Saturday, 28 July 1934 0645

     Figured I'd be an early bird today, since I spent mosta yesterday after lunch cooped up in th' library.  Some of the boys from th' overnight shift wuz comin' off, an' one of 'em stops me.

     "Your boss pulled a beaut last night."

     Got me kinda worried for a minute, until I sees th' constable grinnin'.  "Shootin' down at one of the dives near the waterfront.  Guy we had our eye on for smugglin'.  We managed to get a couple uniforms down there on the spot, sealed up th' joint.  Stagg showed up, had a look at the body.  Didn't say nothin'.  Nobody was sayin' nothin'.  Nobody saw nothin', you know the whole drill.  The Inspector looked around for a bit, scoped the characters around, and then, get this, he calls the bootblack guy over for a hoof shine.  Talks to him quiet, for a few secs, reaches into the guy's box, and guess what he finds?  A nice, shiny .45 with a silencer."  The constable shakes his head, an' chuckles.  "They got the guy coolin' off in a cell.  Ain't a local, no prints on file. Stagg sent off a couple wires, tryin' to find out who he got."

     I gave a low whistle.  Not much else I could do, y'know?  As I wuz headin' up the stairs, I was tryin' t' figure out how th' hell Stagg figured this one out.  He ain't been in the islands more'n a few days...

28 July 1934 0710

     Turns out Stagg had worked t'ru th' night; he looked kinda tired, had them black circles unner his eyes, an' his shirt was all wrinkled and sweaty.  Kinda made him look like he'd been hangin' around in a bar all night.  Well, I s'pose he *had* been doin' that.  He wuz lookin' over somethin' he'd typed.  When he saw me, he signed off on it, an' tosses it in th' basket, an' waved me over to a chair.

     I handed him a bunch of notes I'd typed up last night.  "Havin' th' library photostat some pics an' a few articles, sir.  Them's my notes on what I saw."  Stagg nods, an' scans 'em over.

     "What was your impression?"

     "Well, not a heckuva a lot on Mrs. Lupino, an' nothin' on the kid.  Just a few bits on charity functions Mrs. Lupino wuz at, alone.  Nothin' together.  Lupino himself, well, a whole lotta stuff on business deals, an' stuff I took t' be gossip 'bout him, y'know, them "blind items."

     "'What grey looking businessman has been candoodling with a white-furred bombshell at a downtown hotspot' sort of thing, Sergeant?"

     "Heh.  Yep, pretty much.  'ceptin one thing.  The blind item was talkin' bout a black-furred wolf."

     Stagg raised a 'brow.  "Oh?  How interesting.  When was this?"

     "I saw two items.  Both Honolulu papers, one this past March, t'other last October."  I points t' where they wuz in th' notes.  "You want I should make sure ya get th' photostats of them two bits?"

     Stagg nodded.  "Anything else?"

     "Yea.  Fer th' hell of it, I wired the city desk at the biggest rag back in Norfolk, not far where Mrs. Lupino grew up.  Figured they could tell me somethin' 'bout her."

     Stagg nodded, an' wuz 'bout to say somethin', when a uniform poked his head 'round the door.

     "Step lively, gents.  Search 'n Rescue apparently fished a body outta th' sea at last light last night.  *Now* they tell us.  Th' stiff's over at the M.E.'s shop.  Figured you'd wanna know."

28 July 1934 0915

     Filled Stagg in on a few details.  The M.E. ain't full time here in th' Islands.  He's some high-society doc who does it part time, t' pick up some pocket money, an' I guess pad out his resume.  James Meffit, M.D.  Bet he loved bein' dragged away from his port 'n cheese to deal wit' a stiff, last night.

     "You say this Dr. Meffit has a "high society" clientele, Sergeant?"

     "Yeah.  Most of 'em old ladies sufferin' from nerves.  Little TLC from a handsome doctor, y'know how it is."

     "Competent?"

     "He ain't challenged too much.  Ain't never seen him give no testimony in court."

