The Siamese Twin Mystery (16 page)

“I certainly do. I had a definite difference in mind. By love, I mean the highest kind of spiritual—ah—feeling. …”

“Oh, rubbish!” She half turned away.

“You say that as if you mean it,” muttered the Inspector. “No, I suppose you would be capable of sacrificing yourself for, say, your children—”

“My children!”

“But you haven’t any, and that’s why I’ve come to the conclusion, Mrs. Xavier,” his voice crisped, “that you’re protecting a—lover!”

She bit her lip and began to pluck at the sheet.

“I’m sorry if I have to make a speech about it,” continued the old gentleman calmly, “but as an old bull with plenty of experience I’d sort of bet on it. Who is he, Mrs. Xavier?”

She glared at him as if she would gladly strangle him with her own white hands. “You’re the most despicable old man I’ve ever met!” she cried. “For God’s sake, let me alone!”

“You refuse to talk?”

“Get out, all of you?”

“That’s your last word?”

She was working herself up to a pitch of empurpling passion.
“Mon dieu,”
she whispered, “if you don’t get out …”

“Duse,” said Ellery with a scowl and, turning on his heel, stalked out of the room.

They stifled in the evening heat. From the terrace, to which they had repaired by common consent after a dinner of tinned salmon and silence, the whole of the visible sky was peculiarly red, a rubescent backdrop framing the mountainous scene and made dull and illusory by the clouds of smoke which soared from the invisible burning world below. It was a little difficult to breathe. Mrs. Carreau’s mouth and nose were muffled by the flimsiest of gray veils, and the twins succumbed to a depressing tendency to cough. Specks of orange light whirled into the sky from below on the wings of the updraught of wind, and their clothes were grimy with cinders.

Mrs. Xavier, marvelously restored to health, sat by herself, a deposed empress, at the far western end of the terrace. Swathed in black satin, she merged with the evening and became a disturbing presence felt rather than seen.

“Good deal like old Pompeii, I should imagine,” remarked Dr. Holmes at last, after the steepest of silences.

“Except,” said Ellery savagely, swinging his leg against the terrace rail, “that it and we and the whole world are slightly cockeyed. The crater of Vesuvius is where the town ought to be, and the Pompeiians—meaning this brilliantly conversational company—are where the crater ought to be. Quite a spectacle! Lava flowing upward: I think I shall write to the National Geographic Society about it when I get back to New York.” He paused; he was in the bitterest of moods. “
If
,” he added with a dry smile, “I ever do. I’m beginning seriously to doubt it.”

“So,” said Miss Forrest with a quiver of her capable shoulders, “am I.”

“Oh, there’s really no danger, I’m sure,” said Dr. Holmes quickly, hurling an irritated glance at Ellery.

“No?” drawled Ellery. “And what shall we do if the fire gets worse? Take wing and fly away, like good little pigeons?”

“You’re making a mountain out of a molehill, Mr. Queen!”

“I’m making a fire—which is already burning satisfactorily—out of a mountain. … Come, come. This is stupid. No sense in arguing. I’m sorry, Doctor. We’ll be frightening the ladies half to death,”

“I’ve known it now,” said Mrs. Carreau quietly, “for hours.”

“Known what?” muttered the Inspector.

“That we’re really in the most frightful position, Inspector.”

“Oh, nonsense, Mrs. Carreau.”

“It’s chivalrous of you to say so,” she smiled, “but there’s no sense trying to disguise our predicament, now, is there? We’re trapped like—like flies in a bottle.” Her voice was a little tremulous.

“Now, now, it isn’t as bad as all that,” said the Inspector with a hearty attempt at raillery. “Just a matter of time, Mrs. Carreau. This is a pretty tough old mountain.”

“Covered by singularly inflammable trees,” said Mark Xavier in mocking tones. “After all, maybe there’s such a thing as divine justice. Maybe this entire affair has been arranged from on high for the express purpose of smoking out a murderer.”

The Inspector flung him a sharp glance. “There’s a thought,” he growled, and turned to stare out upon the gray-red sky.

Mr. Smith, who had not uttered a word all afternoon, kicked back his chair suddenly, startling them. His elephantine bulk loomed disgustingly in shadows against the white walls. He thundered to the edge of the steps, descended a step, hesitated, and turned his huge head toward the Inspector.

“I suppose there’s no harm in my walking around the grounds for a while?” he rumbled.

