The Phantom Archer1
Characters
| Character | Introduction |
|---|---|
| Lady Drew | owner of St. Ives Castle |
| Christopher Drew | her nephew |
| Charles Norman | her solicitor |
| Professor Ballard | caretaker of St. Ives Castle |
| Sally Ballard | his daughter |
| Caesar | his parrot |
NARRATOR: Such a mysterious, unusual crime. Such an extraordinary way to commit a murder. In London homes everywhere, people were reading about it in the newspapers. . . .
WOMAN'S VOICE: St. Ives, Cornwall. July 15, 1938.
MAN'S VOICE: Harriet, Lady Drew—elderly widow of the late Sir George Drew—was mysteriously slain tonight at St. Ives Castle, on an island off the Cornish coast.
SECOND MAN'S VOICE: The means of death is said to have been an arrow.
WOMAN'S VOICE: An arrow!
SECOND MAN'S VOICE: An arrow fired from the end of the portrait gallery, and in the presence of two witnesses.
MAN'S VOICE: Historic St. Ives Castle, though still the property of the Drew family, is no longer lived in. It has been converted into a public museum . . .
WOMAN'S VOICE: And is in charge of two caretakers, who were witnesses to the killing. But both witnesses swear . . . (Hesitates.)
MAN'S VOICE: Well? What's next?
WOMAN'S VOICE (slowly): Both witnesses swear that the arrow was fired by no human hand.
NARRATOR: In the red sunset of one evening a week later, the Cornish coast looms dim and forbidding as two men walk out on the little pier that juts into the steel-dark sea. A motorboat is waiting there. One of the men is young and puzzled. The other is stout and elderly, and carries a briefcase. And as they meet suddenly at the end of the pier . . .
CHRIS: Excuse me, sir. Are you going to St. Ives Castle too?
NORMAN: I am, young man.
CHRIS: May I ask . . . if you're related to the family?
NORMAN (amused): Not exactly. But let me see if I can't make a guess as to who you are.
CHRIS: Well, sir?
NORMAN: You're Christopher Drew, Lady Drew's nephew. She sent you packing off to America fifteen-odd years ago.
CHRIS: That's right. But you . . . ?
NORMAN: Take a good look, and see if you don't remember.
CHRIS (surprised): Good lord!
NORMAN: Got it in one. I'm "Old Charley" Norman, the family solicitor. A little stouter, a little grayer, but the same person you used to devil years ago.
CHRIS (worried): Look, Mr. Norman. I took the first ship from New York, as soon as I got your cable. But what I want to know is—
BOATMAN (calling): The boat's ready, gen'l'men, if you are. The boat's ready!
NORMAN: The boatman seems to be getting impatient, Chris. You'd better jump in.
CHRIS: Right. Can you manage?
NORMAN: I'm not quite as unwieldy as that, thanks. (They both get in the boat.)
CHRIS: We're in, old man. Let her rip. (Boat starts.)
NORMAN: You know, Chris, you were a young limb of Satan in those days.
CHRIS: I liked doing things!
NORMAN: Don't we all?
CHRIS: I mean, I liked tinkering with things—bells and locks and toy planes and all that. I'm an aircraft designer now. But would that suit Aunt Harriet? Oh, no! I had to be a lawyer. . . . I beg your pardon, Mr. Norman!
NORMAN: That's all right, Chris. A lawyer is always the first to be sworn at and the last to be paid. So you and Lady Drew parted company?
CHRIS: When I was barely more than a kid. Yes.
NORMAN: And I gather you're not exactly . . . glad to be back?
CHRIS: Would you be? Look out there!
NORMAN: I see it.
CHRIS: Same old desolate, rocky island, with the surf boiling over it. . .
NORMAN: As a matter of fact, there's a bad surf boiling now. I hope we can make the landing stage.
CHRIS: Same old shell of a castle, towers and battlements and slimy walls, up against an ugly red sky. It was bad enough when we lived there, before the place was turned into a museum. But now. . .! Tell me, Mr. Norman, is Professor Ballard still the caretaker?
NORMAN: Yes. The professor is still there.
CHRIS: Why a cultured old guy like that should want to bury himself just to take care of the so-called Drew treasures . . . !
NORMAN: You remember Professor Ballard?
CHRIS: Very well. He used to own a parrot named Caesar.
NORMAN: Yes. Caesar's still alive.
CHRIS: I used to throw water over that parrot to make it swear. (Reflecting) Oh, yes! Professor Ballard had a daughter.
