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thing, but this fellow will not appear against him, and the case must collapse. I suppose that I am commuting a felony, but it is just possible that I am saving a soul. This fellow will not go wrong again. He is too terribly frightened. Send him to gaol now, and you make him a gaolbird for life. Besides, it is the season of forgiveness. Chance has put in our way a most singular and whimsical problem, and its solution is its own reward. If you will have the goodness to touch the bell, Doctor, we will begin another investigation, in which also a bird will be the chief feature.”

Parlour Tricks
    Ralph Plummer
    Ralph Plummer is a long-forgotten writer, and “Parlour Tricks” an exceptionally obscure short story. It appeared in print (for, to the best of my knowledge, the first and only time) in the Passing Show Christmas Holiday Annual of 1930. I know nothing of Plummer’s life, but am indebted to the late Bob Adey, an expert in “locked room” and impossible crime mysteries, and owner of one of the most impressive collections of detective fiction in the world, for referring me to this story, and kindly supplying me with a copy. I share Bob’s view that it deserves to be rescued from oblivion, and I only wish that I had been able to find out more about its author.
    ***
    Peter Mullinger sipped at his drink, chuckled in a rumbling bass at his joke, and smiled encouragingly across the cheery smoke-room of the Grand Private Hotel at young Glover.
    Eric Glover had just concluded several simple conjuring tricks for the entertainment of a bevy of old ladies, a stern-looking man with side-whiskers, and a retired colonel who divided his time between staring fiercely into space, twisting his moustache, and emptying glasses of port.
    â€œChristmas in a small hotel can be a dull affair,” commented Mr Mullinger, lighting a cigar and looking about the old-fashioned room with a genial eye. “Unless you get the spirit of the thing, that is. I have spent Christmases in similar places to this. Just the same old-fashioned hotels with wide fireplaces, shining brasses and polished oak. For dull days, folks, commend me to an old-world environment with dull people in it. Christmas of itself, despite all this talk of rosy-faced children and merry hours, is a solemn time.
    â€œIt is a good job we have a go-ahead youngster among us like Mr Glover. Never knew such a young man for getting things going.”
    There was a chorus of assent, and the old ladies beamed archly at the young gentleman himself.
    â€œSuch jokes I never heard before,” asserted a dowager with green eyes and multiple chins, “and he tells them so well. I wonder why we are none of us to leave the hotel until given permission?”
    â€œBit of a mystery,” commented young Glover. “Oh, well, who cares? It’s Christmas, and snowing like billy-ho outside.”
    â€œLet it snow,” growled the old colonel, reaching for another port and staring at the logs in the grate.
    â€œI was going to,” agreed Glover. “Did any of you hear about the station-master’s dog who always chased up the track in pursuit of every express that dashed through the station?”
    â€œDo tell us,” urged a stout lady of forty, trying to look up at him through distressingly short eyelashes.
    Glover plunged into his five-hundredth humorous story since his arrival at the little hotel two days previously. As he progressed, old Mr Mullinger chuckled again.
    â€œInexhaustible,” he murmured, nodding at Mr Warboys, a permanent resident of the Grand . “Tricks, stories, games—he seems to know them all.”
    ***
    â€œWonderful young man,” said Mr Warboys, setting his bottom teeth against his top in order that speech may be facilitated. “A great asset here at a time like Christmas. Been the life and soul of the place. What are they keeping us indoors for? The manager requested that no one leaves the hotel