Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 105, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 640 & 641, March 1995

A week later the householder at Number Twenty-seven South Park Road telephoned the police to say that a dangerous escape of gas seemed to be taking place at Number Twenty-five and no one seemed to be doing anything about it.

This brought Chief Inspector Mayburgh onto the scene. Normally he would not have become involved in such a routine matter, but he had received a telephone call earlier that morning from a man who had refused to give his name but had said, “If you want the Knifeman, go to Twenty-five South Park Road. Don’t forget to look in the desk.”

The coincidence of the address had stirred him into action. He brought Inspector Barley with him.

They found that the fire brigade, equipped with respirators, had entered the house, turned off the gas, which was pouring into the kitchen, and succeeded in clearing the atmosphere. They had not disturbed the body of the householder, a Mr. Appleyard, which had been found on the floor beside the kitchen table, on which two pillows and a rug had been placed.

“Made himself comfortable, didn’t he?” said Mayburgh.

“It’s often the way they go,” said the police surgeon. “When he finally lost consciousness he must have rolled off the table onto the floor. That would account, no doubt, for the bruising on the back of his head.”

When Mayburgh examined the desk, he was delighted to find in one of the drawers a surgical knife, a homemade life preserver, and Mr. Appleyard’s private diary, which contained a full account of the difficulties and final collapse of the company selling medical equipment which he had founded when he left his post as assistant in the surgical wing at St. Christopher’s Hospital.

Chief Inspector Mayburgh was not a man who threw compliments around, but he felt that something special was called for on this occasion.

He said to Inspector Barley, “I regard this as a triumph for the theory of psychological fingerprinting. Clearly what happened was that this man heard of our enquiries, felt the net closing round him, and took this way out. You must write it up for the Police Gazette.” The inspector smiled modestly and said that he would see what he could do.

Mr. Piggin said nothing. He was too busy. Fearne and Bracknell had been instructed by one of their City clients in a particularly unpleasant case of blackmail.