The Big Book of Sherlock Holmes Stories (45 page)

Next morning, on the train to Old Haven, Morley and Haycraft opened up with a barrage of questions, but the Inspector briskly silenced them.

“I still don't know much more than you do,” he said, “except that I have vaguely confirmed the description of the Professor. We have just been over at the Hale Club and questioned the doorman who was on duty at the time Ellery and the Professor came in. He recognized Ellery from a picture published recently in connection with some affair of the Baker Street Irregulars. The other chap he didn't know and didn't even notice much except that he recalls him as being tall and dark, which certainly isn't much help.
As neither of them was a member of the Club he started to speak to them when the tall fellow explained that they had an appointment to meet Professor Gill of the Chemistry Department and asked if he had come in yet. The doorman turned away to look at the board which indicates which members are in the building; when he turned back he saw them disappearing upstairs in the direction of the lounge. Sometime later they came downstairs and went to the door where Ellery said goodbye and left. The tall fellow went back upstairs again and wasn't seen by anyone afterward. Professor Gill, of course, never showed up. I just had him on the phone and he says he never had any such appointment, knows no Moriarty, and can't think of anyone who fits that description. Gill does—did—know Hugh Ashton, who took a number of his courses.”

“But what about Ashton?” asked Morley.

“He was a graduate student in chemistry, living with a few other students in a small dormitory on the top floor of the chemistry laboratory. He seems to have been fairly smart, not too well-off, and well liked by both students and faculty. Night before last he went out early in the evening, telling a friend that he was going for a walk. He never came back and yesterday morning his body was found at the foot of North Rock. Presumably he had fallen off the cliff. Our main problem, though, is to find this Professor Moriarty.”

“We certainly don't know much about him even now,” said Haycraft.

“Except,” replied the Inspector, “that he is tall, dark, gaunt, and has a high forehead.”

“I wouldn't be too sure of any of that,” said Morley. “Besides, you haven't mentioned the really significant items.”

“Such as?” asked the Inspector.

“First,” replied Morley, “he is undoubtedly a keen student of Sherlock Holmes. Second, he has an exaggerated sense of humor, a talent for the dramatic, and a taste for the bizarre. Third, he knew Hugh Ashton. Fourth, he is a man of considerable resourcefulness and has the instincts of a born killer—a most dangerous combination.”

The Inspector did not take kindly to this little lecture.

“Sometimes,” he growled, “I wish you grown men would forget all this Baker Street Irregular nonsense.”

As they got off at the Old Haven station, a tall, well-knit, blond, young man stepped up to them and addressed the Inspector.

“Inspector Queen, I believe? My name is Moran. The Chief asked me to take care of you during your visit here. I am happy to meet you and to be of service, though I could wish that it was under less tragic circumstances. You can count on us to do all we can to help find Ellery's murderer.”

“Thank you,” replied the Inspector. “I am glad to meet you, Colonel—I've heard a lot about you.”

Morley almost jumped. “Colonel! Good God, what next?”

“I don't know what your plans are, Inspector,” said Moran, “but the Chief thought you would probably like to talk to the President of the University and to Professor Gill, so he has made an appointment with them for eleven. As you still have twenty minutes, I suggest you go to the hotel and check in. I have my car here and will be glad to take you.”

“Tell me, Colonel,” said the Inspector, as they drove slowly through the crooked streets of the town, “how did you recognize me so easily?”

Moran laughed. “You know my methods, Watson. It was Morley who gave the show away. I knew that the four of you were coming and I had seen pictures of both Morley and Haycraft in the ads of your son's
Mystery Magazine
. I must say I wouldn't have spotted Haycraft from his picture but Morley's beard is unmistakable. Once I had the crowd spotted, the rest was easy. Sergeant Velie was so obviously himself that I knew you must be Inspector Queen.”

Detecting a Sherlockian flavor to this explanation,
the Inspector promptly changed the subject.

“Anything new on Ashton?”

