“The Unknown would have to stand in that corridor for at least half an hour, maybe more, going through the proper ritual. Anyone who came by during that time couldn’t help but notice. Certainly Master Sir James would have noticed if he was inside the room.

“But let’s say the Unknown actually does that. Now he opens the door with an ordinary duplicate, goes inside, and kills Master Sir James. Fine.

“Then he comes out, and casts another spell on the lock-and-key — with the key in the lock, as it must be. That takes him another half hour.

“And then…”

Master Sean held up his forefinger dramatically.

“…And then — he has to get that key back into the room!”

Master Sean spread his hands, palms upward. “I submit that it isn’t possible, my lord. Not even for a magician.”

Lord Darcy puffed thoughtfully at his pipe for the space of two seconds. Then he said: “Is it not theoretically possible to move an object from one point in space to another without actually traversing the space between the two points?”

“Theoretically?” Master Sean made a wry grin. “Oh, yes, my lord. Theoretically. The Transmutation of metals is theoretically possible, too. But, like instantaneous transportation, no one has ever done it. If anyone did solve the rites and ceremonies necessary, it would be the biggest scientific breakthrough of the Twentieth Century. It couldn’t be kept quiet. It is simply beyond our present stage of science, my lord.

“And when and if it is ever done, my lord, the process will not be used for such minor things as moving a big brass key a few feet.”

“Very well, then,” said his lordship, “we can eliminate that.”

“The trouble is,” said Master Sean, “that all those heavy privacy spells make it difficult for a man to do his work properly. If it weren’t for them, your job would be simple.”

“My dear Sean,” said Lord Darcy with a smile, “if it were not for the privacy spells used in every hotel, private home, office building, and in public structures of all kinds, my job would not be simple, it would be nonexistent.

“Although the clairvoyant Talent is no doubt a useful one, its indiscriminate use leads to so much encroachment upon personal privacy and individual rights that we must protect ourselves from it. Imagine what a clairvoyant could do in a world where such protective spells were not used. There would be no need for investigators like myself. In such a world the police would have merely to bring the case to the attention of a clairvoyant, who would immediately inform them of how the crime was committed and who had committed it.

“On the other hand, think what opportunity there would be for a corrupt government to employ such clairvoyants to spy upon private citizens for their own nefarious purposes. Or think of the opportunities for criminal blackmail.

“We must be thankful that modern privacy spells protect us from such improper uses of the Talent, even though it makes physical investigation of a crime necessary. Even as it is, I am never called upon when something happens in the countryside. If a person is killed in a field or in a forest, a journeyman sorcerer working for the local Armsmen can easily take care of the job — as easily as he finds lost children and strayed animals. It is in the cities, towns and villages where my ability to deduce facts from physical and thaumaturgical evidence makes me useful.

“It is my job to find method, motive, and opportunity.” He took a small, silver, ivory-handled tool from his pocket and began tamping the ashes in his pipe. “Method, motive and opportunity,” he repeated thoughtfully. “So far we have no candidates for the first two and entirely too many for the last.” He returned the tamper to his pocket and the pipe to his mouth.

“Normally, my dear Sean,” he continued, “when a case appears to have magical elements in it, finding the magician involved is a prime factor in the problem. You will recall the interesting behavior of Laird Duncan at Castle D’Evreux, the curious habits of the one-armed tinker at the Michaelmas Fair, the Polish sorcerer in the Atlantic Curse problem, the missing magician in the Canterbury blackmail case, and the odd affair of Lady Overleigh’s solid gold chamber pot. In each case, only one sorcerer was directly involved.

“But what have we here?” Lord Darcy gestured with his pipe in the general direction of the Royal Steward Hotel. “We have nearly half the licensed sorcerers of the Empire, a collection that includes some seventy-five or eighty percent of the most powerful magicians on Earth.

“We are faced with a plenitude — indeed, a plethora — of suspects, all of whom have the ability to use black magic against Master Sir James Zwinge, and had the opportunity of doing so.”

Master Sean thoughtfully massaged his round Irish nose between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand. “I can’t understand why any of ’em would do it, my lord. Every Guild member knows the danger of it. ‘The mental state necessary to use the Talent for black sorcery is such that it invariably destroys the user.’ That’s a quote from one of the basic textbooks, my lord, and every grimoire contains a variation of it. How could any sorcerer be so stupid?”

“Why do chirurgeons occasionally become addicts of the poppy distillates?” Lord Darcy asked.

“I know, my lord; I know,” Master Sean said wearily. “One act of black magic isn’t fatal; it doesn’t even cause any detectable mental or moral change in many cases. But the operative word there is ‘detectable.’ And that’s because the moral rot must already have set in before a man with the Talent would even consider practicing black magic.”

Even though it had happened before and would happen again, no member of the Guild of Sorcerers liked the idea that any single other member would resort to the perversion of his Art that constituted Black Magic.

Not that they were afraid to face it — oh, no! Face it they must, and face it they did — with a vengeance. Lord Darcy knew — although very few who were not high-ranking Masters of the Guild had that knowledge — exactly what happened to a member who was found guilty of using his Talent for evil.

Destruction!

The evil sorcerer, convicted by his own mind, convicted by the analysis of a true jury of his true Peers, convicted by those who could really understand and sympathize with his motives and reasons, was condemned to have his Talent…

…Removed.

…Obliterated.

…Destroyed.

A Committee of Executors was appointed — a group of sorcerers large enough and powerful enough to overcome the Talent-power of the guilty man.

And when they were through, the convicted man had lost nothing but his Talent. His knowledge, his memory, his morals, his sanity — all remained the same. But his ability to perform magic was gone… never to return.

“Meanwhile,” said Lord Darcy, “we have a problem of our own. Commander Lord Ashley gave you my message?”

“Indeed he did, my lord.”

“I hate having to take you away from the Convention, my good Sean; I know what it means to you. But this is no ordinary murder; it concerns the security of the Empire.”

“I know, my lord,” said Master Sean, “duty is duty.” But there was a touch of sadness in his voice. “I did rather want to present my paper, but it will be published in the Journal, which will be just as good.”

“Hm-m-m,” said Lord Darcy. “When were you scheduled to present your paper?”

“On Saturday, my lord. Master Sir James and I were going to combine our papers and present them jointly, but of course that is out of the question now. They’ll have to be published separately.”

“Saturday, eh?’ said Lord Darcy. “Well, if we can get back to Cherbourg by tomorrow afternoon, I should say that most of the urgent work will be cleared up within twenty-four hours, say by Friday afternoon. You could take the evening boat back and be in time to present both your paper and the late Master Sir James’.”