The Siamese Twin Mystery (12 page)

Tears had sprung into the small woman’s eyes. Her mouth quivered, and then she began to weep. “Yes, oh, yes,” she sobbed, hiding her face on Miss Forrest’s bosom.

“But I didn’t—”

“Just a moment.” The Inspector regarded Mrs. Xavier with a faintly mocking smile. “I thought you told us, Mrs. Xavier, that you retired at once last night and slept through the night?”

The tall woman bit her lip and sat down suddenly. “I know. I lied. I thought you would suspect—But I saw her! It was she! She—” She stopped in confusion.

“And you didn’t wait,” said the Inspector mildly, “to see when she came out. My, my, what are our women coming to! All right, Mrs. Carreau, why did you wait until you thought everyone was asleep to slip down for a chat with Dr. Xavier—after midnight?”

Mrs. Carreau fumbled for a gray-silk handkerchief. She dabbed at her eyes and set her little chin firmly. “It was stupid of me to lie, Inspector. Mrs. Wheary had come to my room before she retired to tell me that strangers—you gentlemen—were staying the night because of a fire below. She told me Dr. Xavier was downstairs. I was—worried,” her brown eyes flickered, “and went down to talk to him.”

“About my son and me, hey?”

“Yes. …”

“And your—er—condition also, hey?”

She reddened, but she repeated: “Yes.”

“How’d you find him? All right? Spry? Natural? As usual? Nothing on his mind?”

“He was quite the same, Inspector,” she whispered. “Kind, thoughtful—as ever. We talked a while, then I went back upstairs—”

“Damn you!” shrieked Mrs. Xavier, on her feet again. “I can’t, I won’t stand it! She’s been off in corners with him every night—since she came—whispering, whispering with that cunning pretty false smile of hers—stealing him away from me—weeping crocodile tears—playing on his sympathies. … He never could resist a pretty woman! Shall I tell you why, Inspector, why she’s here?” She pounced forward, leveling a shaking finger at the shrinking figure of Mrs. Carreau. “Shall I? Shall I?”

Dr. Holmes spoke for the first time in an hour. “Oh, I say, Mrs. Xavier,” he mumbled, “I shouldn’t—”

“No, oh, no,” moaned Mrs. Carreau, hiding her face in her hands. “Please, please …”

“You contemptible she-devil!” raged Ann Forrest, jumping to her feet. “You
would,
you—you wolverine! I’ll—”

“Ann,” said Dr. Holmes in a low voice, stepping before her.

The Inspector watched them with bright, almost smiling eyes. He was very still; barely moved his head from one face to another as they spoke. The big room was noisy with furious voices, heavy breathing. … “Shall I?” screamed Mrs. Xavier, madness in her eyes. “Shall I?”

The noise stopped as abruptly as if someone had sheared it off with a bolo. There was a sound from the corridor door.

“There’s really no need, Mrs. Xavier,” said Ellery cheerfully. “We know all about it, you see. Dry your eyes, Mrs. Carreau. This is far from a major tragedy. My father and I shall keep your secret—longer, I fear,” he said with a sad wag of his head, “than some of the others. … Dad, I take particular pleasure in introducing to you the—ah—the—what you saw last night, or thought you saw.” The Inspector was gaping. “And, I might add, two of the brightest, nicest, best-mannered and friendliest lads who ever became irked at the necessity of skulking in a bedroom and decided to crawl out into a corridor for a little romantic peep at the terrible men who had blundered into their host’s house. Meet—reading from left to right—Messrs. Julian and Francis Carreau, Mrs. Carreau’s sons. I’ve just made their acquaintance and I think they’re delightful!”

Ellery was standing in the doorway, an arm about the shoulder of each of two tall, good-looking boys whose bright eyes investigated every detail of the tableau before them inquisitively. Ellery, who stood behind then smiling, nevertheless contrived to fix his father with an angry eye. The old gentleman stopped gaping, gulped, and came forward rather shakily.

The boys were perhaps sixteen—strong, wide-shouldered, with sun-browned faces and pleasant regular features quite like their mother’s but in a masculine way. One might have been a brown-plaster model of the other. In every detail of physique and facial feature they were identical. Even their clothes—gray-flannel suits meticulously pressed, sunny-blue neckties, white shirts, black-grained shoes—were identical.

But it was not the fact that they were twins which had brought the Inspector’s jaw to the half-mast. It was the fact that they slightly faced each other, that the right arm of the boy on the right was twined about his brother’s waist, that the left arm of the boy on the left was out of sight behind his brother’s back, that their smart gray jackets met and, incredibly,
joined
at the level of their breast bones.