“Nothing yet,” replied Moran, “but the Medical Examiner's report is due sometime this morning. By the way, I knew Ashton while we were both undergraduates. We were in some chemistry classes together and were fellow stooges in some of the Dramat productions. On graduation, he decided to do post-graduate work and I joined the Army Air Corps.”

Then glancing at Morley, he went on:

“I was a Lieutenant-Colonel before I finally got shot up and was discharged. That's where the Colonel comes from. When I came back, I joined the Old Haven police, with whom I had some slight acquaintance during my practical-joking student days. Well, here's the hotel.”

It did not take long to get their rooms and a few moments later they were at the President's office, where the President and Professor Gill were waiting for them. Both were greatly disturbed over the double tragedy and both were most anxious to do what they could. But after two hours of questioning and discussion, they were no further advanced than before. The group was about to go out to lunch when a phone call came through for Moran.

“It's the medical report,” he said as he hung up. “I'm afraid it doesn't help much either. Except that Ashton was not killed by the fall from North Rock. He was poisoned with cyanide first, then thrown over.”

Lunch, in which the visitors from New York were joined by Moran and Professor Gill, was a depressing affair. When it was over, the Inspector asked to see Ashton's room.

“Certainly,” replied Professor Gill, to which Moran added that he would drive them out to the chemistry laboratory.

This proved to be a large squat pile of red brick and stone, surmounted by turrets and battlements, the latter decorated with a number of small shields each carrying the likeness of some piece of chemical apparatus. To the great disgust of Professor Gill, Moran insisted on taking them off to one end of the building to show them a shield on which the architects had placed a foaming mug of beer. He then led them through a large gothic arch and up a small winding staircase which brought them to the top floor, into a short corridor with a row of oak doors along one side. He went straight to the third which he opened with a tagged key taken from his pocket; the room was small, barely large enough for the bed, dresser, and desk which it contained. Its walls of rough plaster were decorated with an assortment of pin-ups of the type usually seen in a student's room. Along one wall was a small bookcase packed with chemistry texts and detective stories.

“We have been over it pretty thoroughly,” Colonel Moran said, “but we haven't found anything worthwhile. Nothing has been taken away, so you are welcome to see what you can turn up.”

The Inspector and Velie did a quick but thorough job of searching the room but could find nothing which shed any light on the case.

“So far as I can see,” said the Inspector, “this doesn't tell us much except that Ashton was industrious, methodical, and a detective-story fan.”

“And yet,” said Morley, “there's one thing that puzzles me. Where is the manuscript that Ashton wrote?”

“I suppose Moriarty, whoever he is, has it,” said Moran.

“But an author usually keeps a copy,” replied Morley. “Surely there must have been some notes or a first draft. Moran, did you say nothing had been removed?”

“Nothing.”

“Then I'm going to have another look,” replied Morley.

After a few minutes of searching Morley began riffling through some sheets of carbon paper. Suddenly he examined one sheet intently, then another.

“Here's something!” he exclaimed. “Some of
these carbons have been used to write the outline of a story!”

The Inspector snatched the carbons and looked at them through the light.

“I'll take these,” he said. “They may be the break we're looking for.”

“Wouldn't you like,” suggested Moran, “to go to North Rock to see where Ashton's body was found?”

“That's next,” agreed the Inspector.

A little later they were standing at the base of the tall and broken cliff of red traprock, gazing at the spot where the crumpled remains of Hugh Ashton had been discovered early the morning before. There was little to be seen except a few blood-spattered rocks. They were about to leave when they heard a sudden noise above them. Looking up they were horrified to see a large rock rolling down toward them. It was almost upon them when suddenly it veered and with a great clatter bounded past them a few feet away.

Morley shook his fist at the sky. “This is too much—much too much!”

The Inspector started up the path which ascended the cliff from the rear, the others following excitedly. Reaching the summit, they saw no sign of anyone. Morley dropped to his knees and searched through the grass.

“What are you up to, Chris?” asked Haycraft, still panting.

