“Your past condemns you,” he said sternly. “Our brain plays us queer tricks at times. In talking of your South American trip to Dr. Shively while in the act of poisoning Dwight Tilghman you gave the clew to his murder. I have a retentive memory, and the mention of your South American trip recalled a magazine article, published many years ago, recounting your adventures in the wildest part of the Amazon—and in that article you made mention of your mimicry of the human voice and of bird calls, and spoke of once extricating yourself from a dangerous situation among a hostile tribe by the use of ventriloquism, of which you said you were a past master.”
“Bosh!” But Norcross’ lips were trembling. “All manufactured out of whole cloth.”
“No,” Calhoun handed the clipping to Mitchell. “After talking with Dr. Shively this morning I went to the Congressional Library, and there found the magazine on file, and was permitted to take this clipping from one of the copies. Out of your own mouth, Norcross, you are condemned.”
Leonard McLane stepped forward. “If additional evidence is needed,” he said. “I can testify that Ethel Ogden and I were attending Mrs. Ogden in her bedroom when we apparently heard Ethel’s voice from the hall crying: ‘Help, Julian, for God’s sake, help!’ We heard the voice continue down the hall, and all the while Ethel stood facing me, absolutely silent.”
Ethel, who had kept in the background, advanced to Barclay’s side. She avoided looking at Norcross. “Did you, Julian, the night you chased this Japanese,” indicating Ito, “out into the back yard, say to him, ‘Ito, I tell you I have no more money to spare’?”
Barclay looked at her in blank amazement. “No, I never made such a remark,” he protested. “I did not catch up with Ito.”
“That is true,” confirmed the Japanese. “I have never exchanged a word with Mr. Barclay since our meeting in the train.”
Ethel looked accusingly at Norcross. “You were at my side—by using ventriloquism you made me think that Julian Barclay was in collusion with Ito, then accused of the murder of Dwight Tilghman.”
The professor’s eyes fell before her passionate indignation, and when he looked up he addressed Colonel Calhoun exclusively.
“I did all that you accuse me of,” he said coldly, and his hearers gathered closer about him. “The Japanese are good paymasters.” He looked at Walter Ogden. “You have found them so—” with insolent meaning.