The Egyptian Cross Mystery

The District Attorney seemed bewildered by the rapidity of events. “You mean to tell me that it was this Harakht’s business manager who was suspected of the crime? What the devil did he look like?” He had listened to Ellery’s recital of the Arroyo affair with feverish attention.

“There was a superficial description. Not enough, really, to work on, except for the fact that the man limped. No, Mr. Isham, the problem isn’t simple. You see, so far as I know, this man who calls himself Harakht is the only person capable of identifying the mysterious Krosac. And if our friend the sun-god proves stubborn...”

“Let’s go in,” said Inspector Vaughn abruptly. “This is getting too much for me. I want to talk to people and hear things.”

In the drawing room of the colonial mansion they found a tragic group awaiting them. The three people who creaked to their feet on the entrance of Ellery and the others were red-eyed, drawn of face, and so nervous that their movements were a series of jerks.

“Uh-hello,” said the man in a dry, cracked voice. “We’ve been waiting.” He was a tall, lean and vigorous man in his mid-thirties; a New Englander, to judge from his choppy features and the faint twang in his voice.

“Hullo,” said Isham glumly. “Mrs. Brad, this is Mr. Ellery Queen, who’s come down from New York to help us.”

Ellery murmured the conventional condolences; they did not shake hands. Margaret Brad moved and walked as if she were gliding through the horrors of a nightmare. She was a woman of forty-five, but well set up and handsome in a mature well-cushioned way. She said out of stiff lips: “So glad... Thank you, Mr. Queen. I—” She turned away and sat down without finishing, as if she had forgotten what she meant to say.

“And this is the — is Mr. Brad’s stepdaughter,” continued the District Attorney. “Miss Brad — Mr. Queen.”

Helene Brad smiled grimly at Ellery, nodded to Professor Yardley, and went to her mother’s side without a word. She was a young girl with wise, rather lovely eyes, honest features, and faintly red hair.

“Well?” demanded the tall man. His voice was still cracked.

“We’re getting along,” muttered Vaughn. “Mr. Queen — Mr. Lincoln... We want to set Mr. Queen straight on certain things, and our own confab here an hour ago wasn’t any too complete.” They all nodded, gravely, like characters in a play. “You want to handle this, Mr. Queen? Shoot.”

“No, indeed,” said Ellery. “I’ll interrupt when I think of something. Pay no attention to me at all.”

Inspector Vaughn stood powerful and tall by the fireplace, hands clasped loosely behind his back; his eyes were fixed on Lincoln. Isham sat down, mopping his bald spot. The Professor sighed and walked quietly to a window, where he stood looking out upon the front gardens and the drive. The house was quiet, as after a noisy party, or after a funeral. There was no bustle, no crying, no hysteria. With the exception of Mrs. Brad, her daughter, and Jonah Lincoln, none of the other members of the household — servants — had appeared.

“Well, the first thing, I guess,” began Isham wearily, “is to get that business of last night’s theater tickets straight, Mr. Lincoln. Suppose you tell us the whole story.”

“Theater tickets... Oh, yes.” Lincoln glared at the wall above Isham’s head with the glassy eyes of a shell-shocked soldier. “Yesterday Tom Brad telephoned Mrs. Brad from the office that he’d secured tickets for a Broadway play for her, Helene, and myself. Mrs. Brad and Helene were to meet me in the city. He, Brad, was going on home. He told me about it a few minutes later. He seemed rather keen on my taking the ladies. I couldn’t refuse.”

“Why should you want to refuse?” asked the Inspector quickly.

Lincoln’s fixed expression did not change. “It struck me as a peculiar request to make at the time. We’ve been having some trouble at the office; a matter of accounts. I had been intending to remain late yesterday, working with our auditor. I reminded Tom about this, but he said never mind.”

“I can’t understand it,” said Mrs. Brad tonelessly. “Almost as if he wanted to be rid of us.” She shivered suddenly, and Helene patted her shoulder.

“Mrs. Brad and Helene met me at Longchamps for dinner,” continued Lincoln in the same strained voice. “After dinner I took them to the theater—”

“Which theater?” asked Isham.

“The Park Theater. I left them there—”

“Oh,” said Inspector Vaughn. “Decided to do that work, anyway, eh?”

“Yes. I excused myself, promised to meet them after the performance, and returned to the office.”

“And you worked with your auditor, Mr. Lincoln?” asked Vaughn softly.

Lincoln stared. “Yes... God.” He tossed his head and gasped, like a man drowning. No one said a word. When he resumed, it was quietly, as if nothing had happened. “I finished late, and went back to the thea—”

“The auditor remained with you all evening?” asked the Inspector in the same soft voice.