"Cartwheels"

Written By: Kaeru Shisho

Disclaimer: I don't own any part of Gundam Wing or its characters, nor do I make any monetary profit off this story.

Rating: NC 17

Warnings: Yaoi, AU

Pairings: 3+4

Summary: For my 2015 April fool's story, a romantic mystery in three parts. Quatre gets a letter which might be from fan or a stalker, so he takes it to the investigative firm of Chang and Yuy to get answers

" Cartwheels"

Part Two-the Plot Thickens

Letter 4

Dear Man of the Aviator Glasses,

Sanc is a really wonderful, astounding city. I have been reading the most enthralling essays on it. When this is all over, I hope you will agree to meet me someplace and we could play tourists and see everything together. There is a tea room with the tastiest cakes and biscuits I think you'd appreciate. In the meantime, you want to hear about the mystery.

Yesterday, after my discovery of those messages, passed without further incident. Last night I mailed you my third letter and after wandering for a time amid the alternate glare and gloom of the city, I went back to my room to stand on my balcony. Nothing happened. I felt disappointed, like one might feel after a quiet night at home following successive exciting visits to plays and dancing clubs.

That was then. Today... was the same. Dull. It was not until this evening that further developments in the sudden death of Captain Merquise arrived to disturb me. These were strange enough to relate right now.

I dined tonight at a little Italian place a few miles away that was so like being in Florence it pained me. I was there once. I'd love to take you there with me someday. Would you like that? I hope so.

I came back to Delphi Terrace and noticed a taxi waiting outside the house, a few door down, actually, where there was a free parking spot. At the time, I thought nothing of it, entering the murky hallway and climbing the familiar stairs.

My door stood open. No one was inside, but I found a note on my desk, written on rose scented paper. It read: "You are no longer certain of the time when you heard the struggle in the room above-"

But I was! I remembered the church bells chiming the hour. Seven! I read on: "Thinking it over, you have come to the conclusion that it may have been barely six-thirty when you heard the noise of a struggle-"

Indeed? I failed at pulling off sarcasm; I was too astonished by the suggestion delivered not in person, but in a note.

"-When next you speak to the detective, that is what you shall tell him. It may have been six-thirty. You thought it over and you are not certain. This is not a favor being asked of you for anyone but for yourself. Refusing may be most unpleasant. Currently, the police do not know that the letter of introduction you brought to the captain was signed by a man who addressed him as Dear Cousin, but was completely unknown to the family. Once this information reaches the detective or, worse, Preventers, your chance of escaping arrest is slim-."

My heart leaped into my throat. Who was this? How did they know? I could be in serious trouble! I didn't want to read the rest, but did: "They may not be able to pin this crime on you, but there will be complications most distasteful. So, you will tell the detective of your second thoughts. Otherwise the letter of introduction you gave to the captain will be sent anonymously to the Detective Turgenev -"

How did this person get the letter?!

"His misgivings will be roused when it is pointed out to him that you were going under false colors-"

This was terrible to read! The net of suspicion seemed closing in about me. I was resentful, too, of the confidence coming from this writer. I wouldn't change my testimony, I decided. The truth was important. There was only a line or two more to the note. I read it to the end.

"This is advice to benefit you only. You had better take it. What does it matter, a half an hour this way or that? And the difference is prison for you."

I dashed to the front door, but saw no one who might have left the note and was waiting around the building to see my reaction. The taxi was gone, but they come and go quite often in the area. The doorman wasn't in, so I couldn't ask him who let someone into my room. My room!

I went back to my room and sat down. I was upset. Even gazing into the garden didn't bring me solace. What a terrible sea of dank, dark houses! I felt horribly alone and frightened.

Someone boldly came into my room and left a threatening note, someone who knew far too much. I felt angry and resolved that, even at the risk of my own comfort, I would stick to the truth. And to that resolve I would have clung had I not shortly received another visit-this one far more inexplicable, far more surprising, than the first.

At about nine o'clock there was a knock on my door. At least whoever this was politely knocked! Miss Relena Darlian and a fine old aristocratic-looking gentleman entered.

"I'm sorry to bother you," Relena said. Her face was drawn and haggard. There was the look of terrible suffering in her blue eyes, and, yet, about her glowed like a halo the glory of a great resolution. "May I introduce my father, General Darlian, retired? We have come on a matter of supreme importance-"

"Captain Merquise was my step-son," muttered the old man.

I could see that the loss of even a step-son had hit him hard. I asked them to be seated, which the general did, but the young lady began to pace.

"We shall not be long," she remarked. "Nor at a time like this will I be diplomatic. I will only say, good sir, that we have come to ask of you a great- a very great- favor. You may not see fit to grant it. If that is the case we cannot well reproach you, but if you can-?"

"It is a great favor," broke in the old general. "I am in the odd position where I do not know whether you will serve me best by granting it or by refusing to do so."

"Father, please, let me do this." Her voice was kindly but determined.

I wanted to help her. When she turned those earnest eyes upon me, I wanted to tell her so.