They were Siamese twins.

T
HEY MET THE INSPECTOR
with rather shy, if boyish, curiosity, each offering his free hand in turn for a hearty grip. Mrs. Carreau had magically revived; she was erect in her chair now and smiling at the boys. What effort it was costing her, Ellery thought with admiration, no one except perhaps Ann Forrest could possibly know.

“Gosh, sir!” exclaimed the twin on the right in a pleasant tenor voice. “Are you a real live Inspector of police, as Mr. Queen says?”

“I’m afraid so, son,” said the Inspector with a feeble grin. “And what’s your name?”

“I’m Francis, sir.”

“And you, my boy?”

“Julian, sir,” replied the twin on the left. Their voices were one. Julian, the Inspector thought was the graver of the two. He looked earnestly at the Inspector. “May we—may we see the gold badge, sir?”

“Julian,” murmured Mrs. Carreau.

“Yes, mother.”

The boys looked at the beautiful woman. They both smiled at once; it was uncanny and delightful. Then, with perfect grace and ease, they walked across the room in step and the Inspector saw their broad, young backs swaying in practised rhythm. He also saw that Julian’s left arm, resting against the small of his brother’s back, was in a cast and strapped to his brother’s body. The boys bent over their mother’s chair and she kissed each one’s cheek in turn. Whereupon they sat down on a divan with gravity and fastened their eyes upon the Inspector, to his immediate embarrassment.

“Well,” he said, somewhat at a loss. “This puts a different complexion on things. I think I see now what this is all about. … By the way, youngster—you, Julian—what’s the matter with your flipper?”

“Oh, I broke it, sir,” replied the lad on the left instantly. “Last week. We had a little fall on the rocks outside.”

“Dr. Xavier,” said Francis, “set it for Julian. It didn’t hurt much, did it, Jule?”

“Not much,” said Julian manfully. And they both smiled again at the Inspector.

“Hrrmph!” said the Inspector. “I suppose you know that something’s happened to Dr. Xavier?”

“Yes, sir,” they said together, soberly, and their smiles faded. But they could not conceal the excited glint in their eyes.

“I think,” said Ellery, stepping into the room and closing the corridor door, “that we may as well have a complete understanding. Whatever is told in this room, of course, Mrs. Carreau, goes no further.”

“Yes,” she sighed. “It’s all a little unfortunate, Mr. Queen. I was hoping … I’m not very brave, you see.” She brooded over her sons, eying their straight, big bodies with the queerest mixture of pride and pain. “Francis and Julian were born a little over sixteen years ago in Washington. My husband was still alive at that time. My sons were born perfectly healthy, normal children except,” she paused and closed her eyes, “for one thing, as you see. They were joined at birth. Needless to say, my family was—horrified.” She stopped, breathing a little fast.

“The usual myopia of great families,” said Ellery with an encouraging smile. “As you say, it wasn’t very heroic. I assure you I should feel proud—”

“Oh, I am,” she cried. “They’re the
best
children—so strong and straight and—and patient …”

“There’s mother for you,” said Francis, grinning. Julian contented himself by staring gravely at his mother.

“But they were too many for me,” continued Mrs. Carreau in a low tone. “I was weak and—and a little frightened myself. My husband unfortunately thought as they did. So …” She made a queer, helpless gesture. It was not difficult to see what must have happened. The publicity-loathing family of aristocrats; family conferences, lavish expenditures of hush money, the infants spirited away from the lying-in hospital, placed in charge of a capable and reliable nurse, an announcement to the newspapers that Mrs. Carreau had had a dead baby. … “I saw them often, on secret visits. As they grew older they came to understand. They never complained, dear boys, and were always cheerful and not the least bit bitter. Of course we had the best tutors and medical attention. When my husband died I thought—But they were still too strong for me. And I wasn’t, as I’ve said, particularly courageous. And all the while I wanted—my heart cried—”

“Sure, sure,” said the Inspector, clearing his throat hastily. “I think we understand, Mrs. Carreau. I suppose it wasn’t possible to do anything about it—medically, I mean?”

“We can tell you about that,” said Francis cheerfully.

“Oh, you can, son?”

“Oh, yes, sir. You see, we’re joined at the breastbone by a lig—lig—”

“Ligature,” said Julian, frowning. “You
never
remember that word, Fran. I should think you would, you know.”

“Ligature,” said Francis, nodding at this severe criticism. “It’s very strong, sir. Why, we can stretch it for about six inches!”

