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  I didn’t try to guess.

  “Sheriff’s office,” he said. “Told the sheriff he wanted to report his wife and his hired man were missing, see? Smart of him. Wasn’t it? Swore out a complaint and said he’d prosecute if they were found. But he had an awful lot of trouble getting any of the questions the sheriff asked. Sheriff got tired of yelling and wrote ‘em down on paper. Smart. See what I mean?”

  “Not exactly,” I said. “Hadn’t his wife run away?”

  “He’d murdered her. And him. Or rather, he was murdering them. Must have taken a couple of weeks, about. Found ‘em a month later.”

  He glowered, his face black with anger. “In the smokehouse,” he said. “A new smokehouse made out of concrete and not used yet. With a padlock on the outside of the door. He’d walked through the farmyard one day about a month before—he said after their bodies were found—and noticed the padlock wasn’t locked, just hanging in the hook and not even through the hasp. “See? Just to keep the padlock from being lost or swiped, he slips it through the hasp and snaps it.”

  “My God,” I said. “And they were in there? They starved to death?”

  “Thirst kills you quicker, if you haven’t either water or food. Oh, they’d tried hard to get out, all right. Scraped halfway through the door with a piece of concrete he’d worked loose. It was a thick door. I figure they hammered on that door plenty. Was there sound, mister, with only a deaf man living near that door, passing it twenty times a day?”

  Again he chuckled humorlessly. He said: “Your train’ll be along soon. That was it you heard whistle. It stops up by the water tower. It’ll be here in ten minutes.” And without changing his tone of voice, except that it got louder again, he said: “It was a bad way to die. Even if he was right in killing them, only a black-hearted son of a bitch would have done it that way. Don’t you think so?” I said: “But are you sure he is—”

  “Deaf? Sure, he’s deaf. Can’t you picture him standing there in front of that padlocked door, listening with his deaf ears to the hammering inside? And the yelling?

  “Sure, he’s deaf. That’s why I can say all this to him, yell it in his ear. If I’m wrong, he can’t hear me. But he can hear me. He comes here to hear me.”

  I had to ask it. “Why? Why would he—if you’re right.”

  “I’m helping him, that’s why. I’m helping him to make up his black mind to hang a rope from the grating in the top of that smokehouse, and dangle from it. He hasn’t got the guts to, yet. So every tune he’s in town, he sits on the platform a while to rest. And I tell him what a murdering son of a bitch he is.”

  He spat toward the tracks. He said, “There are a few of us know the score. Not the sheriff; he wouldn’t believe us, said it would be hard to prove.”

  The scrape of feet behind me made me turn. The tall man with the huge hands and the granite face was standing up now. He didn’t look toward us. He started for the steps.

  The agent said, “He’ll hang himself, pretty soon now. He wouldn’t come here and sit like that for any other reason, would he, mister?”

  “Unless,” I said, “he is deaf.”

  “Sure. He could be. See what I meant? If a tree falls and the only man there to hear it is maybe deaf and maybe not, is it silent or isn’t it? Well, I got to get the mail pouch ready.”

  I turned and looked at the tall figure walking away from the station. He walked slowly and his shoulders, big as they were, seemed a little stooped.

  The clock in the steeple a block away began to strike for seven o’clock.

  The tall man lifted his wrist to look at the watch on it. I shuddered a little. It could have been coincidence, sure, and yet a little chill went down my spine. The train pulled in, and I got aboard.

  The Nose of Don Aristide

  TRULY, SENOR? YOU HAVE never heard of the great French detective, Aristide Pettit?

  It seems inconceivable, Senor, and you yourself of the profession. For only one case he was with us, but such brilliance. We of the city of Rio de Aires felt pride to be associated with him even so briefly. Certainly I shall tell you of him, but first the business at hand.

  Yes, Senor, your application is most properly filled outer should one say filled in? Either? Ah, that is what makes your language so difficult to us. The things such as that an application may filled out or filled in, and instead of being opposite they are the same. Yet are not “out” and “in” opposites? But no matter. Your application is most satisfactory, and your references of the best.

