The Siamese Twin Mystery (5 page)

He frowned, treading the steps quietly. There were three major problems which required immediate solution if his restless brain was to relax and succumb to sleep: the cause of the Inspector’s unaccountable and unprecedented horror, the reason their host had lurked near their door in the darkness of the upper corridor, and a rational explanation for the extraordinary fact that Dr. Xavier’s big arm where it touched Ellery’s was as rigid and hard as if the man had died and his body were in the grip of
rigor mortis.

I
N LATER YEARS ELLERY
Queen was to remember every brilliant detail of that remarkable night in the Tepee Mountains, with an animate wind whistling about the summit of a peak on which stood a veritable house of mystery. It would not have been so bad, he would point out, had not the palpable blackness of the mountain night provided a dark breeding ground for the phantoms of their imagination. And then, too, the fire miles below worked in and out of their minds, like a plaited thread of phosphorescent wool. Beneath everything they both realized that there was no escaping from the house, that they must eventually confront whatever of evil it concealed—unless they were willing to throw themselves upon the doubtful mercies of the wilderness and the conflagration below.

To make it worse, neither father nor son was offered the opportunity to discuss their common fears in private. Their host did not leave them alone for even a moment. Engulfing the cold pork sandwiches and blackberry tarts on the trays, and the steaming coffee Mrs. Wheary silently provided when they returned to the living room on the main floor, the Queens would gladly have dispensed with the presence of Dr. Xavier. But the big man remained with them, ringing for Mrs. Wheary and ordering more sandwiches and coffee, pressing cigars upon them—in every way except the important one acting the perfect host.

Ellery, watching the man as he ate, was puzzled. Dr. Xavier was not a charlatan nor a sinister figure out of blood fiction. There was nothing of the Cagliari nor of the Cagliostro about him. He was a cultured, handsome, genial man approaching comfortable middle age, with an air of expertness in his profession—Ellery recalled that he was sometimes referred to as “the Mayo of New England”—and a quiet charm which was even more captivating on closer acquaintance. The ideal dinner guest, for example; unquestionably, from his physique, a man of athletic tendencies; a scientist and student and gentleman. But there was something else, something he was concealing. … Ellery racked his brains as his jaw rose and fell, but he could think of no explanations except the Thing that had raised the Inspector’s hackles upstairs. Good lord, he thought to himself, it can’t be one of these—these scientific monstrosities! That would be too much, he conceded. The man was a famous surgeon, had performed pioneer work in unexplored surgical fields; but to visualize him as a sort of Wellsian Dr. Moreau … Nonsense!

He eyed his father. The Inspector was eating quietly. Terror had gone. But in its place lurked a sharpness, a sleepless vigilance which he strove to mask under the necessary movements of mastication.

And suddenly Ellery realized something else. The light coming in from the corridor was stronger. There were voices, too—almost normal voices—from that direction where there had been only whispering before. It was as if a veil had been lifted, as if by telepathic command the doctor had influenced the owners of those voices, who had whispered before, to make a pretense of normality.

“And now, if you’ve quite finished,” said Dr. Xavier, surveying the ruins in the two trays with a smile, “suppose we join the others?”

“The others?” echoed the Inspector innocently, as if he had not been suspected the existence of others in the household.

“Why, yes. My brother, my wife, my medical assistant—I do some research up here, you know; quite a laboratory at the rear of the house—and a …” Dr. Xavier hesitated “… a guest. I suspect it’s a little too early to retire—?”

He stopped on an ascending note, as if mutely hoping that the Queens might be willing to forego the pleasure of meeting “the others” for the more immediate delights of sleep.

But Ellery said quickly: “Oh, we’ve quite recovered; haven’t we, dad?” The Inspector, accustomed to accepting cues, nodded. There was even a certain eagerness in his nod. “I don’t feel a bit sleepy now. And then, after all the excitement,” Ellery added, laughing, “it will be good to plunge into congenial human society again.”

“Yes, yes, naturally,” said Dr. Xavier. There was the faintest note of disappointment in his voice. “This way, gentlemen.”

He conducted them out of the living room across the corridor to a door almost directly opposite. “I suppose,” he said hesitantly, his hand on the knob. “I should explain—”

“Not at all,” said the Inspector heartily.