"Sir," she said first, "you have testified to the police that it was a bit past seven when you heard the sounds of... a struggle coming from the room just above you."

In view of the note I'd just received from out of the blue, you can see why I was startled. "I- ah, yes, such was my testimony. It was the truth."

"Naturally," she replied. "But as a-a favor to me... as a matter of fact, we are here to ask that you alter your testimony. Could you, as a favor to us who have suffered so cruel a loss-a favor we should never forget-could you not make the hour of that struggle half past six?"

You could have knocked me over with a feather. "Your... reasons?" I managed to ask.

"I am unable to give them to you in full," Relena answered. "I can only say this. It happens that at seven o'clock that night I was dining with friends, people who would not likely to forget the occasion."

The old general creaked to his feet. "Relena!" he cried. "I cannot let you do this thing! I simply will not-!"

"Father," she interrupted wearily. "We have threshed this all out. You promised-."

The old man sank back into his chair and buried his face in his hands.

"If you are willing to change your testimony," Relena went on, "I shall at once confess to the police that it was I who...who murdered my brother. They suspect me. They know that late that fateful day, I purchased a revolver, for which, they believe, at the last moment I substituted the knife. They know that I was in debt to him; that we quarreled about money matters; that by his death I, and I alone, profit from his inheritance."

Relena broke off suddenly and came toward me, holding out his arms in supplication, pleading. "Do this for me!" she cried. "Let me confess! Let me end this whole horrible business here and now!"

Her? A murderess?! So young, so beautiful, so much of life to live for! "Why?" I found myself saying, over and over. "Why? Why?!"

She faced me and I hope never again to see such a look in anyone's eyes. "I loved him!" she cried. "That is why. For his honor! For the honor of our family, I am making this request of you. Believe me, it is not easy. I can tell you no more than that. You knew Zechs?"

"Slightly."

"Then for his sake, do this thing I ask."

"But...murder?"

"You heard the sound of a struggle. I shall say we quarreled-that I struck in self-defense, a lucky, or terribly unlucky, hit. It will mean only a few years in prison-I can bear that!" she cried. "For the honor of his name."

The old man groaned, but did not raise his head. Relena walked back and forth over my faded carpet, waiting for my answer.

"I know what you are thinking," said Relena. "You cannot credit your ears. But you have heard correctly, and now, it is up to you. I have been in the colonies," she said, smiling pitifully. "I think I know how you colonials thinks. You are not the sort to refuse a lady in distress, especially when she is sore beset as I am."

I looked from her to the general and back again. "I need to think this over. Later, say, tomorrow, I'll let you know what I decide."

"Tomorrow," she repeated. "Yes, we shall both be called before the detective. I shall know your answer then, and I hope with all my heart it will be yes."

There were a few mumbled words of farewell and the two broken spirits left.

As soon as I was alone, I phoned the number Duke Dermail had given me. What a relief I felt when I heard his voice. When I told him I desperately needed to see him, he replied that he had been on his way out the door when I called and would be at my room shortly.

In the half-hour that elapsed before the coming of the duke, I walked about like a man in a trance. The moment he stepped over the threshold, I poured out to him the story of the note and the visit, both asking me to alter my testimony.

He smiled when I mentioned the rose-scented paper. At the mention of Relena's preposterous request he whistled.

"Ye Gods! Interesting day for you. I am not surprised, however. Miss Relena has a lot of gumption."

"But what should I do?" I asked, practically begged.

The duke smiled. It makes little difference what you do," he said. "Relena did not kill her brother. No one would believe she could overpower him and it will be proved in no time."

I agreed with that.

"The detective no doubt would be glad to have you alter your testimony, since he is trying to fasten the crime on her. On the whole, if I were you, I think that when the opportunity comes tomorrow, I should humor the man."

"You mean-tell him I'm not certain of the time of the struggle?"

"Precisely. I give you my word that young Relena Darlian will not be permanently incriminated by your change of testimony. And, incidentally, you will be aiding me."

I wondered how that could be, but just let it be. "Very well, but I don't understand this at all."

"No, of course not. I wish I could explain to you, but I must not. I will say this, the death of Captain Zechs Merquise is regarded as a most significant event by the War Office. It happens that two distinct hunts for his assassin are under way. One is being conducted by Detective Turgenev; the other by me. Turgenev does not suspect that I am working on the case and I want to keep him in the dark as long as possible. You may choose which of these investigations you wish to be identified with."

That was easy. "I prefer you to the detective."

"Good boy!" he answered. "You have chosen wisely. Now, you can do me a service this evening, which is why I was on the point of coming here when you called."

"Just ask!"

"I take it that you remember and could identify the chap who called himself Max Church-the man who gave you that letter to the captain?"

"I certainly could. He's unmistakable."

"Then, if you can spare me and hour, get your most worn-out coat."

Duke Dermail changed jackets in the car and pulled a shabby hat low over his forehead. He offered me a similar hat, which I took and gladly hid my identity. He parked on a busy street and got out. "We walk the rest of the way," he said.

