{"id":340,"date":"2024-09-12T01:16:39","date_gmt":"2024-09-12T01:16:39","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/?p=340"},"modified":"2024-09-12T01:16:39","modified_gmt":"2024-09-12T01:16:39","slug":"death-at-the-excelsior-by-p-g-wodehouse","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/?p=340","title":{"rendered":"Death at the Excelsior by P. G. Wodehouse"},"content":{"rendered":"<p>Death at the Excelsior by <a href=\"https:\/\/quizlit.org\/jeeves-and-the-unbidden-guest-by-p-g-wodehouse\">P. G. Wodehouse<\/a> was the author\u2019s only attempt at a detective story, which he pulls off with his signature comic twists and turns. <\/p>\n<p><em>This post may contain affiliate links that earn us a commission at no extra cost to you.<\/em><\/p>\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading has-text-align-center\">Death at the Excelsior by P. G. Wodehouse<\/h2>\n<div class=\"epyt-video-wrapper\">\n<div class=\"__youtube_prefs__ epyt-facade no-lazyload\"><button class=\"epyt-facade-play\"><\/button><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<h3 class=\"wp-block-heading has-text-align-center\">Death at the Excelsior by P. G. Wodehouse<\/h3>\n<h4 class=\"wp-block-heading\">I<\/h4>\n<p>The room was the typical bedroom of the typical boarding-house, furnished, insofar as it could be said to be furnished at all, with a severe simplicity. It contained two beds, a pine chest of drawers, a strip of faded carpet, and a wash basin. But there was that on the floor which set this room apart from a thousand rooms of the same kind. Flat on his back, with his hands tightly clenched and one leg twisted oddly under him and with his teeth gleaming through his grey beard in a horrible grin, Captain John Gunner stared up at the ceiling with eyes that saw nothing.<\/p>\n<p>Until a moment before, he had had the little room all to himself. But now two people were standing just inside the door, looking down at him. One was a large policeman, who twisted his helmet nervously in his hands. The other was a tall, gaunt old woman in a rusty black dress, who gazed with pale eyes at the dead man. Her face was quite expressionless.<\/p>\n<p>The woman was Mrs. Pickett, owner of the Excelsior Boarding-House. The policeman\u2019s name was Grogan. He was a genial giant, a terror to the riotous element of the waterfront, but obviously ill at ease in the presence of death. He drew in his breath, wiped his forehead, and whispered: \u201cLook at his eyes, ma\u2019am!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Mrs. Pickett had not spoken a word since she had brought the policeman into the room, and she did not do so now. Constable Grogan looked at her quickly. He was afraid of Mother Pickett, as was everybody else along the waterfront. Her silence, her pale eyes, and the quiet decisiveness of her personality cowed even the tough old salts who patronized the Excelsior. She was a formidable influence in that little community of sailormen.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThat\u2019s just how I found him,\u201d said Mrs. Pickett. She did not speak loudly, but her voice made the policeman start.<\/p>\n<p>He wiped his forehead again. \u201cIt might have been apoplexy,\u201d he hazarded.<\/p>\n<p>Mrs. Pickett said nothing. There was a sound of footsteps outside, and a young man entered, carrying a black bag.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cGood morning, Mrs. Pickett. I was told that\u2014Good Lord!\u201d The young doctor dropped to his knees beside the body and raised one of the arms. After a moment he lowered it gently to the floor, and shook his head in grim resignation.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHe\u2019s been dead for hours,\u201d he announced. \u201cWhen did you find him?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cTwenty minutes back,\u201d replied the old woman. \u201cI guess he died last night. He never would be called in the morning. Said he liked to sleep on. Well, he\u2019s got his wish.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhat did he die of, sir?\u201d asked the policeman.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIt\u2019s impossible to say without an examination,\u201d the doctor answered. \u201cIt looks like a stroke, but I\u2019m pretty sure it isn\u2019t. It might be a coronary attack, but I happen to know his blood pressure was normal, and his heart sound. He called in to see me only a week ago, and I examined him thoroughly. But sometimes you can be deceived. The inquest will tell us.\u201d He eyed the body almost resentfully. \u201cI can\u2019t understand it. The man had no right to drop dead like this. He was a tough old sailor who ought to have been good for another twenty years. If you want my honest opinion\u2014though I can\u2019t possibly be certain until after the inquest\u2014I should say he had been poisoned.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHow would he be poisoned?\u201d asked Mrs. Pickett quietly.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThat\u2019s more than I can tell you. There\u2019s no glass about that he could have drunk it from. He might have got it in capsule form. But why should he have done it? He was always a pretty cheerful sort of old man, wasn\u2019t he?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYes, sir,\u201d said the Constable. \u201cHe had the name of being a joker in these parts. Kind of sarcastic, they tell me, though he never tried it on me.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHe must have died quite early last night,\u201d said the doctor. He turned to Mrs. Pickett. \u201cWhat\u2019s become of Captain Muller? If he shares this room he ought to be able to tell us something about it.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cCaptain Muller spent the night with some friends at Portsmouth,\u201d said<br \/>Mrs. Pickett. \u201cHe left right after supper, and hasn\u2019t returned.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>The doctor stared thoughtfully about the room, frowning.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI don\u2019t like it. I can\u2019t understand it. If this had happened in India I should have said the man had died from some form of snakebite. I was out there two years, and I\u2019ve seen a hundred cases of it. The poor devils all looked just like this. But the thing\u2019s ridiculous. How could a man be bitten by a snake in a Southampton waterfront boarding-house? Was the door locked when you found him, Mrs. Pickett?