Эллери Куин: The Egyptian Cross Mystery

“Who found the body?”

“Ol’ Pete. Ye wouldn’t know’m. Got a shack up in th’ hills some’eres.”

“Yes, I know that. Wasn’t a farmer involved, also?”

“Mike Orkins. Got a coupla acres down off th’ Pughtown pike. Seems like Orkins was drivin’ his Ford into Arroyo — let’s see; this is Mond’y — yep, Frid’y mornin’, ’twas... Christmas mornin’, pretty early. Ol’ Pete, he was headed fer Arroyo, too — come down offen th’ mountain. Orkins give Pete a hitch. Well, sir, they git to th’ crossroads where Orkins has to turn in t’wards Arroyo, an’ there it was. On th’ signpost. Hangin’ stiff as a cold-storage yearlin’ — Andrew Van’s body.”

“We saw the post,” said Ellery encouragingly.

“Guess most a hundred city people druv out in th’ past few days to see it,” grumbled Constable Luden. “Reg’lar traffic problem I had. Anyways, Orkins an’ Ol’ Pete, they was both pretty much scared. Both of ’em like to’ve fainted...”

“Hmph,” said the Inspector.

“They didn’t touch the body, of course?” remarked Ellery.

Constable Luden wagged his gray head emphatically. “Not them! They druv into Arroyo like th’ devil hisself was after ’em, an’ roused me outa bed.”

“What time was this, Constable?”

Constable Luden blushed. “Eight o’clock, but I’d had a big night b’fore over to Matt Hollis’s house, an’ I sorta overslept—”

“You and Mr. Hollis, I think, went immediately to the crossroads?”

“Yep. Matt — he’s our Mayor, ye know — Matt an’ me, we got four o’ th’ boys out an’ druv down. Some mess, he was — Van, I mean.” The Constable shook his head. “Never seen nothin’ like it in all my born days. An’ on Christmas Day, too. Blasph’my, I calls it. An’ Van an atheist, too.”

“Eh?” said the Inspector swiftly. His red nose shot out of the folds of the muffler like a dart. “An atheist? What d’ye mean?”

“Well, maybe not an atheist exac’ly,” muttered the Constable, looking uncomfortable. “I’m not much of a churchgoer m’self, but Van, he never went. Parson — well, mebbe I better not talk about that no more.”

“Remarkable,” said Ellery, turning to his father. “Really remarkable, Dad. It certainly looks like the work of a religious maniac.”

“Yep, that’s what they’re all sayin’,” said Constable Luden. “Me — I dunno. I’m jest a country constable. I don’t know nothin’, see? Ain’t had more’n a tramp in th’ lock-up fer three years. But I tell ye, gentlem’n,” he said darkly, “there’s more to it than jest religion.”

“No one in town, I suppose,” asserted Ellery, frowning, “is a suspect.”

“Nob’dy that loony, mister. I tell ye — it’s someb’dy connected with Van’s past.”

“Have there been strangers in town recently?”

“Nary a one... So Matt an’ me an’ th’ boys, we identified th’ body from th’ size, gen’ral build, clothin’ an’ papers an’ sech, an’ we took ’im down. On th’ way back to town we stopped in at Van’s house...”

“Yes,” said Ellery eagerly. “And what did you find?”

“Hell let loose,” said Constable Luden, chewing savagely on his cud. “Signs of a ter’ble struggle, all th’ chairs upset, blood on most everythin’, that big T in blood on th’ front door th’ papers been makin’ so much about, an’ poor ol’ Kling gone.”

“Ah,” said the Inspector. “The servant. Just gone, hey? Take his duds, did he?”

“Well,” replied the Constable, scratching his head, “I don’t rightly know. Coroner’s sort o’ taken things out o’ my hands. I know they’re lookin’ fer Kling — an’ I think,” he closed one eye slowly, “I think fer someb’dy else, too. But I can’t say nothin’ about that,” he added hastily.

“Any trace of Kling yet?” asked Ellery.

“Not’s I know of. Gen’ral alarm’s out. Body was taken to th’ county seat, Weirton — that’s eleven-twelve mile away, in charge o’ th’ Coroner. Coroner sealed up Van’s house, too. State police are on th’ job, an’ the District Attorney o’ Hancock County.”

Ellery mused, and the Inspector stirred restlessly in his chair. Constable Luden stared with fascination at Ellery’s pince-nez.

“And the head was hacked off,” murmured Ellery, at last “Queer. By an ax, I believe?”

“Yep, we found th’ ax in th’ house. Was Kling’s. No finger marks.”

“And the head itself?”

Constable Luden shook his head. “No sign of it. Guess th’ crazy murd’rer jest took it along as a sort o’ souvenir. Haw!”

“I think,” said Ellery, putting on his hat, “that we’ll go, Dad. Thank you, Constable.” He offered his hand, and the Constable took it flabbily. A grin came over his face as he felt something pressed into his palm. He was so delighted that he forwent his siesta and walked them to the street.

There was no logical reason for Ellery Queen’s persistent interest in the case of the crucified schoolmaster. He should have been in New York. Word had come to the Inspector that he must cut short his holiday and return to Centre Street; and where the Inspector went, Ellery usually followed. But something in the atmosphere of the West Virginia county seat, a suppressed excitement that filled Weirton’s streets with whispered rumors, held him there. The Inspector gave up in disgust and entrained for New York, Ellery driving him to Pittsburgh.

“Just what,” demanded the old man, as Ellery tucked him into a Pullman seat, “do you think you’ll accomplish? Come on — tell me. I suppose you’ve got it solved already, hey?”

“Now, Inspector,” said Ellery in a soothing voice, “watch your blood pressure. I’m merely interested. I’ve never run across anything as baldly lunatic as this. I’m going to wait for the inquest. I want to hear that evidence Luden hinted at.”

“You’ll come back to New York with your tail between your legs,” predicted the Inspector darkly.

“Oh, no doubt,” grinned Ellery. “At the same time, I’ve quite run out of fiction ideas, and this thing has so many possibilities...”

They let it go at that. The train pulled out and left Ellery standing on the platform of the terminal, free and vaguely uneasy. He drove back to Weirton the same day.

This was Tuesday. He had until Saturday, the day after New Year’s Day, to wheedle what information he could from the District Attorney of Hancock County. District Attorney Crumit was a dour old man with shrewd ambitions and an exaggerated opinion of his own importance. Ellery reached the door of his anteroom; and no amount of pleading or cajolery could get him farther. The District Attorney can see no one. The District Attorney is busy. Come back tomorrow. The District Attorney cannot see any one. From New York — Inspector Queen’s son? I’m sorry...

Ellery bit his lip, wandered the streets, and listened with tireless ears to the conversation of Weirton’s citizenry. Weirton, in the midst of its holly, tinsel, and glittering Christmas trees, was indulging in an orgy of vicarious horror. There were remarkably few women abroad, and no children. Men met hurriedly, stiff-lipped, and discussed ways and means. There was talk of lynching — a worthy purpose which failed because there was no one to lynch. Weirton’s police force prowled the streets uneasily. State police dashed in and out of town. Occasionally the peaked face of District Attorney Crumit flashed in steely vindictiveness as his automobile darted by.

In all the hubbub that churned about him, Ellery maintained his peace and an inquiring air. On Wednesday he made an attempt to see Stapleton, the County Coroner. Stapleton was a fat young man in a constant state of perspiration; but he was canny, too, and Ellery learned nothing from him that he did not already know.