And so it happens-my dear man with the aviators atop your head- that I have just been to the most picturesque, revolting, colorful district of wickedness. No colony has worse, they can't spare the space. No, the district has Pin Street for its spinal column and is, well, like a living thing. The weird odors I still think I smell; the sinister portrait of it is still before my eyes. The scum of all earth, I feel, pass through, and often out, there.

We went there. Up and down the narrow street, passing gloomy shops with dark, shuttered windows, we walked until we stopped in shadow outside the black doorway of Harry Sun Li's restaurant. We waited ten, fifteen minutes, and then a man appeared on the causeway and paused before that door. Oh, I recognized something familiar in his jaunty walk. I was pretty sure it was Max Church even though I could not see his face. The trickling three-foot long braid being a dead giveaway. The door opened a crack, enough to allow a ray of lamplight light his pale face, and I knew for absolute certain.

"Church?"

"Yes, without a doubt," I whispered back.

"Good." Dermail took me by the elbow and quickly guided me out of sight and hearing of the restaurant. He took out his phone and placed a call. "Stay with him," he said softly to the person on the other end. "Don't let him out of your sight."

From the nearest alley came a scuffling man. He didn't acknowledge the duke nor the other way around, but I knew that was his contact. Good shoes!

We rode back together to the end of my street, a brighter, happier street even under the current conditions.

"Humor the detective," he said, repeating his advice, and then left me to walk the short distance home.

Do, my very kind reader, here I sit in my study, waiting for that most important day that is shortly to dawn. A full day, you must admit. Letters smelling of rose perfume containing threats if I don't lie; a pretty young lady begging me to tell the same lie to save the honor of her family and thus condemn her to certain arrest and imprisonment; and seeing Max Church in the flesh, in Sanc, conniving, most likely, with the devil.

I would go to bed but I know I cannot sleep. Tomorrow will be, beyond all question, a red-letter day in the matter of the captain's murder, and I, against my will, again, will play a leading role.

It is nearly midnight. I mail this letter to you-no, I should say "post it" since I'm in Sanc. Then I have only to wait in my dim, lonely room for the dawn. And you know what I will be thinking of? Not that, not the crime or the investigators or even the instigators, but you.

Very, very often of you. Good night, my heart's hope, good night.

-The Quiet Man.

(o)

Heero Yuy's journal:

Following the reading of the fourth letter, I am perplexed.

Duke Dermail is a real man, as I noted earlier, but under no conditions will he permit common investigators to call. This is problematic. The entire police department is pretending this case does not exist. Detective Turgenev does not return my calls. It has the feel of a cover up, which the letter writer said surprised him as well. Could this really be serious?

Where is this Harry Sun Li's? I know the Chinatown district, but not that place. In fact, there is no indication of any of the restaurants mentioned in any of the letters exist in Sanc. Nothing turns up using the internet. I think the writer is using pseudonyms and false names and must warn Quatre that this may all be a deception-but for those news-vid clips...

Quatre Winner wants to search the houses on the street, looking for Delphi Terrance. Damn Wufei for mentioning the trip I made! Quatre thinks it's romantic, this mystery unfolding, but if it is real it might prove to be very dangerous. He seems very pleased that his current negotiations for the Winner Corporation are taking longer than planned. He claims that he cannot return to L4 with the mystery unsolved.

My advice to him: get on with his life, make his next appointments on L4, and I would continue to resolve his case.

Oh, well. The next letter has come, and Quatre has vowed that under no circumstances can he leave Sanc now. It ran:

(o)

Letter 5

Dear Man of the Aviator Glasses,

How I long for home. I long for home with an ardent longing. Never has a place been so cruel, so hopeless, so drab, in my eyes, as Sanc. You wonder why this turn of mind? As I write this, a policeman sits at my elbow, and he and I are shortly to start for the station, his station. I have been arrested as a suspect in the murder case or Captain Zechs Merquise!

I predicted last night that this was to be a red-letter day in the history of that case, and I also saw myself an unwilling actor in the drama. But little did I suspect the series of astonishing events that was to some with the morning. Little did I dream that the net I have been dreading would today engulf me. I can scarcely blame Detective Turgenev for holding me. What I don't understand is why Duke Dermail-.

But you want, of course the entire story told from the beginning and shortened. You don't want to read about the policeman waking me up and hauling me to the station. We climbed a narrow stone stairway at the back of the station yard and so came to the detective's office, where Turgenev sat waiting for us, smiling and confident. He greeted me genially and began by informing me that the police had apprehended the guilty person.

"There is one detail to be cleared up," he said. "You told me the other night that it was shortly after seven o'clock when you heard the sounds of a scuffle in the room above you. Have you considered the matter since? Is it not possible that you were in error in regard to the hour?"

The duke had advised me to humor the man, so what I said was this: "I have thought it over and I'm not sure. It might have been earlier, say six-thirty."

"Exactly!" said the detective, pleased, it seemed, for once by something I'd said. "The natural stress of the moment. Anyone could ... well, I understand."

