Murder Impossible Read online

  Oddly, Talbot—whose real name was Henning Nelms—did not seem to care for his extraordinary excursions into fiction, preferring his non-fiction (what he called his 'serious writings'): books such as Play Production (1950), Scene Design (1975), and (based on his love of conjuring) Magic And Showmanship (1969). For many years he taught drama (mainly at Pennsylvania State University) and was a professional director for amateur theatres.

  The short story presented here, 'The Other Side', is something of a coup for The Art of the Impossible, since it was never sold commercially during Talbot's lifetime and has only ever appeared in print once, in Swedish, to fill out the last few pages of a Swedish reprint o/Rim of the Pit. Talbot wrote other short stories, all featuring his professional gambler and ex-convict (two years in Sing Sing) detective Rogan Kincaid, but all, save 'The Other Side’ remained unsold and were either destroyed by their author or simply disappeared (a fate also reserved, horrifyingly, for an entire novel, The Affair of the Half-Witness,). The mouth-watering possibility that there may be other Kincaid manuscripts in existence should have all true Impossible Crime enthusiasts hurrying to Arlington, VA, where Talbot died (in 1986), and ransacking every attic in town—for those manuscripts, should they still exist, might well feature Talbot's other detective, the wonderful, and wonderfully sinister, Svetozar Vok, who triumphed in Rim of the Pit. And triumphs here.

  JACK ADRIAN

  Six shots rang out. Svetozar Vok peered at the target at the far end of the shooting gallery and lowered his revolver with a sigh. 'It is no use, my friend. I take careful aim; you point a pistol as a man points his finger; yet you always win. I lack the Kincaid touch.'

  Rogan Kincaid laughed. 'Why not apply a touch of your own? A professional magician like you should be able to use a little magic in his target practice.'

  'I am working on that,' Vok replied with perfect gravity. 'Already I have a bullet in my dressing-room whom I am training to shoot round corners.' He glanced at his wrist. 'I must be getting back to him. In forty-five minutes it will be time for my afternoon show.'

  A coin appeared from nowhere between his bony fingers. He tossed it on the counter and started for the door, speaking over his shoulder to Kincaid.

  'If you do not find someone foolish enough to play poker with you before 6:30, pick me up at the theatre and I will buy you dinner.'

  The magician pushed open the door and held it while a girl entered with two men. She looked barely sixteen. Her nimbus of pale gold hair and her rose-leaf complexion might have proclaimed her a princess out of fairyland had it not been for her two escorts. They were elderly military men in mufti—one tall and portly, the other short and merely fat. The two men labelled the girl. She was, Mr. Kincaid decided, no fairy princess.

  As the girl passed Vok she turned back to stare at him. That was to be expected. His gaunt height and his mummy's face took the eye. But there was more to this girl's interest. When the door closed behind him, she seized the arms of her companions and began whispering excitedly. Although Kincaid caught no word, the pantomime of the little group was perfectly clear. The girl had formed some belief about Vok, and the two men were assuring her that she was mistaken.

  Then, as the girl turned from one of her escorts to the other, her eyes met Kincaid's. She broke off in the middle of a word—and blushed.

  If she had suddenly put forth wings, she could not have surprised him more. He had been smugly sure of her classification as a bit of dainty bric-a-brac. Before he had time to revise his opinion, she mumbled something to the men with her and fled.

  They turned, saw Kincaid watching her and started to frown. Then the prominent blue eyes of the larger man lit with recognition.

  'Good Lord, aren't you Rogan Kincaid? I'm Colonel Boyd Lathrop. Played poker with you in Shanghai before the war.'

  Kincaid, who now recognized Colonel Lathrop as a man from whom he'd taken some three hundred dollars in two hours of play, politely expressed the hope that the colonel would soon find time to give him his 'revenge'.

  Colonel Lathrop was flattered by the suggestion that he had been the victor in Shanghai and promised vaguely that he would try to arrange a game. He introduced the shorter man as his brother, Major Clifford Lathrop. 'I'm . . . ah . . . sorry our niece, Daphne, was unable to remain, but . . .'