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Mrs. Pickett nodded. \u201cI opened it with my own key. I had been calling to him and he didn\u2019t answer, so I guessed something was wrong.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>The Constable spoke: \u201cYou ain\u2019t touched anything, ma\u2019am? They\u2019re always very particular about that. If the doctor\u2019s right, and there\u2019s been anything up, that\u2019s the first thing they\u2019ll ask.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cEverything\u2019s just as I found it.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhat\u2019s that on the floor beside him?\u201d the doctor asked.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cOnly his harmonica. He liked to play it of an evening in his room. I\u2019ve had some complaints about it from some of the gentlemen, but I never saw any harm, so long as he didn\u2019t play it too late.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cSeems as if he was playing it when\u2014it happened,\u201d Constable Grogan said. \u201cThat don\u2019t look much like suicide, sir.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI didn\u2019t say it was suicide.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Grogan whistled. \u201cYou don\u2019t think\u2014\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI\u2019m not thinking anything\u2014until after the inquest. All I say is that it\u2019s queer.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Another aspect of the matter seemed to strike the policeman. \u201cI guess this ain\u2019t going to do the Excelsior any good, ma\u2019am,\u201d he said sympathetically.<\/p>\n<p>Mrs. Pickett shrugged her shoulders.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI suppose I had better go and notify the coroner,\u201d said the doctor.<\/p>\n<p>He went out, and after a momentary pause the policeman followed him. Constable Grogan was not greatly troubled with nerves, but he felt a decided desire to be somewhere where he could not see the dead man\u2019s staring eyes.<\/p>\n<p>Mrs. Pickett remained where she was, looking down at the still form on the floor. Her face was expressionless, but inwardly she was tormented and alarmed. It was the first time such a thing as this had happened at the Excelsior, and, as Constable Grogan had hinted, it was not likely to increase the attractiveness of the house in the eyes of possible boarders. It was not the threatened pecuniary loss which was troubling her. As far as money was concerned, she could have lived comfortably on her savings, for she was richer than most of her friends supposed. It was the blot on the escutcheon of the Excelsior\u2014the stain on its reputation\u2014which was tormenting her.<\/p>\n<p>The Excelsior was her life. Starting many years before, beyond the memory of the oldest boarder, she had built up the model establishment, the fame of which had been carried to every corner of the world. Men spoke of it as a place where you were fed well, cleanly housed, and where petty robbery was unknown.<\/p>\n<p>Such was the chorus of praise that it is not likely that much harm could come to the Excelsior from a single mysterious death but Mother Pickett was not consoling herself with such reflections.<\/p>\n<p>She looked at the dead man with pale, grim eyes. Out in the hallway the doctor\u2019s voice further increased her despair. He was talking to the police on the telephone, and she could distinctly hear his every word.<\/p>\n<h4 class=\"wp-block-heading\">II<\/h4>\n<p>The offices of Mr. Paul Snyder\u2019s Detective Agency in New Oxford Street had grown in the course of a dozen years from a single room to an impressive suite bright with polished wood, clicking typewriters, and other evidences of success. Where once Mr. Snyder had sat and waited for clients and attended to them himself, he now sat in his private office and directed eight assistants.<\/p>\n<p>He had just accepted a case\u2014a case that might be nothing at all or something exceedingly big. It was on the latter possibility that he had gambled. The fee offered was, judged by his present standards of prosperity, small. But the bizarre facts, coupled with something in the personality of the client, had won him over. He briskly touched the bell and requested that Mr. Oakes should be sent in to him.<\/p>\n<p>Elliot Oakes was a young man who both amused and interested Mr. Snyder, for though he had only recently joined the staff, he made no secret of his intention of revolutionizing the methods of the agency. Mr. Snyder himself, in common with most of his assistants, relied for results on hard work and plenty of common sense. He had never been a detective of the showy type. Results had justified his methods, but he was perfectly aware that young Mr. Oakes looked on him as a dull old man who had been miraculously favored by luck.<\/p>\n<p>Mr. Snyder had selected Oakes for the case in hand principally because it was one where inexperience could do no harm, and where the brilliant guesswork which Oakes preferred to call his inductive reasoning might achieve an unexpected success.<\/p>\n<p>Another motive actuated Mr. Snyder in his choice. He had a strong suspicion that the conduct of this case was going to have the beneficial result of lowering Oakes\u2019 self-esteem. If failure achieved this end, Mr. Snyder felt that failure, though it would not help the Agency, would not be an unmixed ill.<\/p>\n<p>The door opened and Oakes entered tensely. He did everything tensely, partly from a natural nervous energy, and partly as a pose. He was a lean young man, with dark eyes and a thin-lipped mouth, and he looked quite as much like a typical detective as Mr. Snyder looked like a comfortable and prosperous stock broker.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cSit down, Oakes,\u201d said Mr. Snyder. \u201cI\u2019ve got a job for you.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Oakes sank into a chair like a crouching leopard, and placed the tips of his fingers together. He nodded curtly. It was part of his pose to be keen and silent.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI want you to go to this address\u201d\u2014Mr. Snyder handed him an envelope\u2014\u201dand look around. The address on that envelope is of a sailors\u2019 boarding-house down in Southampton. You know the sort of place\u2014retired sea captains and so on live there. All most respectable. In all its history nothing more sensational has ever happened than a case of suspected cheating at halfpenny nap. Well, a man had died there.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cMurdered?\u201d Oakes asked.