The Egyptian Cross Mystery

“What happened to this youngster, Krosac?” demanded Isham.

“His mother fled with him from Montenegro. They went to Italy, hiding there, and the mother died shortly after.”

“And that left young Krosac to carry on the feud against you people,” said Vaughn thoughtfully. “I suppose his old lady pumped him full of hop before she died. You kept track of the boy?”

“Yes. We had to, in self-protection, because we knew that he would try to kill us when he grew up. Our paid agents tracked him all over Europe, but he disappeared before he was seventeen and we never heard of him again — until now.”

“You people didn’t see Krosac personally?”

“No. Not since he left our mountainside, when he was eleven or twelve years old.”

“Just a moment,” said Ellery, frowning. “How can you gentlemen be so sure Krosac wanted to kill you? After all, a child...”

“How?” Andrew Van smiled bitterly. “One of our agents wormed his way into the boy’s confidence while he was still under observation and heard him swear to wipe us all out, if he had had to follow us to the ends of the earth to spill our blood.”

“And you mean to say,” demanded Isham, “because of a kid’s wild nonsense, you actually ran from your home country and changed your names?”

Both men flushed. “You don’t know Croatian feuds,” muttered the yachtsman. He avoided their eyes. “A Krosac once followed a Tvar into the heart of southern Arabia — generations ago...”

“Then it’s certain that, if you were face to face with Krosac, you wouldn’t know him?” asked Ellery abruptly.

“How could we?... We were left alone — we three. Father, mother — dead. We decided to leave Montenegro and go to America. There wasn’t a tie to hold us — Andrew here and I were unmarried, and while Tom had been married, his wife had died and there were no children.

“We were a rich family; and our estates were valuable. We sold all our property and under assumed names, separately, we came to this country, meeting by prearrangement in New York. We had decided to take our names” — Ellery started, and then smiled — “from different countries; we consulted an atlas, and each of us assumed a different nationality — I Greek, Tom Roumanian, and Andrew Armenian, since at that time we were unmistakably Southern European in appearance and speech, and couldn’t pass for native Americans.”

“I warned you about Krosac,” said the schoolmaster darkly.

“Tom and I... we’d all been well educated — went into our present business. Andrew here was always a restless soul and he had preferred to work alone, studying the English language by himself, and ultimately becoming a schoolteacher. We all, of course, became American citizens. And gradually, as the years passed, since we’d heard nothing of or from Krosac, we almost forgot him. He became — at least to Tom and me — a legend, a myth. We thought him dead or hopelessly off the trail.” The yachtsman set his jaw. “If we’d known — At any rate, Tom married. We did well in business. And Andrew went out to Arroyo.”

“If you’d taken my advice,” snapped Van, “this would not have happened, and Tom would be alive today. I told you repeatedly that Krosac would come back and take his revenge!”

“Please, Andr’,” said Megara in a hard voice; but there was something pitying in his eyes as he looked at his brother. “I know. And you didn’t see us often. Your own fault, as you must realize. Perhaps if you’d been more fraternal...”

“Stay with you and Tom where Krosac could wipe us out with one blow?” cried the man from Arroyo. “Why do you think I buried myself in that hole? I love life, too, Stephen! But I was wise, and you—”

“Not so wise, Andr’,” said the yachtsman. “After all, Krosac found you first. And—”

“Yes,” said the Inspector. “So he did. I’d like to get that little business of the Arroyo murder straight, Mr. Van, if you don’t mind.”

The schoolmaster stiffened at some bleak memory. “Arroyo,” he said hoarsely. “A place of horrors. It was my fear that led me, years ago, to assume the character of Old Pete. A dual personality, I felt, would stand me in good stead, should Krosac” — he snarled — “find me. He found—” He stopped and then said rapidly: “For years I kept that hut, which I had discovered by accident, abandoned, when I was exploring some old caves in the hills. I set up the barbed wire. I purchased my disguise in Pittsburgh. Once in a great while, when I was free from my regular duties as the schoolmaster, I stole up into the hills and dressed as Old Pete, appearing in town often enough to make the personality real in the minds of the Arroyo people. Tom and Stephen — they always laughed at this subterfuge. They said it was a childish thing to do. Was it childish, Stephen? Do you think so now? Don’t you think that Tom, in his grave, is sorry he didn’t follow my example?”

“Yes, yes,” said Megara quickly. “Tell the story, Andr’.”

The eccentric schoolmaster took a turn about the cabin, hands behind the back of the borrowed uniform, eyes distraught... They listened to an amazing tale.