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:
Romaine looked quickly around at the hostile faces. “Go take off your diapers first,” he said, shrugging his big shoulders, and half-turned away.
Jonah’s fist collided with the man’s jaw. It was a lusty blow, well planted, and had behind it all the bitter rage which Jonah had been nursing for weeks. It would have knocked a man of ordinary strength unconscious; but Romaine was an ox, and the blow merely staggered him. He blinked again, a feline snarl wiped out his handsomeness, and he brought his bludgeon of a right fist up once in a short, powerful uppercut that lifted Jonah an inch from the wooden dock and dropped him, a senseless lump, to the boards.
Inspector Vaughn’s geniality vanished. He shouted: “Keep back!” to his men, and sprang forward like a dart. Romaine, moving with extraordinary speed for his bulk, leaped from the dock into the motorboat where Stryker cowered, almost foundering the boat, and shoved off with a gargantuan sweep of his paw. The motor sputtered, and the boat shot away toward Oyster Island.
“I’m getting into the launch,” said the Inspector calmly. “You men take this poor guy back — I’ll join you in a couple of minutes. That bird needs a lesson.”
As the launch swished away from the dock in pursuit of the motorboat, Ellery knelt by the fallen gladiator and slapped his pallid cheeks gently. Professor Yardley flung himself prone on the dock and scooped a palmful of water from the Sound.
The detectives yelled encouragement to the Inspector, who was standing in the prow of the launch, like Captain Ahab, and stripping off his coat.
Ellery dripped water onto Jonah’s face. “A remarkable example,” he observed dryly to the Professor, “of the triumph of justice. Wake up, Lincoln; the war’s over!”
They were sitting on the colonial porch fifteen minutes later when Inspector Vaughn rounded the corner. Jonah Lincoln sat in a rocker holding his jaw in both hands as if he were surprised it was still attached to his face. Ellery, Isham, and Yardley ignored him, smoking peacefully with their backs to him.
The Inspector’s face, while not precisely angelic, since there were traces of blood about his nose and a cut under one eye, nevertheless indicated that he felt satisfied with his knightly joust.
“Hullo,” he said cheerfully, pounding up the porch steps between the pillars. “Well, Mr. Lincoln, you knocked him kicking by proxy. It was a battle royal, but there’s one ladies’ man who’ll keep away from mirrors for a month.”
Jonah groaned. “I... Lord, I just haven’t got the strength. I’m not really a coward. But that man — he’s a Goliath.”
“Well, I’m his little David.” Vaughn sucked a torn knuckle. “I thought the old lunatic would throw a fit. I actually knocked out the chief disciple! Heresy, hey, Professor? Better get washed up, Mr. Lincoln.” He stopped smiling. “Let’s get back to business. Seen Mrs. Brad?”
Abruptly Jonah rose and went into the house.
“I guess she’s still upstairs,” said Isham.
“Well,” said the Inspector, striding after Jonah, “let’s get to her before Lincoln does. He’s been acting the gentleman, and all that, but this is an official investigation and it’s time we got the truth from somebody.”
Helene, it seemed, was still in Hester Lincoln’s room. Stallings thought that Dr. Temple was upstairs, as well; the physician had not reappeared after going upstairs some time before with his medical bag.
They reached the bedroom floor just in time to see Jonah disappear into his bedroom. Following Stallings’s directions, they went to a door at the rear of the house and the Inspector knocked.
Mrs. Brad’s tremulous voice said: “Who is it?”
“Inspector Vaughn. May we come in?”
“Who? Oh, one moment!” There was panic in the woman’s tones. They waited, and the door opened slightly. Mrs. Brad’s rather handsome face appeared; her eyes were moist and apprehensive. “What is it, Inspector? I... I’m ill.”
Vaughn pushed the door gently. “I know. But this is important.”
She retreated, and they entered. It was heavily feminine, this room: scented, frilled, profusely mirrored, and its dressing-table was covered with cosmetics. She kept backing away, drawing her négligé more tightly about her.
“Mrs. Brad,” said Isham, “where were you between ten-thirty and eleven-thirty the night your husband was murdered?”
She stopped drawing the négligé about her, stopped backing away; almost, it seemed, stopped breathing. “What do you mean?” she asked tonelessly at last. “I was at the theater with my daughter, with—”
“Paul Romaine,” said Inspector Vaughn gently, “says you were with him, on Oyster Island.”
She faltered: “Paul...” Her large dark eyes were haunting. “He — he said that?”
“Yes, Mrs. Brad,” replied Isham gravely. “We realize how painful this must be to you. It’s admittedly none of our business provided it’s just that and nothing more. Tell us the truth, and we shan’t refer to it again.”
“It’s a lie!” she cried. She sat down suddenly in a chintz chair.
“No, Mrs. Brad. It’s the truth. It matches the fact that, although you and Miss Brad went to the Park Theater that night, only Mr. Lincoln and your daughter returned to this house in a taxicab. It matches the fact that the doorman of the Park Theater saw a woman of your description leave in the middle of the first act that night, about nine o’clock... Romaine says he had an appointment with you, that you met him near the dock.”
She covered her ears. “Please,” she moaned. “I was crazy. I don’t know how it happened. I was a fool...” They looked at each other. “Hester hates me. She wanted him, too. She thought — she thought he was decent...” The age-lines showed with startling clarity, as if newly etched, on her face. “But he’s the worst sort of beast!”
“He won’t be doing that sort of thing for a long time, Mrs. Brad,” said Inspector Vaughn grimly. “Nobody’s judging you, or trying to. Your life is your own, and if you were fool enough to get mixed up with that high-binder, you’ve suffered enough, I suppose. All we’re interested in is: How’d you get home and exactly what happened that night?”
She twisted her fingers in her lap; a dry sob choked her. “I... I slipped out of the theater early during the performance; I told Helene I didn’t feel well and insisted that she remain and wait for Jonah... I went to Pennsylvania Station and took the first train back — luckily there was one nearly at once. I... I got off a station ahead and hired a taxi to a point near Bradwood. I walked the rest of the way and no one seemed to be about, so... so...”
“Naturally,” said Isham, “you didn’t want Mr. Brad to know you had returned. We understand.”
“Yes,” she whispered; her face was dyed a dull unhealthy red. “I met — him at the dock.”
“What time was it?”
“A trifle before ten-thirty.”
“You’re sure you saw and heard nothing? You didn’t meet anyone?”
“Yes.” She looked up with agony in her eyes. “Oh, don’t you think I’d have told — everything — if I had seen something or someone? And when — when I came back, I slipped into the house and right to my room.”
Isham was about to ask another question, when the door opened quietly and Helene Brad appeared. She stood still, looking from her mother’s torn face to the faces of the men. “What is it, Mother?” she said, her eyes steady.
Mrs. Brad buried her head in her hands and began to weep.
“So it’s come out,” whispered Helene. She closed the door, slowly. “You were too weak to keep it back.” She glanced with contempt from Vaughn to Isham and went to the sobbing woman. “Stop crying, Mother. If it’s known, it’s known; other women have tried to recapture romance and failed. God knows...”