NORMAN: You mean Sally?
CHRIS: That's it! Sally! Scrawny, long-legged kid. I used to pity her, she was so ugly. . . .
NORMAN: "She was so ugly," you say. Yes.
CHRIS: I pitied her for having to live in a place where you always imagined something was following you along the halls, and might tap you on the shoulder one night when you went upstairs.
NORMAN: You were rather a nervous kid, weren't you?
CHRIS: I don't know. But I didn't like it. Even now, when we come near the place, I have a feeling I might be getting into a ghost story.
NORMAN (quietly): As a matter of fact, Chris, you already have.
CHRIS (sharply): Have what?
NORMAN: Got into a ghost story.
CHRIS: Now look, Mr. Norman—
NORMAN: Haven't you seen the London newspapers?
CHRIS: No, I've just come straight from Southampton.
NORMAN: Then you don't know how your aunt died?
CHRIS: That's what I've been trying to ask you!
NORMAN: Just a minute, Chris. Boatman, do you think we can get through to the landing stage?
BOATMAN: Easy, sir. We'll be through the jetty and into calm water in half a tick. Hold tight!
NORMAN (with relief): There! That's better!
CHRIS: Just one other thing, Mr. Norman. I don't have to stay at the castle, do I?
NORMAN: It would certainly be advisable, Chris, until the estate's wound up. You're the heir.
CHRIS: But I don't want the old shrew's money! Or those "art treasures," either!
NORMAN: All the same, Professor Ballard and I have to make an accounting to you.
CHRIS: Hang it, I don't doubt your honesty!
NORMAN: That's not the point, Chris.
CHRIS: And as for staying at the castle, I'll stay there one night out of. . . well, call it respect. But not an hour longer! I tell you, sir, I wouldn't stay another night at this place if. . . Hullo!
NORMAN: Anything wrong?
CHRIS: Who's that? Standing on the stone pier, with a lantern in her hand? Just about the prettiest girl I ever saw!
NORMAN (dryly): That, Chris, is the "scrawny, long-legged kid."
CHRIS: Not Sally Ballard?
NORMAN: The very same.
CHRIS: She looks scared half to death.
NORMAN: She is scared half to death.
NORMAN (reassuringly): Now, take it easy, Sally! It's all right!
SALLY: Mr. Norman, I'm so glad you're here, I could break down and cry. M-maybe I will.
NORMAN: There's nothing to be afraid of now. Sally, this is—
SALLY: I can guess—you're Christopher Drew, aren't you? I'd have known you anywhere.
NORMAN: That's more than Chris himself could have said.
CHRIS: Never mind that. Give me the lantern, Sally. Your hand's shaking.
SALLY: Is it? I. . . suppose it is.
NORMAN: Yes. And what are you doing out in this wind without a hat or coat?
SALLY: I'm afraid to stay in the castle. I'm afraid I might hear it again.
CHRIS: Hear what?
SALLY: I wish I could describe the sound to you. It's a sound like . . . (Pause) The bowstring twangs, and the arrow sticks in the door. And then the parrot screams. But when you go to look, nobody's there!
CHRIS: Wait a minute! What is all this?
NORMAN: The phantom archer.
CHRIS: Phantom archer?
NORMAN: That's the newspaper's sobriquet. But, Sally, what about the police? Aren't they here to see that nothing else happens?
SALLY: The police have gone.
NORMAN: Gone?
SALLY: Yes. There's nobody here but my father and old Maggie, who does the cooking and cleaning.
CHRIS: How is your father, Sally?
SALLY: He's well enough, for a man over seventy, except that his eyesight's going. And . . . he broods. Over all this, Mr. Drew!
CHRIS: Chris is the name, Sally. It always used to be.
SALLY: All right, Chris. It is nice to see you again.
NORMAN: That's better!
SALLY: You may not know it, Chris, but your aunt was thinking of selling the castle to a millionaire named Mr. Singleton, who wanted to tear it down and put up a summer residence on the island. (Intensely) I don't think my father could have stood that! This castle is his whole life.
NORMAN: That's true, Chris.
SALLY: Now that you're the owner. . . are you planning on selling it off?
CHRIS: My dear Sally! You can keep the place, or tear it down, or do anything you like with it! But. . .
SALLY: Yes, Chris?
CHRIS: I shouldn't think you'd like to live here.
SALLY: Like to live here? With death striking out of the dark before you can move a finger?
