The Fourth Side of the Triangle

“You did, didn’t you? Excuse me, Mrs. McKell, I guess I wasn’t paying close enough attention. Then you didn’t do any sewing that night. What did you do? — after putting the book down, I mean?”

Astonishingly, Lutetia uttered the ghost of a giggle. Inspector Queen looked dumfounded. It was as if Queen Victoria had belched.

“I’m ashamed to say, Inspector. Well, I suppose it can’t be helped. Oh, dear, now you’ll think me a complete scatterbrain. Dane, you remember I told you when you came in just past midnight—”

The Inspector glanced at Dane.

“Mother was watching television,” Dane said curtly. He was embarrassed. Why did she have to be such a prig? The old policeman would think it was an act. How could he believe she was being herself? How could anyone who didn’t know her?

“Well, we won’t make a federal case out of that,” Inspector Queen said dryly. “It’s a vice shared by a lot of people, they tell me. Mrs. McKell, how long did you watch TV?”

“For almost three hours,” Lutetia confessed.

“Do you remember what you saw?”

“Oh... dear. I’m afraid I can’t. They’re all sort of the same, aren’t they? I do recall some old motion picture...”

The Inspector pressed her softly. He got little out of her. She had not left the apartment, she had had no visitors.

“We don’t seem to be getting anywhere,” the old gentleman remarked at last.

“Because there’s no place to get.” Ashton McKell rose. “My wife stayed home, Inspector. How can she remember the details of an evening in which nothing happened, and during which she was alone? On what ground are you questioning her? Why are you holding her?”

“Sit down, Mr. McKell,” said Inspector Queen. “This is not a desperate detention — we would hardly take a step like this without a basis in hard fact. Will you sit down? Please?”

Ashton sat down.

“Let’s begin with the fundamentals again — motive, opportunity, means. I hate to poke around old sores, but Mrs. McKell certainly had motive against Sheila Grey, in view of the circumstances — the woman her husband was seeing on the sly.” Ashton reddened; Lutetia reached over and patted his hand, turning him redder. “She also had opportunity, very good opportunity — living in the same building, able to get up to the penthouse any time she wanted without being spotted, and by her own admission just now, all alone all evening until after midnight, when your son came home. There are only four apartments in the building — the Clementses are on a cruise, no one is occupying the Dill apartment at present, Mr. Dill’s will being contested, with the apartment one of the assets his heirs are wrangling about. And the elevator is self-service.

“As for means.” The Inspector paused. “Ordinarily I wouldn’t tell you this, Mr. McKell, but considering that you were acquitted today in the same case, you people are entitled to know just why we’ve made this arrest. You see, today we found new evidence.”

“Evidence?” Dane echoed. “What evidence?”

The old man took from the bowels of his desk a dainty lace handkerchief, bunched together as if it were wrapped around something. The monogram in the corner lay exposed.

“ALDeWMcK,” he said, pointing to it. “It would be a pretty remarkable coincidence if anybody else in any way involved with Sheila Grey had this monogram. Anyway, there won’t be any trouble identifying the handkerchief. This is your property, Mrs. McKell, isn’t it?”

She swallowed and nodded.

The Inspector opened the handkerchief as if it held some sacred relic. Inside nestled five brass-cased .38 cartridges.

Ashton McKell gaped at them. “Where did you find those?”

“In the same place as the handkerchief — in the bottom of a dressing-table drawer in your wife’s dressing room. We did it legally,” he added gently, “with a search warrant.” Yes, thought Dane, and you did it damned fast — after that bartender’s testimony gave you some second thoughts. “Along with the handkerchief and these five cartridges,” and Inspector Queen reached into his drawer again and brought out a small box, “we found this ammo box, which according to the label should contain twenty .38 cartridges. Do you want to count how many are in the box?” He removed the lid; some were missing. “I’ll save you the trouble. It contains fifteen cartridges.

“But the five missing cartridges,” the Inspector went on, “are not the five cartridges we found wrapped up in the handkerchief. The missing ones, like these left in the box, were live ammunition. These five in the handkerchief are blanks.”

“What?” Ashton said feebly.

“Miss Grey was killed with a Smith and Wesson .38 Terrier revolver. An S. & W. 38 Terrier holds only five bullets. — Were you going to say something, Mr. McKell?”

“Are you trying to tell us,” the elder McKell asked out of stiff lips, “that the five blanks in that handkerchief are the same blanks I put into the revolver?”

“Exactly. Somebody removed the five blanks you put into the gun and substituted five live shells — the five missing from this box. And the question is: Who was that somebody?”