The Siamese Twin Mystery (6 page)

“There,” chuckled Dr. Xavier, “Percival and I part. I’m fatuously fond of them.”

“Trouble is,” said Dr. Holmes unexpectedly, with a furtive glance at the smooth back of Miss Forrest, “their atrocious medical stuff. Sheer bilge, you know. You’d think the blighters would take the trouble to get accurate medical information. And then when they put English characters into their stories—the American ones, I mean, do you see—they make ’em talk like … like …”

“You’re a living paradox Doctor,” said Ellery with a twinkle. “
I
thought no Englishman breathes who uses the word ‘blighter.’ ”

Even Mrs. Xavier permitted herself to smile at that.

“You’re too captious, my boy,” went on Dr. Xavier. “Read a story once in which murder was committed by injecting the victim with air from an empty hypodermic. Coronary-explosion sort of thing. Well, the fact is, as you know, death won’t occur from that cause once in a hundred times. Didn’t bother me though.”

Dr. Holmes grunted; Miss Forrest was deep in conversation with Mark Xavier.

“Refreshing to meet a tolerant medico,” grinned Ellery, recalling some vitriolic letters he had had from physicians because of alleged errors of fact in his own novels. “You read for entertainment purely? I should deduce, seeing this wealth of games, Doctor, that you’re the puzzle type of fan. Like to figure them out, eh?”

“It’s my one abiding passion much, I fear, to the disgust of Mrs. Xavier, whose own taste runs to French novels. Cigar, Mr. Queen?” Mrs. Xavier half smiled again—a dreadful smile; and Dr. Xavier surveyed his game tables imperturbably. “As a matter of fact, I’ve an abnormally developed game sense, as you’ve noted. All sort of games. I find I need that sort of thing as sheer diversion from the physical strain of surgery. … I
did
find, I mean to say,” he added with an odd change of tone. A shade passed over his pleasant face. “It’s been some time since I have presided in an operating theater. Retired, you know. … Now it’s a habit, and it’s excellent relaxation. I’m still fussing about with my laboratory.” He flicked ashes from his cigar, bending forward to do so; and as he bent forward his eyes searched his wife’s face for an instant. Mrs. Xavier was sitting with the same vague smile on her extraordinary face, nodding at every word. But she was frigid and remote as Arcturus. A frigid woman who was volcanic beneath! Ellery studied her without seeming to do so.

“By the way,” said the Inspector suddenly, crossing his legs, “we met a guest of yours on our way up.”

“Guest of ours?” Dr. Xavier seemed puzzled; the fair skin of his forehead wrinkled inquiringly. Mrs. Xavier’s body stirred; the movement reminded Ellery of the squirming of an octopus. Then she became as still as before. The low voices of Mark Xavier and Ann Forrest at the window ceased abruptly. Dr. Holmes alone seemed unaffected; he was staring rebelliously at the cuff of his linen trousers, his thoughts apparently eons away.

“Why, yes,” murmured Ellery, alert. “Bumped into the chap during our flight from that private Hades of ours below. He was driving a rather ancient Buick sedan.”

“But we haven’t—” began Dr. Xavier slowly, and stopped. His sunken eyes narrowed. “That’s rather odd, do you know?”

The Queens looked at each other. What now?

“Odd?” said the Inspector mildly. He refused his host’s mechanical offer of a cigar and, taking a worn brown box from his pocket, sniffed a pinch of its contents. “Snuff,” he said apologetically. “Dirty habit. … Odd, Doctor?”

“Quite. What sort of man was he?”

“Very stout, from what I saw of him,” said Ellery quickly. “Froggy eyes. Voice like a bassoon. Tremendous breadth of shoulder. About fifty-five, at a rough guess.”

Mrs. Xavier stirred again.

“But we’ve had no visitor at all, you know,” said the surgeon quietly.

The Queens were astonished. “Then he didn’t come from here?” muttered Ellery. “But I thought no one else lives on this mountain!”

“We’re quite sequestered up here, I assure you. Sarah, my dear, you don’t know of anyone—?”

Mrs. Xavier licked her full lips. A struggle seemed to be raging within her. There was speculation, bafflement, and subtle cruelty in her black eyes. Then she said in a surprised voice: “No.”

“That’s funny,” murmured the Inspector. “He was headed lickety-cut down the mountain, and if there’s only one road and this is at the end of it and nobody else lives here …”

There was a crash from behind. They turned quickly. But it was only Miss Forrest, who had dropped her compact. She straightened up, her cheeks fiery, eyes so strangely bright, and said gaily: “Oh, shoot! The next thing we know we’ll all be babbling of bogies. If you people insist on introducing unpleasant subjects, you know, I’ll be
just
as unpleasant. What with men prowling about and all, somebody will have to tuck me into bed tonight. You see—”

“What do you mean, Miss Forrest?” said Dr. Xavier slowly. “Is there anything—?”