  Oh, yes, Senor, I quite understand and agree that you speak our language most fluently. You have most admirably demonstrated. Not nearly so fluent is my poor English. I ask therefore that you bear with my use of it in our conversation. The practice will be of assistance to me the greatest.

  And most truly do I hope that you will work with us. We appreciate the great advantage to us of studying the methods of the great detectives of other countries. No, do not be modest, Senor. In your references we have read how you have tracked down the robbers of banks of your country.

  Perhaps, who knows, we shall learn as much from you as from Senor Aristide Pettit. Ah, there was true brilliance! I make, of course, no invidious comparisons, for we are not yet familiar at first hand with your methods—but those of Don Aristide! We wish only that he had remained with us longer.

  You have really never heard of him, never seen his picture? In physique he is small except in one feature. He has a magnificent nose. It is a nose truly in the tradition of his countryman Cyrano de Bergerac. You do, of course, know of Cyrano de Bergerac?

  But yes, though Don Aristide’s body is not large his nose is colossal. You Americans have a phrase—a nose for news. Don Aristide has, one might say, a nose for crime. On just one case he worked for us, but that I can verify. Truly he has a nose for crime. Also he has a magnificent mustache. I must mention that for reasons that will become clear.

  The case—I cannot give you all the details, Senor. You will understand that there are international complications. International, that is, to the extent that it concerned the security of my country against the foul machinations of a near neighbor of ours. A good neighbor indeed! These things will not be a secret from you when you are actually in our employ. We know that you are not a spy for we have investigated you carefully already and the application you have just filled out or in is but a formality.

  But for the moment I shall not name the country. I shall tell you merely that there was a plot to foment a revolution. It was not in this case a move from the left. Rather it was a move from the right and financed by our dear neighbors who hoped to gain disputed territory that lies between us.

  “Don Aristide,” I told him—I had known him then for a week only but already I felt that I could address him in the familiar mode—“I am confident that you will find what we want found, what we must find, the one thing that will give us complete data to enable us to break up this treasonable conspiracy.”

  “Voila!” he said, rising to his feet. Did I mention that in addition to being small he was most dynamic? “It is done, Monsieur. But tell me what is it that you wish found. The nose of Aristide Pettit will sniff it out for you.”

  And he bowed modestly.

  “It is a list,” I told him, “of several hundred names. It is believed—no, it is certain—that it is in the hands of a spy who is working at the studios of the great Panamera Moving Picture Company in this very city. We have reason to know that it is there.”

  “And the reason, Monsieur, why ordinary police methods will not work?” he asked. You will perceive that his keen mind had already seen there was a difficulty.

  I bowed to him. “Because, Don Aristide, the studios cover many acres, comprise many buildings. The list is believed—no, is known—to be on a tiny piece of microfilm about half a centimeter (a quarter of an inch in American measurement, Senor) square. You perceive the difficulty.”

  His eyes lighted up with interest They shone with brilliance. He sat back down�
��in the very chair in which you now sit, Senor—and stroked his mustache thoughtfully. I waited respectfully, waiting for him to ask questions and knowing that he would ask the correct ones and that, having answers, he would proceed to solve the insoluble.

  His first question was, of course, “Monsieur, are the high officials, the proprietors, the executives, involved in this matter?”

  “They are not,” I told him. “The affair does not concern the studio as a whole nor its management. They are above reproach.”

  “Then,” he said, “you suspect a particular culprit. Otherwise you would not know that he works at the studio.”

  Again I felt impelled to bow to him, and I did. I told him, “We most strongly suspect—indeed, we are certain—that la Senora de Rodriguez, one Dona Maria, a widow, is the spy. She is the make-up artiste of the studios.”

  “Tres bien. It should be simple, then, narrowed down to one person, even though that one person may have the run of the studios and may have hidden it anywhere.”

