The Hidden Pistol Affair
It was a fine, sunny afternoon just like any ordinary day, Dr Waley and I were taking a stroll when a bang followed by a scream attracted our attention to the large lodge beside the park…
“Open the door!” I shouted accompanied with some banging on the door…
The door opens… A person that seemed to be the maid was inside crowded by people who seem to serve for the people in this house…
“Who are you?” someone asked…
I cleared my throat, “My name is William Wise,” said I, “a private detective.”
“You better come in then.” Someone else said.
It was a large hall which I have just entered, richly decorated furniture and painted walls full of oil paintings which seems to be very valuable.
“So, where and who was shot?” asked I, “Have anyone ringed to fetch the police?” I added.
“Our master was shot, sir.” A person who seemed to be the maid said, “I was hanging up the clothes and suddenly I heard a bang and master was dead, lying before me.”
“It was I who ringed the police.” The chef looking person said.
“How did you know that it was your master that was shot, not someone else or even a misfired shot?” I asked the maid…
“I was pileing up the clothes when I heard the gunshot and my master was slumped on the wooden floor, blood coming out of his abdomen, it was totally terrible.” The maid explained with sounds of sniffing.
“Does your master have any offsprings?” I asked once again.
“Yes sir, a son who is very poor, traveling around Australia, but I have recently heard that he has wandered back to Sydney again.” The maid answered.
“Will his son heir everything that your master leaves?” I questioned.
“Yes sir, why, are you thinking that he is the murderer?” she asked.
“Possibly,” I answered.
“May I examine the room where your master was shot?” asked I.
“By all means, sir.” answered the maid.
I said thank you to the maid and headed upstairs to the master’s room by the stair in the grand hall, even the hand rails of the stairs are richly decorated with fine carvings.
Into the room of the deceased master we went, the servants stayed outside, unwilling to see their dead master.
The room was somewhat at lease about twenty square metres in area, filled with a king size bed with rich decorations, a rose wood bookshelf, a writing desk with five drawers exactly and a grandfather clock on the left on the inside of the room., the lifeless corpse was lain beside the clock, on the threshold, shot in his abdomen.
“What is the name of your master?” asked I.
“Jack Winfery, sir.” The maid replied.
Very well then, can we see Mr Winfery senior?”
“What is the name of the Mr Winfery junior?” I asked.
“Paul Winfery, sir.” She replied.
At this very moment, the police knocked or rather banged heavily on the door… A sergeant appeared…
“Guess who is this!” cried the sergeant; he was the one who had assisted me on several different cases: the Dart Affair and it was he who had made a bet which I won five pounds for solving the case without going out of my apartment.
“Is it not sergeant Williams, what brings you here!” I exclaimed.
“It is this case, you told the servant to fetch the police! Do you not remember?” he asked.
“Oh look, I have a very bad memory, forgive me.” I apologized.
“So, who do you think is the murderer?” he asked.
“Jack Winfery I suppose, “ I answered, ”I don’t have any evidence but motive. According to the maid, Paul Winfery, Jack Winfery’s son inherits all the property in possession of Jack Winfery.”
“Very well then, where is the weapon?” sergeant asked.
“The weapon it is not found just yet.” I replied, disappointed by the fact that I haven’t even found the missing weapon.
“However, the victim was shot in the abdomen from the angle of the grandfather clock but the maid witnessed that there was no one in the room except the master and herself.” I gave the information to the sergeant.
“Have you investigated whether there are traces of mechanism of any description?” the sergeant asked.
“My colleague, John Waley is inspecting the area.” I replied.
“William!” doctor called. “Come and look at this pockmark!” he continued.
“Well, the body was shot from this angle, the bullet cannot possibly have come out of the victim and make a hole in the clock…so…”I inferred.
“So the pistol was placed inside the clock!” Dr Waley said.
“Indeed my dear Waley!” I replied.
“May we open this? We requested.
“By all means, gentlemen.” She replied.
We took the holed wooden board off the side of the clock and found a pistol with strings stuck to it. I quickly examined the opposite wall, finding a mark which was made by the string tying to it.
“The pistol was installed in the clock and a wire tied to the trigger and the opposite wall, when a person walk passes the threshold, the string tightens and the pistol will be fired and the string will snap after the person falls on it, shot.” I explained the basic tricks of this mechanism.
“Arrest the son of Jack Waley!” the sergeant ordered to the other officers whilst he turned cheerfully to me and said that I have helped him on another case.
The first and the last time I saw Mr Paul Waley was when he was pressed to jail, he was a square faced man, rather handsome but stained with the crime of homicide…cursing as he walked pass me and my fellow colleagues…
Again I write for this series of short stories, this is the last day of Summer!
Go for the next!