     Stagg frowned a bit, but said nothin'.   He didn't say nothin' all the way to the morgue.  Funny buildin', th' morgue.  Outside, buncha gloomy concrete, inside, ain't that well lit, 'cept for one room Meffit had done up wit' his equipment.  I notice he likes gettin' photographed in this room, near all the shiny stuff.  Anyway, he wuz writin' something up when we strolled in.  All I can say is, ya gotta wonder 'bouta guy who's wearin' striped trousers in a morgue.  Looked like a banker moonlightin', even down t' th' gold pince-nez on his nose.  We flashes our buzzers, an' gets down t' brass tacks.

     Meffit takes th' sheet coverin' the body, an' with a real dramatic flourish, sez: "Gentlemen, allow me to introduce you to Arthur Lupino."

     They tell me swimmin' is good fer th' body.  They didn't see Lupino on his slab.  Didn't look so good.  Won't be seein' him on the cover of any physical culture mags.  Stagg looked over the body slow-like, up 'n down, for about two minutes.

     "How do you know this is Mr. Lupino?  Was there any identification on the body?"

     "Literally, yes."  Meffit pointed to a faded streak on a paw.  "Scar from an accident a few years ago.  I attended Mr. Lupino myself.  As you can see, it healed very nicely.  There are also two moles, here and here, that correspond with my records.  I expect his dentist will confirm the teeth impressions."

     "Mr. Lupino was your patient?"

     "I'm afraid the past tense is correct, Inspector, yes."

     "Was he taking any medication?"

     "Some medicine for high-blood pressure, yes.  But nothing that would cause one to be drowsy or lose control.  And it would take an enormous amount to kill a patient.  I'll see if there are any traces in the blood."

     Stagg looked over the body.  "Did you take any x-rays?"

     "Yes, a complete body set."  Meffit walks over t' a some gizmo wit' a bulb set, an' turns it on, showin' 'bout 15 x-rays.  "As you can see, the impact on the water broke a number of bones.  Nearly all of Mr. Lupino's tail bones, for example, were badly shattered, and there were severe fractures of his pelvis, toward the back.  His wrist bones, however, were intact."

     "So you imagine he landed on his back, with his arms in the air?"

     "That would be my estimation, yes."

     Stagg leaned over, and looked at the x-rays.  "His skull was fractured, I see, too.  In front."

     Meffit looks over the x-ray, where Stagg was pointin'.  "Hmmm.  Yes, that's correct.  Head might have been twisted around on impact, hard to say."

     Stagg began thinkin', and softly-like tapped th' enda his cane on the floor.  "Any water in the lungs?"

     "No.  He was either dead on impact, or, perhaps, while in flight."

     Kinda funny way of puttin' it, since the late Mr. Lupino didn't have no wings.  Which I think folks were figurin' on.  I looked over a few bits of clothin' on a side table.  Not much, justa pair of silk boxers, and a sock.  No wallet, no wristwatch.  Was a signet ring, "APL."  Put all of that in envelopes.

     Stagg an' Meffit talked a bit more about the soakin' Lupino got in the water, and likely damage from that.  Blood type did match, too.  Enough, probably, for the insurance boys to start cuttin' a check.

     Stagg took a few photos, an' the x-rays, an' put 'em in a file.  Meffit said he'd send th' report later in th' mornin'.  Probably in an envelope with sealin' wax, you ask me.

28 July 1934 1155

     Stagg decided to stop off back at th' office t' collect an' organize a few things.  He also placed a call to Lupino's hotel.  Told the guys over there to make sure Mrs. Lupino was home, an' to have her stay there, as we'd come callin' in th' afternoon, 'round one.

     "Just 'nough time for a hoof-shine, then."

     Stagg looks over at me, and raises a 'brow.  "Office gossip, Sergeant?"

     "Trick like that, it gets around."

