The Last Word-Conclusion
“I am afraid you will have to settle at seven Mister Gray,”
the words were delivered by a cool female voice that came from the hallway
behind Carmichael.
Carmichael turned slowly and saw a red haired woman stood
there, smartly dressed and more importantly holding a small revolver pointed at
Carmichael with a steady hand that suggested some considerable experience with
firearms. The light in the room suddenly increased as the lamp on the bedside
table was turned up.
“I would move very carefully Mister Gray; you wouldn’t want
to unsettle Miss Collier.” Luscombe’s voice had lost its querulous and rasping
tone, except that Carmichael now realized the man in the bed could hardly be
Luscombe.
Cautiously Carmichael turned back to face the figure in the
bed and now he could see that the lines in the face and the sunken cheeks were
the product of skilfully applied stage make up and the white hair nothing but a
wig, one that the man in the bed began to remove along with the whiskers and
uttering a sigh of relief as he did so, “Who are you sir?” Carmichael demanded.
“My name is Augustus Fancy, perhaps you have heard of me?”
“I have of course heard of the most famous private detective
in the country, I have an obituary prepared for you in my files.”
Rosalie Collier let out a snort that might have been a
suppressed laugh but Augustus Fancy looked far from amused, “Under the
circumstances you will forgive me if I do not find that particularly
flattering.”
Carmichael ignored that, “Clearly you have uncovered me but
I am at a loss as to how you could have done so.”
“Have no fear Mister Gray Augustus will be only too happy to
explain.”
The words were uttered in a tone that seemed affectionate
rather than disparaging and Augustus Fancy smiled in response.
“Well since I have listened to Mister Gray’s account of his
actions it seems only fair he listen to mine, and after all he did ask.” Fancy
had been wiping the make-up from his face with a cloth and now he cast it aside
and all traces of amusement disappeared as he fixed his gaze on Carmichael, “I
was hired by the brother of a gentleman named Clark Morris to investigate his
death, I trust you are not going to be so crass as to deny knowledge of him?”
Carmichael decided to say nothing and Fancy continued with
his explanation.
“As it happened there was a quite venomous sibling rivalry
amongst the three Morris brothers, the one who approached me wished to prove
that the other surviving brother was guilty of the murder. Needless to say I
was able to swiftly prove that Clark Morris had not fallen victim to any familial
jealous, whilst at the same time proving to my own satisfaction that he had
indeed been the victim of foul play.”
This time Carmichael was spurred to respond, “But I was most
careful to ensure that Mister Morris’ death would appear accidental.”
The look that drew from Augustus Fancy was one almost of
pity but his words were harsh, “And there lies the eternal mistake of the
amateur criminal. You entered a place, you committed a dastardly murder, and
whatever you may have done to mask that fact cannot eliminate the imprint you
have left behind you. That imprint may go unnoticed by others Mister Gray but
not by me.”
Being permitted to see past the normally affable and
charming exterior of the detective to the ruthless analytical mind that lay
beneath shook Carmichael but he did his best not to give the detective the
satisfaction of showing it, “But even if you found this ‘imprint’ you speak of
it could not have pointed to you to me.”
“It did not,” the detective admitted, “But it caused me to
seek out every piece of information I could obtain on the life and times of
Clark Morris, including reading his obituary, and there I found your written
confession to the crime.”
Now Carmichael could no longer continue even the pretence of
composure, “What nonsense is this? I did no such thing!”
“Oh but you did sir, in five simple words you revealed
everything, ‘recently engaged to be married’, you do remember the words your
‘higher power’ compelled you to write I trust?”
Carmichael did remember all too well and dread crept over
him as he admitted, “it was not the spirit that commanded me, I added that
detail at my own volition.”
“Because of course you could not deny your drive to craft
the most precise and complete obituary, even if meant including a detail that
had, according to my investigation, been known only to Mister Clark Morris and
his intended as he had yet to seek permission from the lady’s father. A detail
I have no doubt he revealed to you as he pleaded for life, a detail that turned
my entire focus upon you Mister Carmichael Gray and a detail that leads
directly to my discovering your next intended victim and concocting this ruse
to ensnare you.”
Carmichael was immune to the venom in the words, all he
could think of was how he had finally failed the muse that had called him to
action, “And now you have had your say I imagine you intend to summon the
constabulary?”
“Naturally, the body of circumstantial evidence I have
amassed, plus the statements that myself and Miss Collier can bear witness to
should be more than adequate to see you charged and convicted; assuming that
you choose to prolong the agony by protesting your innocence. However if I
judge you correctly I do not believe that will be an issue.”
Carmichael shook his head, “No I will not sully my calling
with such falsehoods. I have failed in my duty and I must be punished for
that.” He reached for the inner pocket of his coat, and halted as he sensed
Miss Collier gun hand tensing, “I am not reaching for a weapon, simply an item
that I wish to pass into your custody rather than the churlish hands of some
dim-witted constable.”
“Very well Mister Grey but be quite sure that if you try any
trick Miss Collier is an excellent shot.”
Slowly Carmichael
drew a long white envelope from his pocket, its condition immaculate despite
the length of time he had been carrying it with him.
“And what does that contain Mister Grey?” The detective
enquired.
Carmichael’s lips quirk into what might have been a smile,
“Can you not surmise that for yourself?” Without another word he let the
envelope flutter to the floor and lunged. He did not throw himself towards Miss
Collier in an attempt to escape, nor did he try and grapple with Augustus Fancy
in some undignified effort at petty vengeance, for if the detective had been
the instrument of his downfall Carmichael Gray knew he had been its architect.
Instead he threw himself towards the large sash window that looked out on to
the street.
For the last time Carmichael Gray felt the power reach out
to aid him and he was oblivious to the pain as he crashed through the glass and
plunged downwards, instead he felt a brief moment of satisfaction before he met
the pavement and oblivion claimed him.
*****
Augustus Fancy climbed out of the bed and walked to the
ruined window, a brief inspection of the figure lying on the pavement confirmed
that they would require the services of a pathologist rather than a physician.
Behind him Rosemarie Collier has retrieved the envelope,
“And have you deduced the contents of this my dear?”
Augustus turned to her, trying not to appear smug and not
entirely succeeding, “It was not any great feat to do so; it can only be the
obituary of Carmichael Gray, written by the only hand he would ever trust to do
it justice.”
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