Chapter 13 Chapter Thirteen Room 1726

"Nervousness," said Mr. Quinn, "it shows you have had a hard time." "Damn it," Beau said, "how did you get in here?" "As you can see, it's all in. Oh, you can't see it. Let's light it up, it looks like you and I need this." Mr. Quinn fumbled for the light switch and snapped it on. turn on the light. They blinked at each other, then looked around the room. "Don't worry," said Mr. Quinn, noticing his partner carefully watching the window. "I closed the window as soon as I arrived, and of course the curtains were drawn when I arrived."

"fingerprint?" "I'm wearing gloves. As for you, don't touch anything. The police will come after we're done." "Who knows what's going to happen," Beau grumbled, "with the light on—just a few feet from the living room window over there—" "It's all right," Mr. Quinn said happily. "This room is booked, you know?" Beau's eyes widened. "Oh, you didn't know. Well, it's booked." "How did you know?" "I asked." "You mean, you walked into the restaurant in a big way—"

"Of course. Always with a title or two. Detective So-and-so, from headquarters, at your beck and call. I got in without trouble. Even made a few 'official' inquiries at the front desk. Want to know the situation without revealing my intentions. Anyway, someone booked room 1726—" "Man or woman?" "No clue. Booked this room tonight at a quarter to nine." "A quarter to nine? Why, Kaili and I only checked in at around 8:30!" Mr. Quinn frowned: "It's really efficient. I followed you, don't you think so?" "I can't see how that could be possible. El, someone's tipped off!"

"Does anyone know that you're going to stay at the Villanoy Hotel?" "Only Margot. You know how I pretended to work with her on that plot. She believed it, but insisted on knowing exactly where I was going because she wanted to make sure I wasn't lying to her. She even made me promise not to go with Kay." Lie spent the night with her—she was terribly jealous. Only Margo knew—so she was the one telling the story." "Who did it leak to?" "Leaked to the guy who took Kelly's gun from her! How did this room get booked?" "By telegram, apparently a pseudonym was used - LL Horwood. Of course, 'Horwood' did not show up to occupy the room - no official appearance. The room was booked just to make sure it wasn't occupied by someone else, and then with a Get the master key in, I guess, like me. How's Kelly?"

"It's nothing," Bo said with a miserable face, "let's do it." "Are you sure she didn't kill Margot herself?" "She told me, and I told you! Don't pester me. If we find evidence that someone is in this room, we'll be sure she's telling the truth, right?" "But that wouldn't do much legally. The room doesn't look like much hope for us, does it?" This is a normal en suite single room with a bed, a dressing table, two chairs and a writing desk.The bed was made ready for sleep, the coverlet neatly folded at the foot, the blanket turned up at one corner, but the pillows were fluffy and unwrinkled, and the blanket lay flat.

"Those soot—" Beau began, pointing to the rug. "I smoked it," said Mr. Quinn, "and the butts in the ashtray on the table were mine. I saw the other ashtrays were empty. Well, let's start in the bathroom. You can't touch it." They went to work silently.The bathroom was spotless - fresh towels, clean bath mat, soap wrapped in paper, shower curtain, bath towels.The medicine cabinet was empty, the laundry basket was empty, the sink was dry. "I checked one." Mr. Quinn said and walked back to the bedroom. "The closet is as clean as a bathroom," Beau announced, "no trace at all. How are you doing?"

Mr. Quinn crawled out from under the bed and said, "The cleaning lady in this restaurant is really thorough! Bo, you start at the door and work your way to the window. I'll go from the window to the door." "Check what?" "carpet." They weaved toward each other across the carpet—from one side of the room to the other.Meeting in the middle of the room, they glanced at each other and stood up. "This job," said Mr. Quin, looking around, "is going to be tricky." He scrutinized the desk and dresser, not out of hope but because he was thorough.

"That's all," he said, "Bo, have we missed anything?" "Windows? Curtains?" "I've checked them when you checked the closets. The only marks left on them were fingerprints, and though I can't be sure, I have the feeling our friend 'Horwood' was wearing gloves." "But there must be something," Beau said grimly. "This man has been here for at least an hour, maybe longer. A man cannot occupy a room for that long without leaving a trace of himself." "But 'Horwood' seems to have done just that."