He called to a younger policeman in the room. "Bring in your prisoner."

He returned a moment later with Miss Relena Darlian. She looked determined, but pale with circles under her eyes.

"Miss Darlian," Turgenev said sharply, "Is it true your step-brother loaned you a large sum of money a year ago?"

"One year and two weeks. Yes, it is true."

I had to admire that her voice didn't even waver. Such self-control.

"You and he had quarreled about the amount of money you spent?"

"Yes."

"By his death, is it true that you became the sole heir of his inheritance through the mother you shared?"

"She arranged the inheritance to go to us, rather than her spouse, yes."

"Last week, you purchased a revolver-"

"I did."

"Let us suppose," the detective went on, "that later that evening at say, six-thirty, you called on your brother in his room at Delphi Terrace. You had an argument about money. You suddenly saw him as the only thing between you and the fortune you wanted so badly. Then-I am only supposing-you noticed on his table an odd but very sharp looking knife, quieter that a gun. You seized it-"

"Why suppose?" Relena broke in. "I'm not trying to conceal anything. I killed my brother. I was fighting for my life. It was either him or me and I was lucky. Now, let us get the whole business over with as quickly as possible."

I had expected the detective to look pleased, but instead for an instant I think he looked shocked. Probably a confession made it all too easy a victory for him.

"Young lady," he said, "I am sorry for you. My course is clear. Take her away."

At this point the door to the director's office opened and in walked Duke Dermail, cool and smiling. Turgenev chuckled at the sight of the duke, sending my heart to my feet. Were they collaborators after all?

"Ah, Your Grace, I believe you were foolish enough to make a little wager-"

"I remember," said Dermail. "A scarab pin against a very valuable helmet."

"Precisely," said the detective. "But I have discovered the guilty party, so you lose. You owe me a scarab. Miss Darlian has just confessed to the murder."

"Indeed!" Duke Dermail replied with a calm demeanor. "Interesting, most interesting. But before we count losses or winnings, let me introduce you to another lady."

In stepped a policeman with a mousy-haired woman wearing her hair in a bun and glasses. Instantly I smelled the light scent of rose perfume.

"Allow me, detective, to introduce to you Lady Une. Just in from the outlands."

The woman faced Turgenev with a terrified, hunted look in her eyes.

"Tell the detective the story you told me."

"The woman shut her lips tightly and for a long moment gazed into the eyes of the detective. "He," she said at last, nodding in the direction of the duke, "He got it out of me."

"Got what out of you?" Turgenev's beady little eyes were blinking.

"At six-thirty last Thursday night," she said, clipping off her words angrily, "I went to the rooms of Captain Zechs Merquise, in Delphi Terrace. An argument arose. I seized from his table a dagger from my homeland. It was just lying there and I took it and stabbed him in the heart!"

A tense silence fell. The detective's face showed a momentary surprise before his mask of indifference fell again. Miss Relena was plainly amazed. Duke Dermail wore a decided sneer.

"Go on, Lady Une," the duke encouraged her.

She shrugged her shoulders and turned toward him with a look of disdain. Her eyes were all for Turgenev.

"It's very brief, the rest of my story," she declared. "I met the captain while he was on duty in the outlands. We fell desperately in love. I would have given up everything for him and almost did. And then-"

Her voice broke and she took out a handkerchief, again filling the room with the scent of roses. "For a time, I lived with him, damaging my reputation, but believing his promises to bring me back to Sanc with him. And then I was informed that he had a lover in Sanc to whom he was already pledged-a man!"

Lady Une looked around at us. Was she hoping for pity?

"I became desperate, as I said. I had given up all that life held for me-another beau, my inheritance-given it up for a man who now looked upon me coldly. Can you wonder that I followed him to his home with the intention of winning him back? And if not that, beg? It was no use. He was done with me-he said that over and over. Overwhelmed with blind rage and despair, I snatched up that knife and plunged it into his heart. Oh course, I was instantly filled with remorse and regret-"

"One moment," broke in the duke. "You may spare us the details of your subsequent actions until later. I should like to compliment you, Lady Une. You tell it better each time."

I watched him walk up to the detective and face him down. "Checkmate, detective!" he said.

Turgenev made no comment. He stared at the duke, his face turned to stone.

"We are tied, it seems," said the duke. "We both have confessions."

"It's beyond me," snapped the detective.

"I bit beyond me, as well. The strangest part of all is," the duke suddenly turned to look at both ladies, "that at six-thirty last Thursday evening, at an obscure Italian restaurant, these two were having tea together!"

I nearly jumped out of my skin, in contrast to the detective, who appeared calm at the news. Was there no end to the maze of mystery in which I'd become involved?

Relena lost her polish, crying out, "How do you know that?!"

"I know it," said the duke, "because one of my men happened to be having tea at a table nearby. He happened to be there ever since Lady Une dropped anchor in Sanc, so to speak. I have been keeping track of her every move, just as I kept track of your late brother's movements."

