“The amount of credit and emulsification he received in the afternoon papers would have mellowed anyone. He should even forgive the Major for hitting him.—A clever blow, that; based on rotary leverage. Heath’s constitution must be tough, or he wouldn’t have recovered so quickly. . . . And poor Phelps! He’ll have a horror of knees the rest of his life.”
“You certainly guessed the Major’s reaction,” said Markham. “I’m almost ready to grant there’s something in your psychological flummery, after all. Your æsthetic deductions seemed to put you on the right track.”
After a pause he turned and looked inquisitively at Vance.
“Tell me exactly why, at the outset, you were convinced of the Major’s guilt?”
Vance settled back in his chair.
“Consider, for a moment, the characteristics—the outstanding features—of the crime. Just before the shot was fired Benson and the murderer undoubtedly had been talking or arguing—the one seated, the other standing. Then Benson had pretended to read: he had said all he had to say. His reading was his gesture of finality; for one doesn’t read when conversing 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, hot-headed, impulsive, or timid persons were automatically elim’nated as suspects. The neat, business-like aspect of the crime, together with the absence of any material clues that could possibly have incrim’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.”