The Player on the Other Side (15 page)

‘See here,' Percival York muttered. But it was an empty thing, a way of departing; and at the old man's very slight head motion York followed the uniformed man meekly out.

‘What was that all about?' asked Ellery, after a moment. ‘You really think he did it?'

The father folded his arms and gazed out at nothing. ‘Worse luck,' he said, ‘no,' and looked suddenly at the son, sore-eyed. ‘Ellery, I let that jerk have it
because
he's a jerk. I don't like him. I don't like him so much I've had a tail on him ever since his cousin Robert stopped that stone block with his skull. Don't you think I know where Percival was today? Hell, I even know who he was with — whom!' The Inspector struck his fist, painfully, into open palm. ‘Don't look at me that way.'

‘Who, me?' Ellery understood what his father wanted to say and could not: that he had let the job climb on top of him, that personal motivation had crippled a good police officer's performance. ‘I can hardly afford it. With me it was cleverness, trying to outsmart the player on the other side, seeing a move that wasn't there. So off I tear to make sure my Myra's protected from the foul fiend, and he gives it to Emily as advertised. I'd suggest an immediate back-to-work movement. And for a start, from now until this thing is broken, you ought to put a tail on everyone — everyone, that is, whom you can't lock up or in. If it accomplishes nothing else, it'll at least relieve the pressure on the Morgue.'

It seemed to help the old man, for he squared his spare shoulders and raised his head.

‘And then,' continued Ellery briskly, ‘problem: how to ferret out this cutie-pie.'

‘The hard way,' sighed Inspector Queen. ‘We find out everything findable about everybody. Get it all on paper, put the paper in a pile, then start from the top. We'll find him, son.' He looked at his son. ‘Or am I using the wrong pronoun?'

‘No,' said Ellery. ‘We is correct.'

She stumbled, and young Archer caught her elbow. He did not let it go. ‘Are you all right?'

‘Tired,' said Ann Drew wanly. ‘Wrung out, unplugged, destarched —
tired.
'

‘You shouldn't try to do so much.'

‘I don't do anything. I'm just
there
. Like Mrs. Schriver, bless her heart and the policewoman. But this has been going on — what is it, eight days now? — since poor Emily was killed, and once in a while one of us has to take a shift off. Which means the other two carry double packs.'

‘They ought to get someone else, then.'

The girl shook her exquisite head. ‘We all want to do this particular job, Tom. Miss Myra's used to the combination; and another face would make her, well, unpredictable again. I'd rather be haggard than have to go through any more of
that.
'

‘How's she taking it? I mean, does she really know what it's all about?'

‘How can you ever tell, with her? Sometimes she's so, well, brisk, so quick; talks about all sorts of things, laughs a lot … Then all of a sudden she'll grab your arm — she's awfully strong — and insist on knowing if that wasn't “someone at the door.” When that happens, every rational thought seems to go out of her poor head,
whoosh.
'

‘But does she know she's being guarded?'

‘I'm not sure. If she does realize she's in danger, she doesn't seem to care. She'll think of things for us to do that would make us leave her by herself. Once — for heaven's sake, Tom, don't breathe a word of this, especially to Miss Constant, the policewoman, because it happened while she was taking her break — Miss Myra insisted I go look for some peach preserves she said were in the cellar. I told Mrs. Schriver to keep an eye on her — she was in the kitchen preparing lunch — and while I was gone Miss Myra got all dolled up and somehow gave Mrs. Schriver the slip and I just happened by dumb luck to catch a glimpse of her in the street through the little cellar window and how I got to her and brought her back so fast I'll
never
know. I was so nervous it was two hours before I noticed that I was all soot and cobwebs.'

‘The good old death wish,' nodded the erudite Mr. Archer.

‘Oh, stuff,' said Miss Drew. ‘It's just a game she plays.'

‘Or maybe,' he said suddenly, ‘maybe she knows something nobody else does.'

‘What's
that
supposed to mean?'

‘I don't know,' he said. ‘Sometimes my mouth says things without prior consultation.'

She looked at him abstractedly. ‘You worry me.'