"Ohhh," Relena dropped into a chair and hid her face in her hands.

"I'm sorry, dear," the duke went on, "Really I am. You made a heroic effort to keep the facts from coming out-a man's-sized effort. The War Office knew long before you did that your brother had succumbed to this woman's lure, that he was serving her and the outlanders and not his own kingdom of Sanc."

Relena raised her head. "I suppose the game is up. I have done what I could. His defection to his country, if it becomes widely known, will kill his father and step-father...both. Ours has been an honorable name, Duke Dermail, from a long line of military leaders whose loyalty to Sanc has never been questioned. I had hoped my actions might have kept forever unknown this horrible thing about him."

Duke Dermail laid his hand on her shoulder in a fatherly way, not patronizing her. It seemed to give her the strength to say more. "Those frightful insinuations reached me in roundabout ways and I vowed to watch him whenever he returned to Sanc. I discovered where Lady Une lived and managed a meeting with her under an assumed name and purpose. With a little play acting I won her confidence. I was a discontent willing to be disloyal to my kingdom. That was the tea time you mentioned. I had purchased the revolver and had made up my mind..."

Her voice trailed off as she rose and began her pacing, which I guessed gave her nervousness some outlet.

"I left the restaurant and went directly to Zechs' rooms. I would have it out with him, and if he didn't give me the answers I wanted to hear I resolved to shoot him. You could say I was guilty of intention if not in reality."

"You saw his murderer?" the duke asked.

"When I entered his study, there was a stranger hiding in the shadows. I couldn't tear my eyes off the prone form of my dear brother lying on the divan with a stab wound-dead! I ran out, terrified!"

"I take it," Dermail said kindly, "that we have finished with Miss Darlian?"

"Yes," said the detective, shortly. "You may go."

"Thank you," she said, and in passing to the duke she added, "I must find my father."

She had hardly stepped out of the room when Detective Turgenev suddenly turned on the duke. "You don't play fair. I wasn't told anything of the captain's status at the War Office. This is all news to me."

The duke graciously bowed. "Very well, the bet is off, if you like."

"No, by heaven! It is still on and I'll win it yet!" Turgenev cried out, his jaw thrust out angrily.

"The lady," the duke gestured to Lady Une, "is still in custody?"

"Yes, yes, Take her away!" the detective ordered.

A policeman came forward and Duke Dermail gallantly held open the door. "You will have an opportunity, my lady," he said, "to think up another story. You are clever. It will not be hard."

Hers was a black look on leaving. Detective Turgenev got up from his desk. He faced off with the duke across a table in a tableau suggesting to me of eternal conflict. I believe they had forgotten me.

"Well?" sneered the detective.

"There is one possibility we have overlooked," the duke answered. He turned to me and I was startled by the coldness in his eyes. "Do you know that this colonial came to Sanc with a letter of introduction to the captain from the man's cousin, Max Church? And do you know that Merquise had no cousin of that name?"

"No." The detective also turned to look at me.

"It happens to be the truth," said Dermail. "The colonial has confessed as much to me."

"Then," said Turgenev to me, his little blinking eyes narrowing into a calculating glare that sent shivers up and down my spine, "you are under arrest. I have exempted you so far because of your contact at the consulate. That exemption ends now."

I was thunderstruck. I turned to the duke, the man who had suggested that I seek him out if I needed a friend, the man I had looked to to save me from just such a contingency as this, but his eyes were quite fishy and unsympathetic.

"Quite correct, Detective Turgenev," he said. "Lock him up!" And as I began to protest, he passed very close to me and whispered, "Say nothing. Wait!"

I pleaded to go back to my room at the Delphi Terrace and to communicate with my friends at the consulate. At the duke's suggestion, the detective agreed to this irregular course.

So, this afternoon I have been shadowed by a policeman, and while I wrote this long letter to you he has been fidgeting in my easy chair. Now he informs me that his patience is exhausted and that I must go at once. There is no time to wonder, as to the duke's sudden turn against me or the promise of his whisper in my ear. There no time to speculate as to the future. I shall, no doubt, spend the night behind those hideous, forbidding walls that your guide has likely pointed out to you as Sanc's Jail. When I shall I write again? Ending this series of letters so filled with-?

The policeman will not wait. He is as impatient as a child. Surely he is lying when he says I have kept him an hour.

Wherever I am, dear sweet soul, whatever be the end of this amazing tangle, you may be sure the thought of you-

Confound the man! I must go.

Yours, in confinement vile,

-The Quiet Man.

(o)

Heero Yuy's journal:

This fifth letter from the young man of mystery arrived at Quatre Winner's hotel on Monday morning. He read it with pleasure, he tells me, until the end.

News that his pleasant young friend, whom he does not actually know, had been arrested as a suspect in a case which he had accidentally walked into, came as a shock to my gentle, kind-hearted client. He called me, wanting to help, wondering if he went to the police, if there would be anything he could do to help his friend? He is a wealthy man and his company keeps a fleet of lawyers on retainer. Why shouldn't he go there and demand the immediate release of his Quiet Man?