“But I feel … You see I don’t doubt it’s all a little—odd to you, our behavior tonight,” he hesitated again, “but it’s most uncommonly lonely up here, you know, and the ladies were slightly—ah—alarmed at the sounds of your pounding on the front door. We thought it best to send Bones—”

“Not another word,” said Ellery handsomely, and Dr. Xavier hung his head and turned back to the door. It was as if he realized very well how lame the explanations must sound to intelligent ears. Ellery began to feel compassion for the big man. He abruptly dismissed from his mind, for once and all, the possibility of the scientific monstrosity his fertile imagination had conjured up a few moments before. This big chap was as gentle as a girl. Whatever it was that agitated him, it was something that concerned others, not himself. And it was a rational thing not a fantastic horror.

The room they entered was a combined music-and-game room. A concert grand occupied one whole corner, and armchairs and lamps were artfully arranged about the instrument. The greater part of the room, however, was occupied with tables of varied sizes: for bridge, chess, checkers, backgammon, Ping-pong and even billiards. The room had three other doors: one on the wall to their left; another door leading from, the foyer on the corridor wall—through which they had heard the whispering people—and a door on the opposite wall apparently opening, from the glimpse Ellery had of the room beyond, into a library. The entire front wall was composed of French windows which looked out upon the terrace.

All this he grasped in the first circumambient glance; and more, for on two of the tables were scattered cards and this, it seemed to Ellery, was the most provocative fact of all; and then following the doctor and his father, he devoted his whole attention to the four people in the room.

Of one thing he was instantly certain: All four, like Dr. Xavier, were laboring under some intense excitement. The men showed it more than the women. Both men had risen, and neither glanced directly at the Queens. One of them, a big blond with broad shoulders, and sharp eyes—unquestionably Dr. Xavier’s brother—covered his nervousness by masking it under action: he crushed his cigaret, barely smoked, in an ash tray on the bridge table before him, quickly, holding his head low. The other for no outward reason flushed: a young man of delicate features but keen blue eyes and squared-off-jaw, with brown hair and chemical-stained fingers. He shuffled his feet twice as the Queens approached, his fair skin reddening more deeply at their every step, and his eyes fluttered from side to side.

“The assistant,” thought Ellery. “Nice-looking youngster. Whatever it is this crowd is holding back, he’s holding it back with them—but he doesn’t like the feeling, that’s evident!”

The women, with the usual feminine capacity for rising to emergencies, scarcely betrayed their nervousness. One was young and the other—ageless. The young woman was big and competent, Ellery felt at once; twenty-five, he judged, and quite capable of taking care of herself; a quiet composed creature with alert brown eyes, pleasant features indefinably charming, and a certain controlled immobility that bespoke a capacity for decisive action should the necessity arise. She sat perfectly still, hands in her lap, even smiling a little. Only her eyes betrayed her: they were swimming with tension, snapping, brilliant.

Her companion was the dominating figure of the tableau. Tall even in her chair, deep-bosomed, with, proud black eyes and jet hair touched with gray, with a clear olive complexion barely cosmetized, she was a woman to dominate any group. She might have been thirty-five or fifty; and there was something strikingly French about her which Ellery could not analyze. A woman of passionate temperament, he felt instinctively; a dangerous woman, dangerous in hate and deadly in love. Her type should be given to quick little gestures, an overflow of movement reflecting the volatile personality. Instead, she sat so still that she might have been mesmerized; the liquid black of her eyes, was fixed in space midway between Ellery and the Inspector. … Ellery dropped his eyes, composed himself, and smiled.

The amenities were preserved. It was an awkward meeting. “My dear,” said Dr. Xavier to the extraordinary woman with the black eyes, “these are the gentlemen whom we mistook for marauders,” and he laughed lightly. “Mrs. Xavier, Mr. Queen. Mr. Queen’s son, my dear.” Even then she did not look at them fixedly; one flashing side glance from her remarkable eyes, a polite smile. … “Miss Forrest, Mr. Queen; Mr. Queen. … Miss Forrest is the guest I spoke of.”

“Charmed,” said the young woman instantly. Did a glance of warning pass from the doctor’s deep-set eyes? She smiled. “You’ll have to forgive our bad manners. It’s a—a ghastly night and we were taken rather by surprise.” She shivered; a genuine shiver.

