Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 17, No. 90, May 1951
- Автор: Кристи Агата, Куин (Квин) Эллери
- Год: 1951
- Язык: английский
- Год: Mercury Publications
- Жанр: Другие детективы
Электронная книга - «Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 17, No. 90, May 1951». Краткое содержание книги:
At that moment his heart leaped with pure terror. He heard — or could have sworn that he heard — a creak from the garden gate.
He dodged behind a bush, but no other sound broke the evening calm. At last, taking courage, he tiptoed along the path, reached the gate, and craned a cautious neck over it. But there was nobody to be seen along the road in either direction.
Telling himself that he was growing fanciful, he returned to the hotel.
Two days before the hotel dance a meeting was convened at the rooms at the “Chat Noir,” where the Cronk Menace was discussed in detail.
There was now no doubt in the mind of anybody present that Cronk was a very dangerous man. It had been established by the “Countess” that he was in Plage-sur-Mer for a purpose. It was now established, furthermore, that his spies, accomplices, assistants — call them what you will — were the two young English people, apparently so harmless, who were to be seen about the hotel at all hours, though they were not staying in it; and that their headquarters was the empty villa on the outskirts of the town, which belonged to Milord Leconbridge.
Last night Cronk had actually visited the villa, choosing his time carefully so as not to meet his assistants personally. Doubtless his object had been to give them their orders; but the subtlety of his methods was proved by the fact that an immediate and intensive search of the villa had yielded no sign of any message. Probably some clever code of signaling had been devised.
Everything in the villa had been left untouched to avoid suspicion. And now the question was: what next?
A gray-haired American lady, one of a batch of tourists who had come over for the day from a neighboring and cheaper resort, was in the chair. She looked like a schoolmistress from the Middle West, but her voice was the voice of the late Countess’s late maid.
“Have these people,” she asked briskly, looking round the table, “been in touch with any other visitors?”
The meeting shook its heads.
“Good. If they’re working alone the thing’s easy. The two young ones must go to their villa in the evening to dress for the masquerade. We can settle their hash then. As for Cronk, he’d better be — er — removed at about the same time. If he’s in the hotel that’ll be your job, Jacques.” Knives-and-Boots gave a nod. “You’re off duty then. You can hide in the cupboard. But I think he will not go to his room. We know that he has no costume for the masquerade, unless he goes to the villa to change. He will hardly do that, I think.”
“He may,” put in the extra hall-porter. “His method is always to do the thing that seems wrong.”
“Well, let us hope he does,” said the ex-maid with unction. “We can then put him with his friends. After that we all know what to do. I will give the signal, as near 11:30 as can be. Any questions? No? Good — then I will rejoin my party, if you will excuse me.”
On the day of the dance Philip and Pat decided to take things easy, in preparation for a strenuous evening. After their customary morning bathe they ordered drinks and dawdled over them on the terrace.
This brought great relief to Mr. Cronk, who was able to post himself near them under the screen of some ornamental vegetation in pots, and make believe he was reading a book. The crooks in their turn, having the enemy collected into one spot, were able to relax their vigilance.
From time to time Mr. Cronk could hear the clear, penetrating voice of the girl Pat. For the most part she uttered nothing but casual and lazy comment on the weather, or the passers-by. But just before lunch he overheard a snatch of conversation which gave him one more proof, if such were needed, that she and her young husband were not all that they should be.
“I say, Philip,” she exclaimed, in the tone of one uttering an unpleasant truth, “has it struck you that this show tonight’s going to be a bit risky?”
An interrogative murmur from Philip.
“Because it’s a grand affair with people coming from all parts. There’s certain to be someone who knows us. I don’t mean at night — we’ll be masked. But I think we’d better not have dinner here. How about having a scratch meal at the villa, and dressing up afterwards?”
Those few chance-heard sentences settled the day’s arrangements for everybody. All afternoon Mr. Cronk (and the crooks) took their ease. After dinner Mr, Cronk (and the crooks) set out for the villa.
Mr. Cronk was nervous, but quite determined. He entered the garden without hesitation, and walked into the house unheralded even by a knock.
Philip and Pat, sitting at the kitchen table over their scratch meal, sprang up in alarm. Mr. Cronk, abashed but still purposeful, saw that the girl had on a dressing-gown and very little else. Philip was in tennis flannels.
“You!” said Philip blankly.
“Then you were after us!” said Pat.
Mr. Cronk, overjoyed at obtaining a confession of guilt so easily, gave a portentous nod.
“I know all about you!” he said.
“Oh, Philip,” Pat began; but the boy silenced her with a wave of the hand.
“Well,” he said defiantly. “What if you do?”
“Only that I’m going to see that it goes no further.”
“I should like to punch your head,” Philip said in a menacing tone.
“No, Philip — no. It would be an awful mistake!” Pat remonstrated swiftly.
Mr. Cronk also thought it would be a mistake. He backed away nervously, and determined on a bluff.
“Better be careful,” he said. “My... my men are outside.”
And then, as if to make his words come horribly, terrifyingly true, the door flew open and the room was suddenly full of large unpleasant men. Half a dozen of them seemed to jump on Mr. Cronk simultaneously, knocking all the wind out of his body. The world disappeared and was replaced by constellations of beautiful stars.
When he was able to think coherently once more, and to take stock of his surroundings, he found that he was most efficiently and thoroughly bound to a large armchair in one of the dust-sheeted sitting-rooms. A gag which felt like iron and tasted like mud was clamped securely between his jaws.
Gradually, he got his brain into some sort of order. Who were those large unpleasant men, and why had they done this to him? The answer came only too plainly. They were the myrmidons of Pat and Philip. He had been tricked, and probably at this very moment his deceivers were on their way to despoil the guests of the Hotel Splendide.
An attempt to struggle out of his bonds proved a hideous failure. It caused a sharp pang to shoot right across his body, and what should have been a shriek of anguish was smothered in the muddy taste of the gag. Moreover, his chair gave a dangerous lurch and threatened to fall over, and add the peril of concussion to his other ills. There seemed to be nothing for it but to wait and hope for rescue.
Yet what hope was there? Once they had made their haul, the bandits would certainly not return here to set him free. The house was empty and remote. He might lie here helpless for days. Weeks. Even months.
An imaginary newspaper headline, “Gruesome Discovery in French Villa,” floated before his mind’s eye.
Then, miraculously, a motor-car was heard outside. For a moment the beam from its headlights threw strange shadows across the room. It drew up outside the house. Voices were heard, and footsteps on the garden path. Then the front door was opened.
Mr. Cronk heaved at his bonds in a desperate attempt to give some signal to the people below. Who they might be he neither knew nor cared. So long as they would release him, they could do what they liked with him afterwards. They could now be heard moving downstairs.