The Egyptian Cross Mystery

They went to the wall where the body hung; several feet to the side, in a corner, over the basinlike arrangement and the pump-handle, was the shelf which Isham had noticed on his previous visit to the shack. Except for two spaces the shelf was full; upon it stood a large blue package of cotton, a tube of tooth-paste, a roll of adhesive, a roll of bandage, and one of gauze, a small bottle labeled iodine and a companion bottle labeled mercurochrome and several small bottles and jars — cathartics, aspirin, zinc salve, Vaseline, and the like.

“It’s clear enough,” said the Inspector gloomily. “He used Van’s stuff. The bandage and the big bottle of iodine came from Van’s shelf, and he should worry about putting ’em back.”

“Just a minute,” said Isham, frowning. “You’re jumping to the conclusion that it was Krosac who was cut. Suppose it was this poor chump hanging on the wall. Don’t you see, Vaughn? If it wasn’t Krosac who got the wound, and it was Van, then we’d be on a false trail if we looked for a man with a cut wrist, thinking it was Krosac.”

“You’re not so dumb,” exclaimed Vaughn. “Never thought of that. Well!” He threw back his chunky shoulders. “Only one thing to do — take a look at the body.” He advanced toward the wall with set lips.

“Oh; say,” groaned Isham, wincing, “I... I’d rather not, Vaughn.”

“Listen,” snarled Vaughn, “I don’t like this job any more than you do. But it’s got to be done. Come on.”

Ten minutes later the headless body lay on the floor. They had extracted the spikes from the palms and feet. The rags Vaughn had shorn away from the corpse and it lay nude and white, a mockery of God’s image. Isham leaned against the wall with his hands pressed to his stomach. It was the Inspector who, with an effort, went over the bare flesh for wounds; turned the hideous thing over, and repeated his examination on the back.

“No,” he said, rising, “no wounds except the nail holes in the palms and feet. That wrist cut is Krosac’s, all right.”

“Let’s get out of here, Vaughn. Please.”

They returned to Arroyo in thick silence, breathing deeply of the untainted air. In town Inspector Vaughn sought out a telephone, and called Weirton, the county seat. He spoke to District Attorney Crumit for five minutes. Then he hung up and rejoined Isham.

“Crumit’ll keep quiet,” he said grimly. “Was he surprised! But it won’t leak out and that’s all I’m interested in. He’s bringing Colonel Pickett down here, and the Coroner. I told him we took a few liberties with Hancock County’s newest stiff.” He chuckled humorlessly as they emerged into Arroyo’s main street and hurried toward the tiny garage. “Second time they’ll have to hold an inquest into the death of Andrew Van!”