     Stagg shook his head, quiet-like.  "It's like with young Mr. Lupino- there's no trickery, Sergeant.  All I can say is that when I see a bootblack, at the end of a long night, with a clean pair of paws, but wearing a pair of unshined shoes, it tends to catch the eye.  He also couldn't recommend a good brand of hoof polish.  So I asked to look inside his box to make a selection.  And there you are."

     Stagg looks down at his hooves, though.  "I suppose they could use a shine, at that."

28 July 1934 1325

     Even though it was Sat'rday, wasn't no problem gettin' a hoof shine.  Marleybone was as busy as ever.  Dunno what it was, but th' guy givin' the shine seemed real uneasy, after he put th' Inspector's hooves up on the stand for the polish.  Stagg himself, well, he was sorta quiet as ever.  I went an' got us a couple sandwiches, an' we fed up 'fore payin' a call on Mrs. Lupino.

     I ain't never met the dame before.  I don't hang 'round her circles, see?  So it wuz kinda unnervin' to see her, first.  Very tall, for a wolf.  Polished silver fur, real bright blue eyes.  Fact she was dressed all in black made me kinda uneasy.  Ain't easy tellin' someone 'bout a spouse bein' dead.  Pawshakes all 'round, real frosty.  Things got frostier when her kid, the one Stagg busted back on the 25th, walked in.  Can't say I was surprised *he* didn't look happy.

     Stagg clears his throat, quiet-like.  "Sgt. Brush and I have just come from the morgue, Mrs. Lupino.  We..."

     Mrs. Lupino didn't let 'im finish.  She snaps out, cool an' calm: "Yes, Dr. Meffit has already telephoned me, Inspector.  He made the identification.  I believe you have a few of my late husband's effects?"

     I handed over all we had.  Pretty much the ring an' not much else.  She takes 'em, and gives a real curt nod, not much else.  Cold.  I eyes a cig box on the table, and without speakin', make a request.  Mrs. Lupino figgers I'd take the whole box, but I just took one, an' lit up.

     Stagg starts in again.  "If I could trouble you, Mrs. Lupino?  I have a few questions." 

     At this, the brat pipes up.  "Gonna give her the third degree, big shot?"

     Stagg doesn't do much of anything.  Doesn't even look at the kid.  Just crosses his legs.  Kid turns pale.  I sorta look out the corner of my eye, an' I sees what the kid sees.  Stagg's busted hoof, the right one, is pointed toward the kid.  I see that it ain't just fractured.  There's a hunk gone from it, in th' centre, an' you can see clear t' th' bone.  Hunk gouged right out.

     Bright boy shuts th' hell up, which is a damn good thing.

     "Physical coercion, Mr. Lupino, is ineffective.  I speak from experience.  Now, then, Mrs. Lupino?"

     She didn't bat an eye.  She answers th' Inspector's questions straight up.  Pretty much what you'd figure.  Had been in th' suite with th' kid 'till the 25th (she glares at the kid for this), keepin' t' herself.  Sez th' servants would vouch for her, ain't no surprise there, neither.  I ain't knowin' no one would cross *this* dame.  So we makes our excuses, leaves th' place, an' catch a water taxi back to HQ.

28 July 1934 1510

     The Inspector 'n I get back in our office.  "I wonder how much we truly learned, Sergeant, other than Mrs. Lupino appears to be a very iron-willed lady."

     "She smokes Abdullahs.  21 shillins for a box a' 50.  No wonder she'd thought I'd pinch the whole thing.  Kept the butt.  Want it?"  Said this as a joke, but Stagg simply takes the butt, and puts it in a little envelope, an' drops it on his desk.  Somethin' else is on the desk, too.  Little box, neatly wrapped in brown butcher's paper, done up with string.  Typed label on it, Stagg's name.

     Stagg opens up the box, an' there's a buncha letters innit.  Nice paper, an' lady's writin'.  Ain't English, though.  German.  No perfume, but..., well, Stagg looks through a few, an' just raises a 'brow.  "You and I, Sergeant, would appear to have an interesting appointment in store for us on Monday.  Would you call Superior to make the arrangements?  After that, I think you can go home, and get ready for Monday.  That is, if nothing else turns up for us, courtesy of Spontoon's criminal classes."

