The Siamese Twin Mystery (4 page)

As for the old ogre who had first greeted them, he had disappeared; probably, Ellery thought with a chuckle, to slink back to his lair and sullenly lick the wounds of his fear of night visitors.

As they passed through the foyer, holding their hats expectantly in their hands, they both caught a glimpse through the half-open door at the right of a large room unilluminated by any light save that of the stars coming through the French windows off the terrace. Apparently then someone had raised the blinds of the windows in that room while their host was ushering them into the foyer. The remarkable creature to whom their host inexplicably referred as “Bones”? Probably not; for to their ears from the room on the right came the sibilant sounds of several whispering voices; and among them Ellery detected at least one of unmistakably feminine pitch.

But why were they sitting in darkness? Ellery experienced a recurrence of the chill, and shook it off impatiently. There were several things uncommonly mysterious about this house. Well, it was quite clearly none of his business. Let well enough alone! The important thing was that food lurked in the offing.

The tall man ignored the door on the right. Still smiling, he motioned them to follow him and led them through the foyer a few steps along a corridor which bisected the house, running from front to back to terminate in a closed door vaguely seen at the end of the long passageway. He paused at an open door on the left.

“This way,” he murmured, and motioned them into a large room which, they instantly saw, fronted the entire half of the terrace between the foyer and the left side of the house.

It was a living room, dim with tall hangings over the French windows, sparsely starred with lamps, dotted with armchairs and small scatter rugs and a white bearskin and small round tables bearing books and magazines and humidors and ash trays. A fireplace occupied a good section of the far wall; oil paintings and etchings hung about, all of a faintly dismal character, and elaborate tall candelabra threw swaying shadows which flowed and mingled with the shadows caused by the flames in the fireplace. The whole room for all its warmth and inviting chairs and books and cosy lights struck the Queens as unaccountably depressing. It was—
empty.

“Please sit down,” said the big man, “and take off your things. We’ll get you comfortable and then we can chat.” He pulled a bell rope near the door, still smiling; and Ellery began to feel a tiny irritation. Damn it all, there was nothing to smile about!

The Inspector, however, was made of less critical stuff. He sank into an overstuffed chair with a loud sigh of satisfaction, stretched his short legs, and murmured: “Ah, this
is
good. Makes up for a lot of grief, sir.”

“I daresay, after the chill of your ascent,” smiled the big man. Ellery, standing, was slightly puzzled. In the light of the fire and lamps the man was vaguely familiar looking. He was a powerful fellow of perhaps forty-five, big in every way, and despite his predominating blondness, Ellery thought, a Gallic type. He wore his rough clothes with the unconscious carelessness of a man indifferent to convention; a brute of a chap with distinct charm and physical attractiveness. His eyes were rather remarkable—deep-set and glowing, a student’s eyes. His hands were strangely alive; big, broad and long fingered, and given to authoritative gesture.

“It was warm enough to start with,” said the Inspector with a grin; he looked quite comfortable now. “Barely escaped with our lives.”

The big man frowned. “As bad as that? I’m horribly sorry. Fire, did you say? … Ah, Mrs. Wheary!”

A stout woman in black, white-aproned, appeared in the corridor doorway. She was rather pale, Ellery thought, and distinctly nervous about something.

“D-did you ring, Doctor?” She stammered like a school-girl.

“Yes. Take these gentlemen’s duds, please, and see if you can’t scrape together something in the way of food.” The woman nodded silently, took their hats and the Inspector’s duster, and vanished. “I’ve no doubt you’re famished,” went on the big man. “We’ve already had our dinner or I should invite you to something perhaps a little more elaborate.”

“To tell the truth,” groaned Ellery, sitting down and feeling very good all at once, “we’re both reduced almost to the point of cannibalism.”

The man laughed heartily. “I suppose we should introduce ourselves after the unfortunate manner of our meeting. I’m John Xavier.”

“Ah!” cried Ellery. “I thought you looked familiar. Dr. Xavier. I’ve seen your picture in the papers numberless times. As a matter of fact, I’d rather deduced a medico as the master of this house when I saw that etching after Rembrandt on your foyer wall. No one but a medical man would have displayed such—ah—original taste in decoration.” He grinned. “Remember the doctor’s face, don’t you, dad?” The Inspector nodded with vague enthusiasm; in his mood at the moment he would have remembered anything. “We’re the Queens, father and son, Dr. Xavier.”

