The Burglar in the Library - By Lawrence Block Page 0,56

got the colonel’s attention. “Have to do more than that,” he said. “Best defense is a good offense, wot? Can’t just wait for the cavalry to arrive. Have to meet them halfway, don’t we? Find the damned murderer ourselves.”

“How?”

“Smoke him out,” he said. “Trap him, chase him into a corner, harry him until he drops. Attack him on the right, attack him on the left, attack him in the center. Cut off his escape route, sever his supply lines. Then crush him.”

It was quite a performance. You could almost hear a tinny little orchestra in the background, belting out the theme from The Bridge on the River Kwai. In the respectful silence that followed I said, “I think we have to mount both a defense and an offense. The first thing we have to do is make sure that no more killings take place. While we’re seeing to that, we can also put our heads together and pool our information. It’s possible that we already know enough about one another to be able to determine the killer’s identity.”

“Good thinking,” the colonel said. “Daresay you’ve put on a uniform yourself, eh, Rhodenbarr?”

That made me stop and think. I knew what he meant, and the answer was no, I’d never been in the military. But had I ever worn a uniform? I went to prison once, I blush to admit, and they did dress us all alike, and not very stylishly, either. But would you call those prison grays a uniform?

Then I remembered my Boy Scout uniform.

“It’s been a few years,” I said.

“There’s a way of thinking that once learned is never forgotten, Rhodenbarr. Defense and offense, that’s the ticket. You have a plan in mind? An approach?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“Good man. Let’s hear it.”

“First of all,” I said, “we have to make sure there are no more murders, and we’ll do that by sticking together.”

“You mean like this, Bern? All of us hanging out together in one room?”

“Not exactly,” I said. “That won’t always be convenient. But what each of us can do is make sure we’re never completely alone. If I always have somebody with me, then the killer can’t cut me out of the herd and do away with me.”

“Suppose the person you pick for company turns out to be the killer?”

It was Gordon Wolpert who offered this objection, and it was a good one. Others elaborated on the theme. If one of us was the killer, and if everybody was paired off with another person, that meant somebody would be buddied up with the killer.

“No problem,” Dakin Littlefield drawled. “Everybody pick a buddy and stick with that person. Then, next time somebody turns up dead, we’ll know it’s the person’s buddy who did all the killing.”

“That’s appalling,” Mrs. Colibri said. “But it’s not a great deal more appalling than the notion of being tethered night and day to another person. It’s all well and good for those of you who are married”—she glanced significantly at me and Carolyn—“or intimately allied, if unmarried. But what about those of us who are here alone?”

Someone said something about Greta Garbo.

“I don’t mean that I want to be alone,” Mrs. Colibri said icily. “But I’d as soon not share my bed with anyone, thank you very much, and I’m afraid I’m old-fashioned enough to prefer privacy in the bath. Add in the virtual certainty that one of us would be paired with the murderer, and you begin to see the dimensions of the problem.”

“Threesomes,” I said.

“I beg your pardon!”

“Not at night,” I said hastily. “During waking hours. If we divide into groups of three, that means two people will be buddied up with the murderer.”

“Safety in numbers,” the colonel murmured.

“Just that,” I said. “If A and B are buddies, and A’s the killer, he can wait for a quiet moment and knock off B. But if C’s part of the party, then he can’t.”

“What about bedtime?” Miss Hardesty wondered.

“That’s more complicated,” I admitted. “Millicent, I’m afraid you’re going to have to go back to sleeping in your parents’ room. Sleeping arrangements for the rest of us will need a little more thought. I think, though, that Mrs. Colibri’s concerns about bathroom privacy are satisfied by this approach.”

“If I don’t want one person in the bath with me,” Mrs. Colibri said, “what on earth makes you think I’d be happier with two?”

“Because they’d be waiting outside,” I said, “keeping an eye on the door, and on each other. I’m sure there will