Murder in the Gilded Cage
little detail, no matter how trivial. Mrs. Breese asked you where on
the Malecon was the Woman’s Club. And you said ‘Sixty’.”
“Exactly,” confirmed Rice.
“When did you say you telephoned Mrs. Breese? At about nine-thirty?”
“Yes. Around nine-thirty.”
“Lectures usually start at eight-thirty. It would take her at least
half an hour to get to the Malecon from her home, assuming that she
started right out, which a woman would not be likely to do. Didn’t it
occur to you that the lecture would be over by the time she got there?”
Rice shook his head. “Frankly, I didn’t think of it. I didn’t give the
matter sufficient attention. I just thought I’d pass the information
on.”
“So that the strange conversation that Mr. Jenkins overheard was
nothing more than a piece of stray news that you were relaying to Mrs.
Breese for no purpose whatsoever?”
“If you want to take it that way,” said Rice. “Yes. Honestly, I don’t
see what you’re driving at.”
I could see from Smith’s expression that the detective agreed with
him. But Perutkin was inexorable.
“Let us continue,” he said sharply. “I want to ask you a question.”
“By all means,” Rice invited, smiling tolerantly.
“Are you a wealthy man, Mr. Rice?”
“Well,” Rice hesitated. “I wouldn’t say that.”
The Russian swung at the elder Breese.
“You, Mr. Breese, know the extent of Mr. Rice’s finances. He has always
been more or less in your employ. Would you call him a wealthy man?”
“I’m afraid I’ll have to leave that to Mr. Rice,” Breese replied. “I
don’t see what his wealth has to do with the murder of my wife.”
“Only this,” said the Russian, “I was always under the impression that
Mr. Rice was independently wealthy. Therefore, I could not understand
his movements. Now I can.”
He paused, while we all looked at Rice in bewilderment. He flushed
uncomfortably.
“I don’t see how my finances concern you,” he said with some asperity.
“Enough!” cried the Russian suddenly. “I shall ask no more questions.
Why should I? I do not seek information. I know. Mr. Rice, will you go
to the radio and turn the dial until you reach the number sixty?”
The Russian moved to the black and silver radio. He tapped it with his
great knuckles. “A beautiful instrument. I desire, Mr. Rice, that you
tune in on sixty.”
“What for?” said Rice.
“We are reconstructing the murder of Mrs. Breese,” replied the Russian.
“This radio is in exactly the condition and position that it was on
that night. I have seen to that. Will you turn the dial to sixty, Mr.
Rice?”
Rice made no move.
“I am giving you your opportunity,” the Russian said softly. “I am
being merciful. Turn that dial to sixty.”
Rice, as if hypnotized, shuffled towards the radio. His entire demeanor
had changed. His shoulders drooped, his face was ashen. Rarely have I
seen such a picture of defeat.
Now his hand was upon the dial.
“Sixty,” repeated the Russian.
The hand moved, slowly. Suddenly a flash of fire came from the radio.
Rice fell to the floor.
I could not but gasp in horror. Then, shuddering, I saw the Russian
deliberately kick the prone body. The Russian was shaking with laughter.
“Get up!” he thundered. “Do you think I’d give you up so easily? I put
blanks in, Mr. Rice. _You did not!_”
CHAPTER XXVI
THE RUSSIAN EXPLAINS
The Russian beamed upon the dazed and frightened circle about him.
“I have given you,” he said with his characteristic pedantic air, “a
concrete demonstration of the _modus operandi_ of as ingenious and
carefully planned a crime as it has been my privilege to study. I
realize that to some of you the subject has been extremely painful.”
He looked at Mary Breese paternally.
“But even you, Miss Breese, and your family should find consolation in
the thought that the man responsible for the tragedy in your lives has
finally been brought to punishment.” He turned abruptly to Rice. “Will
you care to explain the reasons for your horrible crimes, or shall I do
it?”
Rice looked down at the floor. Outwardly he had recovered his
composure. His face was a mask.
“Very well,” said the Russian. “I shall be content with second-hand
information and guesswork, since you will not oblige. Now, Miss Breese
and gentlemen, we must first enter into the motives that prompted the
first of Mr. Rice’s crimes. It is my guess that Mr. Rice deserted you,
Mr. Breese, during the unpleasantness of the divorce trial at his
own suggestion. He suggested to you that if he became Mrs. Breese’s
business adviser, he could keep an eye out for your interests. He might
even be able to patch up your domestic differences. Am I right?”
“Yes,” said Breese, staring incredulously at Rice while he answered.
“He did suggest just that.”
“His real reason, of course,” continued the Russian, “was to get his
hands on Mrs. Breese’s extensive properties. Mr. Rice was a promoter by
trade and a soldier of fortune by inclination. We must go deeply into
his character to understand and appreciate his motives. Until the time
he met you in Paris, Mr. Breese, he had led a hand to mouth existence.
Association with you helped him float a few ventures, some of them
successful, some of them failures. His ambition was boundless.”
“You asked him to Riga. It is my theory, Mr. Rice, that you were
acquainted with the Baron Peter Setovski before you met him in Riga
on the occasion of the marriage of my friend, the Count, to Miss
Breese. I cannot prove it. It is my guess that the Baron knew of some
disreputable incident--one of many--in your past, and threatened to
expose you to Mr. Breese. You took an effective way out, and my friend,
the Count, was implicated. This is only a theory. I cannot prove it.
