The Siamese Twin Mystery (11 page)

The Inspector opened the door to the library again. “And now,” he said grimly, “we’ve got time to do a little real sleuthing. This, I’m afraid, is going to be good. I want every one of you to come upstairs with me and—”

He stopped. From somewhere at the rear of the house came the sounds of clashing metal and strident shouting. One of the voices, shrill with rage, belonged to the man-of-all-work, Bones. The other was a deep desperate bellow of vaguely familiar tone.

“What the devil,” began the Inspector, whirling about. “I thought nobody could get—”

He tugged at his service revolver, dashed through the study, and plunged down the cross-hall in the direction of the furious sounds. Ellery was at his heels, and the rest followed with stumbling, bewildered eagerness.

The Inspector turned right where the cross-hall met the main corridor and darted to the far door at the rear which he and Ellery had glimpsed on their entrance to the house the previous night. He flung open the door, revolver raised.

They were in a spotless tiled kitchen.

In the center of the kitchen, amid a clutter of dented pans and broken dishes, two men were struggling, locked in a desperate embrace.

One was the emaciated old man in overalls, eyes starting from his head, screaming curses and tugging at his adversary with maniacal strength.

Over Bones’s shoulder, gross and monstrous, glared the fat face and froggy eyes of the man the Queens had encountered on the dark Arrow Mountain road the night before.

“O
H, SO IT’S YOU,”
muttered the Inspector. “Stop it!” he said sharply. “I’ve got you covered and I mean business.”

The fat man’s arms dropped and he stared stupidly.

“Ah, our friend the motorist,” chuckled Ellery, stepping into the kitchen. He slapped the fat man’s hips and breast. “Not heeled.
Tsk!
Monstrous oversight. Well, what have you to say for yourself, friend Falstaff?”

A purple tongue slithered over the man’s lips. He was stocky and enormous—a wide, wide bulwark of a man with a small round paunch. He took a step forward and his body wobbled like jelly. He looked for all the world like a dangerous, middle-aged gorilla.

Bones was glaring at him with a convulsive hatred that shook his whole angular frame.

“What have I—?” began the stranger in his unpleasant bass voice. Then cunning crept into his little eyes. “What’s the meaning of this?” he boomed with heavy dignity. “This creature attacked me—”

“In his own kitchen?” murmured Ellery.

“He’s lying!” shrieked Bones, trembling with rage. “I caught him sneaking into the house through the open front door and he snooped around till he found the kitchen! Then he—”

“Ah, the grosser appetite,” sighed Ellery. “Hungry, eh? I thought you’d be back.” He whirled suddenly and searched the faces of the group behind him. They were staring at the fat man with baffled eyes.

“Is
he
the one?” said Mrs. Xavier huskily.

“Yes, indeed. Ever see him before?”

“No, no!”

“Mr. Xavier? Mrs. Wheary? Dr. Holmes … Strange,” murmured Ellery. He stepped closer to the fat man. “We’ll overlook the little raid just now; certain allowances must be made for starving men if only out of sheer humanitarianism. And with
that
bulk to feed. … I daresay you were ravenous to have risked coming back today, after the frantic efforts you must have made all night to get through the fire. Eh?”

The fat man said nothing. His little eyes flicked from face to face and his breathing came in hoarse gasps.

“Well,” said Ellery sharply, “what were you doing on the mountain last night?”

The fat man’s bare chest surged suddenly. “And what’s it to you?”

“Still fractious, eh? I might inform you that you’re a damned live suspect for murder.”

“Murder!”
The jowls sagged and all the cunning vanished from the froggy eyes in a twinkling. “Wh—who—?”

“Stop stalling,” snapped the Inspector. The revolver was still in his hand. “Who, eh? I thought a moment ago it didn’t make any difference. … Who’d you like it to be?”

“Well!” The fat man sighed hugely, eyes never still. “Naturally. … Murder. … I don’t know anything about this, gentlemen; how could I? I was wandering around half the night looking for a way—for a way out. Then I parked my car down the road a bit and slept until morning. How should I—?”

“Did you drive back to the house at all when you found you couldn’t get past the road below?”

“Why—no. No.”

“Well, why the hell didn’t you?”

“I—I didn’t think of it.”

“What’s your name?”

The fat man hesitated. “Smith.”

“His name, he says,” remarked the Inspector to the world at large, “is Smith. Well, well. What Smith? Just Smith? Or hasn’t your imagination got to the point of picking a first name yet?”

