Wallace extended a lazy arm and snagged one of Ellery’s cigarets. Ellery tossed him a packet of matches, and the man nodded his thanks. He lit up, tossed the packet back, and resumed his hammocky position.
The detective was confused. He glanced at Ellery, at Wallace, at Ellery again. Ellery was puffing peacefully away at his pipe.
“You mean,” said Keats in a high voice, “Hill wasn’t murdered by Priam after all?”
“It’s a matter of emphasis, Keats. Gangster A, a shot big enough to farm out his dirty work, employs Torpedo C to kill Gangster B. Torpedo C does so. Who’s guilty of B’s murder? A and C. The big shot and the little shot. Priam and Alfred were both guilty.”
“Priam hired Wallace to do his killing for him,” said Keats foolishly.
“No.” Ellery picked up a pipe cleaner and inserted it in the stem of his pipe. “No, Keats, that would make Priam the big shot and Wallace the little. It was a whole lot subtler than that. Priam thought he was the big shot and that Wallace was a tool, but he was wrong; it was the other way around. Priam thought he was using Wallace to murder Hill, when all the time Wallace was using Priam to murder Hill. And when Priam planned the clean-up killing of Wallace ― planned it on his own ― Wallace turned Priam’s plan right around against Priam and used it to make Priam kill himself.”
“Take it easy, will you?” groaned Keats. “I’ve had a hard week. Let’s go at this in words of one syllable, the only kind I can understand.
“According to you, this monkey sitting here, this man you call a murderer ― who’s taking your pay, drinking your liquor, and smoking your cigarets, all with your permission ― this Wallace planned the murders first of Hill, then of Priam, using Priam without Priam’s realizing that he was being used ― in fact, in such a way that Priam thought he was the works. All my pea-brain wants to know is: Why? Why should Wallace want to kill Hill and Priam? What did he have against ‘em?”
“You know the answer to that, Lieutenant.”
“Me?”