Free Death Has Deep Roots by Michael Gilbert Page B

fiction. Anyway, the prisoner says that Monsieur Sainte did not make it clear that Major Thoseby could be arriving before ‘between ten and eleven.’ Wednesday was, by custom, her weekly night out. She was in the habit of having a meal at one of the restaurants in the Soho area where cooking in the French style is a speciality, and then of going to one or other of the cinemas near Oxford Circus which show French or other foreign films. This was her program and, in her account of the matter, she says that since she was not expecting Major Thoseby until ten-thirty, she saw no reason to depart from it. In any event, it is not disputed that she did arrive back at the hotel at almost exactly half-past ten.
    “However, I have allowed myself to go ahead of the strict chronology of this account. Major Thoseby, as I said, arrived at the hotel at half-past eight. He had his evening meal, spoke to Monsieur Sainte for a few minutes, and then retired upstairs to his room. His room was on the first floor, and was one of four rooms, two on either side of a short passage, which made up the annex at the back of the hotel. Perhaps I might be allowed to put in one exhibit at this unusually early stage – I will have the draftsman sworn in due course – I have had a large-scale plan prepared and it might assist us all if it was in front of us.”
    “If the defence has no objection,” said Mr. Justice Arbuthnot.
    “Anything,” said Mr. Macrea with ferocious good humour, “which can in any way assist in disentangling the prosecution’s story must have my wholehearted support.”
    A large-scale plan, ready set up on a blackboard, was wheeled forward into the well of the court and Mr. Summers, after some maneuvering, arranged it so that the jury and the judge could both see it.
    He then armed himself with a short pointer and took his stand beside the board, whilst Mr. Macrea said something to his learned junior, Mr. Lovibond, in which the word “mortarboard” was audible, at which Mr. Lovibond laughed unrestrainedly.
    “When you consider the events of the next two hours,” said Mr. Summers, “the time, that is to say, between about half-past nine and half-past eleven, some of you may perhaps be reminded of a certain type of detective novel. I have no doubt that a number of you read this very popular form of literature – as I do myself – and will be well acquainted with what used to be known as a ‘sealed box’ mystery. I mean that type of mystery where a body is found in a locked room with no windows, or in a strong room or in some other inaccessible place, and the question which has to be answered is not only who was the murderer, but how did the murderer get at his victim and how did he get away again. I do not suppose that such types of crime are as familiar in everyday life as they are between the covers of books, but if you look at this plan [1] you will see that there is here an element of what you might call control. And that control is exercised – as might be expected in an hotel – by the reception desk. A person in this desk is in a position to note at once who goes up and who comes down those stairs. And those stairs are the only means of access to Major Thoseby’s room.
    “When I say the only means of access I do not mean, of course, the only physical means of access. It would be possible to climb up by ladder from the street below or to descend by rope from the roof above. It is always within the bounds of possibility that there may have been a concealed trap door in the floor of one of the rooms.” Mr. Summers presented the jury with a wintry smile. “All I can say on that score is that the police, who have made their usual painstaking examination of the building, have failed to discover any hidden trap doors, nor has any witness yet come forward – and the streets at the back and front of the hotel were by no means deserted at that hour – to say that they observed any persons climbing up ladders or down