The Corpse in the Cellar by Kel Richards

Poe?’
    â€˜Well, look at the facts, old chap,’ Warnie responded. ‘Bank cellar sealed up tighter than a drum. No way in, no way out. Only one person in the cellar. That one person dies violently—and no weapon is found. I should think Edgar Allan Poe would be cracking his knuckles with delight and breaking out the good brandy to celebrate a plot like that.’
    â€˜The point is,’ said Jack, ‘it’s not a story. It may be a plot, but it’s a murderous plot that obeys the laws of physics, and the laws of logic.’
    Before Warnie could respond I glanced through the window and interrupted to say, ‘Look who’s outside.’ The others turned to peer through the small, diamond-shaped panes of the snug window. And they saw what I saw: Constable Dixon, lounging on the other side of the street, trying, without success, to look inconspicuous.
    â€˜Keeping a watchful eye on the chief suspects,’ muttered Jack quietly.
    â€˜Treating us as if we’re bally criminals,’ muttered Warnie. ‘Have a second pint, Jack?’
    â€˜Later,’ Jack replied.
    At that moment the phone in the front bar began to ring loudly. It rang for so long I was rising to answer it myself when a flustered Annie Jones, wearing an apron and carrying a tea towel in one hand, rushed in from somewhere in the back of the pub and picked it up. She listened for a moment and then went to the front door.
    â€˜Bill!’ she called out to Constable Dixon on the other side of the street. ‘Telephone for you.’
    The constable flushed a bright pink at having his surveillance advertised in this way, but hurried across the road.
    â€˜Hello?’ he said tentatively as he picked up the phone. He listened for a minute, punctuating his listening with the occasional muttered ‘Yes, sir’, then put the phone down with a final, ‘Very good, sir.’
    All of this we saw and heard through the open doorway between the snug and the front public bar. A moment later Constable Dixon was looming over us, saying, in his most official voice, ‘Inspector Hyde has just telephoned, gentlemen. He requests your presence back at the bank premises please.’
    â€˜What now?’ moaned Warnie, but we all dutifully rose and followed Dixon out onto the street and down the few short blocks to the bank. Here we found the street door still closed and a handwritten sign pinned on the door: ‘Bank closed until further notice.’ After a few firm and officious knocks by the constable the door was opened by Sergeant Donaldson, who waved us inside.
    He ushered us into the customers’ waiting area and told us to take a seat. Several minutes passed in dull silence, broken only by the loud ticking of the bank’s office clock.
    I turned to Jack and complained, ‘This is like waiting at the dentist.’
    He smiled grimly and said, ‘And there’s no promise the procedure will be painless when it happens.’
    Then the front door opened again and Inspector Hyde bustled in, accompanied another man in a pin-striped business suit.
    â€˜Ah, you’re here, you’re here,’ said Hyde, seeing us seated and waiting. ‘Be with you in a moment, gentlemen.’ Then he ushered his pin-striped visitor behind the counter and through the door leading to the cellar steps. Sergeant Donaldson went with them, leaving us to our own devices. We looked at each other, wondering what was going on.
    â€˜Well, I don’t know about you,’ said Warnie, rising from his seat and obviously still feeling keenly the insult of being a suspect, ‘but I’m not waiting here like a shag on a rock.’
    Jack also stood to his feet adding, ‘Well said, Warnie. Let’s see what they’re up to.’
    A moment later all three of us were through the door at the back of the bank office and standing at the head of the cellar stairs. Instinctively we moved quietly down them,