“If you want to break a leg over these stones in the dark, that’s up to you,” said the old, gentleman disagreeably. “I don’t care a whoop. You can’t get away, Smith, and that’s all that concerns me.”

The fat man began to say something, smacked his thin lips together, and tramped heavily down the steps. They heard his large feet crunching against the gravel on the drive long after he was no longer visible.

Ellery, in the act of lighting a cigaret, by chance caught a glimpse of Mrs. Carreau’s face in the glow that fell upon the terrace through the foyer doorway. Its expression froze him into immobility. She was staring, straining, after the vast back of the fat man, a humid terror in her soft eyes. Mrs. Carreau and the unknown quantity, Smith! … The match burned down to his fingertips and he dropped it, swearing beneath his breath. He
thought
he had noticed something there in the kitchen. … And yet he would have sworn that Smith had been afraid of this charming
petite dame
from Washington. Why should there be terror in
her
eyes? It was preposterous to believe that they were afraid of each other! This gross hostile creature with the trace of a lost culture in his manner and speech, and this gentlewoman from the land of misfortune. … Not impossible, to be sure. Strange lives mingled in the waters of the past. He wondered, with a certain rising excitement, what the secret might be. Did the others—? But the most searching scrutiny of the faces about him failed to detect an expression of recognition or secrecy. Except perhaps in the case of Miss Forrest. Peculiar young woman. Her eyes fluttered as she tried to avoid looking at Mrs. Carreau’s set face. Did she know too, then?

They heard Smith’s ponderous step on the gravel, returning. He mounted the steps and sat down in the same chair, his froggy eyes inscrutable.

“Find what you were looking for?” grunted the Inspector.

“Eh?”

The old gentleman waved his hand. “Never mind. This is one layout that doesn’t call for the services of a police patrol.” And he chuckled rather bitterly.

“I was merely taking a walk,” said the fat man in an offended rumble. “If you think I’m trying to get away—”

“Perish the thought? Though I shouldn’t blame you if you did.”

“By the way,” remarked Ellery, squinting at the tip of his cigaret, “I’m correct, I take it, in assuming that you and Mrs. Carreau, Smith, are, old acquaintances?”

The man sat still. Mrs. Carreau fumbled with the wisp of veil over her mouth. Then he said: “I don’t understand. Why the devil should you assume that, Queen?”

“Oh, an idle fancy. Then I’m wrong?”

Smith fished a fat brown cigar, of which he seemed to have an inexhaustible supply, from the caverns of his clothes and stuck it very deliberately into his mouth. “Why not,” he said, “ask the lady?”

Ann Forrest jumped to her feet. “Oh, this is intolerable!” she cried. “Aren’t we ever to have any rest from this endless questioning? Sherlock, let’s do something. Bridge, or—or anything. I’m sure Mrs. Xavier won’t mind. We’ll go crazy just sitting here tormenting one another this way!”

“Bully idea,” said Dr. Holmes eagerly, rising. “Mrs. Carreau—?”

“I should love to.” Mrs. Carreau rose and hesitated. “Mr. Xavier, you play a stirring game, I’ve noticed.” Her voice was very light. “Will you be my partner?”

“I suppose I may as well.” The lawyer got to his feet tall and uncertain in the dim light. “Anybody else?”

The four waited a moment and then, when no one replied, they shuffled through the French windows into the gameroom. The lights flashed on and their voices, pitched a little unnaturally, came to the ears of the Queens on the terrace.

Ellery was still squinting at his cigaret; he had not stirred. Neither had Mr. Smith. Watching him covertly, Ellery could have sworn that there was relief on the man’s lunar face.

Francis and Julian Carreau suddenly appeared in the glow from the foyer. “May we—” began Francis with a quaver. The twins looked frightened.

“May you what?” asked the Inspector kindly.

“May we go in, too, sir?” said Julian. “It’s a little—sort of—dull out here. We’d like to play some billiards, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course. Why should I mind?” smiled the Inspector. “Play billiards, eh? I shouldn’t think—”

“Oh, we can do m-most everything,” stammered Julian. “I usually use my left arm, but tonight I guess I’ll have to squirm about a bit and use my right. We’re rather good, you know, sir.”

“Don’t doubt it for a moment. Go ahead, youngsters. Have a good time. Lord knows there’s little enough for you to do around here.”

The boys grinned gratefully and disappeared through the French windows, moving with their graceful rhythm.