Dear God.

I remind Quatre of a few facts, returning him to his senses. An L4 businessman, no matter how rich, is still a mere colonial with little clout with the local Sanc police. And, how would he explain his extensive knowledge about a crime not yet reported in the news?

Quatre cannot concentrate on his company's matters, he tells me. All his thoughts dwell on his friend suffering "in confinement vile". Still, the world moves on without him, if necessary. His secretary has informed him that they have shuttle tickets to return to L4 in three days.

"Three days! Can I in three days' time learn the end of this strange mystery, know the final fate of the man who had first addressed me in a letter - since I can't recall any auspicious meeting in a hotel breakfast room?"

I tell him not to do anything without notifying me first. I didn't tell him that every piece of information I have looked into has led to a dead end, that I have made no headway whatsoever in the case. If no letter comes the next day, I promise, stupidly or bravely, to accompany him to the station and demand some answers.

Tuesday morning- a letter has come and the beginning of it brings pleasant news. But the end!

This is the letter:

(o)

Letter 6

Dear Anxious Man of the Aviator Glasses,

Is it too much for me to assume that you have been just that, anxious knowing that I was locked up for the murder of a captain in the Sanc army with the evidence all against me and hope a very small voice indeed?

Well, sweetheart of mine, be anxious no longer. I have just lived though the most astounding days since last Thursday. It is now dusk and I sit again at my desk in my room at Delphi Terrace-a free man. I write to you in peace and quiet; at least, that which I can command after the startling adventure through which I have recently passed.

Suspicion no longer points to me. Tiny-eyed detectives no longer blink at me. The police in general are not interested in me-for the murderer of Captain Zechs Merquise has been caught at last!

Sunday night I spent ingloriously in a Sanc city jail cell. I could not sleep. I had so much to think of-you, for example, and at intervals how I might escape form the folds of the net that had closed so tightly about me. My friend at the consulate called on me late in the evening, and was very kind. However, there was a note lacking in her voice, and after she had gone, the terrible certainty came into my mind that she believed that I was guilty after all.

The night passed, and a goodly portion of today went by slowly. I had with me in the cell a single thin volume to read. A friend once lent it to me and left it behind. In it I found a quote from Confucius: It does not matter how slowly you go as long as you do not stop. I disagreed completely. I wanted this confinement to stop immediately. I felt that I would be grateful eternally to the one who brought it to an instantaneous close. I thought I might leave the book of quotes behind for the next unfortunate to read.

That left me with only my thoughts for company. I thought of the courtyard garden with its magic gate; the hotel in which we met; the sliced bananas I had in my crepes. I thought of you.

At three o'clock this afternoon they came for me and I was led back to the room belonging to Detective Turgenev. When I entered, however, he was not there-only Duke Dermail, immaculate and self-possessed, as usual, gazing out of the window into the cheerless stone court. He turned when I entered. I suppose I must have had a most woebegone appearance, for a look of regret crossed his face.

"My dear fellow," he said, "my most humble apologies! I intended to have you released last night, but believe me I have been frightfully busy."

I said nothing. What could I say? The fact that he had been busy struck me as an extremely silly excuse, but the inference that my freedom was imminent set my heart to thumping.

"I fear you can never forgive me for throwing you over as I did yesterday," he continued, and I was sorely tempted to agree with his judgment. "I can only say that it was absolutely necessary, as you shall shortly understand."

I thawed a bit. After all, there was an unmistakable sincerity in his voice and manner.

"We are waiting for Detective Turgenev. I take it you wish to see this thing through?" he asked me.

"To the end," I answered.

"Naturally. The detective was called away yesterday on some related business, but on my word he is due to return. I wanted him, you see, because I have found the murderer of Captain Merquise."

I thrilled to hear that news, because from my point of view it was the most devoutly wished for conclusion. The Duke held up a hand signaling me to wait. I heard footfalls and then the door opened and Detective Turgenev came in, looking frayed at the edges, clothes wrinkled as if he had slept in them. In those eyes there was a fire I shall never forget.

"Good afternoon, detective," the duke said in greeting. "I'm really sorry I had to interrupt your duties as I did, but I most awfully wanted you to know that you owe me an OZ helmet." He stepped closer to the detective. "You see, I have won that wager. I have found the man who murdered Captain Merquise."

And for a moment you can imagine the return of my anxiety. I had traveled this path before. Curiously enough, the detective said nothing. He sat down at his desk and idly glanced through the pile of mail that lay upon it. Finally he looked up and said in a weary tone, "You're very clever, I'm sure, Duke Dermail."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," replied Dermail. "Luck was with me from the first. I am really very glad to have been of service in the matter, for I am convinced that if I had not taken part in the search it would have gone hard with some innocent man, or woman."

Turgenev's fingers played with the stack of mail.