Sunday, 29 July 1934 0645

     I been on these islands all my life, an' there ain't many parts I haven't seen at one point or 'nother.  Th' big fancy hotels are what most folks see.  They don't go down the small, dark streets.  Real narrow, ain't changed much in years.  When the preachers first came to Spontoon, one of th' first churches they built was St. Anthony's.

     Used to be *the* church, but they built bigger ones, an' fancier ones, an' ones with richer folks puttin' stuff in th' collection plate.  So St. Anthony's is kinda dusty, an' th' coral rock it was built outta had turned from cream colour to a kinda sooty black.  So I had a feelin'.

     I padded in, quiet like.  Early Mass had started, an' the priest, this big, old ram who's been the boss there goin' back years, was softly goin' through the Latin.  Nearly empty house.  In fact, only about three.  Two old poodles, dressed all in black, an' fingerin' rosary beads.  An' what I figured.  Stagg was in one pew, sittin' down, with his paws grippin' his cane tight.  His eyes were shut, an' I could see his jaw movin'.

     I decided this was real personal, so I turns on my footpads an' left.  Last thing I saw was Stagg wipin' his eyes, an' sighin'.

Monday, 30 July 1934 0650

     Sometimes, in this business, th' clues find you.  This mornin', I wuz buyin' my coffee an' th' mornin' edition of th' Elele (th' Spontoonie version) in my usual java joint, when I run inta Bjorn.  He's a bum, but it ain't whatcha thinkin'.  See, he hires himself out, does some flyin', earns some bucks, and then goes fishin'.   There are days where I think he's a helluva lot smarter'n me.  More'n one way, too.  He sees the headline in th' paper 'bout the investigation, an' gives me a grin.

     "Any luck yet?  You seem to be giving the Elele some easy headlines."

     "Things take time, y'know?  Gotta run down all sortsa stuff I don't know from nuthin'.  Like Harland & Woff Mark IXs.  You fly 'em?"

     Bjorn gives me a headshake, but then a sly sorta grin.  "No, but I do know something interesting about them.  Maybe two things..."

     So I bought 'nother cup of java an' an egg sandwich for Bjorn, an' bent my ears.  Turns out his plane needed some work, so he brought it inta Sup'rior fer a checkup.  Turns out there was 'nother Mark IX in the shop, belongin' to some sporty type.  They was discussin' all sortsa fixits an' upgrades.  One of the weirdest was some sorta service bulletin.  Seems the outer door, the one leadin' outta the plane, can blow off if the hinges fail.  Says Mr. Sport wasn't none too happy about it, and wuz tryin' t' flash some foldin' stuff t' get priority.  (Didn't work, neither.  Ya can't pull that kinda thing at Sup'rior.)

     Nothin' for me ta do but buy Bjorn a six of Nootnops Blue, an' put in a call to Su'erior.  Guy on duty, he said he'd ship me the bulletin by messenger.  Said Mr. Sport was demandin' a test flight little 'fore lunchtime.  Did I wanna ride?  Told him t' pack me a sandwich.

30 July 1934 0850

     I gets inta th' office, an' I sees Stagg behind his desk.  Didn't look real good; deep black circles 'neath th' eyes, an' his suit was wrinkled more'n usual.  He was also sweatin' pretty fierce, too.  He was starin' at a pile of letters front a' him.  I know he musta read 'em a buncha times, 'cause his notebook had a lotta little notes.  He looked up, an' musta seen my face.

     "Good morning, Sargeant.  I apologize for my appearence.  I...well, I slept rather poorly yesterday.  I don't appear to be used to the weather, here."  He titled his head slightly, an' seemed to catch somethin' in my eye.  I tells him what Bjorn had told me, an' he raised a brow.  Looked like he wuz gonna say somethin', when the the door kinda blew in.

