“It was the convenient sort of case,” Appleby said, “in which the bullet stops the clock.”
The QC looked sceptical. “That’s something that ought to happen from time to time, I’ve no doubt. But in twenty years on the criminal side I’ve never actually come across it.”
The Vicar was mildly considering. “I believe,” he ventured presently, “that it has been used in a detective story. In fact, I’m almost sure of it.”
Appleby chuckled. “I suspect that your reading in the genre is limited. Yarns in which the clock stops the bullet and the bullet retaliates by stopping the clock are as thick in the libraries as autumnal leaves are supposed to be in Vallombrosa. But there was another interesting feature in this case. The evidence of one witness – a crucial witness – was complicated by the fact that he had seen only the reversed image of the clock.”
“You mean in a mirror?” The QC groaned. “It’s really too much, my dear fellow. All yarns in which the bullet stops the clock in Chapter One regularly introduce a mirror to our notice round about Chapter Five or Six. And you yourself are being wildly improvident. You should sit on your mirror” – and the QC stretched out his arm for the decanter – “until the port has gone round a second time.”
“I can imagine nothing more gingerly and uncomfortable. I insist on setting my mirror squarely on the table. And, for that matter, my clock too. It is important that you take a good look at it.” Appleby, somewhat to the Vicar’s bewilderment, pointed firmly to a dish of walnuts. “Notice that it is a thoroughly modern clock. You might almost call it a modish clock. And certainly a reticent clock. It bears no figures, but only a plain dot at each hour.”
The QC nodded. “I’ve seen that sort of clock. Uncommonly silly notion, if you ask me. But then” – he smiled happily – “it’s clear that you are determined to tell us an uncommonly silly story. It’s an art that I can’t myself study too carefully. So pray proceed.”
Appleby nodded. “Very well. Sir Hannibal Green was a prosperous bachelor living in a flat just off Piccadilly, where he was ministered to by a manservant of the name of Snake.”
“I don’t believe a word of it.” The QC was uncompromising. “Outside Restoration Comedy, such a name simply doesn’t exist.”
Appleby grinned. “Well, I’m calling the man Snake. And Snake alone lived with Sir Hannibal in the flat, getting along with the aid of persons who came in to oblige by the day. Sir Hannibal wasn’t distinguished for anything very much, with the exception of a very fine collection of miniatures. Some of these hung on the walls of his study; others were disposed in showcases; and the majority – I suppose so that the general effect should not be too overwhelming – lived in a big Flemish cabinet which had been steel-lined and fire-proofed for the purpose.
“As you may have guessed, my story concerns an attempt to steal these treasures. It was a successful attempt and a ruthless one – involving nothing less than Sir Hannibal’s murder. And it occurred on the day that Sir Hannibal, together with Snake, returned from his annual visit to Italy.”
“Italy?” The Vicar cracked a nut with the air of bringing off an epigram. “Then Hannibal must have crossed the Alps.”
“Certainly he did.” Appleby smiled tolerantly. “He did so by rail and through the Mont Cenis – which got him and his manservant back to Victoria round about seven p.m. They drove straight home in a taxi. Sir Hannibal, after satisfying himself that his collection was safe and sound, went to his bedroom to change. And Snake employed himself in preparing a light supper. So much is certain.
“At ten o’clock that night a married sister of Sir Hannibal’s named Mrs Gracie called to welcome home her brother on his return from abroad. Having got no answer to her ring on the doorbell, she let herself in with a latchkey – something she commonly had when her brother was away, so that she could drop in from time to time and keep an eye on things. She found the flat in disorder, the greater part of the collection gone, and her brother shot dead in his dining-room.”
The QC set down his glass. “You suspected Snake?”