“But doesn’t it hurt?” asked the Inspector, wincing.

“Hurt? No, sir. Does your ear hurt when you stretch it, sir?”

“Well,” replied the old gentleman with a broad smile, “I guess not. I never thought of that.”

“Cartilaginous ligature,” explained Dr. Holmes. “What in teratology we call a xiphoid growth. Most amazing phenomenon, Inspector. Perfectly elastic and unbelievably strong.”

“We can do tricks with it,” said Julian soberly.

“Now, Julian,” said Mrs. Carreau in a weak voice.

“But we can, mother! You know we can. We practised that trick the original Siamese twins used to do; we showed it to you, remember?”

“Oh, Julian,” said Mrs. Carreau faintly, suppressing a smile.

Dr. Holmes’s hard young cheeks shone with a sudden professional glow of enthusiasm. “Chang and Eng—those were the Siamese twins’ names—could support each other’s dead weight by the ligature alone. These lads are very acrobatic about it. Lord, they can do more things than I can!”

“That’s because you don’t exercise enough, Dr. Holmes,” said Francis respectfully. “Why don’t you try punching the bag? We—”

The Inspector was grinning by this time and the atmosphere of the room had cleared miraculously. The entirely normal conversation of the boys, their bright, intelligent air and utter lack of bitterness and self-consciousness dispelled any awkward feeling their presence might theoretically have been expected to arouse. Mrs. Carreau was smiling fondly at them.

“Anyway,” continued Francis, “it would be all right, I guess, if the doctors had only
that,
” he pointed to his chest, “to worry about, you see. But—”

“Perhaps you’d better let me explain, old boy,” said Dr. Holmes gently. “You see, Inspector, there are three common—common as they are!—-types of so-called Siamese twins, all three of which are exemplified by rather medically famous cases. There’s the pyogopagus type—back to back—case of renal juncture; that is, kidneys joined. Probably the best-known example were the Blascek twins, Rosa and Josepha. There was an attempt to sever them surgically—” He stopped his face darkening. “Then there’s the—”

“Was the attempt successful?” asked Ellery quietly.

Dr. Holmes bit his lip. “Well—no. But then we didn’t know as much—”

“That’s all right, Dr. Holmes,” said Francis earnestly. “We know all about these things, you see, Mr. Queen. Naturally our own cases interested us. The Blascek girls died as a result of the attempt. But then Dr. Xavier wasn’t around—”

Mrs. Carreau’s cheeks were paler than the whites of her eyes. The Inspector hurled a furious glance at Ellery and signaled Dr. Holmes to continue.

“Then,” said Dr. Holmes with difficulty, “there’s the xiphopagus—twins joined by the xiphoid process of the
sternum.
That’s the most famous case of all, of course—the original Siamese twins, Chang and Eng Bunker. Two healthy, normal individuals …”

“Died in 1874,” announced Julian, “when Chang contracted pneumonia. They were sixty-three years old! They were married and had loads of children, and everything!”

“They weren’t really Siamese,” added Francis, smiling, “sort of three-quarters Chinese and one-quarter Malay, or something. They were horribly smart, Inspector Queen. And very rich. … That’s the kind
we
are.” He said hastily: “Xiph-xiphopagus, not rich.”

“We are rich,” said Julian.

“Well, you know what I mean, Jule!”

“Finally,” said Dr. Holmes, “there’s the so-called side-to-side type. The boys, as I said, are front-to-front—joined livers. And, of course, a common blood-stream.” He sighed. “Dr. Xavier had the complete case history. Mrs. Carreau’s personal physician supplied it.”

“But what,” murmured Ellery, “was the purpose of bringing these husky young brutes to
Arrow Head,
Mrs. Carreau?”

There was a little silence. The atmosphere thickened again. Mrs. Xavier was staring dully at Mrs. Carreau.

“He said,” whispered the small woman, “that perhaps—”

“He gave you hope?” inquired Ellery slowly.

“Not that—exactly. It was just the barest, faintest chance. Ann—Miss Forrest had heard he was doing experimental work.”

“Dr. Xavier,” interrupted the young physician tonelessly, “had been occupying his time here in rather—bizarre experiments. I shouldn’t say bizarre. Unorthodox, perhaps. He was, of course, a very great man.” He paused. “He expended a good deal of time and money on the—experiments. There was some publicity; not a good deal, because he detested it. When Mrs. Carreau wrote—” He stopped.

The Inspector looked from Mrs. Carreau to Dr. Holmes. “I take it, then,” he murmured, “you didn’t share Dr. Xavier’s enthusiasm, Doctor?”