The Queens crossed glances again. These people were not only concealing a common secret, but they possessed little private secrets as well.

The girl tossed her head. “I wasn’t going to mention it,” she said, shrugging, “because it was really nothing and—and …” It was evident that she already regretted having begun. “Oh, let’s forget all about it and play ducks and drakes, or something.”

Mark Xavier came forward with short, quick steps. There was a brutal gleam in his sharp eyes and his mouth was hard. “Come on, Miss Forrest,” he said gruffly. “Something’s bothering you and we might as well know what. If there’s a man skulking about the place …”

“Of course,” said the girl quietly, “that’s what it is. Very well, if you insist; but I apologize in advance. No doubt that’s the explanation. … Last week I—I lost something.”

It seemed to Ellery that Dr. Xavier, more than any of them, was startled. Then Dr. Holmes rose and went to a small round table, groping for a cigaret.

“Lost something?” asked Dr. Xavier in a thick voice.

The room was incredibly quiet; so quiet that Ellery could hear the suddenly labored breathing of their host. “I missed it one morning,” said Miss Forrest in a low voice; “I think it was Friday of last week. I thought I might have mislaid it. I looked and looked all over but I couldn’t find it, you see. Perhaps I
did
lose it. Yes, I’m sure I lost it.” She stopped in confusion.

No one spoke for a long time. Then Mrs. Xavier said harshly: “Come, come, child. You know that’s nonsense. You mean someone
stole
it from you, don’t you?”

“Oh, dear!” cried Miss Forrest, flinging her head back. “Now you’ve made me talk about it. I wasn’t going to. I’m sure I either lost it or that—that man Mr. Queen was telling about stole into my room somehow and—and took it. You see, it
couldn’t
have been anybody h—”

“I suggest,” stammered Dr. Holmes, “that—ah we put off this charming conversation to another time, eh?”

“What was it?” asked Dr. Xavier in a quiet voice. He had himself perfectly under control again.

“Was it valuable?” snapped Mark Xavier.

“No; oh, no,” said the girl eagerly. “Absolutely worthless. You couldn’t get a wooden nickel on it from a pawnbroker or—or anybody. It was just an old heirloom, a silver ring.”

“A silver ring,” said the surgeon. He rose. Ellery noticed for the first time that there was something gaunt about his appearance; drawn and bleak. “Sarah, I’m sure your remark was needlessly unkind. There isn’t anyone here who would stoop to theft, my dear; you know that. Is there?”

Their eyes met briefly; it was his that fell. “You never can tell,
mon cher
,” she said softly.

The Queens sat still. This talk of thievery was, under the circumstances, acutely embarrassing. Ellery slowly removed his pince-nez and began to scrub them. Unpleasant female, that woman!

“No.” The surgeon gripped himself visibly. “And then Miss Forrest says the ring was valueless. I see no point in suspecting a theft. You probably dropped it somewhere, my dear, or else, as you suggest, this mysterious skulker is in some way responsible for its disappearance.”

“Yes, of course that’s it, Doctor,” said the girl thankfully.

“If you will pardon an unpardonable interruption,” murmured Ellery. They turned to stare, freezing in their attitudes. Even the Inspector frowned. But Ellery replaced his pince-nez with a smile. “You see, if this man we met really is an unknown quantity and unconnected with the household, then you are faced with a peculiar situation.”

“Yes, Mr. Queen?” said Dr. Xavier stiffly.

“Of course,” said Ellery with a wave of his hand, “there are minor considerations. If Miss Forrest lost her ring last Friday, where has this prowler been? Not necessarily an insurmountable point, however; he may have his headquarters in Osquewa, say. …”

“Yes, Mr. Queen?” said Dr. Xavier again.

“But, as I said, you are faced with a peculiar situation. Because, since the fat-faced gentleman is neither a phoenix nor a devil out of hell,” continued Ellery, “the fire will stop him tonight as effectually as it stopped my father and me. Consequently he will find himself—has already found himself, no doubt—unable to leave the mountain.” He shrugged. “A nasty situation. With no other house in the vicinity, and the fire possibly a stubborn one …”

“Oh!” gasped Miss Forrest. “He—he’ll be back!”

“I should say that is a mathematical certainty,” said Ellery dryly.