  I said, “If it is easy, Don Aristide, the ease has escaped our cruder brains. We can arrest her, of course, but the object is so minute—a piece of confetti in size—that we might never find it, yet its importance is tremendous. Nor, we are certain, will the spy talk or confess.”

  “Then she must give it to us of her own free will. How long have we, Monsieur?”

  “It must be in our hands by tomorrow. Yet a search for so tiny and easily hidden an object might take weeks. Consider, Don Aristide, that the tiny object may be in one of a thousand ways disguised. It may be coated white, among scraps of white paper. It may be one sequin among thousands of sequins on one of a thousand costumes. It may be stuck underneath a beauty spot. It may be inside a jar of cold cream; it may appear to be a soap chip among ten thousand soap chips. It may—” I stopped because it seemed futile to enumerate the innumerable.

  Don Aristide rose to his feet again and, stroking that luxuriant black mustache of his, he began to pace my office. There, Senor, along the length of that very rug. He paced like a tiger—or perhaps because of his small stature I should say that he paced like a small lithe panther.

  Ah, what a man, Senor, and with what a magnificent brain! What a detective!

  In two minutes—only two minutes—he stopped pacing and struck the palm of his left hand with his right fist.

  “Voila,” he said. “Monsieur, I have a plan. Do you know this Senora de Rodriguez? Can you give me a letter of introduction to her?”

  “But certainly,” I told him. “Under what name?”

  “My own, Monsieur. Aristide Pettit. Tell her who I am and what case I am working on. Enlist her aid in my behalf.”

  And so brilliant was the light in his eyes that I did not argue with him, Senor. I wrote the letter and gave it to him, and I told him that the affair was in his hands.

  That was at ten o’clock in the morning, Senor, and in the hour after siesta there was a knock on my door.

  I called out “Entra Usted,” and into my office walked a small old man, gray-haired and with sunken cheeks. Then I saw his nose.

  “Don Aristide!” I shouted. “What has—? It is make-up, of course, but your so beautiful mustache, your so luxuriant mustache—need you have sacrificed it?”

  “It is nothing,” he said, and I saw that his eyes gleamed as brightly as ever. “It will grow again. It was a small sacrifice to make for success.”

  “For success?” I was incredulous. “Surely, Don Aristide, you cannot mean that you have the microfilm already?”

  “The groundwork for my plan is laid, Monsieur,” he told me. “This afternoon, this very hour, if all goes well it shall be in your hands. You wish perhaps to accompany me upon my second trip to the studios, to share in my triumph?”

  It is needless to say, Senor, that I most certainly wished to accompany him. What more would one ask than an opportunity to watch the great Aristide Pettit at work?

  As we drove to the studio in my car he told me, “This morning, Monsieur, with the help of your gracious letter I met the charming Senora de Rodriguez. It is without doubt that she is guilty. Though I did not accuse her, though I pretended to enlist her assistance and to believe her innocent, yet she trembled when I explained to her the object of our search.

  “I took her, as she thought, into my confidence. I told her that I wished to have the run of the lot in disguise and I asked her to disguise me. In her salon and with her equipment I shaved off my mustache and asked her to complete the disguise for me.”

  “It is an excellent disguise,” I told him.

  “It is passable. I could have done better myself, but the disguise itself means nothing. It is, however, part of the plan that she should see me both before and after the transformation. I merely wandered around the lot for a while, and then came to you. Now we both return and you may watch the springing of my trap.”

  “How, Don Aristide?” I asked.

  “Allow me,” he said, “to ask you to wait and see. In my conversation with her, please merely follow my lead and agree with what I may tell her.”

  I agreed. It would have been futile, I saw, to plead for enlightenment. The great artist in any profession must be granted the privilege of using his own methods without interference.

  We entered the salon of Senora de Rodriguez, and Don Aristide bowed low and kissed her hand. “Alas, Senora,” he said to her after our greetings were over. “It grieves me to say that your so excellent work of this morning was wasted. In this disguise I learned nothing.”

  She said, “I am sorry, Senor Pettit. I did my best.”