‘I do?' Archer moved closer, and so did his voice. ‘Glory be for that —'

‘Now, Tom,
don't.
'

‘Don't what? Did I say anything? Make passionate love to you? Propose something? Permanent? Temporary?'

‘Tom,
please.
'

‘How did you know I was about to say something that would make your “Now, Tom, don't” a logical reply? Maybe I was going to ask you out for pizza pie
à deux
. Maybe I was going to say good-bye. Was that it? Did you think I was going to say good-bye and you couldn't face it, so you stopped me? Oh, Ann, Ann, do you really love me so much?'

She stamped her foot. ‘Tom, stop it!'

‘Stop it? Well, now I know. You don't want to marry me. Or could it be that you just can't stand pizza?'

‘Don't, don't,
don't!
' The hysteria in her own voice snapped her out of it. She pulled her chest up like a braced cadet, and then let her breath out deeply. ‘I'm sorry, Tom. I've had a wretched day.'

Tom Archer looked like a nice little boy caught with his hand in the collection plate. ‘No, Ann, no, I'm the one who's sorry. Please. Worry takes different forms. Some people go around dropping things, some burst into tears at a raised forefinger, some kick dogs and children. Me … I talk.'

‘Then you must be
very
worried,' Ann said with a quavery ghost-smile.

‘I am.' He kicked something in the imaginary half-dark.

‘About us? We're not Yorks, Tom.'

‘We know that,' said Archer blackly, ‘but does this damn killer?'

‘What do you mean?' gasped Ann.

‘How do I know what I mean? I get the nasty feeling that he knows more about us than we do —'

‘Tom.' She looked at him, and he could just make out the enormousness of her eyes. ‘It's someone we
know
. Isn't it?'

The lovely fear-stretched eyes, the horror-touched tone, instantly turned Mr. Archer in the opposite direction again. ‘Who,' he asked airily, ‘really knows anyone? Let's talk about something else. All right?'

He tilted her little chin, and after a moment she smiled and murmured, ‘All
right
. What about?'

‘You carry the ball this time,' he suggested.

‘Let me think.' She cocked her head, a finger to her lips. ‘Oh, I know. Do you know what lox is?'

‘Certainly, it goes with bagels.'

‘Not that kind, silly. Lox is liquid oxygen. Did you know that if you dip a rose into lox and then drop it, it will shatter like finest crystal, right down to the
tinkle
? Isn't that lovely?'

‘It certainly is,' he said doubtfully. ‘Where —?'

‘Or take Roquefort cheese. Did you know that Roquefort was discovered by pure accident, when a goatherd lost a bucket of milk in a cool cave?'

‘Wait a minute —'

‘Or let me tell you about the Trobriand Islands …'

‘Wait — a — minute! Where did you pick up these scraps of wisdom? You've never … I mean, this has the smack of very recently acquired useless information. Where did you get it, Ann?'

‘I don't believe I care for your tone, Mr. Archer,' the girl said coldly. ‘If you must know, at dinner this evening.'

‘At dinner?' Young Archer sounded skeptical. ‘From Mrs. Schriver, no doubt? Or Policewoman Monster?'

‘Policewoman
Constant
. And you know perfectly well it was my evening off.'

‘Ah, then you were out with somebody?'

‘I don't know why you assume the right —'

‘Who?'

‘Tom, I bruise easily —'

‘Whom were you out to dinner with tonight?' he cried, fiercely, shaking her.

She dimpled. ‘Ellery Queen.'

His jaw dropped, so far that Ann almost giggled. ‘Ellery Queen,' he breathed, and Ann's giggle impulse vanished. For over Tom Archer's face dropped a mask of great ugliness. ‘Why did Queen ask you to dinner, Ann?'

‘Tom, I don't think I like you tonight —'

‘
Why did he ask you out?
'

This time, although she cried out faintly at the grip of his hands, he did not release her. ‘I
don't
. I mean, like you tonight. Or maybe any other time! Is this what you're like when you're jealous?'

‘Jealous, hell,' Archer said, so flatly she stopped squirming. ‘All I want to know is why he took you out.'

She whimpered, ‘Why does any man —'

‘Don't give me that, Ann,' he snapped. ‘Queen isn't any man. He's a detective on a case. He's working. He works all the time. Including at dinner with a suspect.'