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI don\u2019t know. That\u2019s for you to find out. The coroner left it open. \u2018Death by Misadventure\u2019 was the verdict, and I don\u2019t blame him. I don\u2019t see how it could have been murder. The door was locked on the inside, so nobody could have got in.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThe window?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThe window was open, granted. But the room is on the second floor. Anyway, you may dismiss the window. I remember the old lady saying there was a bar across it, and that nobody could have squeezed through.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Oakes\u2019 eyes glistened. He was interested. \u201cWhat was the cause of death?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n<p>Mr. Snyder coughed. \u201cSnake bite,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n<p>Oakes\u2019 careful calm deserted him. He uttered a cry of astonishment.<br \/>\u201cWhy, that\u2019s incredible!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIt\u2019s the literal truth. The medical examination proved that the fellow had been killed by snake poison\u2014cobra, to be exact, which is found principally in India.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cCobra!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cJust so. In a Southampton boarding-house, in a room with a locked door, this man was stung by a cobra. To add a little mystification to the limpid simplicity of the affair, when the door was opened there was no sign of any cobra. It couldn\u2019t have got out through the door, because the door was locked. It couldn\u2019t have got out of the window, because the window was too high up, and snakes can\u2019t jump. And it couldn\u2019t have gotten up the chimney, because there was no chimney. So there you have it.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>He looked at Oakes with a certain quiet satisfaction. It had come to his ears that Oakes had been heard to complain of the infantile nature and unworthiness of the last two cases to which he had been assigned. He had even said that he hoped some day to be given a problem which should be beyond the reasoning powers of a child of six. It seemed to Mr. Snyder that Oakes was about to get his wish.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI should like further details,\u201d said Oakes, a little breathlessly.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou had better apply to Mrs. Pickett, who owns the boarding-house,\u201d Mr. Snyder said. \u201cIt was she who put the case in my hands. She is convinced that it is murder. But, if we exclude ghosts, I don\u2019t see how any third party could have taken a hand in the thing at all. However, she wanted a man from this agency, and was prepared to pay for him, so I promised her I would send one. It is not our policy to turn business away.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>He smiled wryly. \u201cIn pursuance of that policy I want you to go and put up at Mrs. Pickett\u2019s boarding house and do your best to enhance the reputation of our agency. I would suggest that you pose as a ship\u2019s chandler or something of that sort. You will have to be something maritime or they\u2019ll be suspicious of you. And if your visit produces no other results, it will, at least, enable you to make the acquaintance of a very remarkable woman. I commend Mrs. Pickett to your notice. By the way, she says she will help you in your investigations.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Oakes laughed shortly. The idea amused him.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIt\u2019s a mistake to scoff at amateur assistance, my boy,\u201d said Mr. Snyder in the benevolently paternal manner which had made a score of criminals refuse to believe him a detective until the moment when the handcuffs snapped on their wrists. \u201cCrime investigation isn\u2019t an exact science. Success or failure depends in a large measure on applied common sense, and the possession of a great deal of special information. Mrs. Pickett knows certain things which neither you nor I know, and it\u2019s just possible that she may have some stray piece of information which will provide the key to the entire mystery.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Oakes laughed again. \u201cIt is very kind of Mrs. Pickett,\u201d he said, \u201cbut I prefer to trust to my own methods.\u201d Oakes rose, his face purposeful. \u201cI\u2019d better be starting at once,\u201d he said. \u201cI\u2019ll send you reports from time to time.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cGood. The more detailed the better,\u201d said Mr. Snyder genially. \u201cI hope your visit to the Excelsior will be pleasant. And cultivate Mrs. Pickett. She\u2019s worth while.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>The door closed, and Mr. Snyder lighted a fresh cigar. \u201cDashed young fool,\u201d he murmured, as he turned his mind to other matters.<\/p>\n<h4 class=\"wp-block-heading\">III<\/h4>\n<p>A day later Mr. Snyder sat in his office reading a typewritten report. It appeared to be of a humorous nature, for, as he read, chuckles escaped him. Finishing the last sheet he threw his head back and laughed heartily. The manuscript had not been intended by its author for a humorous effort. What Mr. Snyder had been reading was the first of Elliott Oakes\u2019 reports from the Excelsior. It read as follows:<\/p>\n<p>I am sorry to be unable to report any real progress. I have formed several theories which I will put forward later, but at present I cannot say that I am hopeful.<\/p>\n<p>Directly I arrived here I sought out Mrs. Pickett, explained who I was, and requested her to furnish me with any further information which might be of service to me. She is a strange, silent woman, who impressed me as having very little intelligence. Your suggestion that I should avail myself of her assistance seems more curious than ever, now that I have seen her.<\/p>\n<p>The whole affair seems to me at the moment of writing quite inexplicable. Assuming that this Captain Gunner was murdered, there appears to have been no motive for the crime whatsoever. I have made careful inquiries about him, and find that he was a man of fifty-five; had spent nearly forty years of his life at sea, the last dozen in command of his own ship; was of a somewhat overbearing disposition, though with a fund of rough humour; had travelled all over the world, and had been an inmate of the Excelsior for about ten months. He had a small annuity, and no other money at all, which disposes of money as the motive for the crime.