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:
“Did Crumit discover anything about his American career?”
“Sufficient, although in a sketchy way. He seems to have traveled from city to city, presumably getting acquainted with his adopted country and learning the language. For several years he engaged in a small peddler’s enterprise, apparently a legitimate business. He sold fancy needlework, small woven mats, and that sort of thing.”
“They all do,” remarked the Professor.
Ellery digested the next paragraph. “He met friend Harakht, or Stryker, four years ago in Chattanooga, Tennessee, and the two men joined forces. Stryker at the time was selling a ‘sun medicine’ — cod-liver oil with a home-made label. Krosac became his business manager and, for the public’s benefit, ‘disciple,’ helping the poor old lunatic build up the sun cult and the health preaching during their nomadic existence on the road.”
“Anything on Krosac after the Arroyo murder?”
Ellery’s face fell. “No. He’s simply vanished. He managed it adroitly enough.”
“And Kling, Van’s servant?”
“Not a trace of him. It’s as if the earth swallowed up both of ’em. This Kling complication disturbs me. Where the deuce is he? If Krosac sped his soul across the Great Divide, what happened to his body — where did Krosac bury it? I tell you, Professor, until we know the actual fate of Kling we shan’t solve this case... Crumit made exemplary efforts to find a connection between Kling and Krosac, probably on the assumption that they might have been confederates. But he’s found nothing.”
“Which doesn’t necessarily mean that no connection exists,” pointed out the Professor.
“Naturally not. And, of course, so far as Krosac is concerned, we have no way of determining whether he’s been in communication with Stryker or not.”
“Stryker... There’s an example of God’s wrath for you,” muttered Yardley. “Poor devil!”
Ellery grinned. “Stiffen your fibers, sir; this is murder. Incidentally, from this last report the West Virginia people have trailed Harakht to his lair. That is, they have discovered that he is one Alva Stryker, according to Crumit, well-known Egyptologist, who went insane from sunstroke, as you said, many years ago in the Valley of the Kings. He has no kin, as far as could be determined, and he has always seemed a perfectly harmless lunatic. Listen to this — Crumit’s note: ‘It is the belief of the District Attorney of Hancock County that the man Alva Stryker, who calls himself Harakht, or Ra-Harakht, is blameless in the murder of Andrew Van, but has been for years the prey of unscrupulous opportunists who have utilized his odd appearance, his mild lunacy, and his obsession with a garbled cult-worship in an unusual but nonetheless vicious kind of confidence game. It is our opinion also that a man of this type with undiscovered motive for the murder of Van was responsible for the victim’s death. All the facts point to Velja Krosac as this man.’ Neatly phrased, eh?”
“A somewhat circumstantial case against Krosac, isn’t it?” asked the Professor.
Ellery shook his head. “Circumstantial or not, in selecting Krosac as the probable murderer of Van, Crumit has hit on the essential.”
“What makes you think so?”
“The facts. But that Krosac killed Andrew Van isn’t the keystone of the case we’re attempting to build up. The quintessential problem is” — Ellery leaned forward — “who is Krosac?”
“What do you mean?” demanded Professor Yardley.
“I mean that Velja Krosac is known in his true face and figure to only one person in the case,” replied Ellery earnestly. “That is Stryker, who cannot be depended upon for reliable testimony. So I say again: Who is Krosac? Who is Krosac now? He may be anyone about us!”
“Nonsense,” said the Professor uncomfortably. “A Montenegrin, probably with a Croatian accent, a man moreover with a limp in his left leg...”
“Not really nonsense, Professor. Nationalists merge fluidly in this country, and certainly when Krosac conversed with Croker, the Weirton garageman, he spoke colloquial, unaccented English. As for the fact that Krosac may be in our midst — I don’t believe you’ve completely analyzed the elements of the Brad crime.”
“Oh, haven’t I?” snapped Yardley. “Perhaps not. But let me tell you this, young man — you’re crossing the river prematurely.”
“I’ve done that before.” Ellery rose and dived into the pool again. When his head emerged dripping from the water, he was grinning quizzically at the Professor. “I won’t mention the fact,” he said, “that it was Krosac who arranged for the sun cult’s proximity to Bradwood! Before the Van murder, mind you. Significant? Then he might be about here somewhere... Come on!” he said abruptly, climbing out of the pool and lying down with his hands behind his head. “Let’s get together on this. Let’s begin with Krosac. A Montenegrin. Who, let us say, kills a Central European with an apparently assumed Roumanian nationality, and a Central European with an apparently assumed Armenian nationality. Three Central Europeans, then, possibly all from the same country; for I’m convinced that, things being what they are, Van and Brad did not come from Armenia and Roumania.”
The Professor grunted and applied two matches to his pipe. Ellery, sprawled on the hot marble, lighted a cigarette and closed his eyes. “Now think about this situation in terms of motive. Central Europe? The Balkans? Heart of superstition and violence; almost a platitude. Does that suggest anything to you?”
“I’m uncommonly ignorant about the Balkans,” said the Professor indifferently. “The only association that comes to mind when you mention the word is the fact that for centuries that part of the world has been the source of weird and fantastic folklore. I presume it’s a result of the generally low level of intelligence and the desolate and mountainous terrain.”
“Ha! There’s an idea,” chuckled Ellery. “Vampirism! Do you recall Dracula, Bram Stoker’s immortal contribution to the nightmares of innocent burghers? The story of a human vampire, laid in Central Europe. And heads cut off, too!”
“Drivel,” said Yardley with an uneasy stare.
“Right,” said Ellery promptly. “Drivel if only for the fact that no stakes were hammered into the hearts of Van and Brad. No self-respecting vampirist omits that pleasant little ceremony. If we’d found stakes I’d almost be convinced that we are dealing with a superstition-crazed man doing away with what he considered were human vampires.”
“You aren’t serious,” protested Yardley.
Ellery smoked for a moment. “Hanged if I know whether I am or not. You know, Professor, we may in our divine enlightenment pooh-pooh such nursery horribilia as vampirism, but after all if Mr. Krosac believes in vampires and goes about cutting people’s heads off, you can’t very well shut your eyes to the reality of his belief. It’s almost a statement of the pragmatic philosophy. If it exists for him...”
“How about this Egyptian cross business of yours?” asked the Professor gravely; he sat up straighter, shifting about for a more comfortable position, as if he anticipated a long discussion.
Ellery sat up and hugged his brown knees. “Well, how about it? You’ve something up your sleeve; you hinted as much yesterday. Have I, in the language of the classics, pulled a boner?”
The Professor deliberately knocked out his pipe, placed it on the edge of the pool beside him, ruffled his black beard, and became professorish. “My son,” he said solemnly, “you made an ass of yourself.”
Ellery frowned. “You mean the tau cross is not an Egyptian cross?”