CHRIS: Striking out of the dark . . . from where?
SALLY: People can go mad when they're alone. They don't go mad when they have friends with them. I can face it now. Come along. I'll show you.
NARRATOR: Take care how you walk, now. Walls and towers and battlements whipped by the east wind. Twisting staircases, that once echoed to the clank of armor, and a hundred lightless rooms. True, the castle is supplied with electricity from its own power plant, but only a few of the rooms—the showplaces—have even that life which is the life of death. In the core of all this damp stone is the sitting room of PROFESSOR BALLARD and his daughter. A pleasant room, furnished in almost modern style, despite its stone floor. First of all, as we approach, you might notice the ancient parrot, its cage swung from the ceiling, and . . .
SALLY: This is our sitting room, Chris. Mr. Norman knows it well. (The parrot lets out a horrible shriek of laughter.)
CHRIS: Good lord! What's that?
SALLY: Be quiet, Caesar!
CAESAR: Die and rot! Die and rot! Die and rot! (Caesar screeches again.)
CHRIS: Same old parrot, I notice.
SALLY: Do you remember how you used to throw water over him, Chris? And imitate him?
NORMAN: He's got a wicked-looking eye, that parrot.
CAESAR: Stow your gab! Blast your eyes! Die and rot! (Laughs again.)
CHRIS: Doesn't Caesar get on your nerves, Sally?
SALLY: He never used to. He does now. That's what I was going to tell you. You see that big door over there?
CHRIS: Well?
SALLY: Do you remember what that door leads to?
CHRIS: Let me get my bearings for a second. . . . Yes! That door leads into the portrait gallery.
SALLY: Yes. And do you remember what the portrait gallery looks like?
CHRIS: Well. . .
SALLY (insistently): Do you?
CHRIS: It used to be a long, narrow room without any windows and only this one door. Pictures hung up on each side.
NORMAN: Including a Rubens, a Rembrandt and a Van Dyck.
SALLY: Please, Mr. Norman!
NORMAN: I'm sorry, my dear.
SALLY: Finally, do you remember what used to stand at the other end of the narrow gallery, facing this door?
CHRIS: Now wait a minute! That's going too far!
NORMAN: What is?
CHRIS: Mr. Norman, she's talking about a wooden figure—a dummy! It was dressed up as a medieval archer. It used to stand at the other end of the gallery. It held a bent bow with an arrow on the string. You're not going to tell me that blasted dummy started firing arrows?
CAESAR: Caesar eats flesh! Caesar eats flesh! Caesar eats flesh! (Laughs again.)
NORMAN: Throw the cloth over his cage, Sally. That ought to quiet him down.
CAESAR: You're a thief! You're a thief! You're a— (Squawks.)
SALLY: There, Caesar! Now you be quiet!
CHRIS: But what I want to know is . . .
SALLY: One night about two weeks ago, I was sitting in here alone. Father had gone to bed. I. . .
CHRIS: Go on!
SALLY: The door to the portrait gallery, of course, was locked. It's got a rather elaborate lock, because the paintings are so valuable, and Father has the only key.
CHRIS: Well?
SALLY: That was when I heard the sound. If I could describe it to you, it would be a sound like. . . a twang. And Caesar screamed. And I—I don't know why—I was so terrified I couldn't move. I knew there couldn't be anybody in the portrait gallery. But I didn't dare open the door to see.
CHRIS: What did you do?
SALLY: Nothing. I didn't say anything about it. But the next morning, when we opened the door . . .
NORMAN: The next morning, Chris, there was no arrow on the bowstring of the wooden dummy. The arrow was buried in the door forty feet away.
CHRIS: Now look! That is impossible!
SALLY (quietly): It's true, though.
NORMAN: And it happened on three successive nights.
SALLY: Some local paper got hold of the story. Finally, my father telegraphed to Lady Drew. And on the night of the murder . . . (Pause) Just a moment, please!
CHRIS: Anything wrong?
SALLY: No. But I think I hear my father coming. (Door opens and closes.) Hello, Father.
PROFESSOR BALLARD's voice, though thin and elderly—in sharp contrast to NORMAN'S—is by no means weak or senile. It has strength, and more than a little dignity.
BALLARD: Hello, my dear. I—I heard voices, but I wasn't aware we had visitors. Who are these gentlemen?
NORMAN: You surely know me, Professor Ballard!
SALLY: And this is Chris Drew, father. The new owner!
