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:
The proceedings were conducted with frankness; there was no attempt at concealment. On Oyster Island several tiny figures could be descried before the greenery craning at the progress of the launch. Dr. Temple, pipe in mouth, stood on his boat landing and watched. The Lynns, under the pretext of rowing about the waters of the Cove, were all eyes.
The Inspector disappeared up the Helene’s ladder.
Five minutes later he reappeared, accompanied by Stephen Megara, who was dressed in a business suit. Megara’s face was drawn, and he reeked alcohol; he said nothing to his sailing master, but followed Vaughn down the ladder with surprisingly steady steps. They dropped into the launch, which at once put back for shore.
On the Bradwood dock they conversed for a moment in low tones; the guard waited. Then the uniforms closed in, and the two men strode up the path toward the house completely surrounded by police. It was almost a parade.
Before the house a plainclothesman saw them coming, leaped from the tonneau of the first police car, saluted, and stood waiting. Very quickly Vaughn and Megara got into the first car. The second filled with police. And then the two cars, klaxons raucously clearing the road, shot around the drive and into the highway which ran past Bradwood.
At the gate, four county troopers on motorcycles jumped to life. Two preceded the first car; two flanked it; the police car made up the rear... It was an amazing thing, but with the departure of the two cars not a single trooper, policeman, or detective remained on the grounds of Bradwood, or anywhere in the immediate vicinity.
The cavalcade thundered on the main highway, sweeping all traffic aside, proclaiming in gassy roars its intention to reach New York City...
Back at Bradwood the departure of the Inspector and Megara left everything still and peaceful. The Lynns paddled home. Dr. Temple strolled off, smoking, into the woods. The figures on the shore of Oyster Island disappeared. Old man Ketcham rowed out into the Cove in a decrepit old dinghy, bound for the mainland. Jonah Lincoln quietly backed one of the Brad cars out of the garage, and headed it down the drive.
Professor Yardley’s house, set well back from the road, was lifeless, from all outward appearances.
But that Vaughn had not taken leave of his senses would have been apparent to anyone who investigated the ends of the highway which separated Bradwood from Yardley’s estate... For at each terminal of the road — two junctions, either of which any automobile or pedestrian must pass in order to leave Bradwood by a land route — a powerful car full of detectives was unobtrusively parked.
And in the Sound, behind Oyster Island and so invisible from the mainland, a large launch drifted, motor idling, while men sat on the deck fishing... keeping a sharp look out nevertheless for the two horns of Ketcham’s Cove, past one of which any craft must come if it attempted to leave the vicinity of Bradwood by water.
17. The Old Man of the Mountain
There was good reason for the fact that Professor Yardley’s house showed no evidence of life Saturday morning. The Professor was under orders, like any officer; as was his old Negress, Nanny. To have exhibited himself openly while Inspector Vaughn and Stephen Megara were making their noisy departure might have been indiscreet. It was known that the Professor entertained a guest — Mr. Ellery Queen, special investigator, of New York City. If the Professor had strolled about alone, it might have raised suspicions in the mind of whoever deemed it necessary to be on the alert. And unfortunately the Professor could not appear with his guest. His guest was gone. His guest, to be exact, at the moment when Megara climbed into the police car, was hundreds of miles from Long Island.
It had been a canny plot. Late Friday night, in the darkness enshrouding Bradwood, Ellery had quietly slipped out of Yardley’s grounds in his Duesenberg. Until he reached the main highway he maneuvered the car like a ghost. Then he plunged forward toward Mineola. There he picked up District Attorney Isham and darted toward New York.
At four o’clock Saturday morning the old Duesenberg was in the capital of Pennsylvania. Harrisburg was asleep; both men were tired, and without conversation they checked in at the Senate Hotel and went to their rooms. Ellery had left a call for nine. They dropped into their beds like clubbed men.
Nine-thirty Saturday morning found them miles from Harrisburg, bound for Pittsburgh. They did not stop for luncheon. The racing car was coated with dust, and both Ellery and Isham showed the strain of the tedious grind... The Duesenberg for all its years responded nobly. Twice they were chased by motorcycle policemen when Ellery was sending the old engine along at seventy miles an hour. Isham produced his credentials, and they went on... At three o’clock in the afternoon they were crawling through Pittsburgh.
Isham growled: “The hell with this. He’ll keep. I don’t know how you do it, but I’m starving. Let’s have something to eat.”
They wasted precious time while the District Attorney filled his stomach. Ellery was strangely excited; he toyed with his food; although his face was marked with lines of fatigue, his eyes were fresh, and they sparkled at unexpressed thoughts.
At a few minutes to five, the Duesenberg was parked before the frame building which housed the majestic fathers of Arroyo’s municipal destiny.
Their joints creaked as they descended. Isham stretched his arms hugely, oblivious of the curious eyes of a fat old German — Ellery recognized him as the worthy Bernheim, Arroyo’s storekeeper — and the blue denim-clad countryman who seemed perpetually to be sweeping the sidewalk before the Municipal Hall. Isham yawned: “Well, might as well get it over with right away. Where’s this country constable, Mr. Queen?”
Ellery led the way into the rear of the building, where the Constable’s office lay. He knocked at the door and a rusty bass voice said: “Come in, durn ye!”
They went in. Constable Luden sat there large and sweaty as life, just as if he had not moved in the six months that had elapsed since Ellery’s last visit to Arroyo. His buck teeth stuck out of his fat red face as he gaped.
“I’ll be the son of a so-an’-so,” Luden exclaimed, crashing his big feet to the floor, “ef it ain’t Mr. Queen! Come in, come in. Still chasin’ th’ feller that bumped our scoolteacher oft?”
“Still on the scent, Constable,” smiled Ellery. “Meet a fellow-preserver of the law. This is District Attorney Isham of Nassau County, New York. Constable Luden — Mr. Isham.”
Isham grunted and did not offer to shake hands. The Constable grinned. “Town’s seen some mighty big mucks in th’ last year, mister, so don’t act so stuck-up.” Isham gasped. “Y’heard me... What’s on y’r mind, Mr. Queen?”
Ellery said hastily: “May we sit down? We’ve been driving for a few hundred centuries.”
“Set.”
They sat. Ellery said: “Constable, have you seen that daffy hillman of yours, Old Pete, recently?”
“Ol’ Pete? Now, that’s queer,” said Luden, with a shrewd glance at Isham. “Ain’t seen th’ old nut fer weeks. Don’t often come to town, Ol’ Pete, I mean, don’t; but this time — durned ef I seen him fer two months! Musta stacked up on vittles a-plenty last time he come down from the mount’n; y’might ask Bernheim.”
“Do you know where his hut is located?” demanded Isham.