The Alibi Was Delivered by Bicycle

How it begins

To make the witness's story work, the bicycle would have needed reverse gear.

Elsie turned the rear wheel.

It clicked as a perfectly ordinary bicycle should.

"No," she said.

Across the counter, Mr. Pym looked offended.

"I haven't told you what's wrong with it."

"You told the police you rode through the canal gate at quarter past six."

"That's right."

"From the towpath?"

"Yes."

"With this bicycle?"

"Obviously."

Elsie rested both hands on the work stand.

The canal gate opened toward the towpath. After six, it locked from that side. A rider could push out from the village but could not enter without a key.

Mr. Pym had made a great public fuss about that arrangement at the last council meeting.

He had called it a sensible deterrent.

Now he seemed to have forgotten it.

"Perhaps I said quarter to six," he muttered.

"The officer wrote it down twice."

Mr. Pym looked toward the shop window.

A poster advertised the charity ride. Smiling cyclists, a bright blue route, and the name of the organizer who had not returned home last night.

Elsie had repaired his brakes on Tuesday.

He had paid in exact change and asked whether the back lane was still passable after dark.

At the time, she had assumed he was planning the route.

Now she was less sure.

Mr. Pym cleared his throat.

"Can you fix the chain or not?"

"The chain is fine."

"It came off."

"Recently?"

He nodded.

Elsie looked at the clean sprockets, then at the scratch running the wrong way beneath the saddle.

The bicycle had been carried.

Not ridden.

She took a blank repair tag and wrote down the time he had arrived.

"Leave it with me," she said.

Outside the shop, the charity poster lifted in the wind. Elsie read the organizer's name once more.

For once, he seemed reluctant to let go.