Dermail went on. "Perhaps, as a clever detective, you will be interested in the series of events which enabled me to win that helmet? You have heard, no doubt, that the man I have caught is Ken Tsubarov, the Romefeller Foundation's Chief Engineer. Ten years ago he was the best secret-service man in the employ of the Outlander government, but for the past few years he has been mysteriously missing from our line of vision. We have been wondering about him at the War Office."

The duke dropped into a chair facing the detective. "You know Tsubarov, of course?" he remarked in a casual manner.

"Of course," said Turgenev, in a dead tired voice.

"A feather in my cap to get him, but I mustn't boast. Poor Merquise would have got him if I had not- only Tsubarov had the luck to get the captain first."

The detective raised his eyes. "You were going to tell me-"

"And so I am," said Dermail. "Captain Merquise got in rather a mess in the Outlands, drinking problem you know, and failed to get a promotion. He was discontented and rumored to be soured on the service. Lady Une was set to beguile him with her charms, to kill his loyalty, and win him over to her side.

"It was thought she had succeeded, as long as he remained in the Outlands, but when the captain and Lady Une came on to Sanc, we discovered that we had done him a great injustice. He let the War Office know, when the first chance offered, that he was trying to redeem himself, to round up a dangerous band of spies by pretending to be one of them. He said that it was his mission in Sanc to meet Tsubarov, the greatest of them all. Once he had located this man, we would hear from him again. In the weeks that followed, I continued to keep a watch on Lady Une and I kept track of the captain, too, in a general way, for I'm ashamed to say I was not quite sure of his loyalty."

The duke rose and walked to the window, probably sorting out his thoughts. He turned and continued. "Captain Merquise and Tsubarov were completely unknown to one another. The mails of all types were barred as a means of communication, but the captain knew that in some way word from the "top" would reach him, and he had had a tip to watch the personal column of the news video. Now we have the explanation of those four odd messages."

I bent forward intent on hearing this revelation, in which I had played a small part.

"From that column the man from the Outlands learned that he was to wear a white lily in his buttonhole, a scarab pin in his tie, and wear or at least carry the OZ helmet. Thus attired, he was to meet Ken Tsubarov at Ye Olde Gorgonist (Y.O.G. from the last news vid clip) last Thursday night at ten o'clock. As we know, he made all arrangements to comply with those directions. He made other arrangements as well. Since it was out of the question for him to come to the police station headquarters, by skillful maneuvering he managed to interview an inspector of police at the Hotel Brever. It was agreed that on Thursday night Tsubarov would be placed under arrest the moment he made himself known to the captain."

Dermail paused. I needed the moment to absorb the new information. Turgenev still idled with his pile of letters, files, and forms, while the duke regarded him gravely.

"Poor Captain Merquise!" The duke said at last. "Unfortunately for him, Tsubarov knew almost as soon as did the inspector that a plan was afoot to trap him. There was but one course open to him: to locate and kill the captain. He went there at seven that night and, well, you know."

A tense silence filled the room. I sat on the edge of my chair, wondering just where all this unwinding of the tangle was leading us.

"I had little, indeed, to work on," the duke sallied forth. "But I had this advantage: the spy thought the police - mark this, the police alone-were seeking the murderer. He was at no pain to throw me off his track, because he did not suspect that I was on it. For weeks my men had been watching the Lady Une. I had them continue to do so. I figured that sooner or later Tsubarov would get in touch with her. I was right. And when at last I saw with my own eyes the man who must, beyond all question, be this spy Tsubarov, I was astounded, my dear detective, I was over whelmed."

"Yes?" said the detective.

"I set to work in earnest to connect him with that night in Delphi Terrace. All the finger marks in the captain's study were for some reason wiped clean, but I found others outside, on the seldom-used gate which leads from the garden."

His eyes and mine met in a secret understanding. My testimony had led him in that direction.

"Without his knowing, I secured from man the imprint of his right thumb. A comparison was startling. Next I went down to Sanc's news headquarters and acquired a copy of the original text emailed for inclusion into the personal column. A quick comparison of sites of origin lead me again to the same man."

Dermail paused to get his breath. "Then Max Church, a renegade and waster well known to us as serving any country willing to pay the highest price, came to Sanc. My man and he met at, guess! Ye Olde Gorgonist. Finally, on a visit to the lodging of this man who, I was certain now, was the wanted spy Tsubarov, I found under his mattress-this!"

Duke Dermail threw down upon the detective's desk the exotic knife from the Outlands that I had seen in the study of Captain Merquise.

"The murder weapon!" I cried out.

"It is," said the duke. "All these points of evidence were in my hands yesterday morning in this room. Still, the answer they gave me was so... unbelievable, so astounding, I was not satisfied. I wanted even stronger proof. That is why I directed suspicion to me colonial friend here. I was waiting. I knew that at last Tsubarov realize the danger he was in. I felt that if opportunity were offered he would attempt to escape from Sanc, and then our proofs of his guilt would be unanswerable, despite his cleverness. True enough, in the afternoon he secured the release of Lady Une and together they started for the Outlands. I was lucky enough to get him before he crossed the border and glad to let the lady go on."