  “But Senora,” he told her, “I am not implying that it is you who are at fault. The disguise is most excellent. It is I who failed. So it has been most reluctantly decided that we must search the entire studio. A small army of our police and detectives is coming; they will search everything, everywhere, everybody. We must pin our faith on that search.”

  I thought I saw Senora de Rodriguez start a little, Senor, but I was so surprised myself that I could not be sure, I knew that no arrangements had been made for a small army nor yet a large army of detectives and police to visit the studio. Yet I nodded confirmation.

  “And so,” Don Aristide continued, “I ask one more favor of you, Senora. That you remove this make-up you have so artistically applied and restore me to my former appearance.”

  “Gladly, Senor Pettit,” Senor de Rodriguez told nun. “Ten minutes will be all the time I will need, if you will be seated here as you were this morning.”

  While she removed the make-up I wandered about the salon thinking how difficult, how nearly impossible, a truly thorough search would be, even of this one large room with its many costumes in long rows, with its thousands of jars and bottles and its draperies and furniture. And for so tiny an object, Senor.

  But I knew we would not have to make that search, for I had faith in the brilliance of Don Aristide. While the Senora worked on his face, Don Aristide talked to me.

  “Do not fear, Monsieur,” he said. “It shall be found. I, Aristide Pettit, shall direct the search and all the searchers. And I shall find the object though it be hidden a mile away or under my very nose. I promise you, upon my reputation as a detective.”

  Following his lead I merely said, “Yes, Don Aristide.”

  When the Senora had finished he looked at himself in the mirror, and threw up his hands in a gesture of despair.

  “Alas,” he said, “I am not myself. I do not feel myself without my mustache. It will take weeks to grow again. How long have we before the men come, Monsieur? Half an hour perhaps?”

  And when I nodded, he turned to Senora de Rodriguez. He said, “Senora, you are a great artist with make-up. Would it be possible, in that length of time or less, for you to restore to my face a mustache like to my own? You saw me with it this morning and in addition I have my card of identity with a picture of myself which you may study.”

  “Certainly, Senor,” the Senora said. “I can do it for you, an
d it will be a pleasure.”

  I noticed from the tremor in her voice that she was becoming increasingly nervous.

  Again I wandered about the studio and stared out the window onto the lot. And when I turned back, Don Aristide was getting up from the chair and his face looked as it had before, complete with magnificent mustache. And over it he smiled at me and there was a gleam of triumph in his eyes.

  “Do you wish the honor of making the arrest, Monsieur?” he said.

  “I beg your pardon, Don Aristide,” I said. “You mean—”

  “Of course. You may now arrest la Senora Rodriguez. The microfilm is safe. You heard my suggestion, and I am sure that she followed it.”

  The woman turned and ran toward the door, but with a catlike motion, Don Aristide caught her by the arm. He had her before I could even move, Senor, and I am both light on my feet and fast. She screamed and clawed at him, and I helped subdue her.

  The screams brought many running, actors and directors and executives of the studio. And before them all, I said, “Senora de Rodriguez, I arrest you in the name of the state for high treason.”

  But I said no more, and looked to Don Aristide, for this was his moment and it was up to him to explain—if he wished—before the assemblage of motion picture actors and directors and executives how he had accomplished his objective. Before all of us, he explained.

  “The trick, Messieurs,” he said, “was to find the microfilm without the days of search that would be necessary. The brain of Aristide Pettit solved the problem.

  “It was not, Monsieur,” he said to me, “that I sacrificed my mustache lightly. It was the price of victory. First, this very morning I eased the suspicions of the culprit by appealing to her for assistance, by pretending to be frank with her and by letting her disguise me.”

  He shrugged his shoulders eloquently. “It was so simple, Monsieur. This afternoon, before your very eyes and ears, I accomplished the rest. The brain of Aristide Pettit and the nose of Aristide Pettit cooperated to succeed. First, I threw the culprit into a panic—a thinly concealed panic, I am sure you noticed—by telling her a detailed search was to be made.