IT STANDS TO REASON! A NEW NATIONAL GAME
Here is a fascinating game of wits for a party of any size. It can be played in either of two ways.
1. Select one or more stories from the _Minute Mysteries_ that particularly appeal to you. Make as many copies of each as there are guests at the party. Then pass the copies around and allow three minutes, say, for your guests to study them. At the end of this time each must hand you a written solution, giving the line of reasoning which was used. You compare these with the solutions at the back of the book; the one who is most often correct is the winner.
2. Instead of making copies of each story, you may read it aloud, slowly and carefully. If any of the listeners so desire, it may be read a second time. But after this no questions may be asked.
After the period agreed upon has elapsed, each guest writes out his solution as in (1), and hands it to you for comparison with the book.
Method number 1 puts the emphasis on one’s powers of reasoning and analysis; method number 2 adds to these a premium on an accurate memory.
MINUTE MYSTERIES
1 _A Crack Shot_
Professor Fordney was hunting in the Rockies when informed of a tragedy at one of the camps. Thinking he might be of some help, he went over, and, after introducing himself, Butler, the victim’s companion, told him of the accident.
‘When Marshall hadn’t returned to camp at nine o’clock last night, I was a bit worried because he didn’t know these mountains. There wasn’t a star out and it was dark and moonless, so I decided to look around for him. We’re five miles from anyone, you know.
‘Putting more wood on the fire, I set out. After searching for an hour, I was coming up the slope of a ravine when I saw a pair of eyes shining out at me in the dark.
‘Calling twice, and getting no answer, I fired, thinking it was a mountain lion. Imagine my horror when I reached the spot, struck a match, and saw I had nearly blown the head off Marshall. A terrible experience!
‘I carried his body back to camp and then walked to the nearest house to report the accident.’
‘How far from camp did you find Marshall?’ asked Fordney.
‘About a quarter of a mile.’
‘I see your right hand is bandaged. How do you manage to shoot with it?’
‘Oh, I use either hand.’
‘Mind if I look at the gun?’
‘Not at all,’ said Butler, handing it over.
‘H’m, European make, I see. Had it long?’
‘No, it’s rather new.’
‘Why did you deliberately murder Marshall?’ demanded Fordney abruptly ... ‘for that’s what you did.’
How did the Professor know Butler had murdered his companion?
2 _On the Scent_
‘I couldn’t wait to be announced,’ said George Collins, Florida’s foremost prohibition agent, and a great wit, as he stepped into the Professor’s office.
‘How long are you going to be in New York?’ asked Fordney, as the two friends shook hands.
‘I’m due back in Miami now,’ replied Collins, ‘but I wanted to congratulate you on your success in the Hicks murder case. I wish interesting things like that would happen in my game. However, I did have an amusing experience last December.
‘Sneaky Joe, a stool-pigeon, tipped me off to a huge still he said was working about forty miles from headquarters. A narrow road through dense woods led to the spot. Arriving there, I found an old dilapidated shanty screened by trees. As I entered the woods, I smelled alcohol. Sneaky Joe was right, after all, I thought, as I drove up to the shanty.
‘I got out and peered cautiously around, but the place seemed deserted. After opening the door and entering the house, however, I knew liquor was not being made there. I searched the woods, but found nothing. As I was driving back along the road at a good rate, I discovered the alcohol I smelled was coming from my own radiator! Imagine my chagrin!’
The Professor laughed heartily and said to his friend, ‘Stay over for my birthday party tonight, the ladies would love to hear that yarn of yours.’
What did the Professor find preposterous in Collins’s story?
3 _Fatal Error_
‘Crowley was an eccentric and taciturn old fellow, but I liked him,’ remarked Fordney. ‘When he was found dead last December, I took a personal interest in the case. Harold Bronson, his last known caller, had this to say of his visit:
‘“After leaving word at my hotel where I might be reached if wanted, I arrived at Crowley’s suburban estate shortly after five o’clock. I found him seated in the dusk at the end of his library table. Courteously enough for him, he waved me into a chair at the other end and invited me to dine with him at eight o’clock. Reaching for my cigarettes, I remembered that Crowley did not permit smoking.
