Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 5, No. 19, November 1944

And Máximo Roldán left at once for the scene of the crime.

In one of the rooms in the upper story of the murder house, the Chief of the Security Commission was listening to Máximo Roldán:

“Of course, Chief, you will have noticed the curious thing about your discovery: a garter has no logical reason for appearing as an incriminating clue on the scene of a crime. Generally speaking, incriminating clues are left as the result of a struggle, or forgetfulness, or of the nervous excitement of the moment. You might forget your gloves, your cuff-links might come loose or even your necktie; but there is no reason whatsoever that you should lose a garter. There’s only one explanation: it was left here intentionally. And if the garter is a deliberate plant, so probably are the other clues. You follow, Chief?”

“Yes. Go on.”

“But the garter is the only one of the clues that is definitely and conclusively masculine. The gloves, the cuff-links, the necktie, the stickpin — a woman might possibly wear any or all of these in certain ensembles; but she could never wear a man’s garter. These clues were planted here to distract suspicion from the real murderer; the others seemed insufficient proof of sex, so the murderer added the indisputably male garter to prove that the criminal must have been a man.”

“But there are only two men in the household; it would have to incriminate one of them.”

“I’m coming to that. Now we have the murderer trying to avert suspicion, planting various objects chosen at random, belonging to the nephew or the chauffeur or, like the stickpin, to neither of them, but always masculine objects — never feminine. At first glance these objects seem to incriminate their owners. But their mute accusation is so weak and confused that the police would never make an arrest on the strength of them. The murderer, then, was not trying to frame an individual. He was trying to frame a sex. A man in the same position would have scattered earrings and bobby pins. You understand?”

“Yes...”

“It leaps to the eye, then, that the murderer is a woman.”

“A woman?”

“A woman, Chief.”

“Hm.” The Chief of the Commission meditated for a moment. Then he said, “A woman who had ready access to the rooms of the nephew and the chauffeur.”

“Perhaps.”

“Or, of course, the housekeeper. She does the daily cleaning in their rooms.”

“Possibly.”

“ ‘Possibly’! Can’t you be sure?”

“If you’ll let me examine the room, by myself with no one to bother me, and let me question the three women who live in the house — then I’ll tell you which is the murderess.”

The Chief stared at Máximo Roldán, dubiously weighing the irregularity of his intervention against the convincing clarity of his logic. He began to pace meditatively around the room. At last he made his decision.

“You may do as you please.”

“Thanks, Chief. I’ll be right back.”

Máximo Roldán opened the door and left. “Senora!” he called to the housekeeper who was passing in the hall. “Where is the young lady? Quick I Take me to her. Matter of life and death!”

The housekeeper stood gaping at him. She whispered in a tremulous voice, “Come along. This way.” She traversed the length of the hall and stopped before the last door. “In here.”

“Thanks a lot. You may go now.” The old woman did not budge. “Don’t be afraid, señora. It’s for her best interests. I swear it.”

The housekeeper withdrew somewhat distrustfully. When she had vanished, Máximo Roldán knocked on the door and without waiting for an answer turned the knob and entered. Isabel stood in the center of the room, her eyes fixed on the opening door.

“What do you want?” she asked. Her voice shook a little.

Máximo Roldán took a card from his wallet, proffered it to the girl, and said, “Here is my address. If you trust me, go to my house and show this card. They’ll let you in. Lie low until I get there.”

The girl turned pale. She stared at Máximo Roldán, trying to penetrate to the depths of his character.

“Run along. Flee, I believe, is the proper word in this situation. Here’s a note for a hundred pesos. You have your choice: my card or the banknote. Either way you can make a safe getaway. But flee you must, and at once.”

Isabel made no answer. She kept her eyes fixed on those of Máximo Roldán. His gaze did not waver. She extended her hand and took the card.

“Thank you. I trust you.”

The young man bowed and brushed Isabel’s hand with his lips. He murmured, “Why? Because you did it?”

The girl came slowly toward him, took both his hands in hers, and closed them over a bulky object.

“A notebook. Written by me. Read it. Goodbye.”

Máximo Roldán left the room on the run and entered the bedroom where the murder had taken place. There was no one there. He went to the night-table, opened the drawer, and took out the jewels. He wrapped them in a handkerchief and tied it up by its four corners. He thrust the small bundle into the rear pocket of his trousers, left the bedroom, and returned to the room where he had talked to the Chief of the Security Commission.