<\/p>\n<p>In my character of James Burton, a retired ship\u2019s chandler, I have mixed with the other boarders, and have heard all they have to say about the affair. I gather that the deceased was by no means popular. He appears to have had a bitter tongue, and I have not met one man who seems to regret his death. On the other hand, I have heard nothing which would suggest that he had any active and violent enemies. He was simply the unpopular boarder\u2014there is always one in every boarding-house\u2014but nothing more.<\/p>\n<p>I have seen a good deal of the man who shared his room\u2014another sea captain, named Muller. He is a big, silent person, and it is not easy to get him to talk. As regards the death of Captain Gunner he can tell me nothing. It seems that on the night of the tragedy he was away at Portsmouth with some friends. All I have got from him is some information as to Captain Gunner\u2019s habits, which leads nowhere. The dead man seldom drank, except at night when he would take some whisky. His head was not strong, and a little of the spirit was enough to make him semi-intoxicated, when he would be hilarious and often insulting. I gather that Muller found him a difficult roommate, but he is one of those placid persons who can put up with anything. He and Gunner were in the habit of playing draughts together every night in their room, and Gunner had a harmonica which he played frequently. Apparently, he was playing it very soon before he died, which is significant, as seeming to dispose of the idea of suicide.<\/p>\n<p>As I say, I have one or two theories, but they are in a very nebulous state. The most plausible is that on one of his visits to India\u2014I have ascertained that he made several voyages there\u2014Captain Gunner may in some way have fallen foul of the natives. The fact that he certainly died of the poison of an Indian snake supports this theory. I am making inquiries as to the movements of several Indian sailors who were here in their ships at the time of the tragedy.<\/p>\n<p>I have another theory. Does Mrs. Pickett know more about this affair than she appears to? I may be wrong in my estimate of her mental qualities. Her apparent stupidity may be cunning. But here again, the absence of motive brings me up against a dead wall. I must confess that at present I do not see my way clearly. However, I will write again shortly.<\/p>\n<p>Mr. Snyder derived the utmost enjoyment from the report. He liked the substance of it, and above all, he was tickled by the bitter tone of frustration which characterized it. Oakes was baffled, and his knowledge of Oakes told him that the sensation of being baffled was gall and wormwood to that high-spirited young man. Whatever might be the result of this investigation, it would teach him the virtue of patience.<\/p>\n<p>He wrote his assistant a short note:<\/p>\n<p>Dear Oakes,<\/p>\n<p>Your report received. You certainly seem to have got the hard case which, I hear, you were pining for. Don\u2019t build too much on plausible motives in a case of this sort. Fauntleroy, the London murderer, killed a woman for no other reason than that she had thick ankles. Many years ago, I myself was on a case where a man murdered an intimate friend because of a dispute about a bet. My experience is that five murderers out of ten act on the whim of the moment, without anything which, properly speaking, you could call a motive at all.<\/p>\n<p>\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Yours very cordially,<br \/>\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Paul Snyder<\/p>\n<p>\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0P. S. I don\u2019t think much of your Pickett theory. However, you\u2019re<br \/>\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0in charge. I wish you luck.<\/p>\n<h4 class=\"wp-block-heading\">IV<\/h4>\n<p>Young Mr. Oakes was not enjoying himself. For the first time in his life, the self-confidence which characterized all his actions seemed to be failing him. The change had taken place almost overnight. The fact that the case had the appearance of presenting the unusual had merely stimulated him at first. But then doubts had crept in and the problem had begun to appear insoluble.<\/p>\n<p>True, he had only just taken it up, but something told him that, for all the progress he was likely to make, he might just as well have been working on it steadily for a month. He was completely baffled. And every moment which he spent in the Excelsior Boarding-House made it clearer to him that that infernal old woman with the pale eyes thought him an incompetent fool. It was that, more than anything, which made him acutely conscious of his lack of success. His nerves were being sorely troubled by the quiet scorn of Mrs. Pickett\u2019s gaze. He began to think that perhaps he had been a shade too self-confident and abrupt in the short interview which he had had with her on his arrival.<\/p>\n<p>As might have been expected, his first act, after his brief interview with Mrs. Pickett, was to examine the room where the tragedy had taken place. The body was gone, but otherwise nothing had been moved.<\/p>\n<p>Oakes belonged to the magnifying-glass school of detection. The first thing he did on entering the room was to make a careful examination of the floor, the walls, the furniture, and the windowsill. He would have hotly denied the assertion that he did this because it looked well, but he would have been hard put to it to advance any other reason.<\/p>\n<p>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.<\/p>\n<p>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.<\/p>\n<p>It was late that night that he wrote and dispatched to headquarters the report which had amused Mr. Snyder.<\/p>\n<h4 class=\"wp-block-heading\">V<\/h4>\n<p>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:<\/p>\n<h5 class=\"wp-block-heading\">HAVE SOLVED GUNNER MYSTERY. RETURNING\u2026. OAKES.<\/h5>\n<p>Mr. Snyder narrowed his eyes and rang the bell. \u201cSend Mr. Oakes to me directly he arrives,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n<p>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.<\/p>\n<p>Yet, in spite of all this, Mr. Snyder was annoyed. He realized now how large a part the desire to reduce Oakes\u2019 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\u2019s probable demeanor under the intoxicating influence of victory.<\/p>\n<p>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.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI got your telegram,\u201d said Mr. Snyder.<\/p>\n<p>Oakes nodded. \u201cIt surprised you, eh?