BALLARD: Indeed.
SALLY: And he's not going to sell the castle to Mr. Singleton after all! Let me help you across to that chair.
BALLARD: Thank you, Sally, but I am not quite as blind as all that. Christopher Drew, eh?
CHRIS: That's right, sir.
BALLARD: I was afraid it might be our friends the police back again. It is one thing to have a suspicious mind, and quite another thing to be paid to have one. Still, I suppose they must do their duty. Fiat justitia, ruat coelum! I think I will have that chair.
SALLY: Here you are, Father. I was just telling them about how you telegraphed to Lady Drew, and how she came down here . . .
BALLARD: Oh, the night of the murder. Yes.
SALLY: I can tell you everything that happened that night. Father and I were in this room when Lady Drew came storming in here. You remember what a strong-minded person she was, Chris. No nerves or nonsense about her! In she came, with her umbrella and that funny hat of hers. . . .
Music bridge to flashback
BALLARD: If you would allow me to explain, Lady Drew . . .
LADY DREW: I don't want explanations, Professor Ballard! I want an end to this tommyrot! (CAESAR screeches.) Hasn't somebody strangled that parrot yet?
CAESAR: Ugly old mug! Ugly old mug! Ugly old mug!
DREW: I'll take this umbrella to you, you beastly little—
SALLY: Please, Lady Drew. Caesar doesn't mean any harm!
DREW (grimly): Neither do I, my girl. But I very often do harm.
BALLARD: I can easily believe your ladyship.
DREW: Ghosts in the portrait gallery! Wooden dummies firing arrows! Never heard such stuff-and-nonsense in all my born days! (As she speaks, she keeps pounding on the stone floor with her umbrella.)
BALLARD: It is not really necessary, Lady Drew, to keep hammering the ferrule of that umbrella on the floor.
DREW: It is necessary, Professor Ballard, if I think it's necessary! And it's easy enough to see what's happened here. Somebody's playing a trick on you.
BALLARD (wearily): Yes. I'd already thought of that.
DREW (surprised): You had?
SALLY: Father prides himself on his detective wits, Lady Drew. You have to have that quality, you know, to be a decent research historian. But a trick . . . how?
DREW: Oh, some contraption rigged up to fire an arrow when nobody's there.
SALLY: Father thought of that too. Only . . . it won't work. (CAESAR laughs.) Be quiet, Caesar!
BALLARD: My daughter is quite right, Lady Drew. The wooden figure is a wooden figure, without any mechanism inside or outside. The rest of the gallery is as bare as your hand. But what makes you so certain this is a trick?
DREW: Because there's somebody hiding in this castle!
SALLY: What!
DREW: Don't argue with me! I know! (Hammers with umbrella.) I saw him dodge round the corner of the stairs just outside the armor hall, and a nasty ugly look he had too!
BALLARD: You must be mistaken, Lady Drew. There's nobody here except myself and my daughter and old Maggie, who does the cooking and cleaning.
DREW: I know what I know, Professor Ballard. Have you the key to that portrait gallery?
BALLARD: Of course.
DREW: Give it to me, please.
SALLY: Don't go in there, Lady Drew! Don't do it!
DREW: And why not?
SALLY: Because . . . (A small clock begins to strike nine.)
DREW: Well, my girl? Why not?
SALLY: Because this is the time the arrow is usually fired. And when you open that door, you'll be facing the archer forty feet away.
DREW (snorting): You mean I might get an arrow through my neck?
SALLY: Yes. You might.
CAESAR: Die and rot! Die and rot! Die and rot!
DREW: I've had just about enough of this! Professor Ballard!
BALLARD: Yes, Lady Drew?
DREW: You don't believe in this tommyrot, surely?
BALLARD: I have no belief in the supernatural, if that's what you mean. At the same time . . .
DREW: Will you give me that key?
BALLARD: If you insist.
DREW: Then hand it over.
BALLARD: One question, please, before I do. Are you still determined to sell this castle to Mr. Singleton?
DREW (surprised): Yes. Naturally. I told you so.
BALLARD: Then here is your key.
DREW (changing mood): No you don't! You're coming with me, both of you! You take that key, Professor Ballard, and you open the door for me!
BALLARD: Just as you like.
DREW: It isn't enough—oh, no!—to have my life half worried out with rates and taxes that would ruin Croesus! This has to happen on top of it, and maybe spoil a good sale! Will you open that door so I can go in?
