Egyptian Cross Mystery (25 page)

“What are you trying to prove?” growled Vaughn.

“Simply that the chances are overwhelmingly in favor of Krosac’s having worked entirely alone and having told no one of his intended crimes—judging from the individualistic motive, the horrible method, and the trail of a lone man which he made no attempt to conceal up to a certain point. Remember that Krosac practically signed his name to his crimes by plastering T’s over the scenes of both. He must have realized this, insane or not, and it’s unbelievable that an accomplice would ally himself—after that first murder especially—with such a depraved and brazen maniac.”

“And all that gets you exactly nowhere,” snapped the Inspector. “Why worry about a mythical accomplice? We haven’t made an inch of progress toward finding the principal, Mr. Queen!”

Ellery shrugged; evidently to his mind the elimination of a possible accomplice or sharer in Krosac’s secret was a pertinent and prime necessity.

District Attorney Isham paced between the two brothers restlessly. “Look here,” he said at last. “After all we mustn’t be stampeded by this thing. It isn’t sensible that a man will disappear so damned completely he can’t even be traced. We must know more about his appearance. Granted you gentlemen don’t know what Krosac looks like today, can’t you tell us more about him—characteristics that wouldn’t change from childhood to maturity?”

The brothers glanced at each other. “The limp,” said Van, shrugging.

“I told you that,” said Megara. “As a child Krosac contracted a mild hip disease—not disfiguring, but enough to make him limp on his left leg.”

“A permanent limp?” demanded Ellery.

The Tvars looked blank.

“It’s possible that the limp has been cured in the twenty years that have elapsed since then, you know. In which case the testimony of Croker, the Weirton garageman, would indicate another facet of Krosac’s cleverness. Remembering that you people knew he had limped as a child, he might, as Professor Yardley has already suggested, have been
pretending
a limp … provided, of course, he has been cured in the interim.”

“On the other hand,” snapped the Inspector, “the limp may be authentic. Why on earth you should throw a monkey wrench into every piece of evidence we get, Mr. Queen—”

“Oh, very well,” said Ellery dryly. “Krosac limps. Does that satisfy you, Inspector?” He smiled. “Depend on it, though. Whether he really limps or not, he’ll continue to limp whenever he makes one of his infrequent public appearances.”

“We’ve wasted enough time,” grumbled Vaughn. “One thing is sure. You gentlemen have to get plenty of protection from now on. I think you’d better get right back to Arroyo, Mr. Van, and keep out of sight. I’ll send a half-dozen guards back to West Virginia with you, and leave ’em there.”

“Oh, my dear God,” groaned Ellery. “Inspector, do you realize what you’re saying? You’ll be playing directly into Krosac’s hands! We may assume that our ruse has been successful, that Krosac still doesn’t know where Andreja Tvar is, although he knows he’s alive. Any attention we focus on Andreja Tvar, then, is bound to come to Krosac’s notice if he is on the watch, as he must be.”

“Well, what would you do?” said Vaughn belligerently.

“Mr. Van should be escorted back to his hut in the hills as unostentatiously as possible—by one man, not a half-dozen, Inspector. Why don’t you send an army? And then he must be left alone. As Old Pete he is safe. The less fuss we make, the better off he’ll be.”

“And how about Mr. Megara—er—Mr. Megara?” asked Isham. He seemed to have difficulty in selecting a proper name for the binominal brothers. “Leave him alone, too?”

“Certainly not!” cried Ellery. “Krosac expects him to be guarded, and he must be. Openly, as openly as you please.”

The brothers said nothing as their fate was being argued by these outsiders; surreptitiously they regarded each other, and Megara’s stern face grew sterner, while the schoolmaster blinked and moved restlessly about.

“Is there anything else you gentlemen wish to discuss before you’re separated?” asked Isham. “Quickly, now, please.”

“I’ve been thinking it over,” muttered Van, “and I—I don’t think it would be wise for me to return to West Virginia. I have the feeling that Krosac—” his voice trembled. …” I think I’ll go as far away from this cursed country as I can get. As far from Krosac—”

“No,” said Ellery firmly. “If Krosac has any suspicion that you’re Old Pete, your relinquishment of that character and your flight would leave an open trail for him to follow. You must remain Old Pete until we’ve netted our man, or at least until we have proof that Krosac has penetrated your disguise.”

“I thought—” Van wet his lips. “I’m not a very wealthy man, Mr. Queen. You probably think me a coward. But I’ve lived under the shadow of that devil …” His strange eyes burned. “There is money coming to me under the will of my brother Tomislav. I relinquish it I only want to get away. …” The inconsistency, the incoherence of his remark made them all uncomfortable.

