The Almost Perfect Murder Part 8

Harlequin, feeling that he had the crowd with him, hooted with laughter. "Better a monkey than a crab," he retorted.

Abdullah sprang up from the table, trembling. "How about a blackguard?" he snarled. "A foul, lying blackguard!"

Harlequin gave a leap and quicker than I could follow the blow, struck him on the side of the head. Abdullah rocked drunkenly and the tall hat rolled to the floor. He seemed not to know how to defend himself, but just stood there taking Harlequin's lightning blows. His one idea was to keep his adversary from unmasking him; he pressed a hand over his mask to keep it on.

The wildest confusion followed. To my astonishment the two women who had seemed to be enraged at the gay Harlequin now turned on Abdullah, and the unfortunate Janizary was badly knocked about before aid could reach him. Following a blind instinct we all rushed to get into it, either to join the melee or to stop it, I can hardly say which. Only Anne Boleyn stood coldly to one side.

It was an ugly scene; men punching and cursing; women screeching and clawing. When the two women were pulled away from Abdullah, they attacked each other. I have a vague impression that some of the dancers ran in from the hall, and were hustled out again by Mephisto. I know that a couple of waiters appeared and helped to stop the fight.

Suddenly it was over. Harlequin and Abdullah were separated and pressed back. Harlequin was laughing. He had lost his mask for good now. The handsome, masculine face showed with extraordinary vividness amongst all the masked ones. I had never seen the man before that night.

I heard little Jackie moaning softly: "George! George!"

Zuleika turned on her, snarling: "Shut up, you fool! What is he to you?"

One of Abdullah's cheeks was badly clawed, but he had succeeded in hanging on to his mask.

And then simultaneously we all became aware of the ugly little automatic lying in the middle of the clear s.p.a.ce where they had just been struggling. We gazed at it in horror. n.o.body could tell how it had got there.

II.

"Whose is it?" asked Mr. Punch hoa.r.s.ely.

There was no answer.

"It must be somebody's," he said, looking from face to face. "Is it yours, Harlequin?"

"No," was the careless answer. "I couldn't hide a gun in this union suit."

It was obvious that he spoke the truth.

"Is it yours, Abdullah?"

"No," was the sullen answer. I doubt if anybody believed him.

"Yours, Mephisto?"

"No."

"For myself, I say it is not mine," said Mr. Punch.

One by one the women denied ownership, and the gun continued to lie on the floor. The waiters had retired and I don't believe they had noticed its presence in all the confusion.

n.o.body would touch it for fear of incriminating himself. Finally Anne Boleyn came forward and coolly picked it up. My employer was the only one to whom it could not have belonged, because up to that moment she had never been on that side of the table. She opened the magazine.

"Fully loaded," she said.

Emptying the sh.e.l.ls into her hand, she showed them to us all, and dropped them in a pocket of her skirt. She then tossed the gun carelessly on the table. It fell at the place to Mr. Punch's right; that is to say where Anne Boleyn had previously been sitting.

"The owner can claim it upon presentation of check," she said lightly.

"You seem to be well accustomed to firearms, Anne," remarked the plump Zuleika acidly.

"Now come, now come, ladies and gentlemen," said the suave Mr. Punch, rubbing his hands together. "We were all having a lovely time. Do not let this little unpleasantness spoil our evening. Let bygones be bygones. Take your seats again, I beg. There are still two magnums to be opened!"

Harlequin's face lighted up at the mention of more wine. As to the others, I cannot say what was pa.s.sing in their minds, but n.o.body made any move to leave. I was desperately anxious to get away from there. In the general movement around the table I managed to whisper in Anne's ear: "Oh, please, let's get out of this. There is certain to be more trouble."

"We must see it through, Bella," she murmured. "Crider is outside if we need help."

Harlequin stood behind Anne Boleyn's place holding her chair ready for her, but she coolly usurped Jackie's seat on the other side of the table at Mephisto's right.

"Jackie, you run around and take my old place," she said to the girl in the sailor suit.

Jackie obeyed with alacrity, for it placed her next to Harlequin. His face turned dark. "What's the matter?" he growled to Anne Boleyn.

"Oh, I've had enough of you for the present," she answered good-naturedly. "I want to commune with the devil awhile."

A laugh travelled around at Harlequin's expense, and he went as flat as a punctured tyre. It was a good stroke of policy on Mme. Storey's part. For a while it made things easier all around the table. Unluckily the situation was more serious than either of us suspected. Nothing we might have done could have averted what happened.

There was a very curious thing about that gun. When the waiter entered to serve more wine, Mr. Punch whispered quickly: "Cover the gun."

