The King is Dead (3 page)

Ellery broke the seal. The envelope contained a single sheet of very stiff notepaper. The embossing at the top of the sheet made him glance quickly at their visitor.

The letter was entirely handwritten:

M
Y DEAR
M
R
Q
UEEN
:

This request has no official status and is made in strictest confidence. Regardless of your decision, I must ask you to destroy this letter immediately upon reading its contents.

Will you put your professional services at the disposal of bearer?

In doing so you would be performing an act of high citizenship, in a matter in which your government has a vital interest but in which it cannot participate by the normal means, for reasons which I may not disclose.

It would be helpful, in the event you undertake the assignment, if your father would make a special point of joining you.

Yours sincerely,

Ellery studied the famous signature for a long moment. ‘Mr. Bendigo, are you aware of the contents of this letter?'

‘I have a fair idea of what it says,' was the dry reply.

‘But why me?' muttered the Inspector.

‘What, Inspector?' Abel Bendigo turned.

‘Excuse us, Mr. Bendigo, for just a few minutes,' said Ellery. Bendigo said nothing.

Blue Shirt stood aside and the Queens went into Ellery's study. Ellery shut the door in the blank face and carefully turned the key.

Mrs. Fabrikant's vacuum cleaner was still keening behind the bedroom door.

‘I don't get it,' murmured Ellery. ‘Granted that King Bendigo is large pumpkins, that his activities touch on national interests, and that the Bendigo name drags enough weight to get a letter like this out of Washington — why either of us?'

‘If this isn't a forgery, son.'

‘Somehow I don't see forgery in that fellow's horoscope.'

‘Call Washington,' said his father. ‘Just for the hell of it.'

Ellery put the call through with some excitement and no conviction. Yet six minutes later, against all reason, he heard the voice of the letter writer in his ear. There was no mistaking those dry, easy tones.

‘No, it's all right, Mr. Queen, I was hoping you'd check. When B. asked for a letter, I wrote it with care.' The speaker chuckled. ‘In spite of the seal.'

‘May I talk freely, sir?'

‘This is a private line.'

‘Was it B.'s idea to hire me?'

‘Yes.'

‘You're aware, of course, of the nature of the case?'

‘Yes, indeed. Someone is threatening His Majesty's life.' The dry tones were drier than usual. ‘B. thinks he knows who it is, wants confirmation. Since he does, I reminded him that a brace of good heads is preferable to one, and I suggested your father go along, too. I have something — I think I used the word “special” — in mind for Inspector Queen. Are you going to accept?'

‘Yes, sir.'

‘Good! The United States government is extremely — if unofficially — interested in keeping up to date on the state of His Majesty's health. Is your father there?'

‘Yes, sir.'

‘Let me talk to him.'

Inspector Queen said, ‘Yes, sir?' and then he listened for a long time. After which he said, ‘Yes,
sir
,' and hung up.

‘I thought that last paragraph concealed a weenie,' muttered Ellery. ‘What does he want you to do, Dad?'

‘Give him a confidential report on Bendigo Island. What's on it, who's on it — plant, personnel, plans, purposes, detail maps if possible — the whole picture, Ellery.'

‘Do you mean to say our own government doesn't know —!'

‘Apparently not. Or what they know is sketchy or not up to date. So I've got to grow a tail in my old age,' said the Inspector incredulously, ‘and make like the Trojan horse.'

‘What fun.'

They grinned at each other suddenly, shook hands, and then Ellery went into his bedroom to calm Mrs. Fabrikant, give her some money and instructions about the apartment, and pack a bag. Before leaving he burned the Washington letter and envelope in the brass ashtray on his night table and used the nozzle of Mrs. Fabrikant's vacuum cleaner to suck up the ashes.

2

The two cars skirted La Guardia Airport and drew up before a hangar with a gilded roof on which was lettered in black the single giant word,
BENDIGO
. The hangar was filled with aircraft of varying sizes and types, but all uniformly golden and inscribed with the unqualified name. An immense passenger plane loomed before the hangar, its motors warming up. Attendants in black and gold overalls swarmed over the plane.