Perhaps you care to comment, Mr. Rice?”
But the promoter looked disdainfully at him and said nothing.
“Very well,” the Russian shrugged his shoulders. “We leave theory
and proceed to facts. For a long time I was led astray in this case
by a series of suspicious circumstances that signified nothing. It
so happens that any human being is capable of murder under certain
circumstances. Otherwise, no murder would remain unsolved. All
murderers would be labelled, or even licensed. But I joke. It is in bad
taste.
“In this case, we were faced with the problem of a very unusual woman.
She had been separated from her husband, and attached herself to a
worthless young man who has not been even faithful to her. It was only
natural that suspicion should seek out these two. Mr. Smith chose one
suspect. And I the other.
“I say nothing of my friend, the Count. He managed to confuse us for
but an instant with his confession. He, too, suspected the elder Breese
and sought to protect the father of the girl he loves.
“Now I am frank to say that until the murder of the wireless operator,
I was completely lost in this case. Inexcusably so. But then my brain
recovered its strength. I ploughed ahead. After all, it was obvious.
Behold! Of all those who knew and might have killed Mrs. Breese, only
one was absent from the house at the time. He was equipped with a
magnificent alibi. He was dining at the American Minister’s.
“I thought to myself: ‘Suppose I wanted to murder this woman! What
would be my first move?’ Naturally, my first move would be to protect
myself. Mr. Thomas made no such move. Mr. Breese made no such move.
Then I thought to myself: ‘What is the best way of protecting oneself
while committing murder?’ And my logical brain replied: ‘By not being
present at the scene of the crime.’
“But you would say that is impossible. No. Then one must seek an
accomplice. I worked on that basis for many days, looking for the
accomplice. Naturally, when Trenholm was killed, I judged immediately
that he was the accomplice. But no one saw Trenholm near the scene of
the crime. I could not understand it.
“Then I delved into Trenholm’s background. He was a wireless operator.
He was a mechanic. I sought any and every possible means of connecting
him with this house. Methodically by elimination, I finally came to the
radio set. I saw light.
“Remember, Trenholm never met Mrs. Breese. He was but recently engaged
for the yacht. At this point, I must interrupt myself to say that the
mechanical murder is not unfamiliar to me. It is the refuge of either
cowards or master criminals. In my country, bombs have been placed
in pianos, and even attached to typewriters. But these devices make
fearful noise, and are open to detection.
“So it remained for our friend, Rice, to single out Mr. Trenholm. What
his arguments were I do not know, and it does not matter. In any
case, this is what Mr. Trenholm did for Mr. Rice.” The Russian pulled
open the case of the radio. “Mr. Trenholm took an ordinary revolver,
equipped with a silencer, quite common these days. He placed it upon
this small stand. He built a lever, a small piece of metal, connecting
with the dial and the trigger of the revolver. Come closer and you
shall see. The revolver is no longer loaded. Observe that when the dial
comes to sixty, the lever has pressed the trigger back and the revolver
explodes. Observe that the weapon is so placed in the aperture for the
loud speaker that its explosion leaves no mark upon the instrument.
“Simple, is it not? Now, Mr. Rice had, as I have indicated, certain
reasons for ridding himself of Mrs. Breese. He had been her business
adviser, and consequently handled her funds. Unfortunately, Mr. Rice
diverted these funds to his own use, and some of his ventures and
speculations were unsuccessful.
“At this very time, Mrs. Breese proposed to marry the actor, Thomas.
Naturally, Mr. Rice is opposed to any man entering the establishment.
It will weaken his power. But not only does Mrs. Breese plan a second
marriage, but, with her characteristic dominance, proposes to manage
her own affairs. Mr. Rice is in a dilemma. He cannot tell Mrs. Breese
that he has tied up all her money in his own ventures. Mrs. Breese
becomes obstinate.
“An ordinary man would have broken down and confessed. But Rice has the
soul of the born adventurer and gambler. Pressed to the wall, he thinks
how convenient it would be if Mrs. Breese were out of the way. He knows
that she has left a will naming him as executor. He wants none of her
money. He has it. All he seeks is to retain his unquestioned control.
“So he plans. First, he angles for an invitation to dinner at the
American Minister’s. No alibi could be more substantial or impressive.
Then he arranges the radio, and takes care to let everyone except Mrs.
Breese know that it needs repair, and should not be tampered with.
Then he arranges to telephone Mrs. Breese and, ascertaining that she
is alone, tells her to tune in on her favorite hobby, companionate
marriage. He hangs up. He is safe. Mrs. Breese goes to the radio, turns
to sixty as she was instructed and is killed.
“Mr. Rice rightly figures that the police will not examine the contents
of the radio set. It is an easy matter for him to remove the weapon at
the first opportunity.
“But all crimes have their complications. Whatever it was that Mr. Rice
told Trenholm when he first ordered his diabolical mechanical murderer,
there seems to be no question that Trenholm guessed or knew that he was
indirectly responsible for the death of Mrs. Breese.
“Trenholm is timid. Like most mechanics, he has a hard-grained
uprightness in his soul. His conscience troubles him. Although Trenholm
made few acquaintances, he did strike up a friendship with one of his
own kind, the mechanic Spence, who ran a bicycle shop. In a burst of
confidence, Trenholm tells Spence exactly what has occurred. But Spence
has no false ideas of morals. He sees it as a golden opportunity to
milk Rice.
“Behold! We come to the night of the funeral on the yacht. Hitherto,