Footprints on the Ceiling Page 6

  A white-enameled phone stood just within the window on a small stand, and beyond Merlini, against the wall, I saw a streamlined dressing table covered with small jars and bottles. The shining mirror above it was surrounded on all four sides by long tubular lights.

  Dr. Gail covered the body with a sheet and hurriedly left the room. Brooke and Lamb, standing in the doorway, watched Merlini as he leaned in absorbed examination above a writing pad lying on an end table drawn close beside the right arm of the chair. Then he stepped back, eyes searching the floor, and suddenly stooped to pick up two small objects from the carpet—the broken complementary halves of a lead pencil. He stood with one in each hand and fitted them together, scowling. After a moment, he knelt, replaced them carefully on the floor, and, rising, made as if to turn toward the door. The action was interrupted halfway as he stopped abruptly to glare at something beyond the chair.

  I moved closer, peering in through the panes. In the corner of the room some four feet above the floor and well away from the walls, an ordinary drinking glass rested upside down and altogether too nonchalantly on nothing at all—completely suspended in mid-air! Merlini approached it quickly, passed his hand gently above the glass, and destroyed the illusion. The glass jerked slightly and began swaying from side to side. Its motion indicated that it must be hanging at the end of a long dark thread, unseen in the half-light of the corner, and attached above to the ceiling.

  Merlini frowned at it thoughtfully, threw a speculative glance at the sheeted body, and turned to walk to the door. He pushed the light switch and went out with the others, closing the door after him.

  I looked around for the phone wire and saw the difficulty. Instead of entering the house, the wire was looped about the metal railing of the balcony and tied in a loose half hitch. Its copper core protruded from a ragged end that had obviously been cut with some instrument that was none too sharp. Just above my head, near the window, I found a porcelain insulator from which a short end of wire hung loosely. I unfastened the line from the rail, hauled the slack in toward, me, and discovered that it failed to reach. Someone had cut and removed a six-foot length.

  I quickly retied the wire about the rail as I had found it and went down again to the living-room.

  Lamb stood by the fire, his wet clothes steaming slightly. His face was as blank as if no emotion had ever managed to push up through the heavy masklike layer of fat. He took a small pill box from his vest pocket, extracted a round pink capsule, and popped it absently into his mouth. Sigrid still sat woodenly in her chair and Watrous, leaning against the séance table, puffed nervously at a cigarette in a long black holder. They were all watching the middle-aged, dumpy little woman who faced Merlini, peering at him with near-sighted attention.

  She wore a dark cloth coat over a faded dressing gown and held it drawn close around her body, one hand fussing uncertainly at the belt. She spoke, answering some question of Merlini’s, in a rapid, frightened monotone.

  “I haven’t seen her since lunch time. She ate out on the terrace with the others. She was in her room all afternoon.”

  “What time was lunch, Mrs. Henderson?” asked Merlini.

  “One o’clock.”

  “She didn’t appear for dinner?”

  Mrs. Henderson shook her head. “No.”

  “Wasn’t that unusual?”

  “No.” This was Sigrid’s voice, strained and colorless. “Linda often had her meals in her room. Sometimes, when her attacks were bad, she stayed there for two or three days at a time.”

  “I see. And yet Mrs. Henderson hasn’t seen her since noon.” He turned back to the elder woman. “Who took her dinner tray up to her?”

  “No one. I didn’t fix one.”

  “You didn’t inquire if she wanted one?”

  “No. She—she had that sign on the door.”

  Sigrid added another marginal note. “A sign that means exactly what it says, ‘Do Not Disturb.’ Mrs. Henderson has orders to take that literally. Meals are no exception. If Linda wanted anything she’d ask. She was quite strict about it.”

  Merlini dismissed Mrs. Henderson. As she left, I crossed the room and went into the library. There was a floor lamp there near the phone. I knelt and started to appropriate the length of light cord that connected it with the base plug.

  Merlini followed me in, closed the door behind him, and asked, “What luck?”