“Can’t say I blame you, Miss Forrest,” said the Inspector genially. “I guess we didn’t realize what sane people would think at having somebody pound at their front door at night in a place like this. But that’s my son—impulsive scoundrel.”

“There’s an introduction for you,” smiled Ellery.

They all laughed, and then silence again.

“Ah—my brother, Mark Xavier,” said the surgeon hastily, indicating the tall blond man with the sharp eyes. “And my colleague, Dr. Holmes.” The young man smiled in a strained fashion. “There! Now that we’re all met, won’t you sit down?” They found chairs. “Mr. Queen and his son,” Dr. Xavier murmured casually, “were brought here more by circumstances than inclination.”

“Lost your way?” said Mrs. Xavier slowly, looking at Ellery directly for the first time. He felt a physical shock; it was like peering into a furnace. And she had a throbbing husky voice as passionate and baffling as her eyes.

“Not that, my dear,” said Dr. Xavier. “Don’t be alarmed, but the fact is there’s something of a forest fire down below and these gentlemen, returning from a holiday in Canada, were forced into Arrow road in self-protection.”

“Fire!” they all exclaimed; and Ellery saw that their surprise was genuine. This was undoubtedly the first intelligence they had had of the conflagration.

And so the gap was bridged, and for some time the Queens were occupied answering excited questions and repeating the story of their narrow escape from the flames. Dr. Xavier sat quietly by, listening and smiling courteously, as if this were the first time he, too, had heard the story. Then the conversation petered out and Mark Xavier went abruptly to one of the French windows to stare out at the darkness. The ugly Thing that lurked in the recesses reared its head again. Mrs. Xavier was biting her lip and Miss Forrest was studying her rosy fingers.

“Now, now,” said the surgeon suddenly, “don’t let’s pull such long faces.” Then he had seen it, too. “It’s probably not very serious. Communication’s cut off temporarily, that’s all. Osquewa and the neighboring villages are well equipped for fighting forest fires. There’s one almost every year. Remember the blaze last year, Sarah?”

“Indeed I do.” The glance Mrs. Xavier flung at her husband was enigmatic.

“I suggest,” said Ellery, lighting a cigaret, “that we discuss pleasanter things. Dr. Xavier, for example.”

“Now, now,” said the surgeon, flushing.

“That’s an idea!” cried Miss Forrest, jumping from her chair suddenly. “Let’s talk about you, Doctor, and how famous and kind and miraculous you are! I’ve been dying to for days, but I haven’t dared for fear Mrs. Xavier would tear my hair out, or something.”

“Now, Miss Forrest,” said Mrs. Xavier grimly.

“Oh, I
am
sorry!” cried the young woman, swinging about the room. Her self-control seemed to have deserted her; her eyes were extraordinarily bright. “I guess I’m just all nerves. With two doctors in the house, perhaps a sedative … Oh, come
on,
Sherlock!” and she pulled at Dr. Holmes’s arm. The young man was startled. “Don’t stand there like a stick. Let’s do something.”

“I say,” he said quickly, almost stammering. “You know—”

“Sherlock?” said the Inspector, smiling. “That’s an odd name, Dr. Holmes. … Oh, I see!”

“Of course,” said Miss Forrest, dimpling. She clung to the young physician’s arm to his evident embarrassment. “Sherlock Holmes. That’s what
I
call him. Real name is Percival, or some such dismal thing. … He’s a Sherlock at that; aren’t you, darling? Always messing about with microscopes and nasty liquids and things.”

“Now, Miss Forrest,” began Dr. Holmes, scarlet.

“And he’s English, too,” said Dr. Xavier with a fond glance at the young man, “which makes the name astonishingly appropriate, Miss Forrest. But you’re an impertinent baggage. Percival’s very sensitive, like most Britons, you know; you’re really embarrassing him.”

“No, no,” said Dr. Holmes, whose conversational capacity seemed limited. He said it very quickly, however.

“Oh, lord!” wailed Miss Forrest, throwing her arms about as she flung the young man’s aside. “Nobody loves me,” and she went to join silent Mark Xavier at the window.

“Very pretty,” thought Ellery grimly. “This crowd ought to go on the stage,
en masse.
” Aloud he said with a smile, “You’d rather not be named after Holmes of Baker Street, Dr. Holmes? In some circles it would be considered rather an accolade.”

“Can’t abide shockers,” said Dr. Holmes briefly, and sat down.