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n<p>Mr. Snyder resented the patronizing tone of the question, but he had resigned himself to be patronized, and keep his anger in check.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYes,\u201d he replied, \u201cI must say it did surprise me. I didn\u2019t gather from your report that you had even found a clue. Was it the Indian theory that turned the trick?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Oakes laughed tolerantly. \u201cOh, I never really believed that preposterous theory for one moment. I just put it in to round out my report. I hadn\u2019t begun to think about the case then\u2014not really think.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Mr. Snyder, nearly exploding with wrath, extended his cigar-case.<br \/>\u201cLight up, and tell me all about it,\u201d he said, controlling his anger.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWell, I won\u2019t say I haven\u2019t earned this,\u201d said Oakes, puffing away. He let the ash of his cigar fall delicately to the floor\u2014another action which seemed significant to his employer. As a rule, his assistants, unless particularly pleased with themselves, used the ashtray.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cMy first act on arriving,\u201d Oakes said, \u201cwas to have a talk with Mrs.<br \/>Pickett. A very dull old woman.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cCurious. She struck me as rather intelligent.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cNot 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.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>He smiled triumphantly. \u201cIt is a theory of mine, Mr. Snyder, which I have found valuable that, in nine cases out of ten, remarkable things don\u2019t happen.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI don\u2019t quite follow you there,\u201d Mr. Snyder interrupted.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI 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\u2019s death. Most men would have worn themselves out guessing at wild theories. If I had started to do that, I should have been guessing now. As it is\u2014here I am. I trusted to my belief that nothing remarkable ever happens, and I won out.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Mr. Snyder sighed softly. Oakes was entitled to a certain amount of gloating, but there could be no doubt that his way of telling a story was downright infuriating.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI believe in the logical sequence of events. I refuse to accept effects unless they are preceded by causes. In other words, with all due respect to your possibly contrary opinions, Mr. Snyder, I simply decline to believe in a murder unless there was a motive for it. The first thing I set myself to ascertain was\u2014what was the motive for the murder of Captain Gunner? And, after thinking it over and making every possible inquiry, I decided that there was no motive. Therefore, there was no murder.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Mr. Snyder\u2019s mouth opened, and he obviously was about to protest. But he appeared to think better of it and Oakes proceeded: \u201cI then tested the suicide theory. What motive was there for suicide? There was no motive. Therefore, there was no suicide.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>This time Mr. Snyder spoke. \u201cYou haven\u2019t been spending the last few days in the wrong house by any chance, have you? You will be telling me next that there wasn\u2019t any dead man.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Oakes smiled. \u201cNot at all. Captain John Gunner was dead, all right. As the medical evidence proved, he died of the bite of a cobra. It was a small cobra which came from Java.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Mr. Snyder stared at him. \u201cHow do you know?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI do know, beyond any possibility of doubt.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cDid you see the snake?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Oakes shook his head.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThen, how in heaven\u2019s name\u2014\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI have enough evidence to make a jury convict Mr. Snake without leaving the box.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThen suppose you tell me this. How did your cobra from Java get out of the room?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cBy the window,\u201d replied Oakes, impassively.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHow can you possibly explain that? You say yourself that the window was high up.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cNevertheless, it got out by the window. The logical sequence of events is proof enough that it was in the room. It killed Captain Gunner there, and left traces of its presence outside. Therefore, as the window was the only exit, it must have escaped by that route. It may have climbed or it may have jumped, but somehow it got out of that window.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhat do you mean\u2014it left traces of its presence outside?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIt killed a dog in the backyard behind the house,\u201d Oakes said. \u201cThe window of Captain Gunner\u2019s room projects out over it. It is full of boxes and litter and there are a few stunted shrubs scattered about. In fact, there is enough cover to hide any small object like the body of a dog. That\u2019s why it was not discovered at first. The maid at the Excelsior came on it the morning after I sent you my report while she was emptying a box of ashes in the yard. It was just an ordinary stray dog without collar or license. The analyst examined the body, and found that the dog had died of the bite of a cobra.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cBut you didn\u2019t find the snake?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cNo. We cleaned out that yard till you could have eaten your breakfast there, but the snake had gone. It must have escaped through the door of the yard, which was standing ajar. That was a couple of days ago, and there has been no further tragedy. In all likelihood it is dead. The nights are pretty cold now, and it would probably have died of exposure.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cBut, I just don\u2019t understand how a cobra got to Southampton,\u201d said the amazed Mr. Snyder.