Ellery Queen - A Study in Terror

I found Holmes in the dining-hall of the hostel, in company with Lord Carfax and Miss Sally Young. The latter gave me a smile of welcome. “Dr. Watson, may I fetch you a cup of tea?”

I declined with thanks, and Holmes spoke crisply. “You arrive fortuitously, Watson. Lord Carfax is about to tender some information.” His Lordship looked a trifle dubious. “You may speak before my colleague in complete confidence, your Lordship.”

“Very well. As I was about to relate, Mr. Holmes, Michael left London for Paris some two years ago. I expected him to live a licentious life in that most licentious of cities, but I strove to keep in touch with him, nonetheless; and I was both surprised and gratified to learn that he had entered the Sorbonne to study medicine. We maintained a correspondence, and I became optimistic as to his future. He appeared to have turned a new leaf.” At this point, his Lordship’s eyes lowered, and a great sadness came over his sensitive face. “But then, disaster struck, I was stunned to learn that Michael had married a woman of the streets.”

“Did you meet her, my lord?”

“Never, Mr. Holmes! I frankly admit that I had little stomach for a face-to-face encounter. It is true, however, that I would have confronted the woman, had the opportunity arisen.”

“How, then, do you know she was a prostitute? Your brother would hardly have included such an item in his bill of particulars when he informed you of his marriage.”

“My brother did not inform me. I received the information in a letter from one of his fellow-students, a person I had never met, but whose written word reflected an earnest interest in Michael’s welfare. This gentleman acquainted me with Angela Osbourne’s calling, and suggested that, if I had my brother’s future at heart, I should leave for Paris immediately and try to repair his fortunes before they were irretrievably destroyed.”

“You informed your father of this communication?”

“Indeed I did not!” said Lord Carfax, sharply. “Unhappily, my correspondent saw to that. He had dispatched two letters, in the event one should be ignored, I suppose.”

“How did your father react?”

“You need hardly ask that question, Mr. Holmes.”

“The Duke did not reserve judgement until proof was forthcoming?”

“He did not. The letter was too patently truthful; I did not doubt it myself. As for my father, it was in perfect consonance with what he had always expected of Michael.” Lord Carfax paused, pain invading his face. “I shall not soon forget the renunciation. I suspected that Father had also received a letter, and I rushed to his town-house. He was at his easel when I arrived; as I entered the studio, his model drew a robe over her nudity, and my father laid down his brush and surveyed me calmly. He said, ‘Richard, what brings you here at this time of day?’

“I saw the tell-tale envelope with the French stamp lying by his palette, and I pointed to it. ‘That, your Grace. I presume it is from Paris.’

“ ‘You are correct.’ He picked up the envelope, but did not remove its contents. ‘It is inappropriate. It should have been edged in black.’

“ ‘I do not understand you,’ I replied.

“He laid the letter down, coldly. ‘Should not all announcements of death be thus marked? So far as I am concerned, Richard, this letter informs me of Michael’s demise. In my heart, the service has already been read, and the body is in the earth.’

“His terrible words stunned me. But, knowing that argument was futile, I left.”

“You made no effort to reach Michael?” asked Holmes.

“I did not, sir. To me, he was beyond salvation. Some two months later, however, I received an anonymous note, saying that I would find something of interest if I made a visit to this hostel. I did so. I do not have to tell you what I found.”

“The note. Did you preserve it, your Lordship?”

“No.”

“A pity.”

Lord Carfax appeared to be struggling with a natural reticence. Finally, he burst out, “Mr. Holmes. I cannot express to you my shock at finding Michael in his present condition, the victim of an attack so savage that it had turned him into what you have seen―a misshapen creature with but the merest fragment of his reason left.”

“How did you proceed, if I may ask?”

Lord Carfax shrugged his shoulders. “The hostel seemed as good a place as any for him. So that part of the problem was solved.”

Miss Sally Young had been sitting in amazed silence, her eyes never leaving his Lordship’s face. Lord Carfax took cognizance of this. With a sad smile, he said, “I trust you will forgive me, my dear, for not setting the case before you earlier. But it seemed unnecessary―indeed, imprudent. I wished Michael to remain here; and, in truth, I was not eager to confess his identity to you and your uncle.”

“I understand,” said the girl, quietly. “You were entitled to keep your secret, my lord, if for no other reason than that your support of the hostel has been so generous.”

The nobleman seemed embarrassed. “I should have contributed to the maintenance of the hostel in any event, my dear. However, I do not deny that Michael’s refuge here enhanced my interest. So perhaps my motives have been as selfish as they have been eleemosynary.”

Holmes had been studying Lord Carfax keenly as the story unfolded.

“You made no further efforts in your brother’s behalf?”

“One,” replied his Lordship. “I communicated with the Paris police, as well as with Scotland Yard, inquiring if their records bore any report of an attack such as my brother had suffered. Their records did not reveal one.”

“So you left it there?”

“Yes!” cried the harassed nobleman. “And why not?”

“The felons might have been brought to justice.”

“By what method? Michael had become a hopeless idiot. I doubt if he would have been able to recognise his assailants. Even could he have done so, his testimony in a criminal proceeding would have been valueless.”

“I see,” said Holmes, gravely; but I perceived that he was far from satisfied. “And as to his wife, Angela Osbourne?”

“I never found her.”

“Did you not suspect that she wrote the anonymous note?”

“I assumed that she did.”

Holmes came to his feet. “I wish to thank your Lordship for being so candid under the difficult circumstances.”

This brought a bleak smile. “I assure you, sir, that it has not been through choice. I have no doubt that you would have come by the information through other channels. Now, perhaps, you can let the matter rest.”

“Hardly, I fear.”

Lord Carfax’s face became intense. “I tell you, upon my honour, sir, that Michael has had nothing to do with the horrible murders that have convulsed London!”

“You reassure me,” replied Holmes, “and I promise your Lordship that I will do my utmost to spare you further suffering.”

Lord Carfax bowed, and said nothing more. With that, we took our leave. But as we went out of the hostel, I could see only Michael Osbourne, crouched in that filthy abattoir, enchanted by the blood.

Grant Ames, III, lay on Ellery’s sofa balancing the glass on his chest, exhausted. “I went forth an eager beaver. I return a wreck.”

“From only two interviews?”

“A party is one thing―you can escape behind a patio plant. But alone, trapped inside four walls…”

Ellery, still in pajamas, crouched over his typewriter and scratched the foundations of a magnificent beard. He typed four more words and stopped.

“The interviews bore no fruit?”

“Two gardensful, one decked in spring green, the other in autumnal purple. But with price tags on the goodies.”