The Colonel’s Death
by Stan Smith
THOMAS P. STANWICK, the amateur logician, and Inspector Matthew Walker of the Royston Police strode into the richly carpeted study of Jeremy Huddleston. It was a chilly Tuesday in late fall, and Stanwick had been chatting in Walker’s office when word came in of Huddleston’s sudden’death. Poisoning was suspected.
Huddleston, a retired army colonel in his seventies, lay behind his desk in the middle of the room, partly covered by his over-turned chair. His sightless eyes stared at the ceiling as a fire crackled in the large brick hearth behind the desk. Near the hearth, a young, balding man sat wearily in an armchair. Walker approached him.
“Mr. Huddleston?” he asked. “Mr. George Huddleston?”
The young man nodded.
“The colonel’s grand-nephew, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Please tell us what happened.”
Huddleston looked up nervously and wet his lips. “I came into the study about ten this morning to say good morning to Uncle Jeremy. He was working at his desk and seemed to be in cheerful spirits. He asked me to pour him another cup of coffee from the sideboard, so I did. He drank about half of it, and then suddenly put his cup down and said, ‘Before I forget, I must call Phillips to fix the leak in the basement pipes. ‘”
“Roy Phillips, the local plumber?” Walker cut in.
“That’s right.” Huddleston continued. “He had just started to dial his private phone when he uttered a sharp cry, clutched suddenly at his throat, and fell over onto the floor. I was horrified and rushed over to him, but could see at once that he was dead.
“Hurrying out to the hall, 1 locked the study door and called to his housekeeper, Mrs. Stowe, who phoned the doctor and the police. I kept the study door locked until you arrived.”
A medical assistant touched Walker on the shoulder.
“Excuse me, sir,” he said. “The drops we extracted from the coffee cup show definite traces of cyanide.”
Walker nodded. Stanwick lit his pipe and looked slowly around the room. His gaze rested in turn on the cheery fire warming the room of death, on the half-empty coffee cup resting neatly in its saucer, and on the West Point ring adorning the vic-tim’s finger.
“Do you live here, Mr. Huddleston?” Stanwick asked, sudden-ly turning to the nephew.
“No,” replied Huddleston. “I live in California, where I work for an architectural firm. I was here only for the week, to visit Uncle Jeremy and see the East Coast again.”
The phone on the colonel’s desk rang. Walker answered it and bluntly told the caller, an old friend of the colonel’s nephew, that the colonel was dead and a police investigation was in progress. After hanging up, he faced George Huddleston again.
“What more can you tell us, Mr. Huddleston?” he asked.
“Nothing,” replied Huddleston listlessly.
“On the contrary,” said Stanwick sharply, “I think Mr. Huddleston could help by telling us the truth.”
How does Stanwick know that Huddleston is lying?
Answer below.
The Colonel’s Death Solution
Since the colonel’s phone rang, it must have been on the hook. According to George Huddleston, however, the colonel had had a sudden seizure while dialing, and nothing had been touched since. If this were true, the phone would have been dropped, and would not have been found back on the hook.
Huddleston was later convicted of poisoning the colonel for inheritance money.