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:
On the porch of the colonial house a detective, who had been amiably rocking himself, got to his feet and handed the Inspector a bulky envelope. Vaughn, who was feeling particularly helpless this morning, snatched at it as if it were a life preserver. The helpless look vanished. His face became grim as he read it.
“Just delivered about a half-hour ago by special messenger,” explained the detective.
Helene Brad appeared in the doorway, and the Inspector put the envelope very hastily into his pocket.
“What’s going on here?” demanded Helene. “Where is Stephen? I think you owe us some explanation of all this mystery, Inspector!”
“Mr. Megara’s on his yacht,” replied Vaughn. “No, Miss Brad, I owe you no explanation. If you’ll excuse me—”
“I shan’t excuse you,” said Helene angrily; her eyes flashed. “I think you people have been acting in a beastly manner. Where did you and Stephen go this morning?”
“Sorry,” said Vaughn. “Can’t tell you. Please, Miss—”
“But Stephen looks ill. You haven’t been putting him through those nasty third degrees of yours!”
Vaughn grinned. “Oh, say now — that’s a lot of newspaper talk. Nothing like that. Looks sick, does he? Guess he doesn’t feel well. He did say something about having severe pains in the groin.”
Helene stamped her foot. “Inhuman, all of you! I shall ask Dr. Temple this very moment to go out to the yacht and have a look at him.”
“Go ahead and ask,” said the Inspector eagerly. “It’s all right with me.” And he sighed with relief when she marched off the porch and took the path which led past the totem post. Vaughn clamped his jaws at once. “Come along, Johnny. Got a job to do.”
Accompanied by the detective, the Inspector descended from the porch and struck out on the western path through the woods. The little hut in which Fox, the gardener-chauffeur, was confined popped into view through the trees. A plainclothesman lounged on the doorstep.
“Quiet?” asked Vaughn.
“Not a peep out of him.”
Vaughn without ceremony pushed open the door and went into the cabin, followed by his subordinate. Fox’s face, lean, gray, black-stubbled, eyes violet with shadows, turned to him at once with eagerness. He had been pacing the floor like any restless prisoner in a cell. When he saw who his visitor was, however, his lips clamped shut and he resumed his pacing.
“I’m giving you one last chance,” said the Inspector abruptly. “Will you talk?”
Fox’s feet pounded with uninterrupted rhythm.
“Still won’t tell me what you went to see Patsy Malone for, hey?”
No answer.
“All right,” said Vaughn, sitting down lazily. “That’s your funeral — Pendleton.”
The man’s stride faltered for an instant, and then resumed. His face remained expressionless.
“Good boy,” said Vaughn with sarcasm. “Swell nerves. And guts. But it won’t get you anywhere, Pendleton. Because we know all about you.”
Fox muttered: “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’ve done time.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Did a stretch in stir and don’t know what doing time means? All right, all right,” said the Inspector with a smile. “But I’m telling you, Pendleton, you’re acting like a damned fool. I don’t hold it against you because you used iron bars for curtains...” His smile disappeared. “I mean it, Pendleton. Denying it won’t do you any good. You’re in a jam — see? You’ve got a record, and under the circumstances it’s best for you to come clean.”
The man’s eyes were agonized. “I’ve got nothing to explain.”
“No? All right, let’s talk about it. Suppose I bumped into a crook below the deadline in New York City. A jeweler’s safe had just been cracked... Think my man wouldn’t have explaining to do? Guess again.”
The tall man stopped and leaned on his doubled hands; his knuckles were white against the dark table. “For God’s sake, Inspector,” he said, “give me a break! All right, I’m Pendleton. But I tell you I’m innocent in this case! I want to go straight—”
“Hmm,” said the Inspector. “That’s better. Now we know where we’re at. You’re Phil Pendleton, you were in State’s Prison at Vandalia, Illinois, serving a sentence of five years for robbery. You pulled the hero act in the prison break there last year, and saved the Warden’s life. The Governor of Illinois commuted your sentence. You’ve got a record — assault and battery in California, housebreaking in Michigan. Served time for both crimes... Now, if you’re on the level we don’t want to hound you. If you’re not, come clean and I’ll make it as easy for you as I can. Did you bump off Thomas Brad?”
The man who was known in Bradwood as Fox dropped limply into a chair. “No,” he whispered. “As God is my judge, Inspector.”
“How’d you get that last job — from the man who gave you references?”
He spoke without looking up. “I wanted to start over again. He — he didn’t ask questions. Business was bad, and he fired me. That’s all.”
“Had no ulterior motive in taking this double gardener-chauffeur’s job, eh?”
“No, it was outdoors, good pay...”
“All right. If you expect consideration, you’ve got to clear up that visit to Malone’s. If you’re on the straight, why do you look up a mob like Malone’s?”
Fox was silent for a long moment. Then he rose, and his face hardened. “I’ve got a right to lead my own life...”
“Sure you have, Pendleton,” said the Inspector genially. “That’s the ticket! We’ll help you.”
Fox spoke rapidly, looking at the detective in the doorway without seeing him. “In some way an old — an old prison pal traced me here. The first I knew about it was Tuesday morning. He insisted on meeting me. I said no — I was through. He said: ‘You wouldn’t want me to tip off your boss, would you?’ So I went.”
Vaughn nodded; he was listening intently. “Go on, son, go on.”
“He told me where to go — no names, just an address in New York. Tuesday night, after I dropped Stallings and Mrs. Baxter off at the Roxy, I drove up there, parked the car on the next block. Some gun let me in. I saw — somebody. He made me a — proposition. I said no — I was through with the old life. No more rackets for me. He told me he’d give me till the next day to consider, and if I didn’t come through he’d tell Mr. Brad who I was. I went away — and you know the rest.”
“Naturally laid off when he heard a murder was committed,” muttered Vaughn. “This was Patsy Malone, eh?”
“I... well, I can’t say.”
Vaughn eyed him shrewdly. “Won’t squeal, hey? What was the proposition?”
Fox shook his head. “I won’t tell any more, Inspector. You want to help me and all that, but if I spilled it it would be the spot for me.”
The Inspector rose. “I see. Well, I can’t say, between you and me, that I blame you. That sounds like the straight goods... By the way — Fox...” the man’s head jerked up, and he looked into Vaughn’s eyes with a mixture of astonishment and gratitude — “where were you last Christmas?”