naturally, Mr. Rice is opposed to any man entering the establishment. It will weaken his power. But not only does Mrs. Breese plan a second marriage, but, with her characteristic dominance, proposes to manage her own affairs. Mr. Rice is in a dilemma. He cannot tell Mrs. Breese that he has tied up all her money in his own ventures. Mrs. Breese becomes obstinate.

“An ordinary man would have broken down and confessed. But Rice has the soul of the born adventurer and gambler. Pressed to the wall, he thinks how convenient it would be if Mrs. Breese were out of the way. He knows that she has left a will naming him as executor. He wants none of her money. He has it. All he seeks is to retain his unquestioned control.

“So he plans. First, he angles for an invitation to dinner at the American Minister’s. No alibi could be more substantial or impressive. Then he arranges the radio, and takes care to let everyone except Mrs. Breese know that it needs repair, and should not be tampered with. Then he arranges to telephone Mrs. Breese and, ascertaining that she is alone, tells her to tune in on her favorite hobby, companionate marriage. He hangs up. He is safe. Mrs. Breese goes to the radio, turns to sixty as she was instructed and is killed.

“Mr. Rice rightly figures that the police will not examine the contents of the radio set. It is an easy matter for him to remove the weapon at the first opportunity.

“But all crimes have their complications. Whatever it was that Mr. Rice told Trenholm when he first ordered his diabolical mechanical murderer, there seems to be no question that Trenholm guessed or knew that he was indirectly responsible for the death of Mrs. Breese.

“Trenholm is timid. Like most mechanics, he has a hard-grained uprightness in his soul. His conscience troubles him. Although Trenholm made few acquaintances, he did strike up a friendship with one of his own kind, the mechanic Spence, who ran a bicycle shop. In a burst of confidence, Trenholm tells Spence exactly what has occurred. But Spence has no false ideas of morals. He sees it as a golden opportunity to milk Rice.

“Behold! We come to the night of the funeral on the yacht. Hitherto, Trenholm has been free from all police surveillance. On that night he is plunged into the melodramatic third-degree to which we subjected all of you. Rice is shrewd enough to see that it is all a plan, a trick. But Trenholm is nervous. Rice determines to get rid of Trenholm. He must, otherwise Trenholm will expose him. So Rice picks Mr. Smith’s pocket, shoots Trenholm and then puts the revolver back in my colleague’s pocket.

“Then Rice feels free. At last his crime is covered. He can leave the country. All will be well. Incidentally, some of his ventures have now recovered. He will be able to straighten out the estate. There is not a breath of suspicion.

“Out of clear sky comes a telephone call from Spence, and instantly Rice realizes that Trenholm has been talking. His work is not yet over. Rice is in a frenzy. Spence wants enormous sums of money. Rice is adventurer enough to know you cannot ever pay a blackmailer. The process is continuous.

“I do not think Mr. Rice enjoyed his crimes. I do not think he is possessed with any insane relish of homicide. Mr. Rice may be brutal, but he is not a killer by instinct. I am willing to say that the prospect of a third murder made Mr. Rice feel very unpleasant.

“He tried to bluff Spence out, but the young man was too shrewd. He sent a letter to you, Mr. Breese, so that he could telephone Rice that unless he got his money he would expose to you what had happened. Rice, upon receiving this intelligence, instructed him to get into a cab and come to this house. He told him to dismiss his driver, and that he would then receive the money.

“Of course, Rice went to a window with the revolver he had taken from the radio. He used a silencer, so no one could hear. He fired one bullet. It struck Mr. Spence and silenced him forever. Then Mr. Rice was done.”

He looked at the promoter reflectively. “You had only intended one perfect crime. But it resolved itself into three. The second, of Trenholm, was not half bad. The third was atrocious. You should have realized that suspicion would point to someone in this house. You should have realized that I was at work. However, it is always the way with criminals. They are brilliant only in flashes. Eventually they must lower the quality of their work, and they are caught.”

“I don’t suppose,” said Rice grimly, “there’s any need of my saying anything.”

“Quite the contrary,” replied the Russian. “You may contribute something vitally interesting. My recital was necessarily bald, and in spots guesswork. Only the essentials are indisputable. Your confession would be extremely interesting to Mr. Smith and myself.”

“Sure,” agreed Smith. “Only there’s no need of making it here. We’ll take you down to Headquarters if you don’t mind, Mr. Rice.”

“Very well,” said Rice, extending his hands. Smith produced a pair of shining handcuffs.

Then I saw Rice jump suddenly, and with both hands push Smith violently to the floor. The next moment the promoter had leaped through the closed window, with a wild smash of glass.

The Russian jumped after him. Smith picked himself up from the floor. In one hand he held a revolver. He followed the Russian out of the window.

Then we heard two shots in rapid succession. Then two more.

I ran out into the garden. The street was buzzing with people. I turned to find the Russian beside me.

“It does not matter,” he said. “I leave to Mr. Smith the punishment. I am interested only in the solution. Do I not deserve to be congratulated? Have I not done an extraordinary piece of detective work? Am I not the greatest detective in the world?”

He looked down into the street.

“Ah! I see Mr. Rice. Mr. Smith has apparently aimed well. Mr. Rice has not escaped. Well, it is all one to me. Mr. Smith will undoubtedly write himself an impressive report. He will miss the glory of the trial. But what of me? What am I to do? What shall occupy this brain of mine? It is a sad world, my friend, when a detective cannot find work. I am very sad. And when I am sad, I drink champagne. Nothing but champagne. Come!”

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:

Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.

Perceived typographical errors have been corrected.

Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.

Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.