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:
Men moved rapidly about the deck. The center of activity seemed to be about the superstructure amidships; a little knot of men stood there, the vortex, and grew every instant as police launches anchored alongside and their crews of police and detectives clambered aboard.
And, limned clearly against the placid morning sky, was that ghastly symbol, clad in blood-smeared pajamas. It was stiffly attached to the first of the two antenna masts. It resembled nothing human, least of all that vigorous, warm-blooded man who had spoken to them a bare twelve hours before. It mocked them from its position of eminence; its two legs, strapped to the mast, were attenuated out of all proportion to human shape; the whole dreadful effigy of flesh gave the illusion of heroic size.
“Christ on Golgotha,” croaked Professor Yardley. “Lord, it’s hard to believe, hard to believe.” His lips were ashen.
“I’m not a religious man,” said Ellery slowly, “but for God’s sake, Professor, don’t blaspheme. Yes, it’s hard to believe. You read the old stories, history — of Caligula, of the Vandals, of Moloch, of the Assassins, of the Inquisition. Dismemberments, impalements, flayings... blood, the pages are written in blood. You read... But mere reading doesn’t begin to give you the full, the hot and smoking horror of it. Most of us can’t grasp the monstrous versatility of madmen bent on destroying the human body... Here in the twentieth century, despite our gang wars, the Great War, the pogroms still raging in Europe, we have no clear conception of the true horror of human vandalism.”
“Words, just words,” said the Professor stiffly. “You don’t know, and I don’t know. But I’ve heard stories of returned soldiers...”
“Remote,” muttered Ellery. “Impersonal. Mass madness can never be so directly sickening as the orgiastic satanism of individual madness. Oh, hell, let’s stop it. I feel sick enough.”
Neither man said another word until the launch drew alongside the Helene and they had climbed the ladder to the deck.
Of all the busy men holding down the Helene’s decks that morning, Inspector Vaughn seemed the least touched by the phantasmagoric nuances of the crime. To him this was business — bad business, fantastic and bloody business, to be sure, but quite in the line of duty; and if his eyes rolled and his mouth said bitter things it was not because Stephen Megara — into whose living eyes he had glared the night before — hung like a figure of red and mutilated wax on the antenna mast, but because he was horrified by the shocking inefficiency, as he evidently believed it to be, of his subordinates.
He was storming at a lieutenant of water police. “Nobody got by you last night, you say?”
“No, Inspector. I’d swear to it.”
“Stop alibi-ing. Somebody did get by!”
“We were on the lookout all night, Inspector. Of course, we had only four boats, and it’s physically possible that—”
“Physically possible?” sneered the Inspector. “Hell, man, it was done!”
The lieutenant, a young man, flushed. “Might I suggest, Inspector, that he came from the mainland? After all, we could protect only the north, the Sound side of the yacht. Why couldn’t he have come out from Bradwood or nearby?”
“When I want your opinion, Lieutenant, I’ll ask for it.” The Inspector raised his voice. “Bill!”
A man in plainclothes stepped out of a group of silent detectives.
“What have you got to say for yourself?”
Bill rubbed his unshaven jaw and looked humble. “That’s a lot of territory we’ve got to cover, Chief. I’m not saying he didn’t come that way. But if he did, you really can’t blame us. You know yourself how easy it is to make a sneak through a bunch of trees.”
“Listen, men.” The Inspector stepped back and clenched his right fist; they listened. “I don’t want any debates or alibis, understand? I want facts. It’s important to know how he got to the yacht. If he came across the Sound from the New York shore, that’s important. If he came from the Long Island mainland, that’s important. Chances are he didn’t go through Bradwood itself. He’d know it was patrolled. Bill, I want you to—”
A launch shot alongside, towing a rowboat which Ellery, through the sickish haze before his eyes, dimly recognized. A policeman stood up and shouted: “We got it!”
They all ran to the rail. “What’s that?” cried Vaughn.
“Found this rowboat floatin’ in the Sound,” yelled the officer. “Markings show she belongs to that estate next door to Bradwood.”
“A light leaped into Vaughn’s eyes. “The Lynn boat! Sure, that’s the answer. Anything in it, officer?”
“Nothing except the oars.”
The Inspector spoke rapidly to the man named Bilclass="underline" “Take a couple of the boys and go over that Lynn estate. Examine the slip especially, and the ground around it for footprints. Go over every inch of the place. See if you can trace the guy before he got there.”
Ellery sighed. A ripple went through the mass of men about him. Orders were shouted, detectives scrambled overside. Vaughn strode about, Professor Yardley leaned against the door of the radio operator’s cubicle — above which loomed the antenna masts and Stephen Megara’s body. District Attorney Isham bent over the rail with a greenish look about him. A little motorboat scooted up with Dr. Temple, his face startled; on the Bradwood dock a group of tiny men — women, too, from the white skirts.
A little moment of quiet ensued. The Inspector came over to where Ellery stood with the Professor, leaned against the door on his elbow, stuck a cigar into his mouth, and looked contemplatively up at the rigid corpse.
“Well, gentlemen?” he said. “How do you like it?”
“Ghastly,” muttered the Professor. “A perfect nightmare of insanity. The T’s again.”
Ellery was struck by a little blow of surprise. Of course. In the unsettled state of his emotions he had entirely overlooked the significance of the antenna mast as an instrument of crucifixion. The upright of the mast and the horizontal bar at the top from which the aerial wires were strung to the corresponding bar on the other side of the cabin roof resembled nothing so much as a slender steel capital T... He noticed now, for the first time, that two men were on the roof behind the crucified body. One he recognized as Dr. Rumsen, the Medical Examiner; the other he had never seen before — a dark, lean old man with a look of the sea about him.
“They’ll be taking the body down in a minute,” remarked the Inspector. “That old bird up there is a sailor — expert on knots. I wanted him to have a look at the lashings before we cut the body down... What d’ye say, Rollins?” he shouted at the old man.
The knot expert shook his head and straightened up. “No sailor ever tied them knots, Inspector. Just about as clumsy as a ’prentice hand would tie ’em. And another thing. They’re the same kind o’ knots as on that clothesline y’gave me three weeks ago.”
“Good!” said the Inspector cheerfully. “Take him down, Doc.” He turned back. “Used clothesline again — guess he didn’t want to waste time looking for rope on board. It isn’t as if this were an old sailing vessel, y’know. Same knots as we found on the rope used to lash Brad to the totem pole. Same knots, same man.”
“Not necessarily a sequitur,” said Ellery, “but with the other things you’re perfectly right. Exactly what is the story, Inspector? I understand Captain Swift was assaulted.”