“Frank—Frank Smith. Frank J. Smith.”

“Where you hail from?”

“Why—ah, New York.”

“Funny,” muttered the Inspector. “I thought I knew every evil pan in the City. Well, what
were
you doing up here yesterday evening?”

Mr. Smith licked his purple lips again. “Why—I guess I lost my way.”

“You
guess
?”

“I mean I lost my way, you see. When I—yes, when I got to the top here and saw I couldn’t go any farther, I turned round and drove down again. That’s when you met me, you see.”

“You sang a different tune then,” said the old gentleman disagreeably. “And you sure were in one hell of a hurry. So you don’t know anybody in this house, hey? When you were lost last night, you didn’t think of stopping in here and asking your way, either, did you?”

“N-no.” Mr. Smith’s eyes fidgeted from the Queens to the silent company behind them. “But who, may I ask, was the unfort—”

“Unfortunate who was passed violently from the here to the hereafter?” Ellery squinted at him thoughtfully. “A gentleman named John Xavier, Dr. John S. Xavier. Name mean anything to you?”

The emaciated man-of-all-work began to make threatening sounds deep in his scrawny throat again.

“No,” said Mr. Smith hastily. “Never heard of him.”

“And you’ve never toiled up this Arrow Mountain road before, Mr.—ah—Smith? Last night was the first time—your debut, as it were?”

“I assure you …”

Ellery bent and lifted one of the fat man’s puffy paws. Mr. Smith growled in a startled way and snatched his hand back. “Oh, I’m not going to bite. Just looking for rings, you know.”

“R-rings?”

“But you haven’t any.” Ellery sighed. “I think, dad, we’re—uh—blessed with another guest for some time. Mrs. Xavier—no, Mrs. Wheary might make the necessary arrangements.”

“I guess so,” said the Inspector glumly, putting his revolver away. “Got any duds in your car, Smith, or whatever your name is?”

“Yes, of course. But can’t I—? Isn’t the fire—?”

“You can’t, and the fire isn’t. Get your things out of the car; can’t trust you to Bones—he’s liable to chew your ear off. Good man, Bones. That’s the spirit. Keep your eyes open.” The Inspector tapped the silent old man on his bony shoulder. “Mrs. Wheary, show Mr. Smith to a room on the first floor. There’s an empty, isn’t there?”

“Y-yes, sir,” said Mrs. Wheary nervously. “Several.”

“Then feed him. You stay put, Smith. No funny business.” He turned to Mrs. Xavier, who had shrunken incredibly within herself; her flesh looked withered. “Beg pardon, Madam,” he said stiffly, “for taking charge of your household this way, but in murder cases we haven’t got time to stand on ceremony.”

“That’s quite all right,” she whispered. Ellery examined her with fresh interest. The vitriol seemed to have drained out of her since the discovery of her husband’s corpse. The smoke and fire of her black eyes had been quenched; they were lifeless. And behind them, in the glaze, he thought, lurked fear. She had altered completely—all but the dreadful half-smile. That clung to her lips with the stubborn vitality of physical habit.

“All right, folks,” said the Inspector abruptly. “Now let’s pay a little visit to the society lady upstairs. We’ll all see Mrs. Carreau together and then I’ll get the whole story straight without anyone trying to put one over or keep something back. Maybe well see daylight in this rotten business.”

A low, musical, controlled voice startled them into whirling toward the corridor. “There’s no need of that, Inspector. I’ve come down, you see.”

And in the same flashing instant Ellery, spinning about, caught sight of Mrs. Xavier’s eyes. They were hot, rich black again.

S
HE WAS LEANING ON
tall Ann Forrest’s arm—a dainty, fragile beauty with the bloom of a delicate fruit. She looked no older than thirty—scarcely that. Her little figure was trim, graceful, slender, sheathed in some gray, soft, clinging material. Her hair was smoky black and she had two straight, determined brows over brown eyes. There was sensitiveness in the thin flare of her nostrils and her little mouth. The lightest of touches had etched tiny wrinkles about her eyes. In her carriage, her poise, the way she stood and the way she held her head Ellery read breeding. A remarkable woman, he thought—quite as remarkable in her way as Mrs. Xavier. The thought swung him about. Mrs. Xavier had miraculously regained her youth. The fires had never been brighter in her extraordinary eyes, and all the drooping muscles had been revitalized. She was glaring with feline intensity at Mrs. Carreau. Fear had been displaced by the frankest, most naked hatred.