And now for the first time the startling truth struck me full in the face as the duke smiled down on his victim.

"Detective Turgenev," he said, "Or Tsubarov, as you choose, I arrest you on two counts: first, as the head of OZ spy system in Sanc; second, as the murderer of Captain Zechs Merquise. If you will allow me, I wish to compliment you on your efficiency."

The detective-spy did not reply for a moment. I could not bring myself to say a word either. I sat numb in my chair and looked on. Finally, the detective-spy looked up and actually tried to smile.

"You win the helmet," he said, "but you must go to OZ headquarters in the Outlands for it. I will gladly pay all expenses."

"Thank you," answered Dermail. "I hope to visit your territory before long, but I shall not be occupied with fancy dress helmets. Again, I congratulate you. You were a bit careless, but your position at the station here justified that. As head of the investigations into spy activities here in Sanc, precaution doubtless struck you as unnecessary. How unlucky for poor Zechs Merquise that it was to you he went to arrange for your own arrest! I got that information from a clerk downstairs. You were quite right, from your point of view, to kill him. And, as I say, you could afford to be rather reckless. You had arranged that when the news of his murder came to Sanc police headquarters here you yourself would be on hand to conduct the search for the guilty man. A happy situation, was it not?"

"It seemed so at the time," admitted the detective-spy, with what may have been a note of bitterness in his voice.

"I'm very sorry, really," said the duke. "Today or tomorrow at the latest, Sanc will enter into war with the Outlanders. For a traitor like you that means the firing squad."

Deliberately he walked away from the detective-spy and stood looking out the window. Tsubarov dove for the exotic knife and with a quick, hunted look about the room, he raised his hand, and before I could leap forward to stop him, he had plunged the knife into his heart.

The duke wheeled around at my cry, but even at what met his eyes the man remained unruffled.

"Too bad!" he said. "Really too bad! The man had courage and beyond all doubt brains. This actually was most considerate of him. He has saved me such a lot of trouble."

I of course was released at once and absolved of all crime. The duke and I walked out of the station together in the bright sun that seemed so good to me after the bleak walls of the detective's room. Again, he apologized for turning suspicion my way the previous day. I assured him I held no grudge for that.

"One or two things I do not understand," I said. "That letter I brought from L2-"

"Simple enough," he replied. "Max Church, who is now occupying the cell next to the one in which you spent the night, wanted to communicate with Merquise, who he supposed was a loyal member of the spy band. Email seems dangerous and traceable. With your kind assistance, he informed the captain of his whereabouts and the date of his imminent arrival in Sanc. Merquise, not wanting you entangled in his plans, eliminated you by denying the existence of this cousin-the truth, of course."

"Why," I asked, "Did Lady Une call on me to demand I alter my testimony?"

"Detect... Tsubarov sent her. He had rifled the captain's desk and he held that letter from Church. He was most anxious to fix the guilt upon Miss Darlian's head. You and your testimony as to the hour of the crime stood, possibly, in the way. He sought to intimidate you with threats-"

"But-"

"I know, you are wondering why Lady Une confessed to me next day. I had the woman confused. In the meshes of my rapid-fire questioning she became hopelessly involved. She suddenly became terrified when she realized I must have been watching her for weeks and that perhaps Tsubarov was not so immune from suspicion as he supposed. When the time was right, I suggested that I might be forced to take her to police headquarters and to the detective. This gave her the idea to make the false confession to get near him. Once there, she warned him of his danger and they fled together."

We walked along a moment in silence. "How long had the detective, er, spy held his position at headquarters?" I asked.

"For nearly five years," the duke answered.

"It seems incredible," I murmured.

"So it does," he answered, "but it is only the first of many incredible things that this fight against the Outlanders will reveal." He sighed. He bade me goodbye shortly after, saying that he must at once seek out Miss Darlian and her father and tell them the news that their kinsman was really loyal to his country.

"It will come to them as a ray of light in the dark," he said. "And now, thank you once again."

We parted and I came back here to my lodgings.

The mystery is finally solved, though in such a way it is difficult to believe that it was anything but a nightmare at any time. Still, it was solved nonetheless and I should be at peace, except for one great black fact that haunts me, will not let me rest. I must tell you, my dearest, yet I fear it means the end of everything. If only I can make you understand!

I have walked my floor, deep in thought, in puzzlement, in indecision. Now I have made up my mind. There is no other way. I must tell you the truth.

Despite the fact that Detective Turgenev was the spy Tsubarov, despite the fact that he killed himself at the discovery-despite this and that and everything-the detective did not kill Captain Merquise.

On last Thursday evening, at a little after seven o'clock, I myself climbed the stairs, entered the captain's room, picked up the knife, and stabbed him just above the heart.

Why did I perform this act? You must wait until tomorrow to know, in my seventh and final letter. So do not judge, my dear, dear heart, until you know everything, until all my evidence is in your capable hands.

Yours, in all humility,

-The Quiet Man.

TBC... heh, heh...

Chapter 3

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