The Queens sat in silence for a long time. From the gameroom came the sound of shuffling cards, restrained voices, the click of billiard balls. Mrs. Xavier, shrouded in darkness, might not have existed. Smith, cold cigar stuck between his lips, seemed to be dozing.

“There’s something,” remarked Ellery at last in a low tone, “I really want to see, dad.”

“Hey?” The old gentleman started out of a reverie.

“I’ve been meaning to have a peep at it for some time now. The laboratory.”

“What in time for? We saw it when—”

“Yes, yes. That’s what gave me the notion. I think I saw something. … And then Dr. Holmes made a rather significant remark. Coming?” He rose and flicked the cigaret away into the darkness.

The Inspector got to his feet with a groan. “Might as well. Oh, Mrs. Xavier!”

There was a baffling little sound from the murk at the end of the terrace.

“Mrs. Xavier!” repeated the Inspector, alarmed. He went quickly to where the invisible woman was sitting and peered down at her. “Oh, I’m sorry. You really shouldn’t do that, now.”

She was sobbing. “Oh … please. Haven’t you tormented me enough?”

The old gentleman was distressed. He patted her shoulder awkwardly. “I know. It’s all my fault and I apologize for it. Why don’t you join the others?”

“They—they don’t want me. They all think …”

“Nonsense. It’s our nerves. A little chatter will do you good. Come on, now. You don’t want to be out here alone.”

Under his fingers he felt her shiver. “No. God, no.”

“Come along, then.”

He assisted her to her feet and a moment later they drifted into the light. Ellery sighed. The tall woman’s face was wet with tears and her eyes were red. She paused and fumbled for a handkerchief. Then she dabbed at her eyes, smiled, and sailed from the terrace.

“What a woman!” murmured Ellery. “Remarkable. Any female is who cries her eyes out and then neglects to powder the ravaged countenance … Coming?”

“Go on, go on,” said the Inspector irritably. “Less gab and more action. I’ll live to see the end of this business yet!”

“Let us sincerely hope so,” said Ellery, moving toward the foyer. There was no levity in his tone.

Avoiding the gameroom, they walked down the main corridor to the cross-hall. Through the open door of the kitchen ahead they caught a glimpse of Mrs. Wheary’s broad back and the motionless figure of Bones, who was standing at one of the two kitchen windows staring out at the Stygian night.

The Queens turned right and stopped before a closed door midway between the crossing of the halls and the door of Dr. Xavier’s study. The Inspector tried the door; it gave. They slipped into the black room.

“Where the devil’s the switch?” grumbled the Inspector. Ellery found it and the laboratory blazed with light. He closed the door and set his back against it, looking around.

Now that he was at leisure to inspect the laboratory, he felt a stronger recurrence of the impression of scientific modernism and mechanical efficiency which had struck him earlier in the day when he had been party to the gruesome business of stowing Dr. Xavier’s body away. The place bristled with awe-inspiring apparatus. To his untrained eye it was the last word in research laboratories. Notoriously unscientific, ignorant of the application of most of this glittery and queerly shaped equipment, he surveyed the array of cathode-ray tubes, electric furnaces, twisted retorts, racks of giant test tubes, bottles of evil-looking broths, microscopes and chemical jars and odd tables and X-ray machines with vast respect. Had he seen an astronomical telescope he should have not felt surprise. The variety and complexity of the equipment meant little more to him than that Dr. Xavier had been conducting chemical and physical, as well as biological, researches.

Both father and son avoided that corner of the room which housed the refrigerator.

“Well?” growled the Inspector after a time. “
I
don’t see anything for us here. Most likely the murderer never even set foot in this room last night. What’s bothering you?”

“Animals.”

“Animals?”

“I said,” repeated Ellery firmly, “animals. Dr. Holmes earlier today mentioned something about experiments with diverse creatures and their capacity for noise, in connection with the soundproofing of these rooms. Now I’m very curious about experimental animals, have an unscientific horror of vivisection.”

“Noise?” frowned the Inspector. “I don’t hear any.”

“Probably mildly anesthetized. Or sleeping. Let’s see. … The partition, of course!”

At the rear of the laboratory there was a boarded-off cubicle which reminded Ellery vaguely of a butcher’s icebox. A heavy door with a chromium latchet provided entrance. He tried the door; it was unlocked. Opening it, he went in, groped for an overhanging bulb, turned on the switch, and blinked, about him. The compartment was shelved; on the shelves stood cages of various sizes. And in the cages was the queerest assortment of creatures he had ever seen.