“No, Andr’,” said Megara heavily. “If you want to run out—well, you know best. But the money … I’ll advance it. You’ll need it wherever you’re going.”

“How much is it?” demanded Vaughn suspiciously.

“Little enough.” Megara’s hard eyes became harder. “Five thousand dollars. Tom could well have afforded … But Andreja is a youngest, and in the old country ideas on the subject of inheritance were rigid. I mys—”

“Your brother Tom was the eldest son?” asked Ellery.

Megara’s face reddened. “No. I am. But I’ll make up for it, Andr’—”

“Well, do what you please about that,” said Vaughn. “But I’ll tell you one thing, Mr. Van; you can’t skip. Mr. Queen is right as far as that’s concerned.”

The schoolmaster’s face was pale. “If you think he doesn’t know—”

“How the devil can he?” said Vaughn irritably. “If it will make you feel any better, Mr. Megara can arrange to give you your money, and you can take it back with you. If you have to beat it without notice, you won’t go penniless. But that’s the best we can do.”

“With my own savings in the hut,” muttered Van, “it makes a tidy sum. More than enough, wherever I go…

Very well. I return to Arroyo. And, Stephen—thank you.”

“Perhaps,” said the yachtsman lamely, “you’ll need more. Suppose I give you ten instead of five. …”

“No.” The Schoolmaster squared his shoulders. “I want only what’s due me. I’ve always made my own way, Stephen, as you know.”

Megara winced as he crawled out of bed and went to a desk. He sat down and began to write. Andreja Tvar paced up and down. Now that his immediate fate had been decided for him, he seemed anxious to leave. The yachtsman rose, waving a check.

“You’ll have to wait until tomorrow morning, Andr’,” he said. “I’ll cash it for you myself and then you can pick up the money in the morning on your way back to West Virginia.”

Van looked about quickly. “I must go now. Where can I stay, Inspector?”

“We’ll let the troopers take care of you overnight.”

The two brothers regarded each other. “Take care of yourself, Andr’.”

“And you.” Their eyes held, and the intangible barrier between them trembled and almost fell. But it did not. Megara turned away, and the schoolmaster with sloping shoulders walked to the door.

When they had returned to the mainland and Andreja Tvar had marched off in the midst of a group of troopers, Ellery drawled: “Did anything strike you—? No, something did strike you, and the question is superfluous. Why did you seem disturbed, Mr. Isham, by Stephen Megara’s explanation for the Tvar brothers’ flight from Montenegro?”

“Because,” said the District Attorney, “it’s preposterous.

Feud or no feud. Nobody can tell me that three grown men will quit their homes and country and change their names just because a little shaver has the emotional incentive to kill them.”

“Very true,” said Ellery, gulping in the warm piny air. “So true that I wonder Inspector Vaughn didn’t arrest ’em on the spot for perjury.” Inspector Vaughn snorted. “It convinces me that, while the Krosac story is undoubtedly true, there was more to their departure than the fear of an eleven-year-old’s problematical vengeance.”

“What do you mean, Queen?” asked Professor Yardley. “I can’t see—”

“Surely it’s obvious! Why should three adults, as Mr. Isham says, desert their homeland and flee to a foreign country under assumed names? Eh?”

“The police!” muttered Vaughn.

“Precisely. They left because they
had
to leave, pursued by a danger much more immediate, I assure you, than the boy Krosac’s revenge. If I were you, Inspector, I’d make an overseas inquiry.”

“Cable Yugoslavia,” said the Inspector. “Good idea. I’ll do it tonight.”

“You see,” drawled Ellery to Professor Yardley, “life, as usual, plays shoddy tricks. They flee from a real danger, and twenty years later the potential danger catches up with them.”

A
S ELLERY, PROFESSOR YARDLEY
, Isham, and Vaughn rounded the eastern wing of the house, someone hailed them from the rear. They all turned quickly; it was Dr. Temple.

“All through with the big powwow?” asked Temple; he had deposited his medical bag somewhere, and was strolling along the path empty-handed, smoking.

“Ah—yes,” said Isham.

At the same instant the tall figure of Jonah Lincoln came dashing along the path around the corner; he and Ellery collided, and Jonah stepped back with a scant mutter of apology.

“Temple!” he cried, ignoring the others. “What’s the matter with Megara?”

“Don’t excite yourself, Mr. Lincoln,” said the Inspector dryly. “Megara’s all right. Just a hernia. What’s eating you?”

