The Problem of the Green Capsule by John Dickson Carr Read Free Book Online Page A

the proposition in general was sound, but that he couldn’t possibly make mistakes. He said he was a trained observer, and knew all the traps. He offered to bet Uncle Marcus fifty pounds on it.”
    She glanced over towards Doctor Joe’s chair, but Doctor Joe had gone: a remarkable feat to be done unobserved. Superintendent Bostwick had come back into the room, and Major Crow was leaning forward with his folded arms on top of the grand piano.”
    “What about your— fiancé?”
    “George? Oh, he disagreed too. But he insisted on being allowed to film the whole thing with a little ciné-camera, so that there couldn’t be any dispute afterwards.”
    Elliot sat up.
    “You mean you’ve got a film of what happened here?”
    “Yes, of course. That’s the reason for the Photoflood lamp.”
    “I see,” said Elliot, with a deep breath of relief. “Now who were to be the witnesses to this demonstration?”
    “Just Professor Ingram, and George, and myself. Uncle Joe had some calls to make.”
    “But what about this other man who seems to have got knocked over the head somehow? This Mr. Emmet? Wasn’t he there?”
    “No, no. He was to have been Uncle Marcus’s assistant, don’t you see? He was to have been the other actor in the show.
    “Here was how it happened, though we didn’t know this until afterwards,” she explained. “After dinner Uncle Marcus and Wilbur Emmet got together and decided on the performance they were to put on for our benefit, like people arranging charades. The stage was to be Uncle Marcus’s office—there—and we were to sit here and watch it. Wilbur was to come in dressed up in some outlandish collection of clothes, the more outlandish the better, so that we should have to describe them afterwards. He and Uncle Marcus were to go through some rigmarole, which we should also have to describe without errors. Uncle Marcus had a list of questions prepared for us. Well, at close on midnight Uncle Marcus called us all in here, and gave us our instructions——”
    Elliot interposed.
    “Just a moment, please. You say at ‘close on midnight.’ Wasn’t that rather late to begin?”
    A tinge of what he felt was angry uncertainty came into her face.
    “Yes, it was. Professor Ingram was rather annoyed about it, because he wanted to go home. You see, dinner was over by a quarter past nine. George and I sat in the library and played endless games of Rummy, wondering what was up. But Uncle Marcus insisted.”
    “Did he give any explanation?”
    “He said he was waiting to see whether Uncle Joe got home, so that Uncle Joe could join in. But, when Uncle Joe wasn’t back by a quarter to twelve, he decided to get on with it.”
    “One other thing, Miss Wills. You didn’t know at this time that Mr. Emmet was to be in this—that is, that he was to help your uncle as an actor in the performance?”
    “Oh, no! We didn’t see Wilbur at all, after dinner. All we knew was that Uncle Marcus was shut up in these two rooms, making his preparations.”
    “Go on, please.”
    “Well, Uncle Marcus called us in here,” she continued. “and gave us our instructions. The curtains were drawn on the windows,”—she pointed—“and those folding doors were closed so that we couldn’t see into the office. He stood in here and gave us a little lecture.”
    “Could you possibly remember exactly what he said?”
    She nodded.
    “I think so. He said, ‘First, you are to sit in absolute darkness during the performance.’ George objected, and asked how he could be expected to take a ciné-film of the thing. Uncle Marcus explained that he had borrowed my Photoflood bulb, one I had bought for him that morning, and rigged it up in the office so that its light would shine directly on the theatre of observations. We would have every excuse for concentrating on it.”
    Here Elliot felt a wave of uncertainty in his direction, as palpably as though the girl wore perfume.
    “And yet I thought that there was a trick in