Evidently it did not.
"Sir," boomed Dr. Fell, wheeling round to stare at the photograph, "I have already told you that to me Sullivan's Island and Fort Moultrie have their being because they mean Poe and
The Gold Bug.
But what of that? How do those ominous words sing their refrain?
'A good glass in the bishop's hostel in the devil's seat forty-one degrees and thirteen minutes—northeast a
nd by north. A good glass in th
e bishop's hostel in
...
'
Oh, God save us!"
Camilla cried out.
An almost frightful change had come over Dr. Fell's face, as you might imagine in a man struck by lightning.
"And I never saw it!" he roared. "Archons of Athens, what a chump I've been! I had a good glass, I had a good glass in my hands, and yet I never saw it until this minute!"
"Looky here, old son!" cried Yancey. "Does this mean you do see something now?"
"I rather think I see everything. We must return to Maynard Hall; we must return at once! I want a look at the one part of the house I have not seen; I want a look at the cellar. It seems probable that—"
He had no time to finish. At the other end of the passage, heavy footsteps pounded from the direction of Middle Street. Into that museum, which was not actually underground though it gave the effect of an underground cavern, plunged none other than Rip Hillboro. Rip, out of breath more from excitement than from any physical activity, dashed up to them and ducked the edge of his fair crew-cut.
"Look, Stonewall Jackson!" he began. "There were three cars of Pa Maynard's in that garage. But I took your car; I thought it'd be simpler and you wouldn't mind. I missed the road twice in chasing you people out here. And once I thought the cops were after me for speeding, though old Deuteronomy promised to fix it if I got a ticket. Didn't I hear somebody say you were starting back now? Then come on; hurry; get the lead out!"
"Yes?" demanded Dr. Fell. "What is it? What's happened?"
Rip waved his arm. An echo of thunder prowled through the tunnel.
"To tell you God's truth, I'm not absolutely sure. The Tetrarch of Jerusalem is playing 'em close to the chest; when he says he won't talk, it means he won't talk and that's that. With all the hell-raising that's gone on, you'd think I'd have some solid evidence to introduce and get admitted to the record. And I haven't. What I've got is mainly scuttlebutt, helped out by an educated guess or two. But the story's practically a certainty. It seems Valerie Huret went crazy and tried to kill Madge."
14
"You're wrong, young fellow," declared Captain Ashcroft, "and it's not only a mistake either! You've got it the wrong way around; it don't mean anything! That poor woman—"
"Valerie Huret, you mean?" Rip asked.
"Sure; who else are we talkin' about? Far from doing anything she shouldn't, she kept her head at the right minute; she stepped in and prevented worse trouble than we've already got."
"Then couldn't you just give us a statement and fill us in a little?"
"I'll give you a statement," said Captain Ashcroft, "when I'm damn good and ready. That's what I told a couple of reporters who were here half an hour ago; that's what I tell you now. Meantime . . ."
In the white sleekness of the lower hall, gloomy under late-afternoon light, he looked from Rip to Alan and Yancey.
"I saw the whole bunch of you drive up in two cars. But I couldn't get downstairs for a minute. Where's Dr. Fell?"
"In the cellar," Yancey answered. "That cellar was on his mind all the way back, though God alone knows why."
"And where's Miss Bruce?"
"She went upstairs," said Alan. "Didn't you pass her on the way down?"
"No, I haven't seen her. If
she
starts monkeying with —but I guess it don't matter." Captain Ashcroft directed a baleful stare at Yancey. "Dr. Fell's after something in the cellar, you say?"
"Yes; it has to do with
The Gold Bug.
He's been going on about it since we found Poe's picture at Fort Moultrie."
"Since you found
what?"
"A photograph of Edgar Allan Poe, who wrote
The Gold Bug, The Murders in the Rue Morgue, The
—"
"I know what he wrote, thanks! And never mind any murders in the Rue Morgue; just give me a hint about the one out on the terrace!"
"Well, Dr. Fell knows that too."
"He does?"
" 'A good glass in the bishop's hostel in the devil's seat forty-one degrees and thirteen minutes—northeast and by north.' That's the answer, or part of the answer. Does it mean anything to you?"