Morley stood up. “Look at this,” he said, holding out the band of a Merlinda cigar.

“What about it?” said Moran.

“Don't you realize its significance?” asked Morley.

“I suppose you mean it proves that Moriarty was here,” Inspector Queen said thoughtfully.

They returned to the hotel for dinner. The Inspector was still in a thoughtful mood. When their after-dinner smoke was over, he excused himself and retired to his room where he took out the sheets of carbon paper and studied them. Later he brightened noticeably and began to make some notes. Still later, with a bitter smile, he clipped the sheets neatly together, undressed, and went to bed.

At about the same time, in a room not far away, Morley knocked the dottle from his pipe and muttered: “It must be so!” Then he too went to bed.

It seemed to Inspector Queen that he had hardly got to sleep when he woke with a feeling that someone was in his room. Looking round, he thought the darkness seemed deeper by his desk. He sat up but as he did so the deeper darkness moved. Suddenly something exploded on his chin and he was knocked flat on his back. Recovering, he rolled out of bed just in time to see a dark figure passing through his door into the corridor. The door closed with a slam but he had it open again in a few seconds and immediately collided with a burly form. Both fell to the floor locked in each other's arms. Suddenly his opponent relaxed.

“Take it easy, Inspector,” said the voice of Sergeant Velie, “it's only me. What's up?”

“That's exactly what I'd like to know!” replied the bewildered Inspector.

With the assistance of the Sergeant and much rubbing of his chin, he returned to his bed.

“Now,” he said, glaring at Velie, “what were you doing in my room?”

“Me?” asked Velie. “I was sound asleep next door when I hear you yell, so I come tearing over only to have you slug me. What's the angle?”

“I woke up and realized someone was in the room over by my desk. Before I could do anything something hit me on the chin and knocked me flat. Then whoever it was beat it out the door.”

“Did he take anything?”

“Blast it if I know,” said the Inspector. “Let's take a look.”

He scrambled out of bed and ran to the desk.

“Now I begin to see,” he said. The carbon paper and his notes were gone.

Next morning Morley and Haycraft were in Moran's office early, waiting for the Inspector. Moran reported the night's events, as phoned to him by Velie. In spite of all efforts by the police,
efforts which Moran himself had directed, there was no clue to the identity of the midnight intruder nor any trace of the missing papers.

“Well,” said Haycraft, “it doesn't do us much good now that they are gone but at least this proves that those carbon papers are important.”

“I wouldn't be too sure,” replied Morley. “In fact, I'm inclined to believe they may be just a red herring. You see, they don't quite fit into the pattern.”

“A Sherlockian deduction, no doubt,” came a voice from the door where a haggard-looking Inspector stood. “Just let me tell you, Mr. Morley, that those carbon papers broke the case. The thief, whoever he is, didn't get there quite soon enough. I'd got what I wanted from them earlier in the evening and what I got will lead us to the murderer of Ellery and Ashton. Not only that but it clears up a long-unsolved case in New York.”

Morley looked troubled. He combed his beard with his fingers, then said slowly: “I wonder if I could speak to you alone, Inspector.”

“Not now,” replied the Inspector. “I want to make some phone calls to New York. I don't want to go off half-cocked, like some people I know.”

After what seemed like hours of phoning, the Inspector returned.

“I haven't all the answers yet,” he said, “but I've got enough to know I'm on the right track. Moran, have you a pack of cards?”

“No,” said Moran, “but I can get one.”

He went out, returning in a few minutes with a new pack.

“And now,” said the Inspector, “could I have an envelope, please?”

While Moran was getting one, the Inspector selected the Ace of Spades from the deck.

“I'm sorry I can't explain all this to you yet,” he said, “but I think I've found out who sent Ellery the King of Spades, and I thought it would be a nice touch to let him know that the Ace takes the King.”

He slipped the Ace into a stamped envelope, scribbled an address on it, and went out to post it himself. When he returned Morley asked again if he could speak to him alone.