"Let's go then. We've searched carefully." Beau turned sullenly to the door. "Wait, Beau. I made a mistake!" Mr. Quinn turned quickly. "What mistake did you make?" "I missed something on this side of the room." "what?" "Heating." Beau came to the window and stood beside him.Cold radiators stood just under the window sills. Mr. Quinn bent over the radiators, trying to see through their slits.Then he lay down on the carpet, twisting his body so that he could see the little piece of carpet in the gap between the radiators.

Then he straightened up and said, "There's something here!" "Hallelujah! Get it out, Brother Quinn!" Mr. Quinn reached in, and after a moment, carefully, with gloved thumb and forefinger, pulled out a long, thin object with a sharp point at one end.It was black, made of hard rubber composite, a mechanical pencil with a loose gold clip. "It's easy to deduce how things happened," remarked Mr. Quinn, after a careful inspection, "whoever fired those shots at Margo Cole had to have fired from this window. So he stood At the window—perhaps standing for a long time, watching in the dark behind drawn curtains. At some point during the watching, he bent over, and the pencil came out of him because the clip was loose. The pocket fell out. Miraculously, it didn't touch the window sill or the radiator, but fell through the gap between them to the carpet without a sound, and then rolled a few inches, under the radiator. He had no reason to use the pencil during this time, and he didn't realize it was missing until he left. He was really thoughtful of us."