When I looked it was lying in front of Abdullah's place. How it got there I couldn't tell you. n.o.body saw it moved around the table. Abdullah nervously dropped a napkin over it. As the champagne circulated the gun was forgotten again. It seemed of no importance because it was not loaded.

The waiter turned on the main lights of the room in order to see how to serve the wine. When he retired he turned them out again, and we sat once more in the agreeable van-coloured glow like that of a Christmas tree. The door of the room was closed in order to keep out wandering groups of masqueraders. Like most masked b.a.l.l.s, this was a very bibulous party.

Mr. Punch and Mephisto at head and foot of the table both worked hard to make things go. The latter gave us a rendition of "Casey Jones," which I suppose was all the rage when he was young. But Abdullah and Zuleika would not join in the chorus. Moreover, Harlequin soon tired of the sailor la.s.sie, and started talking to Anne Boleyn across the table, whereupon Jackie became enraged again. That party was doomed from the moment when Harlequin had first raised his mask.

However, Mr. Punch was not yet at the end of his resources. He stood up at the head of the table, and rapped for order. He was a really impressive figure because his make-up was so good. He had some sort of a tin piece in his mouth that caused him to squeak and whistle in the manner one a.s.sociates with Mr. Punch, and he sawed his arms just like the little figures operated by a hand from beneath. His false chin waggled in the most realistic manner. It brought back all the Punch and Judy shows of one's childhood, and most of us were immediately reduced to helpless laughter. Laughter puts you off your guard, and I foolishly began to think that the trouble was over.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he squeaked, "if you will be kind enough to give me your attention for a few moments I will recite for you the early history of the immortal Mr. Punch. Laying aside the tragedy which overtook him, I am sure you will be glad to learn how Mr. Punch fell in love. It seems that when he was a young man..."

At this moment the table lights went out, and the room was plunged into total darkness. A loud "Oh!" of astonishment escaped from us all. Immediately afterward there was a flash and a shot across the table from me, followed by a heavy crash immediately on my left where Harlequin sat.

I instinctively slid under the table, and most of the others did the same. I brushed against Anne Boleyn under there, and smelled her perfume. In my terror I flung my arms around her, but she roughly thrust me away, and scrambled out of my reach. I was paralysed with terror.

Then I heard the click of a switch and the electrolier went on, flooding the room with light. Mr. Punch's terrified voice gasped: "For G.o.d's sake, come out, all of you."

The others crept out and I followed. What a frightful moment that was! Harlequin was stretched out on the floor beside his overturned chair with a bullet-hole in his forehead. One glance at him was enough. He was stone dead.

Abdullah was sitting directly across the table staring, as if frozen, at the place where Harlequin had been. He was the only one who had not moved from his chair. He could not see the body where it had fallen. Before him lay the gun. Mephisto s.n.a.t.c.hed it up out of his reach. Mr. Punch was by the door. It was he who had switched on the lights.

There was a significant silence in the hall outside. Evidently they had heard the shot out there, and had stopped dead in their tracks. Presently we heard running feet approaching. Mephisto darted to the door and turned the key. People rattled the lock and pounded on the panels.

"What's the matter? What's the matter?" they cried.

"'S all right," said Mephisto in a carefully schooled voice. "Just a little friendly tussle. No harm done!"

"Open the door!" they commanded.

"You go to h.e.l.l," said Mephisto, pretending to be a little drunk. "This is a private party. We don't want no intruders. 'S all right, I tell you."

The running feet retreated from the door again. We were too much concerned with the horror inside the room to consider what they might do out there.

Jackie cast herself down beside the body. "Oh, my darling! My darling!" she moaned. "Speak to me!"

Her mask had fallen off, revealing a pale, pretty face convulsed with grief. The girl was a stranger to me, but it was terribly affecting.

Zuleika ran around the table, and attempted to drag her away. "Who are you?" she cried. "Let me get a look at you. Why, I never saw you before! What right have you here?"

"Well, who are you?" retorted Jackie.

The older woman s.n.a.t.c.hed her mask off and thrust her distorted face close into the girl's. "Look at me! Look at me!" she screeched. "I'm his wife, that's who I am!"

Jackie collapsed in helpless weeping.

The raging Zuleika turned on Abdullah then. "He did it!" she cried. "He was right beside me. There's the murderer! Unmask him!"

Abdullah, with a terrified gesture, clapped a hand over his mask. Mephisto held the woman back from attacking him.

"I didn't do it!" Abdullah kept crying hysterically. "I swear to G.o.d I am innocent. I never fired a gun in my life!"