‘Suspect?' the girl gasped. ‘
Me?
'

‘You can't be that naïve. Certainly you! We're all suspects. Listen, Ann, this may be serious. What did you tell him? What did he worm out of you?'

‘Worm out of me? Nothing!'

‘What else did you talk about?'

‘Oh, the Seebecks —'

‘The Seebecks.' He stared down at her.

‘Is there something wrong with that, too?' she flashed. ‘Mr. Queen told me all about how Seebeck worked for a banknote company that printed stamps for foreign countries —'

‘Don't tell
me
the story — I told you, remember?' Archer was very close to her now, but there was nothing close about his voice; it was as remote as the next galaxy. ‘What I want to know is: How did the subject of the Seebecks come up?'

‘It just came up,' she wailed. ‘Tom, what's got into you?'

‘Think!' he all but yelled. ‘Think! How did it come up?'

She searched his face; in hers were hurt, bewilderment and, nakedly new, fear. ‘Is it so terribly important?'

‘Yes!'

‘Then you'll have to stop shouting at me,' she said firmly. ‘We were talking about … yes, Robert York, and what a queer little man he was. So regular, so starched … sort of — oh, you know — like a wind-up toy of a man.'

‘Well?' Archer said harshly.

‘Let me think! … Oh, yes. Mr. Queen wanted to know about the exceptions. He said there are always exceptions when people live by rules and clocks. And I said I couldn't recall any except that time Robert called you in about the Seebecks that evening. You remember, Tom. He sent Walt.'

‘What did you have to tell him that for!'

‘Why not?' She looked at him like a scared little girl. ‘Tom, you've never spoken to me like this before — not
ever
. Oh!' she said suddenly, remembering. ‘Mr. Queen seemed to know that you and Robert York had a bad quarrel over those Seebecks, so naturally I couldn't deny it.'

‘It's the way it looks, that's all,' Archer muttered. ‘You shouldn't have told him anything.'

‘But, Tom, Tom, no matter how it looks …' She swallowed and said too quickly, ‘I mean … oh, I don't know what I mean!'

‘I didn't kill him,' Tom Archer growled, ‘if that's what's at the back of your mind. Or Emily York, either.'

She wet her lips. ‘Tom, I never said … What's
happening
to us?' she cried. ‘This is awful. Tom, let's get back to where we were. You were going to ask me something. What was it?'

He regarded her bleakly. He did not seem the same man at all, the man who had released that tumbling flood of euphoria only minutes before.

‘Nothing,' he grumbled. ‘It doesn't matter.
You!
' he shouted to the little park. ‘You can come out of hiding now and take Miss Drew back!'

And when the somewhat abashed plainclothesman stepped out from behind one of Walt's mathematical box hedges Tom Archer turned on his heel and stalked back to Robert York's house and, presumably, his own room.

17

Attack Advanced

He was writing:

I hasten to reassure you, My Dear Walt. You have been worried — just a little, am I correct? Yes, indeed. For I know what you said to the Adversary — every word. You did not doubt that, did you? Of course not. It was your knowlede of my presence that has since caused you worry.

Know, then, that you conducted yourself admirably. You did perfectly. You answered with only just as much of the truth as would be of no real value to him. You volunteered nothing. Again I say — Well done!

Do you feel better? I knew you would.

My Dear Walt, trust me. You will be free from harm, for you know I control all things. And trust yourself, too. When in doubt, trust yourself by being yourself.

You cannot speak my name.

You may not speak my name.

Aside from this, say what you will.

Enclosed is a new card. Get your printing set out of its hiding place and …

18

Counterattacks

Inspector Queen put away his keys and walked like the tired man he was to Ellery's study. He found the sometimes dim light of his life crouched over the desk, blinking sightlessly at the silent ranks of the Encyclopaedia Britannica through the old blue smog of unventilated tobacco endlessly smoked.

‘Whew,' said the Inspector, fighting his way in.

Ellery sprang to his feet, alive and aware on the instant, with no transition. ‘It's
got
to mean something!' he cried to his father, ‘Don't you agree?'

‘Don't I agree to what?' sighed the Inspector, sitting down in Ellery's good armchair and stretching his aching legs.