Wallace raised his brows quizzically.
“In any event, he managed finally to land the job and to fool Roger Priam absolutely. Priam went to his death completely unaware that Wallace was actually Adam rather than the spurious substitute for Adam Priam thought he was palming off on the authorities. Priam never doubted for a moment that Adam’s bones were still lying in the coral sand of that deserted West Indian island.”
Ellery stared reflectively at Wallace, who was sipping his Scotch like a gentleman in his club. “I wonder what you really look like, Adam. The newspaper photos we dug up weren’t much use... Of course, twenty-five years have made a big difference. But you wouldn’t have trusted to that. Plastic work, almost certainly, and of the highest order; there isn’t a sign of it. Maybe a little something to your vocal cords. And lots of practice with such things as gait, tricks of speech, ‘characteristic’ gestures, and so on. It was probably all done years ago, so that you had plenty of time to obliterate all trace of ― forgive me ― of the old Adam. Priam never had a chance. Or Hill. And you had the virility Priam demanded in a secretary. You’d undoubtedly found out about that in your preliminary reconnaissance. A glimpse of Delia Priam, and you must have been absolutely delighted. Plum pudding to go with your roast beef.”
Wallace smiled appreciatively.
“I don’t know when ― or how ― Priam first let on that he wanted to be rid of Leander Hill. Maybe he never said so at all, in so many words. At least in the beginning. You were with him night and day, and you were studying him. You could hardly have remained blind to Priam’s hatred. I think, Wallace,” said Ellery, setting his feet on the coffee table, “yes, I think you got hold of Priam’s proboscis very early with your magnetic grip, and steered it this way and that. It would be a technique that appealed to you, feeling your victim’s desires and directing them, unsuspected, according to your own. Sensing that Priam wanted Hill dead, you led him around to becoming actively conscious of it. Then you let him chew on it. It took months, probably. But you had plenty of time, and you’d proved your patience.
“In the end, it became a passion with him.
“Of course, to do anything at all along that line he needed an accomplice. There couldn’t be any question as to who the accomplice might be. It wouldn’t surprise me if you dropped a few hints that you weren’t altogether unfamiliar with violence... you had vague ‘memories,’ perhaps, that came and went conveniently through the curtain of your ‘amnesia’... It was all very gradual, but one day you got there. It was out. And you were to do the ‘legwork.’ ”
Wallace surveyed the flames dreamily. Keats, watching him, listening to Ellery, had the most childish sense that all this was happening elsewhere, to other people.
“Priam had plans of his own. They would be Priam-like plans, crude and explosive ― a Molotov cocktail sort of thing. And you ‘admired’ them. But perhaps something a little less direct...? In discussing the possibilities you may have suggested that there might be something in the common background of Priam and Hill that would give Priam ― always Priam ― a psychologically sound springboard for a really clever plan. Eventually you got the story of Adam ― of yourself ― out of him. Because, of course, that’s what you were after all along.
“After that, it was ridiculously easy. All you had to do was put ideas into Priam’s head, so that they could come out of his mouth and, in doing so, convince him that they were original with him. In time you had the whole thing explicit. There was the plot that would give Priam the indestructible garment of innocence, Priam was convinced it was all his idea... and all the time it was the very plot you’d planned to use yourself. That must have been a great day, Wallace.”