Black Mask (Vol. 29, No. 3 — January 1947)

Bleating sounds came from Endicott. The manager choked. “Sheriff, you can’t! You mustn’t! Why, ninety-nine out of a hundred of our guests are absolutely innocent. You can’t line them up like common convicts and give them the third degree. They’d check out in droves, and they’d probably never come back as long as they live.”

Endicott’s graying face was haggard. He had nightmares like this one — had them every time crime cropped up at San Alpa. He wheeled to O’Hanna, said desperately: “Mike, you gotta do something quick!”

The house detective reminded: “Yeah, that’s what I said before all the shooting started. I told you I had a black Irish hunch. You jeered at—”

Endicott cut in. “Well, have another hunch now! And have it quick! There’s no time to waste!”

O’Hanna said: “O.K., I got a hunch. Let’s all adjourn to the next room, everybody. I want to show you something.”

He opened the door, disclosed Charley Zane’s sheet-covered body.

Doc Raymond asked: “Do you want me to uncover it again?”

O’Hanna said: “No, this is one of the higher hunches. It has to do with astronomy. It involves higher mathematics of right ascension and declination. It’s based on the theory that a comet rising three minutes ahead of the star A Cygni has a right ascension of thirty-three hours and thirty-nine minutes point five, from which we deduct the right ascension of the mean sun.”

He paused, shook his head. “That’s what the almanac calls it. I don’t know why it’s a mean sun instead of a friendly one.”

Professor Inez Martin laughed quite unmerrily.

“You’re not the least amusing. Furthermore, those aren’t your figures, and you didn’t look them up in the almanac. Mr. Zane had all that figured out on a piece of paper.”

“I looked it up in the almanac to make sure,” O’Hanna said. “Zane’s arithmetic was right. His comet would have been on the meridian at ten hours, twenty minutes, and thirty seconds P.M. Now, does any astronomer in the crowd care to explain just exactly what the meridian is?”

The redhaired lady professor said, “I’ve already explained it to you. It’s the point where the comet would be highest in the sky.”

The house dick peered at the other girl. “Is that all it is, Miss Zane?”

Spica Zane said thinly: “I don’t know. I never pretended to understand anything about these things.”

O’Hanna’s Irish-gray glance ranged on to Joseph J. McGuffey. The fat man cleared his throat and said: “Well, technically speaking, the meridian would be an imaginary line through the heavens from north to south. It’s also the point where any celestial object is highest in the sky.”

O’Hanna’s tone became careful.

“At ten-twenty P.M., the comet would appear due north?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“But an hour earlier — at nine-twenty — the telescope would have been pointed somewhere else to see this fireball?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“Where?”

McGuffey said: “It’d be slightly east. The stars rise in the east like the sun. They move around a complete circle in a day, which is fifteen degrees in an hour.”

“O.K. Now, take a look at this telescope. Can you tell if it’s pointed fifteen degrees east of due north?”

The fat man said obligingly: “That’s no trick at all.” He aimed a plump finger at the brass-work mounting. “That’s what we call an equatorial telescope. The degrees are marked off in the hour-circle.” He craned forward, narrowed the eyes behind his thick-paned spectacles. He said in vast surprise: “Nope, something’s wrong. It’s aimed almost exactly nineteen degrees east of north...”

O’Hanna said: “Let’s work out the answers in our heads. Fifteen degrees equals one hour, so nineteen degrees must equal one hour and sixteen minutes. Subtract it from ten-twenty P.M., and you get four minutes after nine. Correct me if I’m wrong.”

The house dick turned to Inez Martin, watched color flood the redhead’s cheeks. He asked: “Why don’t you tell the folks — those aren’t my figures, and I didn’t get them out of the almanac! They’re your mathematics, and they don’t mean declination, or whatever you called it.” His voice boomed. “Nine-oh-four is the time Charley Zane stopped focusing on his comet because that’s when he got a bullet through his bald spot!”

Inez Martin’s greenish eyes chilled. “That’s ridiculous!”

O’Hanna said, “Come, come, where’s your scientific spirit? Those stars have been running on schedule for thousands of years. Mere man-made clocks and watches are regulated by comparing them with the stars. You don’t think the heavens overhead suddenly clicked out of line sixteen minutes tonight?”

The lady astronomer said: “Of course not. But Miss Zane and I heard the shot—”

“You heard a shot. It wasn’t necessarily the shot that killed the guy.”

Spica Zane gulped, put her hand to her mouth. O’Hanna swung to the blond. “Well, what?”

“I... I didn’t think it was important. That’s why I didn’t tell you before. But it was such a nice night, I went out for a short walk. That was about nine o’clock. Uncle Charley could have been killed while I was out. That’s possible, isn’t it?”