Dr. Xavier murmured something gracious. “Mr. Queen,” he said to the Inspector. The Queens exchanged glances. Their host, then, was ignorant of the police connection of the Inspector. Ellery’s eyes warned his father, and the Inspector nodded imperceptibly. It did seem pointless to bring up his official title. People as a rule stiffened up on such creatures as detectives and policemen.

Dr. Xavier sat down in a leather chair and produced cigarets. “And now, while we’re waiting for my excellent housekeeper’s no doubt frenzied preparations to bear fruit, suppose you tell me something about this … fire.”

His mild and slightly absent expression did not change; but something queer had crept into his voice.

The Inspector went into lurid detail, their host nodding at every sentence and maintaining a perfect air of polite perturbation. Ellery, whose eyes were paining him, took his spectacle case out of his pocket, polished the lenses of his pince-nez wearily, and perched them on the bridge of his nose. He was in a mood to feel hypercritical about everything, he told himself glumly; why shouldn’t Dr. Xavier show polite perturbation? The man’s house was perched on top of a hill whose base was burning. Perhaps, he thought, closing his eyes, Dr. Xavier wasn’t showing
enough
perturbation. …

The Inspector was saying sententiously: “We really ought to be making inquiries, Doctor. Have you a phone?”

“At your elbow, Mr. Queen. There’s a branch line running up the Arrow from the Valley.”

The Inspector took the instrument and put in a call to Osquewa. He had considerable difficulty getting a connection. When he finally succeeded it was to discover that the entire town had been impressed into service for the purpose of fighting the flames, including the Sheriff, the Mayor, and the Town Board. The lone telephone operator supplied the information.

The old man put down the telephone with a grave look. “I guess this is a little more serious than usual. The fire’s ringing the whole base of the mountain, Doctor, and every able-bodied man and woman for miles around is fighting it.”

“Good lord,” muttered Dr. Xavier. Perturbation had increased, but politeness had vanished. He rose and began to stride about.

“So,” said the Inspector comfortably, “I guess we’re stuck here, Doctor, at least for the night.”

“Oh, that.” The big man waved his muscular right hand. “Naturally. Wouldn’t think of letting you push on, even under normal circumstances.” He was frowning deeply and biting his lip. “This thing,” he went on, “begins to look …”

Ellery’s head was spinning. Despite the thickening atmosphere of mystery—his intuition told him that something very odd indeed was taking place in this lonely house perched on the shoulder of a mountain—he yearned most of all for bed and sleep. Even hunger had crept off, and the fire seemed far away. He could not keep his lids up, where conventionally they belonged. Dr. Xavier in his grave voice, now touched with the faintest mixture of excitement and dissimulation, was saying something about “the drought … probably spontaneous combustion …” and then Ellery heard no more.

He awoke with a guilty start. A woman’s unsteady voice was saying in his ear: “If you don’t mind, sir …” and he leaped to his feet to find the stout squat figure of Mrs. Wheary standing by his chair with a tray in her broad hands.

“Oh, I say!” he exclaimed, reddening. “Execrable manners. Please excuse it, Doctor. The fact is—the long drive, the fire—”

“Nonsense,” said Dr. Xavier with an abstracted laugh. “Your father and I were just commenting upon the inadequate capacity of the younger generation for standing up under physical punishment. It’s quite all right, Mr. Queen. Would you care to wash up before—?”

“If we may.” Ellery eyed the tray hungrily. The pangs had returned, catching him unaware, and he could have devoured the cold food before him on the spot, tray and all.

Dr. Xavier conducted them to the corridor, turned left, and led the way to a staircase overlooking another corridor which crossed the one leading out of the foyer. They ascended a flight of carpeted stairs and found themselves on the landing of what was apparently the sleeping-quarters floor. Except for a dim night light above the landing the single hall was dark. All doors were tightly closed. The rooms behind the doors were silent as niches in a tomb.

“Brr!” muttered Ellery in his father’s ear as they followed the stately figure of their host down the hall. “Nice place for a murder. Even the wind is performing in character! Listen to that silly howling, will you? The banshees are out in full force tonight.”

