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:
“I don’t believe it,” asserted Vaughn out of a vast disgust “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“Carving a man into the initial of his name!” muttered Isham. “Why, we’d be the laughingstock of the East, Vaughn, if we let this out.”
Megara leaped to his feet, his whole body elastic with rage. “You don’t know Central Europe!” he snarled. “You fools, he’s flinging those T’s — the symbol of our hated name — in our faces! The man’s insane, I tell you! It’s so damned clear...” His rage went out of him, and he sank back into the chair. “Hard to believe,” he murmured. “Yes, but not what’s troubling you. It’s hard to believe that he’s been hunting us all these years. Like a movie. But that he’d mutilate the bodies—” His voice hardened again. “Andreja knew!”
“Tvar,” said Ellery quietly. “A triple alias for years. Obviously for grave reasons. And Central Europe... I imagine it’s vengeance, Mr. Megara.”
Megara nodded; his voice was becoming weary. “Yes, that’s so. But how did he find us? I can’t understand it. When Andreja, Tomislav and I agreed — God, how many years ago — to disguise our identities, we agreed also that no one — no one, you understand — must learn our old family name. It was to be a secret, and the secret’s been kept, I’d swear. Not even Tom’s wife — Margaret — or her daughter Helene knows that our name is Tvar.”
“You mean,” demanded Ellery, “that Krosac is the only person who knows?”
“Yes. That’s why I can’t imagine how even he got on our track. The names we selected...”
“Come on,” growled Vaughn. “Get going. I want information. First — who in hell is this Krosac? What’s he got against you people? Second—”
“Don’t go off half-cocked, Vaughn,” said Isham irritably. “I want to digest this T business for a minute. I don’t altogether understand. Why should he pick on the initial of their name?”
“To signify,” replied Megara in a cavernous voice, “that the Tvars are doomed. Silly, isn’t it?” His barking laugh grated on their ears.
“Would you recognize Krosac if you saw him?” asked Ellery thoughtfully.
The yachtsman compressed his lips. “That’s the damnable part of it! None of us saw Krosac for twenty years, and at that time he was so young that identification or recognition today would be impossible. He may be anybody. We’re up against a man — who’s damned near invisible!”
“He has a limp in his left leg, of course?”
“He limped slightly as a child.”
“Not necessarily permanent,” murmured Professor Yardley. “It may be a dodge. The deliberate assumption of a lost physical deficiency to confuse his trail. It would be consistent with Krosac’s diabolical cleverness.”
Vaughn suddenly strode forward and drew his lips back from his teeth. “You may want to gab here all day, but I’m going to get behind this! Look here, Mr. Megara — or Tvar, or whatever your name is — why doesn’t Krosac lie down and be a good boy? What the devil does he want to kill you people for? What’s the story?”
“That can wait,” said Ellery sharply. “There’s one thing more important than anything else at the moment. Mr. Tvar, this note left by your brother says you know where to reach Van. How can you know? You’ve been out of communication with the world for a year, and the Arroyo murder took place only six months ago — last Christmas.”
“Prepared, all prepared,” muttered Megara. “For a long time, for years... I said before that I would have known without the note that Andreja was still alive. The reason was — something you told me in your recital of the Arroyo facts.” They stared at him. “You see,” he continued gloomily, “when you mentioned the names of the two men who discovered the body at the crossroads...”
Ellery’s eyes narrowed. “Well?”
Megara again searched the room with his eyes, as if to make sure that the evanescent Krosac could not hear. “I knew. For if Old Pete — the hillman you mentioned — was alive, then Andreja Tvar, my brother, was also alive.”
“I’m afraid I—” began the District Attorney blankly.
“Oh perfect!” cried Ellery, turning to Professor Yardley. “Don’t you see? Andrew Van is Old Pete!”
Before the others could recover from their astonishment, Megara nodded and continued. “That’s it. He assumed the alternate personality of the hillman years ago in preparation for just such an eventuality as this. He’s probably in the West Virginia hills now — if Krosac hasn’t already found him — hiding away in fear of his life, hoping against hope that Krosac hasn’t discovered his mistake. Krosac hasn’t seen any of us either for twenty years, remember. At least, I don’t believe he has.”
“And that’s how Krosac made a mistake in his original murder,” said Ellery. “Not having seen his victim for so many years, it was easy to fall into the error.”
“You mean Kling?” asked Isham thoughtfully.
“Who else?” Ellery smiled. “You want action, Inspector? It looks as if we’re going to get some.” He rubbed his hands briskly. “Because one thing is sure. We must forestall Krosac and fool him. I don’t believe Krosac has found Andreja yet. The Old Pete get-up was perfect; I sat in that courtroom in Weirton and never once suspected that anything might be out of character with the man. We must get to your brother at once, Mr. Megara, but so secretly that Krosac — whoever he is, no matter in what identity he may be masquerading — will still be ignorant of the hillman disguise.”
“Suits me,” said Vaughn, with a surly grin.
Megara rose; his eyes had become narrow slits of enamel. “I’ll do anything you say, gentlemen — for Andreja. As for me,” he patted his gun pocket ominously, “if that devil Krosac is looking for trouble, he’ll find it. A cartridgeful.”
16. The Envoys
Nothing Mrs. Brad — or her daughter — was able to say could persuade Stephen Megara to remain on terra firma that night. He spent the rest of the day quietly enough, his old commanding self, with the Brads and Lincoln; but when evening fell, he began to stir restlessly, and by nightfall was on his way to the anchored yacht offshore. Its riding lights pricked the blackness of Oyster Island sharply. Mrs. Brad, to whom the return of her husband’s “partner” was a comfort and a reassurance, had followed the yachtsman down the path to the landing in the dark, pleading with him to remain.
“No,” he said, “I sleep on the Helene tonight, Margaret. I’ve lived on it so long it’s really my home... Nice of you to want me. But Lincoln’s with you, and” — his tone was ugly — “my being there won’t make the house any safer for you. Good night, Margaret, and don’t worry.”
The two detectives who accompanied them to the Cove stared curiously. Mrs. Brad lifted a tearful face to the sky, and retraced her steps. It was remarkable how little the tragedy had affected her nerves; she passed the silent totem post, with its brooding wooden eagle, almost indifferently.
It had been quickly agreed by the conspirators that the story of the Tvar brothers was to be kept a secret from every one.
Stephen Megara, under the questioning glances of Captain Swift and the steward, slept under guard that night. Detectives patrolled the decks. Megara locked his cabin door, and the man on duty outside heard the gurgle of liquid and the steady chink of glasses for two hours. Then the light snapped off. Despite his assurance, Megara seemed to welcome the bolster of liquid courage. But he slept quietly enough, for the detective heard no sound all night.
The next morning, Saturday, Bradwood stewed with activity. Very early two police cars — sedans — dashed around the driveway and waited, panting, before the colonial house. Inspector Vaughn, like conquering Caesar, descended and strode in the midst of his uniformed guard down the path toward the landing dock. At the dock the engine of a police launch broke into a roar. The Inspector, very grim and red of face, jumped into the launch and was piloted toward the yacht.