  “The line’s cut outside, near the window of Linda’s room,” I said, and described it. “I’ll replace the missing piece with this light wire, and we’ll phone Gavigan.”

  “And the cut line was tied around the sun-deck rail?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Leave that light cord alone. We’ll connect up later.” He turned toward the door. “If necessary.”

  I stood up and looked after him. “What do you mean by that?”

  But he went through into the living-room again, without answering. I heard Arnold and Dr. Gail come down the stairs and followed after him. Arnold wore a dark silk dressing gown, and the queer marks that had been on his face were gone.

  “Rappourt’s sleeping,” Gail reported. “Dosed herself with sleeping tablets, I think. There’s an open bottle of luminal beside her bed.”

  Merlini blinked a bit at that information. I did myself. Rappourt’s lack of curiosity seemed somewhat abnormal.

  “What seemed to be wrong with her, Brooke?” Merlini asked.

  “Shock, I should say. She came out of her trance too suddenly, she said.”

  Merlini took a cigarette from a box on the mantelpiece and tapped it against the back of his hand. “Mrs. Henderson says she saw Miss Skelton alive last at lunch time. One o’clock. How many of you saw her after that?”

  For a moment, no one answered; then Arnold replied, “We ate out on the terrace. Linda, Madame Rappourt, Sigrid. Lamb, and myself, The air was far too thick with psychic discussion, and I excused myself immediately I’d finished. I didn’t see her after that. What happened after I left, Sigrid?”

  Sigrid looked up at us gravely. “We sat there for a while. Ten minutes perhaps. Rappourt was telling Linda about some psychic experiences she had had in Europe. Then we all came in together. I went directly upstairs and dressed to go into town. Henderson was to take me at two. I came down very shortly, and Linda stood at the foot of the stairs talking with Madame Rappourt and Mr. Lamb. I passed her on the stairs as she left them and came up. I told her I was going to town and would not be back for dinner. I never saw her again.”

  “You went directly to the boathouse?”

  “Yes, The others came with me. Lamb went in to town too. Rappourt got into the boat, and Henderson put her on the houseboat as we passed. She wanted to see Brooke.”

  “Did you see her after that, Lamb?”

  He said simply in an almost bored manner, “No.”

  Merlini’s eyes, that appeared to be watching the thin stream of his cigarette smoke, slid around toward Lamb. “When did you return to the island?”

  “Six o’clock.”

  “What were you doing in town?”

  Lamb considered that a moment, stolidly. Then, without inflection, he said, “That’s none of your business.”

  “Oh, sorry,” said Merlini. “What about you, Brooke?”

  “I haven’t seen her—alive that is—since breakfast this morning. I’ve been out on the houseboat all day.”

  “Colonel?”

  “Same as Brooke,” he said. “Not since breakfast. I left the island at eleven and returned in the boat with Lamb at six o’clock just before dinner.”

  “You didn’t come in to lunch, Brooke?”

  “No. I don’t usually. I took sandwiches and a bottle of milk out with me.”

  “What keeps you so busy out there?”

  “I have a workshop there.” Brooke’s easy, nonchalant manner faded perceptibly.

  “That’s not very specific,” Merlini commented.

  Brooke nodded and his chin came out a bit. “I know.”


  Merlini didn’t pursue the matter. Instead, very solemnly, he pushed his cigarette, lighted end first, into his left fist, looked once at his empty right hand, and then opened his left fingers slowly. His eyebrows rose a bit as he stared with apparent surprise and wonder at the empty hand. Then he flicked a small bit of tobacco from the palm and, looking up, asked sharply, “What time did this séance tonight begin, exactly?”

  No one answered for a moment. They never do after that cigarette business.

  Sigrid spoke finally. “It was shortly after you came from the houseboat, Ira. What time was that?”

  “I came in at 9:45. The séance started just at ten.”

  “Exactly ten?” Merlini asked.

  “Yes. When Madame Rappourt said she was ready to begin, I turned off the radio, just on a program change.”