     In walks Ilsa Klensch.  Stalks in, an' glares at each of us.   Coulda trimmed the fur in my tail with the creases in her pants.  Looked like she'd just walked outa recrutin' poster.  The New Wolf, 'n all that.  Ain't too hard for th' dame ta figger which one is Stagg.  I mean, do I looks like some guy wit' a name like Stagg?  Stagg sorta pre-empts her.

     "Gross Gutt, Fraulein Klensch."

     Only way I figger this registered was lookin' at her tail, which snapped a bit.  For about the next twenty minutes, I see a back-n-forth in German.  She's snappin' crisp shots at Stagg, an' pointin' toward the letters, smokin' a few cigs.  Stagg sorta murmurs soft-like.  Hard to think they're speakin' the same language.  But they unnerstand one 'nother.  Finally, she blows outta th' joint.  Stagg looks like he'd taken 'bout a dozen smacks to the head, an' sighs.

     "Pardon my askin', but what the hell just happened?"

     Stagg wipes his eyes, an' takes a few deep breaths.  "The letters I got on Saturday from our mysterious donor, the ones here, are in German.  They're between Miss Klensch and the late Mr. Lupino.  They date back about a year or so.  Ordinarily, one might come to some sort of vulgar conclusion, but these appear to be strictly business.  On the surface, a matter of financing from one of Mr. Lupino's banks.  But it's an odd way to conduct negotiations.  One would assume a lawyer would handle this level of details.  For both sides.  In any event, she did not deny she knew Mr. Lupino, and by implication, did not deny the letters were real.  As for her whereabouts last week, I was told rather forcefully that was a competitive secret.  The gossip column references you found were denounced as a series of lies spiced with slander.  What followed was a lecture on the competence of police inspectors, specifically me.  She took exception to my wardrobe, too, and indicated what six weeks in a boot camp would do for me."

     "I'm startin' t' think Lupino liked his dames ice cold."

     "Perhaps true, except for her language, which had a distinct amount of heat to it.  I haven't heard the like since the War.  Herr Doktor Bartrop, my linguistics professor back when I was at the Collegiate School, would blush if he knew how my German vocabulary had expanded.  His syllabus ran more to sentimental poetry about mountain lakes."

     Stagg looked kinda sad, and began starin' at his hooves.  Wasn't hard to guess what he was thinkin', so I changes th' subject.

     "Well, how 'bout some fresh air?  I booked us a lil' flight in Mark IX.  Might be th' only time *I'll* get t' ride one."  I grinned, an' started to pitch th' stuff inna ashtray.  I stopped, an' poked 'round th' ashes.

     "Hunh.  Fraulein Klensch smokes Abdullahs, too.   She gotta expense account?"  I headed out to get a water taxi, an' left Stagg lookin' at the butt I picked out, kinda thoughtful-like.

30 July 1934 1115

     Anyhow, I rings up Sup'rior, and fixes it so that we hitches a ride on th'test flight.  I heads on over there, a bit 'fore Stagg, an' meets up wit' folks there.  Takes a while t'get th' prelims in order.  Paira foxes doin' a little day-lightin', flyin' the Mark IX.   Real jolly-lookin' otter, lookin' t'keep an eye on th'works an such.  An, 'course, the guy Bjorn sez is Mr. Sport.  Some Russkie sable, Count Sobol'yev.  Fussy sable, kinda flashy-elegant dress, if ya falla me, monocle if ya please, an' a whole lotta paw-wavin' an' squealin' at th'otter, who don't pay it no neverminds.  He (th' sable, I mean) sees me, an looks a lil' startled-like.

     "Why is fox, pliss?  Why is poliss looking at plane?  Count Sobol'yev is law-abiding, yes?"

     Funny.  Usually, these guys ain't clean, but this one is.  Did some diggin' while I wuz waitin'.  Otter explains t' Sobol'yev that we're lookin' at th' incident 'volving 'nother Mark IX, Lupino's.  Th' sable nods at me.

