with another unless for a purpose. The murderer, seeing the hopelessness of the situation and having come prepared to meet it heroically, took out a gun, aimed it at Benson’s temple, and pulled the trigger. After that, he turned out the lights and went away.… Such are the facts indicated and actual.”
He took several puffs on his cigarette.
“Now, let’s analyze ’em.… As I pointed out to you, the murderer didn’t fire at the body, where, though the chances of hitting would have been much greater, the chances of death would have been less. He chose the more diff’cult and hazardous—and, at the same time, the more certain and efficient—course. His technique, so to speak, was bold, direct, and fearless. Only a man with iron nerves and a highly developed gambler’s instinct would have done it in just this forthright and audacious fashion. Therefore, all nervous, hotheaded, impulsive, or timid persons were automatically elim’nated as suspects. The neat, businesslike aspect of the crime, together with the absence of any material clues that could possibly have imcrim’nated the culprit, indicated unmistakably that it had been premeditated and planned with coolness and precision, by a person of tremendous self-assurance, and one used to taking risks. There was nothing subtle or in the least imag’native about the crime. Every feature of it pointed to an aggressive, blunt mind—a mind at once static, determined, and intrepid, and accustomed to dealing with facts and situations in a direct, concrete, and unequivocal manner.… I say, Markham, surely you’re a good enough judge of human nature to read the indications, what?”
“I think I get the drift of your reasoning,” the other admitted a little doubtfully.
“Very well, then,” Vance continued. “Having determined the exact psychological nature of the deed, it only remained to find some int’rested person whose mind and temp’rament were such that if he undertook a task of this kind in the given circumst’nces, he would inev’tably do it in precisely the manner in which it was done. As it happened, I had known the major for a long time; and so it was obvious to me, the moment I had looked over the situation that first morning, that he had done it. The crime, in every respect and feature, was a perfect psychological expression of his character and mentality. But even had I not known him personally, I would have been able—since I possessed so clear and accurate a knowledge of the murderer’s personality—to pick him out from any number of suspects.”
“But suppose another person of the major’s type had done it?” asked Markham.
“We all differ in our natures, however similar two persons may appear at times,” Vance explained. “And while, in the present case, it is barely conceivable that another man of the major’s type and temp’rament might have done it, the law of probability must be taken into account. Even supposing there were two men almost identical in personality and instincts in New York, what would be the chance of their both having had a reason to kill Benson? However, despite the remoteness of the possibility, when Pfyfe came into the case and I learned he was a gambler and a hunter, I took occasion to look into his qualifications. Not knowing him personally, I appealed to Colonel Ostrander for my information; and what he told me put Pfyfe at once hors de propos.”
“But he had nerve. He was a rash plunger; and he certainly had enough at stake,” objected Markham.
“Ah! But between a rash plunger and a bold, levelheaded gambler like the major there is a great difference—a psychological abyss. In fact, their animating impulses are opposites. The plunger is actuated by fear and hope and desire; the cool-headed gambler is actuated by expediency and belief and judgment. The one is emotional, the other mental. The major, unlike Pfyfe, is a born gambler and inf’nitely self-confident. This kind of self-confidence, however, is not the same as recklessness, though superficially the two bear a close resemblance. It is based on an instinctive belief in one’s own infallibility and safety. It’s the reverse of what the Freudians call the inferiority complex—a form of egomania, a variety of folie de grandeur. The major possessed it, but it was absent from Pfyfe’s composition; and as the crime indicated its possession by the perpetrator, I knew Pfyfe was innocent.”
“I begin to grasp the thing in a nebulous sort of way,” said Markham after a pause.
“But there were other indications, psychological and otherwise,” Vance went on “—the undress attire of the body, the toupee and teeth upstairs, the inferred familiarity of the murderer with the domestic arrangements, the fact that he had been admitted by Benson himself, and his knowledge that Benson would be at home alone at that time—all pointing to the major as the guilty person. Another thing—the height of the murderer corresponded to the major’s height. This indication, though, was of minor importance; for had my measurements not tallied with the major, I would have known that the bullet had been deflected, despite the opinions of all the Captain Hagedorns in the universe.”
“Why were you so positive a woman couldn’t have done it?”
“To begin with, it wasn’t a woman’s crime—that is, no woman would have done it in the way it was done. The most mentalized women are emotional when it comes to a fundamental issue like taking a life. That a woman could have coldly planned such a murder and then executed it with such businesslike efficiency—aiming a single shot at her victim’s temple at a distance of five or six feet—would be contr’ry, d’ ye see, to everything we know of human nature. Again, women don’t stand up to argue a point before a seated antagonist. Somehow they seem to feel more secure sitting down. They talk better sitting; whereas men talk better standing. And even had a woman stood before Benson, she could not have taken out a gun and aimed it without his looking up. A man’s reaching in his pocket is a natural action; but a woman has no pockets and no place to hide a gun except her handbag. And a man is always on guard when an angry woman opens a handbag in front of him—the very uncertainty of women’s natures has made men suspicious of their actions when aroused.… But—above all—it was Benson’s bald pate and bedroom slippers that made the woman hypothesis untenable.”
“You remarked a moment ago,” said Markham, “that the murderer went there that night prepared to take heroic measures if necessary. And yet you say he planned the murder.”
“True. The two statements don’t conflict, y’ know. The murder was planned—without doubt. But the major was willing to give his victim a last chance to save his life. My theory is this: The major, being in a tight financial hole with state prison looming before him, and knowing that his brother had sufficient funds in the safe to save him, plotted the crime and went to the house that night prepared to commit it. First, however, he told his brother of his predic’ment and asked for the money; and Alvin prob’bly told him to go to the devil. The major may even have pleaded a bit in order to avoid killing him; but when the liter’ry Alvin turned to reading, he saw the futility of appealing further, and proceeded with the dire business.”
Markham smoked awhile.
“Granting all you’ve said,” he remarked at length, “I still don’t see how you could know, as you asserted this morning, that the major had planned the murder so as to throw suspicion deliberately on Captain Leacock.”
“Just as a sculptor, who thoroughly understands the principles of form and composition, can accurately supply any missing integral part of a statue,” Vance explained, “so can the psychologist who understands the human mind supply any missing factor in a given human action. I might add, parenthetically, that all this blather about the missing arms of the Aphrodite of Melos—the Milo Venus, y’ know—is the utt’rest fiddle-faddle. Any competent artist who knew the laws of aesthetic organization could restore the arms exactly as they were originally. Such restorations are merely a matter of context—the missing factor, d’ ye see, simply has to conform and harmonize with what is already known.”
He made one of his rare gestures of delicate emphasis.
“Now,