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cCan\u2019t you guess it? I told you it came from Java.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHow did you know it did?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cCaptain Muller told me. Not directly, but I pieced it together from what he said. It seems that an old shipmate of Captain Gunner\u2019s was living in Java. They corresponded, and occasionally this man would send the captain a present as a mark of his esteem. The last present he sent was a crate of bananas. Unfortunately, the snake must have got in unnoticed. That\u2019s why I told you the cobra was a small one. Well, that\u2019s my case against Mr. Snake, and short of catching him with the goods, I don\u2019t see how I could have made out a stronger one. Don\u2019t you agree?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>It went against the grain for Mr. Snyder to acknowledge defeat, but he was a fair-minded man, and he was forced to admit that Oakes did certainly seem to have solved the impossible.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI congratulate you, my boy,\u201d he said as heartily as he could. \u201cTo be completely frank, when you started out, I didn\u2019t think you could do it. By the way, I suppose Mrs. Pickett was pleased?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIf she was, she didn\u2019t show it. I\u2019m pretty well convinced she hasn\u2019t enough sense to be pleased at anything. However, she has invited me to dinner with her tonight. I imagine she\u2019ll be as boring as usual, but she made such a point of it, I had to accept.\u201d<\/p>\n<h4 class=\"wp-block-heading\">VI<\/h4>\n<p>For some time after Oakes had gone, Mr. Snyder sat smoking and thinking, in embittered meditation. Suddenly there was brought the card of Mrs. Pickett, who would be grateful if he could spare her a few moments. Mr. Snyder was glad to see Mrs. Pickett. He was a student of character, and she had interested him at their first meeting. There was something about her which had seemed to him unique, and he welcomed this second chance of studying her at close range.<\/p>\n<p>She came in and sat down stiffly, balancing herself on the extreme edge of the chair in which a short while before young Oakes had lounged so luxuriously.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHow are you, Mrs. Pickett?\u201d said Mr. Snyder genially. \u201cI\u2019m very glad that you could find time to pay me a visit. Well, so it wasn\u2019t murder after all.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cSir?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI\u2019ve just been talking to Mr. Oakes, whom you met as James Burton,\u201d said the detective. \u201cHe has told me all about it.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHe told\u00a0<em>me<\/em>\u00a0all about it,\u201d said Mrs. Pickett dryly.<\/p>\n<p>Mr. Snyder looked at her inquiringly. Her manner seemed more suggestive than her words.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cA conceited, headstrong young fool,\u201d said Mrs. Pickett.<\/p>\n<p>It was no new picture of his assistant that she had drawn. Mr. Snyder had often drawn it himself, but at the present juncture it surprised him. Oakes, in his hour of triumph, surely did not deserve this sweeping condemnation.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cDid not Mr. Oakes\u2019 solution of the mystery satisfy you, Mrs. Pickett?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cNo!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIt struck me as logical and convincing,\u201d Mr. Snyder said.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou may call it all the fancy names you please, Mr. Snyder. But Mr.<br \/>Oakes\u2019 solution was not the right one.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHave you an alternative to offer?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Mrs. Pickett tightened her lips.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIf you have, I should like to hear it.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou will\u2014at the proper time.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhat makes you so certain that Mr. Oakes is wrong?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHe starts out with an impossible explanation, and rests his whole case on it. There couldn\u2019t have been a snake in that room because it couldn\u2019t have gotten out. The window was too high.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cBut surely the evidence of the dead dog?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Mrs. Pickett looked at him as if he had disappointed her. \u201cI had always heard\u00a0<em>you<\/em>\u00a0spoken of as a man with common sense, Mr. Snyder.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI have always tried to use common sense.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThen why are you trying now to make yourself believe that something happened which could not possibly have happened just because it fits in with something which isn\u2019t easy to explain?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou mean that there is another explanation of the dead dog?\u201d Mr.<br \/>Snyder asked.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cNot\u00a0<em>another<\/em>. What Mr. Oakes takes for granted is not an explanation. But there is a common sense explanation, and if he had not been so headstrong and conceited he might have found it.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou speak as if you had found it,\u201d chided Mr. Snyder.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI have.\u201d Mrs. Pickett leaned forward as she spoke, and stared at him defiantly.<\/p>\n<p>Mr. Snyder started. \u201c<em>You<\/em>\u00a0have?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhat is it?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou will know before tomorrow. In the meantime try and think it out for yourself. A successful and prosperous detective agency like yours, Mr. Snyder, ought to do something in return for a fee.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>There was something in her manner so reminiscent of the school teacher reprimanding a recalcitrant pupil that Mr. Snyder\u2019s sense of humor came to his rescue. \u201cWe do our best, Mrs. Pickett,\u201d he said. \u201cBut you mustn\u2019t forget that we are only human and cannot guarantee results.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Mrs. Pickett did not pursue the subject. Instead, she proceeded to astonish Mr. Snyder by asking him to swear out a warrant for the arrest of a man known to them both on a charge of murder.