The Egyptian Cross Mystery
- Автор: Куин (Квин) Эллери
- Серия: Ellery Queen #5
- Год: 1932
- Язык: английский
- Год: Frederick A. Stokes Company
- Жанр: Классические детективы
Электронная книга - «The Egyptian Cross Mystery». Краткое содержание книги:
“Anything else?” said Isham at last. He was growling to himself.
“The boys have had the railroad station people over the coals,” said Vaughn quietly. “And every resident within five miles. Been looking, Mr. Queen, for possible visitors last night. From Lincoln’s and Stallings’s stories it’s pretty obvious that Brad expected somebody last night. A man doesn’t ship his wife, his stepdaughter, his business associate, and his servants off unless there’s something queer in the wind and he wants privacy. Never did it before, either, see?”
“I see only too clearly,” retorted Ellery. “No, you’re perfectly justified in that assumption, Inspector. Brad expected someone last night, there’s no doubt about it.”
“Well, we didn’t strike one person who could give us a lead. Even the conductors on the trains and the station people don’t remember a stranger coming by rail around nine o’clock or so last night. Neighbors?” The Inspector shrugged. “Couldn’t expect anything there, I suppose. Anyone might have come and gone without leaving a trail.”
“As a matter of fact,” said the District Attorney, “I think you’re attempting the impossible, Vaughn. No visitor coming here last night with criminal intent would be such a damned fool as to get off at the nearest railroad station. He’d get off a station or two before or after and walk the rest of the way.”
“How about the possibility of the visitor’s having come by automobile?” asked Ellery.
Vaughn shook his head. “We looked for that early this morning. But in the grounds themselves the roads are gravel, which aren’t any help; the highways are macadam, and it didn’t rain or anything — no go, Mr. Queen. It’s possible, of course.”
Ellery mused deeply. “There’s still another possibility, Inspector. The Sound!”
The Inspector stared out of the window. “And haven’t we thought of that,” he said with an ugly little laugh. “What a cinch it would have been! Hire a boat from the New York or Connecticut shore — a motorboat... I’ve got a couple of men following that lead up now.”
Ellery grinned. “Quod fugit, usque sequor — eh, Inspector?”
“Huh?”
Isham rose. “Let’s get the hell out of here. There’s work to do.”
7. Fox and the English
They walked more deeply into fog. No light appeared anywhere.
It was not to be expected that Mrs. Baxter, the housekeeper, for example, would have anything of importance to contribute. Yet it was necessary, in the interests of thoroughness, to question her. They returned to the drawing room and went through the dreary business. Mrs. Baxter, in a flutter, merely confirmed Stallings’s story of the excursion the night before. No, Mr. Brad had said nothing to her about visitors. No, when she served dinner to Mr. Brad alone in the dining room he did not seem particularly upset, or nervous. Just a little absent-minded, perhaps. Yes, Fox had dropped them off at the Roxy. Yes, she and Stallings had returned to Bradwood by train and taxicab, arriving a little past midnight. No, she didn’t believe Mrs. Brad or the others had come home yet, but she wasn’t certain. The house was dark? Yes, sir. Anything seem wrong? No, sir.
All right, Mrs. Baxter... The elderly housekeeper retreated hastily and the Inspector swore with fluency.
Ellery looked on, preoccupied with a spot at the base of a fingernail at odd moments. The name Andrew Van kept swimming about in the channels of his brain.
“Come on,” said Isham. “Let’s talk to that chauffeur, Fox.”
He strode out of the house with Vaughn, and Ellery ambled after, sniffing the June roses and wondering when his colleagues would stop chasing their tails and embark for that very interesting patch of earth and trees in the Sound, Oyster Island.
Isham led the way around the left wing of the main house, along a narrow gravel path which very soon entered a carefully wild grove. A short walk, and they emerged from under the trees to a clearing in the center of which stood a pleasant little cabin built of shaven logs. A county trooper lounged conspicuously in the sun before the hut.
Isham knocked on the stout door, and a man’s deep voice said: “Come on in.”
When they entered, he was on his feet, planted like an oak, fists doubled, his face curiously mottled with spots of pallor. He was a tall straight man, thin and tough as a bamboo shoot. When he saw who his visitors were, his fists unclenched, his shoulders sagged, and he groped for the back of the homemade chair before which he was standing.
“Fox,” said Isham peremptorily, “I didn’t get much of an opportunity this morning to talk to you.”
“No, sir,” said Fox. The pallor, Ellery saw with a little sensation of surprise, was not temporary; it was the man’s natural complexion.
“We know how you found the body,” contributed the District Attorney, dropping into the only other chair in the hut.
“Yes, sir,” muttered Fox. “It was an awful exp—”
“What we want to know now,” said Isham without inflection, “is why you left Stallings and Mrs. Baxter last night, where you went, and when you got home.”
Curiously, the man did not blanch or cringe; the expression on his mottled features did not change. “I just drove around town,” he said. “I got back to Bradwood a little before midnight.”
Inspector Vaughn came forward deliberately and clamped his hand on Fox’s limp arm. “Look here,” he said, almost pleasantly. “We’re not trying to hurt you, or frame you, you understand. If you’re on the level, we’ll let you alone.”
“I’m on the level,” said Fox. Ellery thought he detected traces of culture in the man’s pronunciation and intonations. He watched him with growing interest.
“All right,” said Vaughn. “That’s fine. Now forget all that bunk about just driving around town. Give it to us straight. Where did you go?”
“I’m giving it to you straight,” replied Fox in a dead, even voice. “I drove around Fifth Avenue and through the Park and on Riverside Drive for a long time. It was nice out, and I enjoyed the air.”
The Inspector dropped his arm suddenly and grinned at Isham. “He enjoyed the air. Why didn’t you call for Stallings and Mrs. Baxter after they got out of the movie?”
Fox’s broad shoulders twitched in the suspicion of a shrug. “No one told me to.”
Isham looked at Vaughn, and Vaughn looked at Isham. Ellery, however, looked at Fox; and he was surprised to see the man’s eyes — it seemed impossible — fill with tears.
“Okay,” said Isham finally. “If that’s your story, you’re stuck with it, and God help you if we find out otherwise. How long have you worked here?”
“Since the first of the year, sir.”
“References?”
“Yes, sir.” Silently he turned and went to an old sideboard. He fumbled in a drawer and brought out a clean, carefully preserved envelope.
The District Attorney ripped it open, glanced over the letter inside, and handed it to Vaughn. The Inspector read it more carefully, then, flipping it on the table, inexplicably strode out of the hut.
“Seems all right,” said Isham, rising. “By the way, you, Stallings, and Mrs. Baxter are the only people employed here, aren’t you?”
“Yes, sir,” said Fox without raising his eyes. He picked up his references and kept turning the envelope and paper over between his fingers.
“Er — Fox,” said Ellery. “When you got home last night, did you see or hear anything unusual?”
“No, sir.”