“All of which was horse-radish,” nodded Ellery, “except the fact that, whatever his name was, it certainly wasn’t Alfred Wallace. He did pick that when he wanted an assumed name.”
“So what? There’s nothing unusual about the name Alfred Wallace.”
“Wrong, Keats. There’s something not only unusual and remarkable about the name Alfred Wallace, but unique.
“Alfred Wallace ― Alfred Russel Wallace ― was a contemporary of Charles Darwin’s. Alfred Wallace was the naturalist who arrived at a formulation of the evolution theory almost simultaneously with Darwin, although independently. In fact, their respective announcements were first given to the world in the form of a joint essay read before the Linnaean Society in 1858, and published in the Society’s Journal the same year. Darwin had drafted the outline of his ‘Theory’ in manuscript in 1842. Wallace, ill with fever in South America, came to the same conclusions and sent his findings to Darwin, which is how they came to be published simultaneously.”
Ellery tapped his pipe against an ashtray. “And here we have a man up to his ears in the Hill-Priam case who carries the admittedly assumed name of Alfred Wallace. A case in which a naturalist named Charles Adam used the theory of evolution ― fathered by Darwin and the nineteenth century Alfred Wallace ― as the basis of a series of clues. Coincidence that the secretary of one of Adam’s victims should select as his alias one of the two names associated with evolution? Out of the billions of possible name combinations? Just as Charles Adam founded his entire murder plan on his scientific knowledge, so he drew an alias out of his science’s past. He would hardly have stooped to calling himself Darwin; the obviousness of that would have offended him. But the name Alfred Wallace is almost unknown to the general public. Perhaps the whole process was unconscious; it would be a delightful irony if this man, who prides himself on being the god of events, should be mortally tripped by his own unconscious mind.”
Keats got up so suddenly that even Wallace was startled.
But the detective was paying no attention to Wallace. In the firelight his fair skin was a pebbled red as he scowled down at Ellery, who was regarding him inquiringly.
“So when you hired him as your secretary, Queen, you knew you were hiring Adam ― a successful killer?”
“That’s right, Keats.”
“Why?”