“We came to suspect him strongly, although at first he told a story that seemed innocent enough. On his serving the meal he had prepared, his employer asked him if he wanted to go out. He replied that he would like to. He, too, had a sister, to whom he was anxious to give an account of his holiday. And on the chance that he might be free, he had suggested to her by letter that she come round at nine o’clock and wait for him in some caretaker’s room downstairs. This apparently was a common rendezvous for people working in this block of flats. Sir Hannibal at once agreed, adding that he would breakfast in his bedroom, and that the present meal could be cleared up by a woman who came in during the morning.
“And now I come to the clock. Snake withdrew, and Sir Hannibal told him to leave the dining-room door open. He had a notion that he might not be able to hear the doorbell, if Mrs Gracie did call.
“Ten minutes later Snake – if his story was to be believed – left the flat. He didn’t glance into the dining-room, since it would have been impolite, apparently, to meet his employer’s eye. But he did glance at a large mirror in the hall. It showed him Sir Hannibal sitting over his wine just as we are doing now. And it showed him the clock. Wondering whether his sister would yet be waiting downstairs, he took the trouble to read the clock. He could see that it was going, for it had one of those second-hands that sweep across the whole dial. And it said precisely nine o’clock. Snake seemed quite clear-headed about this. It had the appearance of reading three o’clock, because – as I have said – he was, of course, seeing its image in reverse.
“Well, out Snake went – and within a couple of minutes was conversing with his sister, a caretaker, and another private servant. He had left his employer alive and well. Or so he said.”
The QC picked up the decanter again in great absence of mind. “Snake,” he said, “was in an unpleasant position.”
“It was to become much more unpleasant quite soon. At first, there seemed to be various possibilities. Sir Hannibal’s body was found by the open door of his dining-room. It seemed plausible that somebody might have rung the doorbell, been admitted, and then been led into or towards the dining-room to be interviewed. The direction of the shots – there had been three of them – were consistent with this. One had buried itself in the mantelpiece; another had hit the clock, which was standing on the mantelpiece; and the third had shot Sir Hannibal through the forehead. It looked as if a thoroughly nervous criminal had taken two rapid shots at him ineffectively from behind, and had then got him squarely above the eyes as he swung round.”
The Vicar sighed. “And all to clear the way to a collection of miniatures. What an incredibly brutal crime!”
“Quite so. There was, of course, the question of the criminal’s knowing his way about, getting the Flemish cabinet open, and so on. There was nothing here that positively pointed to Snake. But the business of the waiting sister had a suspicious air. It is just the sort of thing that is brought into prominence when a man has been cooking up an alibi.
“Only if that had been Snake’s game, he had bungled things badly. You will recall that he claimed to have left Sir Hannibal alive and well just on nine o’clock. And you know that one of the bullets stopped the clock.”
The QC considered. “Before nine?”
“Precisely. At half-past eight.”
“Admirable!” The Vicar nodded with every appearance of massive intellectual delectation. “So Snake’s game was up.”
Appleby shook his head – and once more pointed impressively at the walnuts. “A modern clock. Indeed – as you can now see – an electric clock. And you know how the simple type of electric clock is set going? You switch on the current, and then simply spin a little knob at the back. The electricity had, of course, been switched off while Sir Hannibal was away on holiday. Presumably just before his man went out he had set the clock by his watch, switched on, and spun. But he had spun in the wrong direction.
“That – as you will know if you have ever possessed such a clock – is a very easy thing to do. And it simply sets the clock going backwards. Half an hour after Snake last saw Sir Hannibal, the clock would be saying not half-past nine but half-past eight. Sir Hannibal had been murdered by someone gaining admission to the flat half an hour after Snake left.”
The QC drew a long breath. “How did you tumble to this?”
“Snake remembered that he had seen the second-hand definitely revolving in a clockwise direction. It had obscurely disturbed him at the time – as well it might, in view of the fact that he was seeing the thing in a mirror. I was convinced of the truth of his statement as soon as he recalled this odd fact; and it admits of no other explanation than the one I have given you. So I pegged away at the case until I ran the real criminal to earth. One usually does, in the end.”