Blue Shirt carried the bags. A Bendigo plane was taking the air from one of the field runways, and Ellery asked him, ‘Where's that one going? Or is such a question on Colonel Spring's
verboten
list?'

‘Buenos Aires, Johannesburg, Teheran — I wouldn't know, sir. Hurry, please.'

Brown Shirt was friendlier. ‘We'll be on the plane with you … Help you up the step, sir?'

The Inspector growled, ‘Not if you want to stay healthy!'

They found Abel Bendigo waiting for them in the big ship. Its interior made them blink. It was fitted out like a private railroad car, with deep leather chairs, lamps, books, a central bar, and several compartments. The attendants — Ellery counted five, and he suspected others — wore black and gold uniforms. There were no women attendants and no other passengers.

‘We're taking off at once, gentlemen,' said Abel Bendigo abruptly. ‘The stewards will see to your wants. I'll have to ask you to excuse me. My work …' His voice trailed off as he turned away. Two dark-suited, middle-aged men carrying portfolios were waiting for him at the door of one of the compartments. He brushed by them and they followed him quickly. A moment later the compartment door was shut.

Rather pointedly, Ellery thought.

The ship began to move.

‘Would you take seats, please?' said Brown Shirt's pleasantly chill voice.

He strapped them into two of the armchairs.

‘You forgot the electrodes,' muttered the Inspector.

Ellery said nothing. He was watching Blue Shirt. Blue Shirt was moving from window to window, pulling down metal-vaned black blinds and securing them to the sills.

‘All this hush-hush,' said Ellery. They had felt the lift of the ship and heard the motors settle down to a comfortable thunder, and Ellery had even made a note of the take-off time, but these were mechanical observations in a hopeless cause. ‘How secret can you keep an island?'

‘There probably aren't five men in the United States who know where it is.'

‘How do you know?'

‘I heard an earful from one of the brass who'd been head of liaison at Bendigo Midwestern headquarters, in Illinois, till about two years after the war. He was feeling brotherly after six Martinis — I'd got his son out of a bad jam in New York.'

‘I don't get the point of it all,' said Ellery, staring at the blinded windows.

‘Seems this King Bendigo's always been a secretive gent,' said the Inspector reflectively. ‘Some men never grow up. Play the same games, on a bigger scale. He probably had a dark cellar as a kid, a secret hideout, and buried treasure you got to with a map drawn in blood.

‘Take this island of his. There's no earthly reason the General could see why Bendigo would need an island home office. Or why, if he had to have an island, he'd make a mystery of its whereabouts. During the war he operated from the mainland, like anybody else.'

‘Then Bendigo Island is a post-war development?'

‘Yes and no. The way I heard it, the island was owned by one of our allies. England or France, maybe, but I'm guessing. It was one of those islands that never got onto a map, like so many in the Pacific, only this one is supposed to be in the Atlantic.'

‘I don't believe it. I mean that it's not on the map.'

‘I'm not asking you to believe it,' said his father. ‘I'm telling you what I heard. The likeliest explanation is that it's on the map, all right, but as an uninhabited island. Maybe surrounded by dangerous reefs and off the regular sea and air lanes.

‘Well, during the war,' continued the Inspector, ‘the government that owned the island decided to prepare it for an emergency hideout. It may have been during the Battle of Britain, if it was England. If it was France, it was probably after the fall of Paris but before De Gaulle fell foul of F.D.R.

‘Anyway, the British, or the French Resistance, or what-have-you, began secret construction on the island. It was then known as Location XXX, and only a few of the top brass in Washington knew anything about it. It was done with the consent of the United States government, of course — for all I know, with us supplying most of the materials.

‘According to the General's story, they built for keeps — a tremendous administration building, a lot of it under ground, shelters, barracks, arsenals, factories, a couple of airfields — the works; they even dredged out an artificial harbour. The idea was that if the government of the country that owned the island had to leave home base in a hurry, this was where they'd evacuate to. The whole shoreline was camouflaged and the waters around the island mined. The development of radar made it possible to anticipate the approach of aircraft, too.'

