The Burglar in the Library - By Lawrence Block Page 0,39

he explained, “and then when he raised the other foot it would have untied the lace and tripped him up, all at the same time.”

“Exactly why I double-knot my own laces,” Miss Hardesty said.

“It could still happen,” Savage told her. “The lace wouldn’t come untied, but you could still step on the end and trip yourself up.”

Hardesty wasn’t having any. “When you double-knot the laces,” she said, “it shortens them. So the end’s not long enough to be stepped on.”

Savage admitted he hadn’t thought of that. Colonel Blount-Buller said it was all barn doors and stolen horses, wasn’t it, because no amount of double-knotted shoelaces would undo the harm that had befallen the poor chap. Mrs. Colibri, the older woman who’d been reading Trollope on the sofa while Mr. Rathburn was laboring at the writing desk, asked if the police had been called. No one answered right away, and then Nigel Eglantine said that they hadn’t, and that he supposed that would have to be done, wouldn’t it?

“Although one hates to bother them,” he added, “on a day like this. I suspect they have their hands full, what with better than two feet of snow on the ground.” He gestured at the wall of windows. “I couldn’t guess what state the roads will be in, and I know there’ll be no end of weather-related emergencies. I’m afraid an accidental death will be assigned rather a low priority.”

I glanced around. Rufus Quilp, the fat man who’d been reading or dozing the other times I’d seen him, had come in and was not only awake but on his feet. Even as I noted this, he eased his bulk onto a sofa. Off to the side, Lettice Littlefield stood next to her husband, her hand clasped in his. I smiled at her, then curled my lip at him. I don’t think either of them noticed.

The colonel was saying something about an unfortunate incident that had happened some years ago in Sarawak. I waited until he slowed down for a semicolon, then said, “Excuse me.”

The room went still.

“I’m afraid you ought to call the police right away,” I said. “I think they’ll want to get here just as soon as they can, no matter how deep the snow is.”

“What are you saying, Mr. Rhodenbarr?”

I turned to Molly Cobbett. “When you came in here this morning,” I said pleasantly, “just what did you do?”

“I never touched him, sir! I swear to God!”

“I’m sure you didn’t,” I said. “I believe you said you opened the drapes.”

“Sure I did, sir. I’m always to draw them open in the daytime, so as to let the light in.”

“And was the room dark before you drew them?”

“It was, sir. Not full dark, as some light came in through the open door, from the other room, like.”

“But there were no lights on in this room,” I said.

“No, sir.”

“No lamps lit.”

“No, sir.”

“And there was a little light from the open door,” I said, “because dawn was breaking. But earlier, when Mr. Rathburn had his tragic accident, it would have been full dark, wouldn’t it?”

She looked at me. “I wasn’t here, sir.”

“Of course you weren’t,” I agreed. “But if you had been, and it wasn’t dawn yet and there were no lamps turned on and the drapes were drawn shut, you’d have found the room dark, don’t you suppose?”

Molly stood openmouthed, thinking about it. Nigel Eglantine frowned in thought, looking reluctant to take the thought the next step down the trail. His wife said, “Why yes, of course. It would have been pitch dark in here when Mr. Rathburn fell.”

“That might explain his stepping on his shoelace,” I said. “He wouldn’t have seen it had come untied. But what it doesn’t explain is why he’d be up on the steps in the first place. It would have been far too dark in here for him to find the steps, let alone pick out a book to read.”

Blount-Buller cleared his throat. “What are you saying, Rhodenbarr?”

“I’m saying it’s more complicated than it looks. Jonathan Rathburn would not have had an accident of this sort in a dark room. Either a light was on when he fell or what took place was rather different from your reconstruction of it.”

Cissy Eglantine said, “Molly, are you sure you didn’t turn off a lamp?”

“I don’t remember,” the girl wailed. “I don’t think I did, but—”

“It doesn’t seem likely,” I said. “The room was dark when she entered it. If there had been a light burning, she’d have noticed