"That's all true according to you," Beau retorted, "but what if it was lost by someone who lived in this room yesterday, or last week, or last year?" "Improbable. The room was only cleaned tonight, after the reservation was telegraphed. We know this because the bed is made ready for bed. That means there is a maid at eight to four tonight. Cleaned here in fifteen minutes. A maid who doesn't leave any dust under the bed is almost impossible to miss a pencil under the radiator. No, Beau, this pencil was dropped by 'Horwood', whoever he is .” "But it didn't give us many clues," Bo said sadly. "Just a simple, ordinary mechanical pencil. He didn't seem to drop anything." "Well, now I don't know," muttered Mr. Quinn, "is there anything about this pen that looks familiar to you?" Bo stared at the pen: "No." "Haven't you seen anything like this before?" "I've seen thousands of them," Beau retorted, "and that's the trouble." "No, not a pencil. Can't you recall another writing instrument, made of black rubber composite, with a gold clip?" "Cole's pen?" Beau gave a short smile. "You can really deduce. Are you trying to tell me that because Cole's pen is black rubber and has a gold clip, this is the pen in Cole's set?" one of "That's exactly what I wanted to tell you," said Mr. Quinn, "but not for the reasons you said, despite the striking resemblance in structure and appearance. Where are your eyes?" He held up his pen.Beau looked at it carefully but didn't touch it—from the tip of the pen in Ellery's hand, up the length of the pen, to the rubber cap.Just below the rubber cap he saw something that struck him: the hard rubber was fairly badly scored and dented, in some sort of curved pattern, some deeper than others. "These indentations look a lot like those on Cole pens...but that's not possible!" "Instead of thinking philosophically," said Mr. Quin with some excitement, "I think we can affirm or disprove this inference entirely materially." He carefully placed the pencil on the rug between them, then pulled out his wallet.From the inside of the wallet he pulled out a stack of small square photographs. "I asked you to take a micrograph of the dent in a Cole pen," he explained. "But I thought they were in the office." "They're too precious to be left lying around. I keep them in my purse all the time." Mr Quinn compared the photos and pencils on the rug.Then he handed the photo to Beau. When Bo watched, there was an incredulous look in his eyes: "It's the same!" "Yes, the impression on the pencil and the impression on Cole's pen are from the same person. So this pencil and Cole's pen are a pair." "Cole's pencil," Beau muttered, "Cole's." "Exactly." Beau stood up.Mr. Quinn sat on the carpet like a Buddha statue, meditating on photographs and pencils. "But it's impossible," Beau said. "There is evidence." "But—Cole's been dead for almost three months! Unless his pen's been lying here—" "I've already explained," replied Mr. Quinn, somewhat impatiently, "why that is probably not true. But if you insist on proving it, run your hand under the radiator and between the radiator and the wall. You will find there is no dust at all. That means the carpet and floor were swept a short time ago. No, this pencil was dropped here by the man who killed Margot tonight." "Cole dropped it, I guess?" Beau gave a short laugh. "Then you'll convince me there's a monster!" "There are other possibilities," said Mr. Quinn softly, "but if you insist on arguing—why can't it be Cole?" "What?" Beau called. "Well, why not?" Mr. Quinn stared calmly at his companion. "What evidence do we have that Cole is dead?" Beau looked confused. "I can't figure it out. Cole isn't dead?" "I'm not asserting a fact, I'm just asking a question. We've only heard one side of the so-called fact that Cole is dead - Edmund de Carlos. Captain Angus, all The crew—everyone who could corroborate De Carlos' story—disappeared. Nobody turned up—is that what 'Burial at Sea' reported?" "but……" "Is the reason Cole hired us three months ago now coming to light? Has Cole been wandering around all this time—using death and funerals as his best cover?" "Really," Beau whispered, "we wouldn't know him even if he lived—no, that's not true. We've seen him, in our office. So that doesn't hold water. Well, that means he Hidden somewhere. But why?" "I can think of at least two reasons," replied Mr. Quinn, "each of which is plausible and makes the reasoning tempting—very tempting." "You mean Cole was the one behind the whole thing - the attack on Kelly, the murder of Margot? Then why would he hire us? Or, if he's not dead, what about the heirs? The heirs can't inherit A living man's estate; if they inherit, if that's his plan..." Beau shouted, "I'm going crazy!" Mr. Quinn said nothing. "Wait! We're all crazy. Of course there's a simplest explanation! Cole is dead, and here's his pencil, fine. But someone else got it and keeps using it. Whoever he is, He's the man we're looking for. My fellow! You really confused me for a while." Still Mr. Quin said nothing.He wrapped the pencil in the handkerchief in his breast pocket and stood up. "Hey! What are you doing?" Bo demanded. "Get that pencil out." "I don't want to," said Mr. Quinn, buttoning up the buttons. "But that's the only proof we have of anyone in this room. We've got to give it to your father, Ellery." "We shouldn't even tell him about the pencil yet." "But, for heaven's sake, why not?" "It's a bit too complex a clue for an orthodox police mind," Mr. Quinn said pompously, "even one as sharp as my dad. And we're not destroying the evidence—we're just temporarily It is nothing more than concealment. The pencil says nothing by itself, we must make it say more. And handing it over to the police means that the discovery of the pencil will inevitably be made public. Before we have all the cards Before, you can't startle the snake." "But—Kelly!" Beau raged. "What about the poor child? Then at least this pencil will prove that someone was in the room tonight. That would back up what she said." The claim that the bullet came from this window." Mr. Quinn looked grave. "If I really thought that pencil would get her out, Beau, I'd tell my dad myself. But it won't, and you know it. She's in a bad place. She The circumstances of her discovery at the scene were so convincing that she was guilty, and the reasoning about the pencil so flimsy, the contrast between the two was so stark that she would definitely be in custody. Make her explain what happened of course , to tell you the truth, exactly as it happened. Dad would search the room and find..." -- he grinned -- "a burnt matchstick and ashes and butts from my cigarettes. It's a better sign than a pencil that the room has been occupied tonight - if they were there when the maid cleaned the room, she would have swept them away." "You mean we didn't even tell him we were here?" "He'll probably guess," said Mr. Quinn comfortingly, "and there's a light on here. But if we don't tell him, he can't prove it's my cigarette butt, can he?" Beau looked at him wide-eyed and said, "I bet you'd even fool yourself if you thought you'd get something!" "Father and I have been rivals before," said Mr. Quinn thoughtfully, "although I must confess that tonight I did not behave very well." "My God! You still have a conscience!" "Goodbye, Beau. Let me know how things go tomorrow morning."