Detective Fiction Weekly. Vol. 104, No. 4, August 22, 1936

There was the long, steady snoring of Kearton, as he lay stretched on the bed. That and the clicking of O’Rourke’s heels as he walked up and down the floor made the accompaniment to which Campbell had to do his thinking.

He uncorked the bottle, stared at the contents, smelled of them, shook his head once more.

“Volatile... that’s what they call stuff like this,” said Campbell. “But how would it evaporate through a glass bottle with a cork in it?”

“It can’t evaporate through glass,” said O’Rourke.

“Nothing can evaporate through cork, neither,” said Campbell. “Put your knee into the ribs of Kearton and stop him snoring, will you?”

O’Rourke went to the bed and turned Kearton on his face. The snore turned into a stifled groaning.

“Nothing can evaporate through cork, neither,” insisted the Scotchman, as O’Rourke came back.

“Then the cork ain’t there,” said O’Rourke.

“What do you mean it ain’t there? Can’t I see it?”

“What can evaporate through glass or cork? Nothing!” said O’Rourke. “So I say, the cork ain’t there.”

“I always knew it,” said Campbell. “Crazy as a loon — and on full-time pay of the City of New York!”

O’Rourke, without answering, picked up the bottle from the weary band of Campbell; pulled out the cork, and began to examine it.

There was a knock at the door. Campbell went to it, and pulled it half open. Lionel Reid was there. The light gleamed on the dark red of his hair and made his eyes bluer.

“I’ve come to talk about the check, Sergeant,” he said in a low voice.

“Later on,” said Campbell, and started to close the door.

Reid put his foot against it.

“I’ve come to talk about the check you promised to me,” said young Reid.

“All right, all right,” said Campbell. “As soon as I’ve had a Chance to check up the yarn you told me. Rome wasn’t built in a day, young man.”

“It was taken and smashed in a day, though,” said Lionel Reid.

“You’re drunk,” said Campbell. “Get out and stay out.”

He slammed the door in Reid’s face and turned back into the room.

“Manners,” he heard O’Rourke saying. “That’s all they ain’t got. Manners. Take them otherwise and the Scotch ain’t a bad sort of a second-rate people.”

He had the cork in his band, turning it. He put the bottle back on the table and untwisted the wire cork-pull which was affixed in the cork.

He held up the cork in one hand, the crooked bit of wire in the other.

“I told you so,” he said. “There ain’t any cork!”

Campbell started to swear. He wound up by taking the cork out of O’Rourke’s hands and examining it for a moment. The moment was all he needed. A narrow hole had been drilled into the cork. When he held it to the light, he could lock straight through.

What O’Rourke had said was true. There was no cork. A highly volatile liquid, chiefly alcohol, would evaporate swiftly in this hot summer weather.

Campbell screwed the wire pull back into its place and reclosed the bottle.

“Neat,” he said.

“Like the swiping of the picture from the palace, over there,” said O’Rourke. “Damned neat. Too neat. There’s been nothing but brains sloshed all over this case!... Look at it now! Murder, all right. Murder by drilling a sneaking little hole through a cork. That’s all. I never heard anything like it. Murder is gonna jump at us out of keyhole or something.”

“Who did it?” muttered Campbell.

“Likely the doctor. The same sneaking sort of idea that a doctor would have, anyway,” suggested O’Rourke.

“But there’s Walden — there’s Chatham — there’s Vivian Tydings — there’s the Reids — all been near the house. All had a chance to do this trick. All had some kind of reasons for it — to say nothing of dirty dog-face Clifford.”

“Look,” said O’Rourke. “You’re tired. You go and lie down.”

“I’m not tired... You were right, Pat. I won’t sleep tonight.”

“You gotta sleep. You ain’t got much brains anyway, and you need what you got freshened up. Do what I tell you.”

“I can’t sleep.”

O’Rourke took him by the shoulder. “Go on over there and lie down beside Kearton,” he commanded.

Campbell moved, shaking his head in a feeble protest.

“I’m going to take a look around for some of the old bottles of this tonic,” he said. “There must be some more of them, somewhere. You get a bit of shut-eye, and I’ll take a slant around the place. Then I’ll come back. Take it easy, Angus. Don’t be a mug. Let everything go and take it easy.”

“Thanks, Pat,” said Campbell. “Maybe you’re right.” He stretched himself on the bed...

This unexpected kindness on the part of O’Rourke amazed him and disarmed him. He would not, of course, go to sleep, but at least he would pretend to, and the moment O’Rourke was out of the room he could be up again. Never refuse a gift or a kindness. Even if you don’t want, never refuse.

He heard the feet of O’Rourke stride across the floor. The door opened, a warm slosh of air washed through the room. The door closed again. The footfall of O’Rourke going down the hall was instantly dim, then lost.