Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 44, No. 7 & 8, July/August 1999

“More than twenty-five. I inherited my grandfather’s engineering business but unfortunately not his genius as an architect. I never knew a pilaster from an architrave. That’s why I sold out while I was ahead.”

“Earlier today you said you saw a car entering the garage next door sometime yesterday afternoon.”

“That’s right,” nodded Roetherl, clearly relieved that the spotlight was off his own affairs. “Around four. A red Alfa Romeo.”

“And you’d seen that same car there before?”

“Often.”

“Did you happen to notice whether the garage door went up automatically?”

“No. I can’t see the door from the kitchen window.”

“And you didn’t see it leave later?”

“For all I know, she’s still there.”

Auburn took his leave while Roetherl was shifting his wife into a more comfortable position.

Neldrick’s house was dark except for a dim glow in the entry hall. But the blind man answered Auburn’s ring at once and on hearing his voice released the chain and let him in. He wasn’t wearing his dark glasses this evening. Touching chairs and door frames lightly as he went and putting on one or two lights for Auburn’s benefit, he led the way into a large, comfortable living room.

“You’ll have to excuse any dust in here,” said Neldrick, sinking into an overstuffed chair. “When Beth isn’t around, the cleaning lady gets a little slack.”

“Does your cleaning lady come every day?”

“No, only Mondays and Fridays.” It was uncanny how the blind man’s eyes, guided by Auburn’s voice, seemed almost to be meeting his with their glassy stare. “She’s due again tomorrow.”

Auburn sat down opposite Neldrick and slowly and silently drew his revolver. “You said this morning that you hadn’t had any visitors yesterday. Do you still hold to that?”

“Certainly.”

“What if I told you somebody saw a small red sports car pull into your garage yesterday afternoon around four o’clock?” The revolver was now pointed straight between Neldrick’s idly roving eyes. Auburn’s heart was hammering in his throat; he could feel sweat trickling down his sides.

A shadow of annoyance passed over Neldrick’s face but nothing more. “A client did visit me yesterday afternoon, by appointment,” he conceded.

“You mean a patient?” Auburn’s voice sounded hollow and distant to his own ears.

“Psychologists don’t use that word, since we’re not physicians. The real doctors don’t like it. But, yes, it was a professional visit. The visitor’s identity, of course, is privileged information.”

Auburn wrapped his left hand around his right wrist to steady it and began slowly squeezing the trigger of the revolver.

“I’m not asking for a name,” he said, keeping his voice level with an effort. “I just wonder why you denied having had a visitor yesterday when I asked about it before.”

Neldrick was leaning back and indulging in a sour grin as the firing pin snapped forward. “Because,” he said, “the local zoning regulations prohibit me from seeing clients in my home. There’s a fighter on the shelf behind you.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I thought you were having trouble fighting a cigarette. You sound as if you needed one.”

Auburn’s empty revolver was back in its holster. “I’ll be okay. I’ve just got a touch of indigestion.” Which was true enough.

He paused in Neldrick’s dark driveway to reload his weapon before returning to the Roetherls’. On impulse he walked down their driveway to the garage and tried lifting the overhead door on the right. It rolled up easily on its tracks to reveal Karl Roetherl doing something inside with a flashlight and screwdriver.

“What’s the idea?” sputtered Roetherl with canine ferocity. “You just about knocked me off this step-ladder. You’re on private property.”

“Settle down, Mr. Roetherl,” said Auburn, staying at the open end of the garage. “Tell me about the garage door.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“I think there is. When did you have it worked on?”

“I don’t know. Several weeks ago. In August.”

“Back when you told me you greased it?”

“Yes. He greased it.”

“Who?”

“The man who came to work on it.” He got down off the ladder and fit a cigarette. “The controller wouldn’t work. I replaced the battery, but that didn’t help. Inside the battery compartment there was a sticker with a phone number for service. I called, and they sent a man out.”

“And did he fix it?”

“Yes. He also told me the safety code now requires some kind of automatic release, and he put one on for me.”

“That little black box you were just looking at?” Roetherl smoked furiously, peering into the twilight behind Auburn. “When was the next time you saw him?”

Getting no answer, Auburn supplied one himself. “Last night you heard a noise here in the garage. You came down and found that the man who worked on the door in August had come back. That black box he put on enabled him to disconnect the door from the opener mechanism by using a remote control unit from outside. He was getting ready to cover his tracks by taking the box off again when you surprised him and hit him with — what? A golf club? A hammer?”