There was silence again. About the house Ellery’s postulated banshees, as if this were a signal, redoubled their howling. Mrs. Xavier shivered suddenly, and even the men glanced uneasily at the black night beyond the French windows.

“If he’s a thief—” muttered Dr. Holmes, crushing out his cigaret, and stopped. His eyes met Dr. Xavier’s and his jaw tightened. “I was about to say,” he went on quietly, “that Miss Forrest’s explanation is undoubtedly correct. Oh, undoubtedly. For you see, I myself missed a signet ring last Wednesday. Worthless old scrap, to be sure; don’t wear it much and it means nothing to me, but—there you are. Gone, you see.”

The silence resumed where it had left off. Ellery, studying those faces, wondered again with weary tenacity what cesspool lay beneath the polite surface of this household.

The silence was shattered by Mark Xavier, whose big body moved so suddenly as to cause Miss Forrest to utter a little scream. “I think, John,” he snapped, addressing Dr. Xavier, “that you’d better see that all the doors and windows are locked tight tonight. … Good night, all!”

He stalked out of the room.

Ann Forrest—whose aplomb seemed irremediably shaken for the evening—and Dr. Holmes excused themselves soon after; Ellery heard them whispering to each other as they strode down the corridor toward the staircase. Mrs. Xavier still sat with the Mona Lisa half-smile that was as stiff and inexplicable as the expression on the painted face of Leonardo’s
Gioconda.

The Queens rose awkwardly. “I guess,” said the Inspector, “we’ll be trotting off to bed, too. Doctor, if you don’t mind. I can’t tell you how all-fired grateful we are—”

“Please,” said Dr. Xavier roughly. “We’re rather short-staffed here, Mr. Queen—Mrs. Wheary and Bones are our only servants—so I’ll show you to your room myself.”

“Not at all necessary,” Ellery hastened to reply. “We know the way, Doctor. Thank you all the same. Good night, Mrs. Xav—”

“I’m going to bed myself,” announced the doctor’s wife suddenly, rising. She was taller even than Ellery had supposed; she drew herself up to her full height, breathing deeply. “If there’s anything you’d like before retiring …”

“Nothing at all, Mrs. Xavier, thank you,” said the Inspector.

“But, Sarah, I thought—” began Dr. Xavier. He stopped and shrugged, his shoulders set at an oddly hopeless slope.

“Aren’t you coming to bed, John?” she said sharply.

“I think not, my dear,” he replied in a heavy voice, avoiding her eyes. “I believe I’ll do a bit of work in the lab before I turn in. There’s a chemical reaction I’ve been meaning to make on the ‘soup’ I prepared. …”

“I see,” she said, and smiled that dreadful smile again. She turned to the Queens. “This way, please,” and swept out of the room.

The Queens muttered subdued “good nights” to their host and followed. The last glimpse they had of the surgeon was as they turned into the corridor. He was standing where they had left him, in an attitude of the most profound dejection, sucking his lower lip and fingering a rather gaudy bar pin securing his necktie to his rough-woven shirt. He looked older than before and mentally exhausted. Then they heard him cross the room in the direction of the library.

The instant the door of their bedroom closed upon them and Ellery had switched on the overhead light, he whirled on his father and whispered fiercely: “Dad! What in the name of God was that awful thing you saw in the corridor outside just before Xavier sneaked up, on us from behind?”

The Inspector sank into a Morris chair very slowly, loosening the knot of his cravat. He avoided Ellery’s eyes. “Well,” he mumbled, “I don’t rightly know. I guess I must “have been a little—well, jumpy.”

“You jumpy?” said Ellery scornfully. “You’ve always had the nerves of a cuttlefish. Come on, out with it I’ve been bursting to ask you all evening. Blast that big chap! He didn’t leave us alone for an instant.”

“Well,” muttered the old gentleman, pulling his cravat off and unbuttoning his collar, “I’ll tell you. It was—weird.”

“Well, well, what was it, dad, for heaven’s sake?”

“To tell the truth, I don’t know.” The Inspector looked sheepish. “If you or anybody else in this world described that—that thing to me I swear I’d call for the nut wagon. Cripes!” he burst out, “it didn’t look like anything human, I’d bet my life!”

Ellery stared at him. This from his own father! The prosaic little Inspector, who had handled more corpses and wallowed in more illicitly spilled human blood than any other man in the New York Police Department!

“It—it looked,” went on the Inspector with a feeble grin that held no mirth whatever, “it looked just like—a crab.”

“A crab!”

Ellery gaped at his father. Then his flat cheeks ballooned out and he put his hand over his mouth, doubled over in a spasm of the heartiest laughter. He rocked to and fro, eyes streaming.