  The gambler was now prepared to accept the relationship. Daphne's blush proved it.

  'She's heard stories,' the major put in, 'about these fool religious cults. California's full of 'em. Took the skinny man for some sort of high priest.'

  He seemed to lose the thread of his thought. With a mumbled leave-taking the two harmless old soldiers drifted to the counter. There they opened a walnut box, which the major carried, and produced a set of matched target pistols. These they proceeded to shoot with fair accuracy but with impractical deliberation.

  Kincaid decided that he could best promote his poker game by biding his time. So while his prospective victims fired at targets, he discussed a case of war trophies with the attendant.

  'The Walther P38's the gun, though,' said that worthy. 'Best thing the Heinies made. You ought to see one of them. I sold mine to your friend Colonel Lathrop. He'd be glad to show it to you, wouldn't you, Colonel?'

  That gave Kincaid all the opening he needed. Ten minutes later he was in a taxi between the two brothers.

  In the cab they seemed ill at ease. They could ignore Kincaid as a casual acquaintance, but now that he was their guest, they felt called upon to explain their niece's interest in Vok.

  'It was not mere idle curiosity, I can assure you,' said the colonel. 'You see, Daphne has . . . ah . . . heard something about a cult leader named Ergon.'

  'Picked the skinny fellow as the right type,' added the major. 'Thought he was Ergon. Wasn't, of course. Told her so.' Daphne's mistake was, Colonel Lathrop declared, quite natural. Of course the man she had seen at the shooting gallery was not the cult leader but . . .

  'Might have been, though,' the major put in. 'Weird-looking devil.'

  Colonel Lathrop smiled apology for his brother's tactlessness and continued hastily. 'Neither is there anything strange about the child's interest in this Ergon. After all, she worshipped her aunt.'

  The gambler began to find his companions amusing. They were almost pitifully anxious to keep their family affairs private, but they seemed to feel that their niece's conduct demanded an explanation. In their efforts to provide it they floundered from one revelation to another.

  By the end of the ride Kincaid had learned that Daphne had been orphaned in babyhood and brought up by her aunt and guardian, Miss Imogene Lathrop. The brothers were also guardians but only by courtesy. In fact Daphne's father had placed so little reliance on them that he had given Miss Lathrop power to name her own successor in her will.

  When the girl reached sixteen, she had been left in an eastern school while the elder Lathrops wintered in California. There Imogene had met Ergon, who had an apartment in the next building. To her brother's amazement, the previously level-headed Imogene had fallen immediately under Ergon's spell and gone to live at a temple he maintained on the borders of Hollywood. Three months later she was dead, but not until she had made a will appointing Ergon as guardian in her place and instructing her brothers to obey him without question.

  Daphne had flown in for the funeral, but her uncles, alarmed at the idea of her meeting Ergon, had managed to have it held some hours before she arrived. Now they encouraged her to spend her time with friends and away from their apartment. They seemed to hope that they might get her back east without letting her come into connection with Ergon at all.

  There was no doubt that they considered their apartment the danger zone, not only for Daphne but for themselves. As the cab drew near it, they grew more apprehensive. Kincaid wondered if they expected to find their enemy waiting on the front steps.

  That was exactly where they did find him. The brothers paid off the taxi and started up the walk, marching close together as though it took all th
eir courage to go in front instead of shielding themselves behind Kincaid. The gambler was inclined to be contemptuous until he drew close enough to see Ergon's eyes.

  Kincaid had expected the usual unctuous fraud, but this man looked like an apostate angel. His great mane of pale hair exactly matched the unbleached linen of his robe. The face was a mask cast in bronze, but the eyes were like living things. They were enormous and so dark that pupil and iris blended into one. Kincaid found them drawing his attention like a magnet.

  Ergon stood motionless until the three were within six feet of him. Then he spoke one word, like a single stroke of a great bell.

  'Come!'