     "Ah.  Oh.  Count Sobol'yev sees.  Da.  Tragic.  You think plane at fault?"

     "Gotta look at all th' angles, sir."

     'bout this time, Stagg comes clumpin' up t'th' plane.  He's gotta copy of th' service bulletin' in his paw, an' I sees it's gots some lil' scribble on it, like he's read it a few times already.  He's also got th' Murder Box. I introduces him 'round.  He's lookin' real pale, an' he's moppin' at his face wit' a hankie.  Th' others, well, they ain't seen Stagg like this, so they quickly sits him down, an' start gettin' th' plane ready fer takeoff.

     Stagg, after a few minnits, opens an eye, an' looks 'round.  Ain't nobody 'round but me 'n him.  He gives a look at me, an' puts a finger t'his lips.  While th' plane is startin' th' run fer takeoff, he's braced 'gainst th' side, lookin' at th' toolbox that's bolted t'th' floor, way in th' back.  It's a few minnits, 'fore he finds what he wants.  Th' hacksaw.

     "Whatcha gonna do wit' that, sir?"

     "If you read the service bulletin, Sergeant, it notes that saltwater can get at the hinges of the outside door.  This can cause corrosion of the metal parts, and in turn can cause the door to fail, and blow off in-flight.  Take a look at the hinges, and specifically at the pins, and tell me what you see."

     I looks.  "Yeah, there's a lil' pittin' round th' top of th' pin.  Kinda noticeable, but th' door ain't gonna fail, leastways right now."

     Stagg hands me a small camera, an' has me take a few snaps of th' hinges, while he makes notes.  "Good.  All right, I can tell we're in the air, and over the water.  Now take a few pictures of me."

     I kinda boggle, 'cause Stagg takes th' hacksaw, an' starts workin' away at the pins in th' hinges, both top an' bottom.  I takes a few shots of this, an' then a few more of th' pins close up, after Stagg finishes.  He's worked near, but not quite thru, th' pin-heads.  Stagg then has me put everything away, an' secure, 'cludin th' tools.

     "What now?"

     "Have you read the bulletin, yet?"

     "Nope."

     "Well, read the third-to-last paragraph.  You'll find it interesting."

     I takes a look.  Sure enough, it's real interestin'.  It's about what t'do if th' door fails in mid-flight.  I'm startin t'see what Stagg sees.

     Anyhow, 'bout ten minutes later, th' otter an' Count Sobol'yev comes back, t'see how we're doin'.

     "You haff insight into problem weeth Mark IX, yes, officer?"

     Stagg, who's sorta perched onna box away from th'door, gives a quiet sorta nod.

     "Oh?  How iss problem?"

     Stagg just points at me.  "I'm sure Sergeant Brush has kicked around the problem in his mind, and can demonstrate the problem."

     That's a cast-iron hint if ever I seen one.  I grabs holda some straps in the ceilin', an' pulls myself up a bit.  I does one, two swings, an' then I lets out wit' a hard shot wit' both my feet.

     Stagg had weakened th' pins just 'nough, so that it ain't gonna be an issue takin' off, but when ya get a good, sharp kick, right on th' door, well, that's a different kettle o' fish.  Th' hinges make a small screechin' sound, falla'ed by a loud pop from th' lower hinge, then one from th' upper hinge, an' then a loud "bang!" as th' door goes flyin' out.  The props sorta knock th' door back, an' there's 'nother bang as th' door hits, 'fore it goes sailin' off inta th' wild blue yonder.

     I grabs tight t'th' straps, 'cause it's a *long* drop down t'th' water.  I figger leastways a thousand feet or th' like, and I ain't in th' mood fer tryin' t'learn t'fly that quick.  As it is, whole lotta fresh air comin' in, ya know?

     Sobol'yev lets out a loud squeal, an' scuttles back t'get th' otter, who comes amblin' back, paws in pockets, an' looks at th' gapin' hole, real calm like.

     "Now, don't you worry any, Count.  I'll just tell the pilots to set her down on the water, nice and easy.  The service bulletin has a procedure for dealing with this."