‘“His principal contributions to our discussion were his usual nods of approval, grunts, and monosyllables. Very sparing of words, was Mr. Crowley.
‘“About seven o’clock the telephone rang and he asked me to answer it. It was my wife asking me to return at once to see an unexpected visitor. Finishing the conversation, I returned to my chair and, after I explained the call, Crowley nodded assent to my request to leave immediately.
‘“On the way out, as the lights had not been turned on, I bumped my head, which explains this bruise. Just as I reached the door, he called after me—‘See you tomorrow at ten.’ He was certainly all right when I left him shortly after seven.”
‘Although Bronson’s telephone alibi was later proved sound, he had hardly finished his story before I was convinced he was implicated,’ concluded Fordney.
What directed suspicion to Bronson?
4 _The Poison Murder Case_
‘I’m going to the theater now,’ Bob Kewley told Professor Fordney at their club. ‘I wish you’d spend the evening with Uncle John. He’s been worried lately.’
Upon reaching the Kewley home an hour later, Fordney found the butler in an agitated state.
‘After ordering coffee, Mr. Kewley locked himself in his library an hour ago, sir. When I rapped on the door just now, he didn’t answer.’
The two men forced the lock and found John Kewley on the floor, an empty strychnine bottle at his side. The terrace door was open. After a careful examination, Fordney returned home. A few hours later, Bob Kewley entered his living-room.
‘Thought I’d stop in on my way home. Don’t you think Uncle John looks worried?’
‘Your uncle, Bob, is dead. Strychnine. Your butler and I found him lying on the floor, but were too late to save him.’
‘How horrible, Fordney! Why was the library door locked, do you suppose?’
‘That puzzles me. Has your butler been with you long?’
‘For years,’ replied Bob, his head buried in his hands.
‘Well, you’re a wealthy man now.’
‘What of it? Uncle John meant more to me than all the money in the world.’
‘I wish I could believe that,’ replied Fordney. ‘You’ll need a better alibi than those,’ pointing to the ticket stubs Bob was nervously fingering.
How had Kewley aroused the Professor’s suspicions?
5 _A Strange ‘Kidnaping’_
‘I haven’t the faintest idea why I was kidnaped,’ said Johnson to Professor Fordney, an hour after he returned home. ‘I never miss Sunday evening services, you know, so I’m afraid I haven’t much time to discuss it now.’
‘Oh, just a brief account of your experience is all that is necessary,’ remarked the Professor.
So Johnson proceeded.
‘I was walking along Burnham Street about 2 A.M. Friday when two masked men, with drawn guns, ordered me into a blue sedan. I was blindfolded and gagged. After driving for about an hour, I was led into a house and down some stairs to a small room, where they removed my blindfold and gag. They took off my outer clothing and hung it on a chair. Then they questioned me at length about the Shirley case and refused to believe I knew nothing of it.
‘Exasperated, they threatened to kill me, and when I remonstrated, one of them hit me on the head with a black-jack and I went down unconscious.
‘The next thing I knew was when I came to with a terrific headache. I lay still for a few minutes and, hearing nothing but the ticking of my watch, I cautiously got to my feet and groped for the door, as the room was in darkness. Before I could locate it, two men, still masked, entered, turned on the light, apologized profusely for the treatment I had received, and said they had mistaken me for someone else. Then they gave me something to eat, blindfolded me again, and drove me to within a block of my home, still apologizing for the mistake. Before I could remove my blindfold after getting out of the car, it had sped away.
‘It’s all very mysterious to me. I can’t make anything of it.’
‘I won’t give you away, Johnson,’ smiled the Professor. ‘Your wife undoubtedly believes your yarn, but you’d better think up a better one the next time.’