  Without waiting for an answer, he turned and led the way to the elevator. The Lathrop apartment was on the second floor. Ergon led the way across a small hall and into the luxurious living room, where he took up his position on the hearth. The brothers followed like men going under fire. Colonel Lathrop shifted from one foot to the other. Then in a gesture of defiance he marched to a small table that stood under a light bracket beside the mantel and placed his case of pistols squarely in the centre of it. With an almost military about-face he returned to stand beside his brother.

  Ergon spoke. 'We must be alone.'

  Major Lathrop glanced unhappily at Kincaid. 'Damn it all,' he protested to Ergon. 'This man's our guest.'

  'We must be alone.'

  Kincaid offered to leave, but the brothers refused to hear of such a thing. Finally they compromised by suggesting that he wait in their bedroom and examine their collection of firearms until they were free.

  If Ergon believed that banishing Kincaid to the bedroom would insure secrecy, he was mistaken. The apartment was impressive to the eye, but of such flimsy construction that every word came through one wall.

  'I have come,' Ergon announced, 'as guardian of the child Daphne. I have communed with the Forces. It is their decision that she shall be dedicated to the Temple.'

  The brothers were aghast. Ergon's plan was worse than anything they had imagined. Indignantly they refused. They also were Daphne's guardians. Their consent would be necessary to such a thing and they would not give it.

  The great bell of Ergon's voice took on a tone of sadness. Daphne's dedication was the decision of the Forces. The two men might not share their sister's enlightenment, but surely they would regard the directions in her will as a sacred trust.

  Major Lathrop assured him that they regarded Daphne herself as a damn sight more sacred trust.

  The last shreds of the colonel's poise deserted him. He broke into an incoherent tirade from which Kincaid gathered only that the colonel believed Ergon was scheming to gain control of the fortune left Daphne by her father.

  Ergon's reply was scornful. A servant of the Forces had no need of money, and no more temptation to steal it than a man had to steal the playthings of a child.

  Apparently the contempt in Ergon's tone stung the colonel, for Kincaid heard him step forward angrily. The step was followed by a long pause as if a battle of wills was being fought out in the next room. Then the colonel's feet shuffled on the carpet and Ergon spoke softly.

  'I am glad you were able to conquer yourself. All truth is one. In your own sacred book it is written that he who lives by the sword must die by the sword. You were about to threaten me, but I tell you that he who voices a threat against a servant of the Forces shall himself suffer what he threatens.'

  The colonel took his courage in both hands. 'I don't care what happens to me, but I do care what happens to Daphne. I'm on the retired list and not much good for anything, but I can still knock the pips out of a playing card at twenty yards. If any harm comes to Daphne through you, I am going to take one of those guns on the table and shoot you dead.'

  'Oh blind, and worse than blind!' The magnificent voice struck a note of infinite pity. 'You have spoken your doom. Unless I can intercede for you, you will die by your own hand.'

  With that warning he left them. Kincaid could not hear his footsteps, but the click of the latch as the outer door opened and closed told that he had gone, and the rattle of glassware announced that the brothers had turned to the decanter for comfort.

  When they joined Kincaid in the bedroom they were still frightened and still defiant. They glanced apprehensively at the wall opposite the door. The gambler followed their gaze but saw nothing. Then a bronze gong spoke from behind the wall and Ergon's great voice echoed it. Each syllable was a separate bell note as if he were chanting in some forgotten tongue.

  'Lerd ferbeh mahgaad!’

  Major Lathrop mopped his bald head. 'Fellow lives next door. Whole row of apartments is one long building really. Only partitions between. Hear every word he says.' The major chose one of the pistols and made a brave effort to explain its merits.

  The strange words had an even more disquieting effect on his brother. The colonel moved restlessly from one gun to another, picking each up and laying it down almost by an effort of will.

  The chant went on and on, each syllable beautifully distinct, and always returning to the same refrain. 'Lerd ferbeh mahgaad!’

  The major turned to stare at the wall. 'Intercession be damned! Sounds more like a curse.'

  Colonel Lathrop sat down beside Kincaid. The fingers of his right hand closed around the butt of a revolver and his left moved toward the box of cartridges lying beside it. The gambler picked up the box and began tossing it idly in the air. For a moment the colonel seemed fascinated by the movement and the little click the cartridges made as the box fell in Kincaid's hand. Slowly Ergon's chant died away. Colonel Lathrop appeared to come out of his daze.