     Th' sable don't look none too happy, an' he's jumpin' up an' down, an' squealin' loud-like in Russian, pointin' fingers at th' door, an' me, an' Stagg, an' th' otter, an' th' Lord knows who else.  He's squealin' loud 'nough that you can hears him over th' noise from th' doorway.  Leastways, I can, 'cause I'm next to it.

     Anyhow, th' pilots set the plane down gentle on th' water.  Good thing it's a nice day, no ocean swell or nothin'.  Th' otter, he don't act like anythin' outta line.  He just trots on over t' th' luggage room, a few feet away, an' we hears him workin' wit' some tools.  He comes back, wit' th' door from the luggage room, luggin' it real easy.  He sets it down next t'th' doorway, an' takes some pliers, an' picks out th' busted pins in the hinge.  It ain't more'n a minnit or two 'fore he slips th' new door over th' hinges, an' slips th' new door's pins in th' hinges.  An' there 'tis.  Door back in place.

     "Nice thing about standardized production on these Mark IXs.  The doors are all the same, so if you need one in an emergency, you can always "borrow" one."  He gives th' door a test pull, an' it's okeh.  "I'll have another outside door made up, and put this one back where it was, once we get the plane back to the shop."

     Stagg pipes up.  "Is that necessary?"

     "Hmmm?  No, not really.  As I said, these doors are standardized.  The Count, though, has a paint job on this one, the interior door, so he'll probably want that back where it was.  I was going to have to replace the door, anyway."

     Count Sobol'yev, he's got his head in his paws, an' he's rockin' back an' forth.  He's prolly thinkin' how Sup'rior's gonna run up th' bill on this one.  Even for a sport, that's gonna add up.

30 July 1934 1430

     After we lands, Stagg has a photo taken of th' outside of th' plane, where th' door dinged it on its way out.  Kinda noticeable-like, 'cause ya sees th' flat-bright metal.  We leaves Count Sobol'yev t'his arguin' wit' th' otters, and Stagg wants t'see Lupino's plane 'gain.

     First thing we sees, 'cause now we knows t'look fer it, is th' ding on th' outside of th' plane.  Sure enough, Lupino's plane has one, right about, rough, where Sobol'yev's plane has one.

     "Sir?  Ya s'pose Lupino had a paint job on his 'terior door, like th' Count's?"

     Stagg looks.  There's ain't a paint job, either on th' outside of Lupino's plane, or on th' inside door.  There is, tho, a small blob of paint up near th' top of th' door.  Walkin' back inside th' plane, we can sees that it's th' same colour as the paint job in th' hallway near th' luggage room.  What's more, we can sees th' other bit of th' same blob.  Goin' back an' forth a few times, it measures up.

     "Well, Sergeant, it seems pretty clear that at some point, the original outside door has been replaced with the luggage room door, here.  We don't know when, of course, or by whom, of course."

     "I kin pull th' maintenence records on th' plane.  That'll say, official-like, what was done."

     Stagg nods.  "Something to note.  Official records.  If there's no record, then we have some interesting questions to ask."

     "Y'know, kinda funny how th' otter fixed that door so fast."

     "One could, in theory, pre-position the luggage room door, to save even more time.  It would be less noticeable in the dark of night-time flight.  We know the plane was set down on the water, so it would have been a matter of a few minutes to slip the new door in.  Especially with the tool-box nearby.  I wonder."

     Stagg goes over t'th' toolbox, an' careful-like, takes out th' tools, after puttin' on some gloves from th' Murder Box.  When he gets t'th' hacksaw, he stops, and looks close at th' blade.  I looks, too.  There's some small flakesa metal in th' teeth of th' hacksaw.  Stagg puts th' hacksaw in a large envelope, an' labels it.  He starts countin' out th' rest of th' tools.

     "Curious, Sergeant.  There's one tool missing, according to the list on the inside lid.  The ballpeen hammer.  Significant, I wonder?"


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