“You’re Mrs. Marie Carreau?” demanded the Inspector. If he still felt for her any of the admiration he had voiced to Ellery the night before, he did not show it.

“Yes,” replied the small woman. “That’s quite correct. … I beg your pardon.” She turned to Mrs. Xavier, the queerest pain and compassion in the depths of her eyes. “I’m so sorry, my dear. Ann has told me. If there is anything I can do …”

The black pupils dilated; the olive nostrils flared. “Yes!” cried Mrs. Xavier, taking a step forward. “Yes! Get out of my house, that’s what you can do! You’ve made me suffer more … Get out of my house, you and your damned—”

“Sarah!” rasped Mark Xavier, grasping her arm and shaking her roughly. “Don’t forget yourself. Do you realize what you’re saying?”

The tall woman’s voice rose to a scream. “She—she—” A trickle of saliva appeared at one corner of her mouth. Her black eyes were blazing pits.

“Here, here,” said the Inspector softly. “What’s all this, Mrs. Xavier?”

Mrs. Carreau had not stirred; bloodless cheeks were her only sign of emotion. Ann Forrest gripped her round arm more tightly. Mrs. Xavier shuddered and shook her head from side to side. She relaxed limply against her brother-in-law.

“That’s all right, then,” continued the Inspector in the same soft voice. He flashed a glance at Ellery. But Ellery was studying the face of Mr. Smith. The fat man had retreated to the farther side of the kitchen and was striving to hold his breath. He looked as if he were squeezing himself in some fantastic effort to achieve two dimensions. The wattled face was deathly purple. “Let’s go into the living room and talk.”

“Now, Mrs. Carreau,” said the old gentleman when they were all seated stiffly in the big room, the hot sunlight pouring in through the French windows, “please explain yourself. I want the truth, now; if I don’t get it from you I’ll get it from the others, so you may as well make a clean breast of it.”

“What would you like to know?” murmured Mrs. Carreau.

“A lot of things. Let’s get the practical answers first. How long have you been in this house?”

“Two weeks.” Her musical voice was barely audible; she kept her eyes on the floor. Mrs. Xavier was lying in an armchair with closed eyes, deathly still.

“Guest here?”

“You might—call it that.” She paused, lifted her eyes, dropped them again.

“With whom did you come, Mrs. Carreau? Or were you alone?”

She hesitated again. Ann Forrest said swiftly: “No. I came with Mrs. Carreau. I’m her confidential secretary.”

“So I’ve noted,” said the Inspector coldly. “You’ll please keep out of this, young woman. I’ve a score to settle with you for disobeying orders. I don’t like my witnesses running off and passing the word along to—others.” Miss Forrest flushed and bit her lip. “Mrs. Carreau, how long have you known Dr. Xavier?”

“Two weeks, Inspector.”

“Oh, I see. Didn’t you know any of the others before, either?”

“No.”

“Is that right, Xavier?”

The big man muttered: “That’s right.”

“Then sickness brought you up here, eh, Mrs. Carreau?”

She shivered. “In—in a way.”

“You’re supposed to be traveling in Europe now, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” Her eyes were raised now, pleading. “I—I didn’t want my—it known.”

“Is that why you hid last night when my son and I drove up, why these people were so nervous, covered you up?”

She whispered: “Yes.”

The Inspector straightened and thoughtfully took snuff. Not particularly auspicious, he thought. He glanced about, searching for Ellery. But Ellery had unaccountably disappeared.

“Then you never saw anyone here before; just came for medical treatment? For observation maybe?”

“Yes, Inspector, oh, yes!”

“Hmm.” The old gentleman took a turn about the room. No one spoke. “Tell me, Mrs. Carreau—did you leave your room last night for any reason?” He could scarcely hear her reply. “Eh?”

“No.”

“That’s not true!” cried Mrs. Xavier suddenly, opening her eyes. She sprang to her feet, tall and magnificently furious. “She did! I saw her!”

Mrs. Carreau paled. Miss Forrest half rose, eyes snapping. Mark Xavier looked startled and extended his arm in a curious gesture.

“Hold everything,” murmured the Inspector. “And that means, everybody. You say you saw Mrs. Carreau leave her room, Mrs. Xavier?”

“Yes! She slipped out of her room a little after midnight and hurried downstairs. I saw her enter my—my husband’s study. They were there—”

“Yes, Mrs. Xavier? For how long?”

Her eyes wavered. “I don’t know. I—didn’t—wait.”

“Is that true, Mrs. Carreau?” asked the Inspector in the same soft tone.