No one paid any attention to that. We had all seen the flash of the pistol from the spot where he sat. Moreover, it was soon proved that the table lights had not gone out by accident. The connection which was plugged into the floor under the centre of the table, between Abdullah and Harlequin, had been kicked out. Abdullah's feet had been the nearest to the plug, though any one of the four women might have reached it with a foot. Mr. Punch at the head of the table and Mephisto at the other end were too far away to have reached the plug.

All this happened in much less time than it takes me to write it. Anne Boleyn was standing a little apart from the others, watching and listening. I remembered that she had been the last to creep out from under the table.

"How did the gun get loaded again?" she asked quietly. We looked at one another blankly.

"Well, it was lying under the napkin all that time," suggested Mr. Punch slowly. "Abdullah might have slipped it out and reloaded while we were singing."

"It's a lie!" cried Abdullah. "I never touched it! I have no sh.e.l.ls on me. Search me! Search me!"

"You wouldn't need any more now," Mr. Punch dryly remarked.

It is difficult for me to write about these moments calmly. Most of us were in a state bordering on hysteria. Every second produced a new sensation. As long as Jackie lay on the floor Abdullah could not see her. When she arose he had his first glimpse of her unmasked.

"Oh, my G.o.d! Is it you?" he cried. "I might have known it."

She paid no attention to him. She suddenly began to screech loudly: "Let me out of here! Let me out of here!" Running to one of the windows, she pulled back the portieres and raised the sash. "There's the fire escape," she screamed. "We can get out this way!"

Panic is catching. There was a general rush to follow her, but Mr. Punch dragged her back from the window and stood blocking the way. "Wait a minute! Wait a minute!" he cried, waving his hands, struggling for calmness. "If we beat it we'd only incriminate ourselves. Get back, you fools. You didn't all do it. You've got nothing to fear. Get back, I say. I've got a character to lose, if you haven't. I'm going to see this thing through. Get the police."

We moved back from the window. His logic was unanswerable.

He seemed to have an impulse of mercy then. "Give the guilty man a chance if you want," he said with a glance at Abdullah. "If you're willing to let him go, it's all right with me. Give him a chance for his life. We can shout for the police when he starts down the ladder."

Pandemonium arose at this.

"Yes!" cried the good-natured Mephisto.

"No," screamed Zuleika, "let him go to the chair."

Abdullah himself settled the matter by refusing to go. "I didn't do it," he gabbled over and over. "I'm innocent--I swear it!"

"All right," said Mr. Punch with a shrug. He closed the window.

The next thing I remember (you must keep in mind that this whole scene lasted but about three minutes) was seeing Zuleika in a corner of the room busy with a powder pad and a tiny mirror. Like most women no longer young, as soon as she began to get a grip on herself her first thought was to repair the damage to her make-up. It was absolutely a pitiable sight to see her dabbing at her cheeks, because the woman's eyes were quite daft.

Suddenly Abdullah levelled a shaking forefinger at her and yelled: "She's left-handed!"

It was true; Zuleika had started to apply lipstick with her left hand.

"She's left-handed! She's left-handed!" yelled Abdullah.

"Well, what of it?" said Zuleika, staring, lipstick poised in air.

"She sat at my right," cried Abdullah. "The shot was fired beside me. She's left-handed! She did it!"

"You lie!" cried Zuleika, showing her teeth. She had been a dark beauty in her day. The rest of us simply gaped at this new turn.

"If she is his wife she had good cause to do it," shrilled Abdullah. "He was always running after other women. He took my girl from me! Zuleika s.n.a.t.c.hed up the pistol beside me. She did it! I will swear it on the Book!"

"You lie!" repeated Zuleika. "You accuse me," she cried suddenly; "how about her?" She pointed to the tall figure of Anne Boleyn quietly watching. "She was supposed to have emptied the magazine, wasn't she? She played a sleight-of-hand trick on all of you, that's what! Why did she change her seat at the table? So she could slip between me and Abdullah when the lights went out and fire the shot! Take her mask off, and let's have a look at her!"

Mme. Storey smiled coldly at this tirade. She did not have to protect her mask, because there was n.o.body present with nerve enough to touch it. "I was the first one under the table," she said quietly.

"Then how did the gun get loaded again?" Zuleika furiously demanded. "You were the last one to touch it."

"No," said Anne Boleyn. "Because somehow it got moved from my old seat next to Harlequin around to Abdullah's."

This forgotten fact was received in a dead silence.

"Let me have a look at that gun, please," said Anne Boleyn to Mephisto, who had been keeping it all this time.

"Don't give it to her!" cried Zuleika.

"I've emptied it," muttered Mephisto. "We don't want any more shooting."

"You may keep it in your own hands," said my employer coolly. "I only want to look at the top of the barrel."

She glanced at it as Mephisto held it, and then threw a bombsh.e.l.l among us by saying: "This is not the gun I emptied and threw on the table."