BALLARD: Certainly.
CAESAR: Die and rot! Die and rot! Die and rot!
(Ballard puts key into lock.)
SALLY: Stand to one side, Father! Please stand to one side!
BALLARD: Will you go first, Lady Drew?
DREW: Yes, I will! And don't think I won't!
BALLARD: As you know, this part of the castle dates back to the twelfth century. (He turns key and opens the door, then stands aside.)
SALLY: Father!
BALLARD: What's wrong?
SALLY: All the lights have gone out!
(The parrot shrieks on a long, sustained note. Then a choking noise, and a heavy thud.)
BALLARD: Lady Drew! Lady Drew!
SALLY: We were all so shocked we couldn't move, Chris.
CHRIS: But . . . well, what happened then?
SALLY: Twenty seconds later the lights went on again.
CHRIS: Well?
SALLY: Lady Drew had been shot through the chest with an arrow. She was lying across the threshold, already speechless and dying. But there was nobody in the portrait gallery!
NORMAN: Excuse me, Sally. But . . .
SALLY: Yes, Mr. Norman?
NORMAN: I've been over the evidence many times, of course. All the same, are you sure there was nobody in the gallery?
SALLY: Absolutely sure.
CHRIS: Why, Sally?
SALLY: As soon as Lady Drew was hit, Father moved over and stood in front of the door. Nobody came out. And the lights went on twenty seconds later. Isn't that true, Father?
BALLARD (blankly): Eh?
CHRIS (whispering): Sally, what's wrong with your father? He's sitting at that table with his hand shading his eyes, as though he were a million miles away.
SALLY: He is a million miles away. . . in his own thoughts. Father!
BALLARD: Yes, my dear?
SALLY: Isn't it true that there was nobody in the portrait gallery after Lady Drew was shot?
BALLARD: Oh, yes, Sally. That's true enough.
CHRIS: Then how in all blue blazes was Aunt Harriet killed?
NORMAN: That, Chris, is what the police want to know. Speaking as a mere lawyer, I'm a little out of my depth. If Professor Ballard has any ideas . . .
BALLARD: I beg your pardon for my discourtesy, gentlemen. I was merely sitting here thinking about the nature of evidence, and the curious ways in which the human mind can be misled.
SALLY: Misled, father?
BALLARD: Into error. And into great crime.
SALLY: Yes, but. . .
BALLARD: I was also wondering, if you will forgive me, whether this young man is really Christopher Drew.
SALLY: Father!
CHRIS: Great Scott, sir, you don't think I'm an impostor? Your own daughter can identify me! So can Mr. Norman!
BALLARD: At the same time, I move in a world of visual shadows. And I have a great trust to hand over before I. . . speak.
SALLY: Before you speak ?
BALLARD: I should prefer some more formal identification of Mr. Drew. A passport, for instance?
CHRIS: I have a passport.
BALLARD: May I see it, please? . . . Thank you.
NORMAN: This isn't necessary, is it? Even I. . .
BALLARD (sighing): No. It is all correct. Photograph, fingerprint, height, age, weight. Landed Southampton July 14; immigration stamp. You are Christopher Drew. I have here the keys to all the inhabited parts of the castle. I take great pleasure in turning them over to you.
CHRIS: Tell me, sir. Is the key to the portrait gallery among them?
BALLARD: It is.
CHRIS: Which key is it, Professor Ballard?
SALLY: Chris: What are you going to do? (The clock begins to strike nine.)
NORMAN: I think I can guess. But are you sure it's wise?
CHRIS: You can't tell me arrows can be fired out of empty air! Either Aunt Harriet was killed by some mechanical contrivance rigged up in there . . .
BALLARD: On my solemn word of honor. Mr. Drew, there was nothing of the kind.
CHRIS: . . . or else she was killed by a ghost. And I'm going to find out which. Mr. Norman?
NORMAN: Yes, Chris?
CHRIS: We might have the conditions as they were before. Would you mind taking the cover off the parrot's cage?
NORMAN: I'm a sensible man. I'm a practical man. But I still don't like this! If. . .
CHRIS: Would you mind, Mr. Norman?
NORMAN: If you insist But. . .
CAESAR: You're a thief! You're a thief! You're a thief!
SALLY: Why do you jump back, Mr. Norman? You're not a thief, are you?
NORMAN: No, of course not But this infernal bird gets on my nerves even more than it must get on yours. It's got the eye of a rattlesnake and the face of a mummified pharaoh.