<\/p>\n<p>Mr. Snyder\u2019s breath was not often taken away in his own office. As a rule, he received his clients\u2019 communications calmly, strange as they often were. But at her words he gasped. The thought crossed his mind that Mrs. Pickett might well be mentally unbalanced. The details of the case were fresh in his memory, and he distinctly recollected that the person she mentioned had been away from the boarding house on the night of Captain Gunner\u2019s death, and could, he imagined, produce witnesses to prove it.<\/p>\n<p>Mrs. Pickett was regarding him with an unfaltering stare. To all outward appearances, she was the opposite of unbalanced.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cBut you can\u2019t swear out a warrant without evidence,\u201d he told her.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI have evidence,\u201d she replied firmly.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cPrecisely what kind of evidence?\u201d he demanded.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIf I told you now you would think that I was out of my mind.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cBut, Mrs. Pickett, do you realize what you are asking me to do? I cannot make this agency responsible for the arbitrary arrest of a man on the strength of a single individual\u2019s suspicions. It might ruin me. At the least it would make me a laughing stock.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cMr. Snyder, you may use your own judgment whether or not to make the arrest on that warrant. You will listen to what I have to say, and you will see for yourself how the crime was committed. If after that you feel that you cannot make the arrest I will accept your decision. I know who killed Captain Gunner,\u201d she said. \u201cI knew it from the beginning. It was like a vision. But I had no proof. Now things have come to light and everything is clear.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Against his judgment, Mr. Snyder was impressed. This woman had the magnetism which makes for persuasiveness.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIt\u2014it sounds incredible.\u201d Even as he spoke, he remembered that it had long been a professional maxim of his that nothing was incredible, and he weakened still further.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cMr. Snyder, I ask you to swear out that warrant.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>The detective gave in. \u201cVery well,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n<p>Mrs. Pickett rose. \u201cIf you will come and dine at my house to-night I think I can prove to you that it will be needed. Will you come?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI\u2019ll come,\u201d promised Mr. Snyder.<\/p>\n<h4 class=\"wp-block-heading\">VII<\/h4>\n<p>When Mr. Snyder arrived at the Excelsior and shortly after he was shown into the little private sitting room where he found Oakes, the third guest of the evening unexpectedly arrived.<\/p>\n<p>Mr. Snyder looked curiously at the newcomer. Captain Muller had a peculiar fascination for him. It was not Mr. Snyder\u2019s habit to trust overmuch to appearances. But he could not help admitting that there was something about this man\u2019s aspect which brought Mrs. Pickett\u2019s charges out of the realm of the fantastic into that of the possible. There was something odd\u2014an unnatural aspect of gloom\u2014about the man. He bore himself like one carrying a heavy burden. His eyes were dull, his face haggard. The next moment the detective was reproaching himself with allowing his imagination to run away with his calmer judgment.<\/p>\n<p>The door opened, and Mrs. Pickett came in. She made no apology for her lateness.<\/p>\n<p>To Mr. Snyder one of the most remarkable points about the dinner was the peculiar metamorphosis of Mrs. Pickett from the brooding silent woman he had known to the gracious and considerate hostess.<\/p>\n<p>Oakes appeared also to be overcome with surprise, so much so that he was unable to keep his astonishment to himself. He had come prepared to endure a dull evening absorbed in grim silence, and he found himself instead opposite a bottle of champagne of a brand and year which commanded his utmost respect. What was even more incredible, his hostess had transformed herself into a pleasant old lady whose only aim seemed to be to make him feel at home.<\/p>\n<p>Beside each of the guests\u2019 plates was a neat paper parcel. Oakes picked his up, and stared at it in wonderment. \u201cWhy, this is more than a party souvenir, Mrs. Pickett,\u201d he said. \u201cIt\u2019s the kind of mechanical marvel I\u2019ve always wanted to have on my desk.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI\u2019m glad you like it, Mr. Oakes,\u201d Mrs. Pickett said, smiling. \u201cYou must not think of me simply as a tired old woman whom age has completely defeated. I am an ambitious hostess. When I give these little parties, I like to make them a success. I want each of you to remember this dinner.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI\u2019m sure I will.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Mrs. Pickett smiled again. \u201cI think you all will. You, Mr. Snyder.\u201d She paused. \u201cAnd you, Captain Muller.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>To Mr. Snyder there was so much meaning in her voice as she said this that he was amazed that it conveyed no warning to Muller. Captain Muller, however, was already drinking heavily. He looked up when addressed and uttered a sound which might have been taken for an expression of polite acquiescence. Then he filled his glass again.<\/p>\n<p>Mr. Snyder\u2019s parcel revealed a watch-charm fashioned in the shape of a tiny, candid-eye camera. \u201cThat,\u201d said Mrs. Pickett, \u201cis a compliment to your profession.\u201d She leaned toward the captain. \u201cMr. Snyder is a detective, Captain Muller.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>He looked up. It seemed to Mr. Snyder that a look of fear lit up his heavy eyes for an instant. It came and went, if indeed it came at all, so swiftly that he could not be certain.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cSo?\u201d said Captain Muller. He spoke quite evenly, with just the amount of interest which such an announcement would naturally produce.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cNow for yours, Captain,\u201d said Oakes. \u201cI guess it\u2019s something special.<br \/>It\u2019s twice the size of mine, anyway.