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

it somehow,” she added.
    “Why?”
    “It was the way Uncle Marcus looked,” she cried. “You can’t live with a person for as long as I have—And then it was what he said. He said. ‘Second, you are not to speak or interfere no matter what you see. Is that clear?’ Finally, just before he went into the other room, he said, ‘Be careful. There may be traps.’ With that he went into the office, and closed the folding doors. I turned out the lights, and in a few seconds the performance began.
    “It began when Uncle Marcus opened the folding doors to their full width. I felt excited and nervous; I don’t know why.
    “He was alone. I could see nearly all the office. After he opened the doors, he walked back slowly and sat down behind that table in the middle, facing us. The Photoflood bulb was in a lamp with a bronze-metal shade, placed at the front of the table and a little to the right, so that it lit up everything without obscuring our view of Uncle Marcus. There was a dead white glare on the wall behind him, and a big shadow of him. You could see the white face of the clock on the mantelpiece behind him, with the pendulum shining and switching back and forth. The time was midnight.
    “Uncle Marcus sat there facing us. On the table there was a chocolate-box; also a pencil and a pen. He picked up first the pencil, then the pen, and pretended to write with each. Then he looked round. One of the French windows in the office opened, and in from the lawn stepped that horrible-looking thing in the top-hat and the sunglasses.”
    Marjorie paused, only half succeeding in clearing her throat.
    But she went on:
    “It was about six feet tall, not even counting the top-hat with the curly brim. It wore a long dirty raincoat that had the collar turned up. There was something brown twisted around its face, and it had black glasses on. It was wearing shiny gloves, and carrying a kind of black satchel. We didn’t know who it was, of course; but I didn’t like the look of it even then. It looked more like an insect than human. Tall and thin, you know, with the big black glasses on. George, who was taking the film, said out aloud, “Shh! The Invisible Man!’—and it turned round and looked at us.
    “It put down this doctor’s satchel on the table, and stood with its back to us, and moved to the other side of the table. Uncle Marcus said something to it. But it never spoke once: Uncle Marcus did all the talking. There wasn’t any other noise except the clock ticking on the mantelpiece, and George’s ciné-camera rattling away. I think what Uncle Marcus said was, ‘You have done now what you did before; what else will you do?’ This time (as I say) it was on the right hand side of the table. Working very fast, it took a little cardboard box out of the pocket of its raincoat, and shook out of that a fat green capsule like the castor-oil capsules we used to have to take when we were children. It leaned over as quick as that, and tipped back Uncle Marcus’s head, and forced the capsule down his throat.”
    Marjorie Wills stopped.
    Her voice was shaking; she lifted her hand to her own throat, clearing it once or twice. She had such difficulty in keeping her eyes off those (now dark) double-doors that she finally pulled her chair round to face them. Elliot followed her.
    “Yes?” he prompted.
    “I couldn’t help it,” she said. “I gave a jump or a cry or something of the kind. I shouldn’t have done it, because Uncle Marcus had warned us not to be surprised at anything we saw. Besides, there didn’t seem to be anything wrong; Uncle Marcus swallowed the capsule, though he didn’t seem to like doing it—he glared up once at the swathed face.
    “As soon as this was done, the thing in the top-hat gathered up the satchel, made a kind of ducking motion and went out by the French window. Uncle Marcus sat at the table for a few seconds more, swallowing a bit, and pushed that chocolate box to another position. Then without