  “And then the lights were turned out?”

  “No.” This was Arnold. “Not for another five minutes or so. Rappourt takes about that long to go into her trance.” His tone was more than faintly sarcastic.

  “From 9:45 then, in the light for the first twenty minutes and afterward in the dark, until Harte interrupted you at 10:15, Rappourt, Brooke, Lamb, Miss Verrill, and Arnold were all in this room?”

  Arnold and Sigrid nodded. Lamb’s expression was bored and impatient. Ira’s look was on the sour side.

  “And you, Doctor. Where were you at ten?”

  “Why do you ask that?” Arnold said sharply. “Did Linda—is that when she—?”

  “No,” Merlini said, and without explaining further, waited for the Doctor’s reply. I knew what he had in mind—Captain Skelton’s ghost and the fire.

  Gail, who had remained quietly in the background behind Sigrid’s chair, said, “At ten o’clock I was in New York. I took the water taxi out from 44th Street a few minutes after that and came directly up here from the boathouse. I arrived just after Mr. Harte.”

  And that, I thought, accounted for everyone. The Doctor’s story would be easy to check since there was only one speedboat service on the river, the same Merlini and I had used. When Merlini, Watrous, and myself had discovered the fire, at ten, the doctor had been in New York; the others, except for the Hendersons, had been about to begin the séance. They had not yet turned out the lights; so it wasn’t a question of someone having left the room in the dark. And even Ira had come in too long before to be suspect. A nice Grade-A quality of alibis all around.

  Merlini stepped forward and put his hand on the oddly shaped chair in which Rappourt had been sitting when I had first come into the room. He pulled it back from the table into the light. “Your idea, Colonel?” he asked.

  I noticed now that the metal bands that had fitted over Rappourt’s wrists and upper arms were ratcheted like handcuffs so that they could be drawn tight, holding the arms securely against the chair. There were similar bands at ankle position on the front two legs of the chair.

  Colonel Watrous nodded. “Yes. I had the chair constructed according to my own design. The control exercised over the medium in nine out of ten séances is far too lax. The sitters on either side usually place their feet on the medium’s feet and their hands, above the table, touch hers. All of which means less than nothing. A stiffly reinforced shoe and elastic laces will allow the foot to be removed from the shoe, and one of the medium’s hands can, in the dark, touch the hands of the sitters on either side, thus doing double duty. But you know that. This chair is the end result of my endeavors to secure complete bodily control over the medium.”

  “Combination locks on these arm bands, I see,” Merlini said. “Change the combination frequently?”

  “Yes. After each séance. And I would defy Houdini to escape from them without bringing down the house. When the locks are in position an electrical contact is made that must be maintained. Any tampering, even opening the locks in the normal manner with the proper combination, sets off a loud alarm. The bell and all electrical connections are completely inaccessible, sealed within the seat of the chair so that no short circuiting or manipulation is possible. In addition, on some occasions, we covered Rappourt and the chair complete with a large gauze cloth that was tacked all around to the floor.”

  “And you got physical manifestations just the same?”

  “Yes. Some of the best she has ever produced.”

  “But tonight you weren’t here to let her out of the chair?”

  “I gave Brooke tonight’s combination.”

  “I see. What was tonight’s séance all about? Something extra special, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes. But I don’t know what. She was quite mysterious about it. Hinted that it would be unusual, but she didn’t tell me, at least, any more than that.”

  Sigrid said suddenly, “I think Lamb knows.”

  And Lamb, something at last having penetrated his rhinoceros hide, jerked his head around toward her. “Why?”

  “Because you were standing with her and Linda when I came down the stairs. I heard Rappourt say something to the two of you that I don’t understand. It sounded like coded cable, and I’m sure it referred to the séance. She said, ‘Home will come, tonight.’ What did she mean?”

  The effect on Merlini was astonishing. He stared as if she had been the mother of quintuplets, and didn’t turn to look at Lamb until that gentleman had nearly finished.