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>It may have been something in the old woman\u2019s expression as she watched Captain Muller slowly tearing the paper that sent a thrill of excitement through Mr. Snyder. Something seemed to warn him of the approach of a psychological moment. He bent forward eagerly.<\/p>\n<p>There was a strangled gasp, a thump, and onto the table from the captain\u2019s hands there fell a little harmonica. There was no mistaking the look on Muller\u2019s face now. His cheeks were like wax, and his eyes, so dull till then, blazed with a panic and horror which he could not repress. The glasses on the table rocked as he clutched at the cloth.<\/p>\n<p>Mrs. Pickett spoke. \u201cWhy, Captain Muller, has it upset you? I thought that, as his best friend, the man who shared his room, you would value a memento of Captain Gunner. How fond you must have been of him for the sight of his harmonica to be such a shock.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>The captain did not speak. He was staring fascinated at the thing on the table. Mrs. Pickett turned to Mr. Snyder. Her eyes, as they met his, held him entranced.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cMr. Snyder, as a detective, you will be interested in a curious and very tragic affair which happened in this house a few days ago. One of my boarders, Captain Gunner, was found dead in his room. It was the room which he shared with Captain Muller. I am very proud of the reputation of my house, Mr. Snyder, and it was a blow to me that this should have happened. I applied to an agency for a detective, and they sent me a stupid boy, with nothing to recommend him except his belief in himself. He said that Captain Gunner had died by accident, killed by a snake which had come out of a crate of bananas. I knew better. I knew that Captain Gunner had been murdered. Are you listening, Captain Muller? This will interest you, as you were such a friend of his.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>The captain did not answer. He was staring straight before him, as if he saw something invisible in eyes forever closed in death.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYesterday we found the body of a dog. It had been killed, as Captain Gunner had been, by the poison of a snake. The boy from the agency said that this was conclusive. He said that the snake had escaped from the room after killing Captain Gunner and had in turn killed the dog. I knew that to be impossible, for, if there had been a snake in that room it could not have made its escape.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Her eyes flashed, and became remorselessly accusing. \u201cIt was not a snake that killed Captain Gunner. It was a cat. Captain Gunner had a friend who hated him. One day, in opening a crate of bananas, this friend found a snake. He killed it, and extracted the poison. He knew Captain Gunner\u2019s habits. He knew that he played a harmonica. This man also had a cat. He knew that cats hated the sound of a harmonica. He had often seen this particular cat fly at Captain Gunner and scratch him when he played. He took the cat and covered its claws with the poison. And then he left it in the room with Captain Gunner. He knew what would happen.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Oakes and Mr. Snyder were on their feet. Captain Muller had not moved.<br \/>He sat there, his fingers gripping the cloth. Mrs. Pickett rose and<br \/>went to a closet. She unlocked the door. \u201cKitty!\u201d she called. \u201cKitty!<br \/>Kitty!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>A black cat ran swiftly out into the room. With a clatter and a crash of crockery and a ringing of glass the table heaved, rocked and overturned as Muller staggered to his feet. He threw up his hands as if to ward something off. A choking cry came from his lips. \u201cGott! Gott!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Mrs. Pickett\u2019s voice rang through the room, cold and biting: \u201cCaptain<br \/>Muller, you murdered Captain Gunner!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>The captain shuddered. Then mechanically he replied: \u201cGott! Yes, I killed him.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou heard, Mr. Snyder,\u201d said Mrs. Pickett. \u201cHe has confessed before witnesses. Take him away.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Muller allowed himself to be moved toward the door. His arm in Mr. Snyder\u2019s grip felt limp. Mrs. Pickett stopped and took something from the debris on the floor. She rose, holding the harmonica.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou are forgetting your souvenir, Captain Muller,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading has-text-align-center\">Best P.G Wodehouse Books<\/h2>\n<p><a href=\"https:\/\/amzn.to\/3RZuSCz\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\"><\/a><\/p>\n<p><a href=\"https:\/\/amzn.to\/46REPG6\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\"><\/a><\/p>\n<p><a href=\"https:\/\/amzn.to\/3tpctEL\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\"><\/a><\/p>\n<p><a href=\"https:\/\/amzn.to\/3RUqCUN\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\"><\/a><br \/>\nClick on the image to buy a copy<\/p>\n<div class=\"wp-block-spacer\"><\/div>\n<p>If you enjoyed Death at the Excelsior by P. G. Wodehouse, check out <a href=\"https:\/\/quizlit.org\/the-man-with-two-left-feet-by-p-g-wodehouse\">The Man with Two Left Feet by P. G. Wodehouse.<\/a><\/p>\n<p>Narrated by Mark Nelson, courtesy of Libravox.<\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Death at the Excelsior by P. G. Wodehouse was the author\u2019s only attempt at a detective story, which he pulls off with his signature comic twists and turns. This post may contain affiliate links that earn us a commission at no extra cost to you. Death at the Excelsior by P. G. Wodehouse Death at [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":0,"featured_media":341,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[4],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-340","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-bookreviews"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/340"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=340"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/340\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/341"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=340"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=340"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=340"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}