Ellery said darkly, ‘I've never heard a syllable of this.'

‘You weren't supposed to. It was one of the best-kept secrets of the war. As it turned out, the island was never used. The installations were finished just about when the European phase of the war ended. And after Hiroshima, atomic developments made the whole project seem kind of silly.'

‘And Bendigo bought it?'

‘Leased it on a ninety-nine-year lease. Complete, just the way they'd built it, right down to the radar. The lease was cleared with Washington, but even if Washington didn't like the idea they couldn't do much about it. Bendigo had been too important during the war. And he's still at it.'

The Inspector stopped. One of the uniformed stewards was approaching.

‘Would you gentlemen care for your luncheon now?'

Brown Shirt was strolling their way.

‘Later, I think,' Ellery said. ‘Unless we land soon?'

‘I can't say about that, sir,' said the steward.

‘Don't you know when we set down? I'm not asking you where. I'm just asking when.'

‘I can't say about anything, sir, but lunch.' The steward retreated, and Brown Shirt turned away.

‘Relax,' grinned Inspector Queen. ‘These people are said to go through a screening that makes an F.B.I. atomic project clearance look like a vag booking in the Squedunk Corners pokey.' Then he looked grim. ‘This island of Bendigo's is no joke. Bendigo's supposed to have a private army there. For that matter, his own navy and air force, too.'

‘Navy?' said Ellery incredulously. ‘Air force? You mean shooting stuff?'

The Inspector shrugged. ‘I can only tell you what the General told me. Maybe he was pulling my leg. But he mentioned at least two ex-warships, a light cruiser and a heavy cruiser, and a system of submarine nets and underwater detectors, as well as a couple of submarines. The shoreline's still camouflaged and the radar works twenty-four hours a day. You might say it's a whole new little country. Autonomous. Whom would Bendigo have to account to? I guess that's why Washington is so interested.'

‘His Christian name begins to impress me. Shooting stuff … What's he expect, an invasion?'

‘Don't be childish. Nobody invades a man as powerful as King Bendigo. Not because you couldn't wipe him off the map he isn't on, but because he's in too many places at the same time. He's spread all over the globe. Bendigo Island's just the — the concentration of his personality, his court, you might say. It's just that, by the way, from what the General said. Bendigo's added a real palace to the island … No, I imagine the shooting stuff — his “army,” his “navy,” his “air force” — it's all kind of automatic. It goes with power. It's for show, like a throne. No self-respecting royalty without it.'

‘But it's … outmoded, all that,' complained Ellery. ‘He can't be a boy playing with lead soldiers. What are a couple of warships and a few planes in the world of A- and H-bombs? Beanshooters. I don't get it.'

The Inspector shrugged again and looked around. The steward anticipated him. There was a bottle at his elbow immediately, and a glass.

Ellery squirmed in the chair. He got up. But then he sat down again.

The Inspector sipped, leaned back, closed his eyes. The motors flowed on like a waterfall. He felt sleepy suddenly.

But his arm was prodded and he opened one eye.

‘His family,' Ellery mumbled.

‘Hm?'

‘His family. Does it consist of his brother Abel and himself exclusively? Is King married? Children? Parents? What do you know about him personally, Dad?'

The Inspector struggled awake. ‘There are three brothers, not two. No sisters, and if their parents are living the General doesn't know about them. Only one of the brothers is married, and that's King himself. No children. Take a snooze, son.'

But Ellery said, ‘Who's the third brother? Where does he fit?'

‘Hmm?'The Inspector opened the eye again. ‘Judah?'

‘Who?'

‘Judah Bendigo. He's the middle one. King's the eldest of the three. Abel's the baby. Abel is sort of the Prime Minister — he and King are very close. But Judah … the General didn't know
what
he did in the outfit. Didn't see Judah do anything but lap up brandy. His impression was Judah's a lush.'

‘Who is King's wife?'

‘The Queen. Who else?' murmured his father with a drowsy grin. ‘Queen Karla … well, almost. The General said Karla's of real royal blood. From Europe. A princess, or grand duchess, or something.'