Death at the Excelsior | Page 6

hard put to it to advance any other reason.
If he discovered anything, his discoveries were entirely negative, and
served only to deepen the mystery of the case. As Mr. Snyder had said,
there was no chimney, and nobody could have entered through the
locked door.
There remained the window. It was small, and apprehensiveness,
perhaps, of the possibility of burglars, had caused the proprietress to
make it doubly secure with an iron bar. No human being could have
squeezed his way through it.
It was late that night that he wrote and dispatched to headquarters the
report which had amused Mr. Snyder.
V
Two days later Mr. Snyder sat at his desk, staring with wide,
unbelieving eyes at a telegram he had just received. It read as follows:
HAVE SOLVED GUNNER MYSTERY. RETURNING.... OAKES.
Mr. Snyder narrowed his eyes and rang the bell. "Send Mr. Oakes to
me directly he arrives," he said.
He was pained to find that his chief emotion was one of bitter
annoyance. The swift solution of such an apparently insoluble problem
would reflect the highest credit on the Agency, and there were
picturesque circumstances connected with the case which would make
it popular with the newspapers and lead to its being given a great deal
of publicity.
Yet, in spite of all this, Mr. Snyder was annoyed. He realized now how
large a part the desire to reduce Oakes' self-esteem had played with him.
He further realized, looking at the thing honestly, that he had been
firmly convinced that the young man would not come within a mile of
a reasonable solution of the mystery. He had desired only that his
failure would prove a valuable educational experience for him. For he
believed that failure at this particular point in his career would make
Oakes a more valuable asset to the Agency. But now here Oakes was,
within a ridiculously short space of time, returning to the fold, not
humble and defeated, but triumphant. Mr. Snyder looked forward with

apprehension to the young man's probable demeanor under the
intoxicating influence of victory.
His apprehensions were well grounded. He had barely finished the third
of the series of cigars, which, like milestones, marked the progress of
his afternoon, when the door opened and young Oakes entered. Mr.
Snyder could not repress a faint moan at the sight of him. One glance
was enough to tell him that his worst fears were realised.
"I got your telegram," said Mr. Snyder.
Oakes nodded. "It surprised you, eh?" he asked.
Mr. Snyder resented the patronizing tone of the question, but he had
resigned himself to be patronized, and keep his anger in check.
"Yes," he replied, "I must say it did surprise me. I didn't gather from
your report that you had even found a clue. Was it the Indian theory
that turned the trick?"
Oakes laughed tolerantly. "Oh, I never really believed that preposterous
theory for one moment. I just put it in to round out my report. I hadn't
begun to think about the case then--not really think."
Mr. Snyder, nearly exploding with wrath, extended his cigar-case.
"Light up, and tell me all about it," he said, controlling his anger.
"Well, I won't say I haven't earned this," said Oakes, puffing away. He
let the ash of his cigar fall delicately to the floor--another action which
seemed significant to his employer. As a rule, his assistants, unless
particularly pleased with themselves, used the ashtray.
"My first act on arriving," Oakes said, "was to have a talk with Mrs.
Pickett. A very dull old woman."
"Curious. She struck me as rather intelligent."
"Not on your life. She gave me no assistance whatever. I then examined
the room where the death had taken place. It was exactly as you
described it. There was no chimney, the door had been locked on the
inside, and the one window was very high up. At first sight, it looked
extremely unpromising. Then I had a chat with some of the other
boarders. They had nothing of any importance to contribute. Most of
them simply gibbered. I then gave up trying to get help from the
outside, and resolved to rely on my own intelligence."
He smiled triumphantly. "It is a theory of mine, Mr. Snyder, which I
have found valuable that, in nine cases out of ten, remarkable things
don't happen."

"I don't quite follow you there," Mr. Snyder interrupted.
"I will put it another way, if you like. What I mean is that the simplest
explanation is nearly always the right one. Consider this case. It
seemed impossible that there should have been any reasonable
explanation of the man's death. Most men would have worn themselves
out guessing at wild theories. If I had started to do that, I should have
been