  'You should see our target pistols. I left them in the living room.' He rose and passed through the door. The man seemed shrunken inside his clothes. All his pompousness had gone.

  Afterward Kincaid was to remember the situation in detail. He followed the departing colonel with his eyes and sat staring across the tiny hall at the lock on the outside door.

  Colonel Lathrop's footsteps crossed to the table near the fireplace. There was a moment's pause—followed by the bark of a pistol.

  Kincaid's reflexes carried him into the living room. He was through the doorway before Colonel Lathrop's body thudded on the carpet. Major Lathrop pushed past the gambler and knelt to feel his brother's wrist, but it was a meaningless gesture. The wound above the colonel's eye already told the story.

  The major rose and shook himself like a dog coming out of water. 'By God, I don't believe it. Boyd wouldn't have shot himself, not for all the damn chants in the world! Besides, where's the gun?'

  'Under the edge of the sofa.' Kincaid pointed. 'Don't touch it. The police will want to examine it for fingerprints.'

  'Mine are on it anyway. It's one we shot with this afternoon. Do you mind calling the police? I'd like to stay here with Boyd.'

  The telephone was in the hall. Kincaid dialled Headquarters and asked for Lieutenant Nichols, whom he knew to be shrewd and energetic and who had already learned the futility of trying conclusions with Rogan Kincaid.

  While the gambler waited, someone rapped on the door. When it was opened Ergon stalked past without speaking and entered the living room.

  The major saw him and began to curse with heartfelt intensity. Ergon interrupted him. 'Profanity in the presence of your dead brother is impious.'

  'Damn you, you killed him!'

  'No. He killed himself. I do not mean with the pistol. That was merely the means. His threat against me was the cause. I tried to intercede for him but it was hopeless.'

  'And now you've come to gloat.'

  'I have come to take the child Daphne to the Temple.'

  'I'll see you in hell first!'

  'Resistance to the will of the Forces is vain. They will brush you aside as they did your brother. Then, as Daphne's sole guardian, I shall be free under human law to carry out the will of my Masters.'

  The phone squawked in the gambler's ear. 'Lieutenant Nichols speaking.'

  'Hello, Al. This
is Rogan Kincaid. I have a homicide for . . . No, I had no motive. Besides, I have an alibi. Unfortunately the man responsible has one too, so if there's anybody down there with brains, bring him along.'

  'Ergon must have known I could hear him,' Kincaid argued to Lieutenant Nichols an hour later. 'If a man's really planning to kill someone, he doesn't usually talk about it in front of witnesses.'

  'That part's easy enough,' Nichols replied. 'If this Ergon had a way to murder the colonel and get away with it, he wanted witnesses. That would give him the sweetest racket on earth. Daphne and her money would be chicken feed. He could go around to rich guys and say, "Shell out or I'll put the Indian sign on you like I did on Colonel Lathrop." With a threat like that he'd rake in money faster than the boys from the IRS could take it away from him.'

  The lieutenant ran his fingers through his thick black hair. 'On the other hand, if this Ergon did bump the colonel, how did he do it? You were watching the hall, the windows were latched and the screens were stuck to the paint.'

  'What about the fireplace?'

  'It's just a fireplace. We tested every brick. Unless we can figure a way Ergon shot the old boy, it's suicide.'

  'Why should he kill himself? Even colonels don't do things without a reason.'

  'I'm not a mind-reader. That's your speciality.' Nichols rose. 'We're taking Ergon and the major down to headquarters for further questioning. I don't suppose you'd like to come along?'

  'No. Daphne Lathrop will be home soon, and someone a little less heavy-footed than your harness bulls should be here to break the news.'

  The lieutenant cocked his head on one side. 'I bet she's pretty.'

  'Very, but only sixteen. Besides, seduction in Hollywood is carrying coals to Newcastle.'

  'Don't tell me you've turned Galahad.'