“You listen to it,” growled the Inspector contentedly, “or even them. Not even an army of banshees could ruffle my hair tonight, old son. Why, this place looks like the Marble Palace to me! Murder? You’re off your nut. This is the nicest damned house I’ve ever set foot in.”

“I’ve seen nicer,” said Ellery gloomily. “Besides, you’ve always been primarily a creature of the senses. … Ah, Doctor! This is perfectly angelic of you.”

Dr. Xavier had flung open a door. The room was a vast bedroom—all the rooms in this gargantuan establishment were enormous—and neatly grouped on the floor at the foot of the wide double bed were the heterogeneous components of the Queens’ luggage.

“Not another word,” said Dr. Xavier. And yet he said it absently, without the proper heartiness one might expect from an otherwise impeccable host. “Where on earth could you go with the fire burning below? This is the only house for miles around, Mr. Queen. … I’ve taken the liberty, while you were—resting downstairs, of having my man Bones carry your luggage up here. Bones—odd name, eh? He’s an unfortunate old derelict I picked up years ago; quite devoted to me, I assure you, despite a certain gruffness of manner, ha-ha! Bones will take care of your car. We’ve a garage here; cars get frightfully damp outdoors at this elevation, you know.”

“Bully for Bones,” murmured Ellery.

“Yes, yes. … And now, there’s the lavatory. The general bathroom is behind the landing. I’ll leave you to your ablutions.”

He smiled and left the room, closing the door gently. The Queens, left alone in the center of that colossal bedchamber, stared wordlessly at each other. Then the Inspector shrugged, stripped off his coat, and made for the indicated lavatory door.

Ellery followed, muttering: “Ablutions! That’s the first time I’ve heard that word in twenty years. Remember the fussy old Greek who taught me at the Crosley School? Did a Mrs. Malaprop with the word, misusing it for ‘absolution.’ Ablutions! I tell you, dad, the more I see of this ominous establishment the less I like it.”

“The more fool you,” burbled the Inspector to the accompaniment of snorts and running water. “Good, by God! I needed this. Come on, son; get going. That grub downstairs won’t last forever.”

When they had washed and combed and brushed the dust from their clothes, they went out into the dark corridor.

Ellery shivered. “What do we do now—just hurl ourselves downstairs? Being the perfect guest, and considering the generally mysterious air of this household, I’d rather not blunder in on anyth—”

“God!”
whispered the Inspector. He had stopped short in his tracks and gripped Ellery’s arm with convulsive fingers. He was staring with sagging jaw, naked terror in his eyes, gray little face grayer than Ellery had ever seen it, past his son’s shoulder at something down the hall.

His nerves already frayed by the harrowing experiences of the evening, Ellery whirled about. The skin of his arms was prickling, and the flesh was crawling at the base of his scalp.

But he saw nothing unusual; the corridor was dim and empty, as before. Then he heard a faint
click!
as of a door closing.

“What in God’s name is the matter?” he whispered nervously, searching his father’s horror-struck face.

The Inspector’s taut body relaxed. He sighed and passed a trembling hand over his mouth. “El, I—I—Did you see what I—”

They both jumped at a light footstep behind them. Something large and shapeless was stalking them from the rear, where the corridor was blackest. Two burning eyes. … But it was only Dr. Xavier detaching himself from the region of intensest shadows.

“Quite ready, eh?” he said in his deep charming voice, as if he had noticed nothing amiss, although he must have heard the Queens’ tense whispers and—Ellery saw in a flash—must have seen both the Inspector’s horror and the cause of it. The surgeon’s voice was as pure, as rich, as mildly unruffled as it had been a few moments before. He linked their arms in his. “Then let’s go downstairs; shall we? I daresay you’re both ready to do justice to Mrs. Wheary’s little snack.”

And he urged them gently but firmly toward the landing.

As they descended, three abreast on the wide staircase, Ellery stole a glance at his father. Except for a certain slackness about the lips the old man betrayed no sign of his agitation of a moment before. But there was a deep furrow between his gray brows and he was holding himself stiffly erect, as if by a great effort of will.

Ellery shook his head in the half light. All desire for sleep had fled before the excitement boiling in his brain. What mess of wriggling human relationships had they innocently blundered into?