The Egyptian Cross Mystery

Andreja Tvar gnawed at his thin upper lip. “It’s come, it’s come... It — I can’t tell you how appalling all this is. To see a horrid specter materialize after years of empty dread... You want my story?”

“Under the circumstances,” said Ellery dryly, “don’t you think we’re entitled to it?”

“Yes,” replied the schoolmaster heavily. “Stephen and I will need all possible assistance... What has he told you?”

“Only that you and Brad and he were brothers,” said Isham. “Now what we want to know—”

Andrew Van rose, and his eyes hardened. “Not a word now! I say nothing until I see Stephen.”

His change of bearing and attitude was so sudden that they both stared at him. “But why, man?” cried Isham. “We’ve traveled hundreds of miles to come here—”

The man snatched the shotgun, and Isham took a backward step. “I don’t say either of you is not exactly what you claim to be. The note is in Stephen’s handwriting. The other is in Tom’s. But these things can be arranged. I haven’t taken these precautions to be fooled at the last by a clever trick. Where is Stephen now?”

“At Bradwood,” drawled Ellery. “Don’t act like a child, man; drop that gun. As for not saying anything until you see your brother — why, Mr. Megara anticipated that and we’ve provided for it. You’re perfectly right to be suspicious, and we’ll accede to any reasonable suggestion; eh, Isham?”

“Yes,” growled the District Attorney. He picked up the bundle he had carried all the way up the mountain trail. “That’s the way we’ll do it, Mr. Tvar. What do you say?”

The man looked uncertainly at the bundle; that he was torn between desire and indecision was evident from his manner. Finally he said: “Open it.”

Isham ripped the brown paper off. The bundle contained a Nassau County trooper’s uniform, complete to shoes and revolver.

“Can’t possibly arouse suspicion,” said Ellery. “Once we get to Bradwood you’re a trooper. There are fistfuls of them about the place. A man in uniform is always just a uniform, Mr. Tvar.”

The schoolmaster paced up and down his stone floor. “Leave the shack...” he muttered. “I’ve been here safely for months. I—”

“The revolver is loaded,” said Isham dryly, “and there’s plenty of ammunition in your belt. What can happen to you with a loaded weapon and an escort of two able-bodied men?”

He flushed. “I suppose I seem a coward to you gentlemen... Very well.”

He began to fling off his rags; he was dressed in clean and decent underwear beneath, they noted — another note of incongruity. He began, rather awkwardly, to don the trooper’s uniform.

“Fits,” remarked Ellery. “Megara was right about the size.”

The schoolmaster said nothing... When he was fully clothed, the revolver in its heavy leather holster at his side, he presented a fine figure — tall, powerful and, in a way, handsome. His hand strayed to the weapon and caressed it; and he seemed to gather strength from it.

“I’m ready,” he said, in a steady voice.

“Good!” Isham went to the door; Ellery peeped out of the wired window. “All clear, Mr. Queen?”

“It seems to be.” Isham unbolted the door, and they stepped out quickly... The clearing was deserted; the sun was setting, and the woods were already touched with the dimness of dusk. Ellery scrambled through the lower strands of the fence, Isham followed, and they both stood watching while their uniformed charge climbed — with a litheness Ellery envied — after them.

The door — Andrew Tvar had seen to that — was closed. Smoke still curled from the chimney. To anyone prowling in the edge of the forest the shack would still seem tenanted and impregnable.

The three men darted for the woods, and it closed over their heads. They made their way very cautiously down the faint trail to the clump of bushes where, like Old Faithful, the Duesenberg waited for them. They saw no one in the hills or on the road.