Jonah wiped his forehead; he was panting. “Oh, everything’s so mysterious around here. Damn it all, haven’t we any rights left? I heard that the pack of you had gone over to the yacht after Temple, and I thought—”

“That Mr. Megara had met with foul play?” asked Isham. “No, it’s as Inspector Vaughn says.”

“Well!” The red tide ebbed from Lincoln’s sharp features, and he grew a little calmer. Dr. Temple was smoking peacefully, regarding him without perturbation. “The place is like a prison, anyway,” grumbled Jonah. “My sister had the hardest time getting into Bradwood. Just came back from Oyster Island and the man on the—”

“Miss Lincoln’s back?” said the Inspector quickly.

Dr. Temple removed the pipe from his mouth; the serene look went out of his eyes. “When?” he demanded.

“A few minutes ago. The detective wouldn’t—”

“Alone?”

“Yes. They—” Poor Lincoln’s indignation was fated never to be expressed. His mouth was open, and remained open. The other men stiffened.

From somewhere in the house came a wild screaming laugh.

“Hester!” shouted Dr. Temple, and plunged forward, bowling Lincoln over to one side and disappearing around the corner.

“My God,” said Isham hoarsely, “what the devil’s that?”

Lincoln scrambled to his feet and dashed after the physician, Ellery at his heels and the others streaming after.

The source of the scream had been the upper floor of the house. As they ran into the reception hall they passed Stallings, the butler, standing near the staircase, his face drained of blood. Mrs. Baxter’s rigid neck protruded from a rear door.

The upper floor contained the bedrooms. They reached the landing just in time to see Dr. Temple’s wiry figure hurtle through the doorway of one of the rooms. … The screams persisted; peal after peal of a woman’s shrill hysteria.

They found Dr. Temple holding Hester Lincoln in his arms, smoothing her disheveled hair, hushing her gently. The girl’s face was crimson, her eyes fierce and unintelligent, her mouth crookedly open; the screams ripped out as if she had no control over her vocal chords.

“Hysterics!” snapped the physician over his shoulder. “Help me get her on the bed.”

Vaughn and Jonah leaped forward; the girl’s screaming laughter redoubled in volume, and she began to struggle. It was at this moment that Ellery heard quick steps from the corridor, and turned to see Mrs. Brad, in
négligé
and Helene appear in the doorway.

“What’s the matter?” gasped Mrs. Brad. “What’s happened?”

Helene hurried forward. Dr. Temple forced the kicking girl back on the bed and sharply slapped her face. A shriek trembled, and died. Hester half-rose on the bed and stared at the pale pudgy face of Mrs. Brad. Intelligence sprang into her eyes, and an inhuman hatred.

“Get out, you—you—Get out of my sight!” she cried. “I hate, hate you, and everything that belongs to you. Get out, I say,
get out!”

Mrs. Brad flamed; her full lips trembled. Her shoulders shook as she gaped. Then she uttered a low cry, wheeled, and disappeared.

“Hush, Hester!” said Helene fiercely. “You don’t mean that. Be a good girl, now, and quiet down. You’re making a scene.”

Hester’s eyes seemed to turn over in their sockets; her head sagged, and she dropped like a crumpled sack on the bed.

“Out!” said Dr. Temple imperiously. “Everybody.”

He stretched the unconscious girl flat on her back as the others slowly left the room. Jonah, flushed, nervous, but in a way triumphant, closed the door softly.

“I wonder what gave her hysterics,” said Isham with a frown.

“The reaction of a violent emotional experience,” drawled Ellery. “Is the psychology correct?”

“The New England conscience,” murmured Professor Yardley, “in violent eruption.”

“Why’d she leave the Island?” demanded Vaughn.

Jonah grinned feebly. “It’s all over now, Inspector, so I guess there’s no harm in your knowing; nothing mysterious about it. Hester has been infatuated with that scoundrel Romaine on Oyster Island. But just now she came hotfooting it back. It seems he made—well, a pass at her.” His face darkened. “Another little score I have to settle with him, damn his black soul! But in a way I feel grateful to him. He opened her eyes and brought her back to her senses.”

The Inspector remarked dryly: “It’s none of my business of course, but did your sister think he’d recite poetry to her?”

The door opened and Dr. Temple appeared. “She’s quiet now; don’t bother her,” he growled. “You might go in, Miss Brad.” Helene nodded and went in, closing the door quickly behind her. “She’ll be all right. I’ll give her a sedative—get my bag. …” He hurried down the stairs.