SALLY: Maybe Caesar knows the truth.
CHRIS: Maybe he does. But we won't count on it. Which is the key to the portrait gallery, Professor Ballard?
SALLY: Don't do it, Chris! Don't do it!
BALLARD: This is the key, Mr. Drew.
CHRIS: Then stand back, everybody, and let's have a look at the ogre's den. If any wooden dummy starts shooting arrows at me, you can call the wagon for the loony bin. (He starts unlocking the door.)
SALLY: Chris! Please! Don't do it!
CAESAR: Die and rot! Die and rot! Die and rot!
(Chris turns the knob.)
BALLARD: Just one moment, please!
CHRIS: Yes, Professor Ballard?
BALLARD: It will not be necessary to expose yourself to any danger.
CHRIS: No? Why not?
BALLARD: Because I should prefer to tell you who killed Lady Drew, and how it was done.
NORMAN: You know?
BALLARD: My dear Mr. Norman, there is one obvious question for the research student—or detective, if you prefer—to ask himself in this matter. That question is why the lights went out before Lady Drew was killed, and on again twenty seconds later.
NORMAN: Well? Why did they?
BALLARD: They were extinguished because someone pulled out the switch of the fuse box, which is just outside the door of this room. They went on again because someone threw back the switch twenty seconds later.
NORMAN: Someone?
BALLARD: Yes, someone.
SALLY: That's all very well, Father, but it doesn't tell us anything!
BALLARD: You think not, my dear?
SALLY: It certainly doesn't tell us, for instance, who fired an arrow from the portrait gallery.
BALLARD: There never was any arrow fired from the portrait gallery.
CHRIS: What?
BALLARD: On what grounds, Sally, do you assume that there was? Did you hear any sound of the bowstring?
SALLY (bewildered): No, I—I didn't.
BALLARD: Why not?
SALLY: Because just at that moment, just as Lady Drew was going in, Caesar—(The parrot screams.) Like that!
NORMAN (shakily): Very convenient for the murderer, wasn't it?
BALLARD: Not convenient. Arranged.
CHRIS: Go on, Professor Ballard!
BALLARD: Let me repeat. Why did you assume an arrow was fired from the gallery? Simply because, on three successive nights, an arrow had been fired in there by someone who detached the bow from the dummy figure and aimed at a locked door.
SALLY: But somebody had to get into the gallery to do that.
BALLARD: Of course. With a key, for instance, like mine.
SALLY: Father!
CHRIS: Look here, sir, do you know what you're saying?
BALLARD: I am saying that our minds were prepared for it. We expected it. When Lady Drew was struck down by an arrow in the dark, we assumed that the arrow had been fired from the gallery. Of course, the arrow was never fired at all.
NORMAN: Never . . . fired . . . at all?
BALLARD: Does it surprise you, Mr. Norman?
NORMAN: Very much.
BALLARD: That arrow, you see, was in the hands of the murderer— it was used like a dagger. When those lights were out, the murderer simply caught Lady Drew from behind and drove the arrow into her chest.
CAESAR: Die and rot! Die and rot! Die and rot!
BALLARD: It was all over in less than twenty seconds. Much less.
NORMAN: See here, Professor Ballard. Are you confessing to this murder?
BALLARD: I? Confessing to the murder? (Chuckles.) Sir, you amuse me.
SALLY: But you must be accusing somebody!
BALLARD: Does Mr. Norman forget so easily as that?
NORMAN: Forget what?
BALLARD: Does he forget, for instance, the man who was hiding here in the castle? The man seen by Lady Drew herself?
CAESAR: You're a thief! You're a thief! You're a thief!
NORMAN: Are you accusing me?
BALLARD: Sally, my dear! I have trained you well. Can't you use your reason even yet?
SALLY: But I don't see . . .
BALLARD: I am accusing the man who liked to tinker with locks and could have made a key like mine. I am accusing the man who could and did imitate Caesar, to cover any absent noise of a bowstring.
SALLY: You mean . . . ?
BALLARD: I am accusing the man who claims to have arrived in England only today, though his passport stamp—look at it!—bears the date of July 14, the day before the murder. I am accusing . . .
SALLY: Chris Drew! You wanted the money! You killed that old woman yourself!
(CAESAR screams.)
Suspense (CBS), March 9, 1943
Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine, June 1948
Footnotes
-
选自《厄运之门和其他侦探故事》 ↩