The Weak-Eyed Bat

Tommy made it plain, by a series of grimaces, that he had no intention of going. Although bribery was against his principles, Inspector White said: “I’ll give you a quarter.”

“For fifty cents I can buy a water pistol,” the baby said musingly.

“Tommy! Really, Inspector, he never acts like this! I can’t understand—”

Fifty cents changed hands and the door was locked behind Tommy. Mrs. Remington sank into a chair, sighing audibly.

Inspector White remained standing. “I want you to assist the cause of justice, Mrs. Remington.”

It was a good beginning. Mrs. Remington began to flutter like a light-mad moth.

“I want you to keep this discovery a complete secret. Tell no one, not even your husband.”

“I haven’t any husband.”

“Good,” Inspector White said vigorously. “How far is the nearest cottage?”

Mrs. Remington looked vague. “Quite, quite far.”

“Is there any possibility that someone else saw this canoe?”

“I don’t think so. You see, this is a kind of cove, very private. And with all those trees and things— Oh no.”

Inspector White spent another five minutes swearing her to secrecy and went out to give orders to his men. Dr. Prescott was to accompany the corpse to Clayton, one policeman was to remain at the spot where the body was discovered and keep an eye on the Remingtons. The other man, who was in plain clothes, was to find out who owned the canoe. Inspector White himself put through an enigmatic call to Prye’s cottage.

Dr. Prye, strengthened by food, was about to go up to Miss Bonner’s for a stern interview with Alfonse when the telephone rang.

“Prye? White speaking. Walk to the end of the lane and I’ll pick you up in ten minutes. Don’t tell anyone.” Inspector White rang off and Prye turned to Nora.

“Sorry, I have to go out,” he said. “Stay here if you like, but lock the doors.”

“Where are you going?” she asked nonchalantly.

“Sh! My lips are sealed, but I don’t mind telling you that I’m going out to foil a plot to blow up the Parliament Buildings in Ottawa.”

“Wise guy,” Nora said without heat.

She watched him out of the window. Wherever Dr. Prye was going he seemed in no hurry to arrive. He wandered casually up the lane, stopping to fling a flat stone into the water and watch it skip along the surface.

Emily saw him, too, and immediately shouted down to Wang to lock all the doors and windows, Prye was coming. But Prye passed her house with barely a glance and soon he was hidden by trees.

At the place where the lane crossed the main road Inspector White was waiting in his official car. He opened the door with a curt, “Come in.”

Prye got in and slammed the door. “Found him?”

“We found him,” Inspector White said grimly. “In a canoe on the other side of the lake. He was hit over the head like the girl, but there was no trace of the weapon. It looks like an ax job. I’ve seen quite a few of them. But ax murderers are usually a simple, crude, stupid class of criminal, and this man isn’t.”

“Or woman,” Prye said. “When was Little killed?”

“Prescott says between fifteen and twenty hours ago, roughly sometime during the storm. He must have left his house after the storm started because he was wearing his coat and hat and rubbers.”

“Why put him in a canoe?” Prye said slowly.

“I have an idea about that. My theory is that the murderer wanted the body to be found but not on the spot where the murder was committed. Unless we get eyewitness testimony we stand no chance at all of finding out where Little was killed: the storm will have washed away all traces of the crime and we certainly can’t have every piece of earth in Muskoka tested for invisible bloodstains. Since a drifting canoe is sure to be discovered on a lake of this size I assume that the murderer did not want to conceal the body as he did Miss Frost’s; perhaps he meant us to find Little. In that case, he will be disconcerted if we do not find him, won’t he?”

Prye nodded. “So your idea is to pretend that the body has not been discovered and to wait for the murderer to make the next move?”

“That’s it. And whether I’m right or wrong, secrecy can do no harm.”

“I think you’re wrong. Whose canoe was it?”

“I have a man tracing it but we don’t know yet.”

“I hope it’s Joan Frost’s,” Prye said.

Inspector White took his eyes off the road to stare at him. “Why do you say that?”

Prye was silent a minute. Then he said thoughtfully: “How neat it will be if the canoe is Joan’s. See the pattern behind the two murders? Joan is killed and her body left in the water. Her engagement ring is found in Tom’s room. There was no attempt to conceal it. Then Tom is killed in the same way, and his body is placed in a canoe. And if the canoe belongs to Joan Frost, see how completely the two deaths are interwoven? It’s almost as if the murderer is trying to make us see the essential justice of his crimes.”

“Always providing,” Inspector White put in dryly, “that the canoe does belong to Joan Frost.” He turned his car around in the middle of the road. “We’re going back now. I have a job for you, Prye.”