  “I don’t know,” Lamb said. “She was referring to the stance, all right, but she was talking to Linda, not me. Linda knew what she meant—but I don’t.”

  I saw Watrous open his mouth to speak and promptly shut it when Merlini scowled at him.

  Merlini asked, “Well, what did happen at the séance?”

  “Nothing,” Arnold replied, “Harte broke it up too soon. Unless—” He turned with a quick movement and looked across at the mantel above the fireplace. Then he went over and took down an object that rested there, on end, leaning against the wall. It was a cretonne sewing bag about 15 inches square, its neck tied securely with a drawstring knotted many times. The knots were covered with red sealing wax.

  “There’s a slate in here,” Arnold said. “We all signed our names along the frame, and I cleaned it and placed it in the bag. We tied and sealed the knots, and Rappourt was never within ten feet of it. She was busy going into her trance. The mantel as you can see is clear across the room from her chair. And there are always messages—”

  He started to open it, but Merlini stopped him. “Wait.” He took the bag from Arnold. “These knots are tied and sealed exactly as before?”

  Lamb, Sigrid, and Brooke crowded around to look. They all nodded affirmatively.

  Sigrid said, “They haven’t been touched. I put the wax on and it’s exactly as it was.

  Merlini turned the bag over in his hands. “Whose bag?”

  “Mine,” Sigrid said. “At first Rappourt merely had the slate put up on the mantel. One night she noticed my bag and suggested we put it in that. There’s nothing wrong with it—there can’t be.”

  “No,” Merlini said. “It’s perfectly good. No trap doors.”

  He took out a penknife and cut the drawstring in such a way that the knots and wax remained intact. He put his hand in and drew out a common 8-by-10 school slate. I saw the penciled signatures around the frame.

  On the slate’s surface were five words scrawled in a large spidery hand with slate pencil: Can you not believe now? D.D.H.

  Merlini passed his forefinger over one of the letters, rubbing it out. “Where’s the slate pencil?” he asked.

  Arnold pointed to the table. “There. Just where she asked us to put it, in the center of the table. And she didn’t leave that chair. The control was more complete than ever tonight. Lamb and I, on either side, held her arms. I’m damned if I—”

  Merlini dropped the slate back into the bag. “Anyone else on this island tonight,” he asked calmly, “anyone besides ourselves, Rappourt, the Hendersons, and your sister?”

  Arnold hesitated just slightly. “As far as I know, no.”

 
Merlini waited a moment as if expecting someone to add to that. No one did. He withdrew a handkerchief-wrapped object from his pocket, placed it on the table, and opened it out. It was the flashlight that had rolled down the stairs.

  “Know who this belongs to?”

  Arnold leaned forward with sudden interest. But he shook his head. There were blank looks all around.

  Then Lamb’s voice dropped heavily into the silence. “I’ve had enough of this,” he growled. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m going to turn in before I come down with pneumonia.” He started toward the stair, leaving a dark wet spot behind him on the carpet where he had stood.

  “One more question before you go, Lamb.” The insistence in Merlini’s tone held him. “Just why hasn’t anyone mentioned Floyd Skelton?”

  “Because,” Arnold answered immediately, “for once in his life Floyd seems to have escaped the unpleasantness. You’ve been asking about tonight—and Floyd has been missing since yesterday evening.”

  Chapter Seven:

  THE MAN FROM MARS

  LAMB TURNED ON HIS heel and walked up the stairs.

  “Floyd,” Arnold continued, “went in to town right after dinner, about eight, before the séance. Henderson—”

  “Wait. There was a séance last night too?”

  “Yes—9:30 to 11:30.”

  “Same sitters as tonight?”

  “Yes, except that Linda and the Colonel were present and Brooke was not.”

  “Where was he? Houseboat again?”

  “Yes.”

  “Phenomena as usual, Colonel?”

  “Well, not quite. There weren’t any physical manifestations. Linda was extremely interested in automatic writing, and Madame Rappourt confined herself largely to that.”