species. They get by so easily on their looks, no reason for them
to develop in other directions. So let's hear something about the
Temple set-up."
"I wouldn't like to say whether it's a planned
racket," said Woods. "Maybe the Kingmans are seriously sold
on this Mystic Truth business. I didn't pay much notice to the ins
and outs of it, but this Madame Cara—er—missionizes at everybody,
and I gather it takes in a little bit of everything, from astrology
to something called Pyramidology. I went and saw Amhelm in Rackets,
but he's got no record of complaints, they've kept within the law.
It's been a going concern for about five years, and it started on
capital given to the Kingmans—outright gift—by half a dozen
wealthy people, all of whom are still members of the sect. That—"
He paused as the preparations for bringing up the body reached a
climax. The ambulance men tramped in with their basket: Dr.
Bainbridge hoisted his tubby middle-aged self out of the trap with
some difficulty. Dwyer and Landers below heaved the body up to
reaching hands, head first; it was an awkward thing to handle in that
space, but they got it into the basket at last and took it out in a
hurry. The burial and the clothes had helped, but it had still been
dead a week or so.
As they went out, the men inside heard a long
pleasurable sound from the little crowd gathered. A couple of men
were questioning the other tenants, those who were home, and a number
of the neighbors had drifted over to watch.
. Dr. Bainbridge sat down on the other end of the
couch, wiped his brow, and lit a large black cigar. "Next time,
Luis, let's make it in a more accessible place, shall we?"
"Not my idea. What have you got to give me right
now?"
"Not a great deal. Don't know that I can tell
you much more after an autopsy, except odds and ends like what he had
for his last meal. Though the body's very well preserved. He was
killed by a blow on the head, several blows were struck and it may
have been just one that did for him or a combination of all of them.
Blows were struck from the front and side, the left side—his, that
is. Nearest I can say as to time of death is between five and seven
days. Say between a week ago yesterday and last Sunday."
"Could he have died round about seven-thirty
that Friday night?"
"Certainly. Or the next night. Or ten o'clock
Sunday morning. You pays your money and you takes your choice."
Dwyer, who'd gone back down the hole, emerged again
with a lidless carton and presented it to Mendoza. "Contents of
the pockets. I labeled 'em for you."
"Ah," said Mendoza, but he didn't look at
them immediately. "Tell me, Bainbridge, just to reinforce my own
opinion—about getting him down there, would it have taken great
strength? Could a woman have done it?"
"Oh, well, you have presumably heard of the law
of gravity," said the surgeon. "Always easier to get a
thing down than up. If he was put down there more or less at once
after death, when he was still limp, it wouldn't have been much of a
chore, no—question of dragging him to the trap and sliding him
through. And anybody can dig away enough dirt, even with a trowel, to
cover a body as thinly as he was covered. It'd take a little time,
and it's an awkward place to work—especially without light—though
the kitchen light would have penetrated down the trap some, of
course. But it'd just be a matter of patience and care. Certainly, a
healthy woman could have done it."
"Mmh, my own idea, Apologies to interrupt you,
Woods, just go on talking while I look at this." Mendoza
regarded the little collection interestedly.
". . . That," Woods calmly picked up where
he'd left off, "hadn't really a thing to do with Twelvetrees and
the money, I just had a look because I was curious. But anyway, you
can say that this Mystic Truth is a profitable business, because
evidently it's attracted people with more money than sense, whether
the Kingmans planned it that way or not. Judging from the fact that
an
to develop in other directions. So let's hear something about the
Temple set-up."
"I wouldn't like to say whether it's a planned
racket," said Woods. "Maybe the Kingmans are seriously sold
on this Mystic Truth business. I didn't pay much notice to the ins
and outs of it, but this Madame Cara—er—missionizes at everybody,
and I gather it takes in a little bit of everything, from astrology
to something called Pyramidology. I went and saw Amhelm in Rackets,
but he's got no record of complaints, they've kept within the law.
It's been a going concern for about five years, and it started on
capital given to the Kingmans—outright gift—by half a dozen
wealthy people, all of whom are still members of the sect. That—"
He paused as the preparations for bringing up the body reached a
climax. The ambulance men tramped in with their basket: Dr.
Bainbridge hoisted his tubby middle-aged self out of the trap with
some difficulty. Dwyer and Landers below heaved the body up to
reaching hands, head first; it was an awkward thing to handle in that
space, but they got it into the basket at last and took it out in a
hurry. The burial and the clothes had helped, but it had still been
dead a week or so.
As they went out, the men inside heard a long
pleasurable sound from the little crowd gathered. A couple of men
were questioning the other tenants, those who were home, and a number
of the neighbors had drifted over to watch.
. Dr. Bainbridge sat down on the other end of the
couch, wiped his brow, and lit a large black cigar. "Next time,
Luis, let's make it in a more accessible place, shall we?"
"Not my idea. What have you got to give me right
now?"
"Not a great deal. Don't know that I can tell
you much more after an autopsy, except odds and ends like what he had
for his last meal. Though the body's very well preserved. He was
killed by a blow on the head, several blows were struck and it may
have been just one that did for him or a combination of all of them.
Blows were struck from the front and side, the left side—his, that
is. Nearest I can say as to time of death is between five and seven
days. Say between a week ago yesterday and last Sunday."
"Could he have died round about seven-thirty
that Friday night?"
"Certainly. Or the next night. Or ten o'clock
Sunday morning. You pays your money and you takes your choice."
Dwyer, who'd gone back down the hole, emerged again
with a lidless carton and presented it to Mendoza. "Contents of
the pockets. I labeled 'em for you."
"Ah," said Mendoza, but he didn't look at
them immediately. "Tell me, Bainbridge, just to reinforce my own
opinion—about getting him down there, would it have taken great
strength? Could a woman have done it?"
"Oh, well, you have presumably heard of the law
of gravity," said the surgeon. "Always easier to get a
thing down than up. If he was put down there more or less at once
after death, when he was still limp, it wouldn't have been much of a
chore, no—question of dragging him to the trap and sliding him
through. And anybody can dig away enough dirt, even with a trowel, to
cover a body as thinly as he was covered. It'd take a little time,
and it's an awkward place to work—especially without light—though
the kitchen light would have penetrated down the trap some, of
course. But it'd just be a matter of patience and care. Certainly, a
healthy woman could have done it."
"Mmh, my own idea, Apologies to interrupt you,
Woods, just go on talking while I look at this." Mendoza
regarded the little collection interestedly.
". . . That," Woods calmly picked up where
he'd left off, "hadn't really a thing to do with Twelvetrees and
the money, I just had a look because I was curious. But anyway, you
can say that this Mystic Truth is a profitable business, because
evidently it's attracted people with more money than sense, whether
the Kingmans planned it that way or not. Judging from the fact that
an
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