"Not as you quote it, no. But I'll go down and ask Dr. Fell; then maybe it will. I've got some information for him too, information with enough TNT behind it to blow this house into the middle of the harbor. Might be a good thing if the whole shebang
did
blow up. Now mind what I tell you, and don't ma
ke any mistakes. You, Mr. Grant
ham, you go where you please and do what you please; I think I can trust you. The other two—clear out, both of you; make yourselves scarce for a while; above everything, don't go upstairs until I say you can! Mrs. Huret's lying down in a spare room; she's resting; she—"
Yancey interrupted with something like a yell.
"Captain, what
happened
upstairs? All you can do is talk about Valerie, Valerie, Valerie. That's very interesting; I'm glad to hear she's resting; but I can't get passionately interested and that's not the point." His guard dropped; raw emotion cried through. "What about
Madge?
How's Madge?"
"She's all right, young fellow; she's fine and dandy and 'most ready to be questioned, though I think I'll let Dr. Fell do that" Captain Ashcroft took out his notebook.
"Now I'm on my way down to see the old boy; just remember what I've been tellin' you, and don't get too far off base. See you later."
Rather pontifically, holding his notebook as he might have held a weapon, he disappeared through a doorway at the back of the hall.
There was a little silence. The grandfather clock in the hall showed five minutes to five. Rip Hillboro, hitching his heavy shoulders, stalked off towards the screen door at the front; it slammed after him; a moment later he was striding up the drive towards the gate. Yancey Beale drifted in the same direction. But, as though he would have found Rip's company insupportable at that time, Yancey veered to the right and into the library. The voice of Bob Crandall could be heard upraised in some argumentative statement just before Yancey closed the library door.
Alan, left alone, awaiting Camilla, stood for a time looking between the grandfather clock and the portrait of Richard Maynard above the fireplace. Full questions, half answers, thronged through his mind. Then he made his way towards the doorway at the back of the hall, in the direction Captain Ashcroft had gone.
Of this section of the Hall Alan had caught only a glimpse that morning, from the garden. In the smaller, modern wing built out westwards there were two rooms set in a line. The first, long and narrow like a lounge-hall rather than a lounge, had on its left or southern side a line of French doors opening on the flagged terrace. Beyond it lay a room of more than twice the lounge-hall's breadth, providing much space at the back of the dining-room on the other side. From this far room a staircase led down to the kitchen and the other premises of the cellar.
Alan did not trouble about that far room. The lounge-hall, with its doors opening on the terrace, had walls of white-painted brick against which hung vividly colored English sporting-prints. There were overstuffed chairs with white slip-covers, an over-stuffed sofa, many standing ashtrays, and several floor-lamps. There was a television set. On a card-table in one corner lay a backgammon box with board and men, as well as three or four packs of cards.
Still no rain had fallen, though thunder went on prowling beyond the sky. Despite its nearness to the garden, despite open doors, this particular lounge was heavily stuffy. Alan wandered to the games-table. He picked up a pack of cards, slipped it out of its cardboard container, and had begun idly to shuffle the cards when a slight noise arrested his hands.
Stealth, and still more stealth! The noise, which at first he did not identify, seemed to come from the far room. Alan did not move from the table, but he did not need to move.
That far room, its left-hand segment visible through the open arch, was very dusky. Down the rear wall slanted the sideways projection of another enclosed staircase, terminating in a closed door he could see sideways and to his left.
Then he remembered. Those were the back stairs, down which early this morning Captain Ashcroft and Sergeant Duckworth had carried a certain Sheraton desk. The noise he had heard just now had been a cautious footstep descending.
Then the staircase door opened.
Valerie Huret was not 'resting.' Seen in left profile as she pushed the door to the right, her head and neck emerged from the staircase well. Lithe in her white dress, gripping a large white handbag in her left hand, she stood poised and hesitant before completing the descent.
Every movement had the furtiveness of which Valerie herself would complain. If she had turned her head fully to the left she would have seen Alan. But she did not turn; she was too rapt and intent. Opposite her, facing the staircase, a glass door in the far room led out to the terrace. Valerie tiptoed across, slipped out, dodged behind a trellis thick with roses, and was lost to view.
Well? What did it mean?
He had no time to speculate. As chimes rang from the grandfather clock in the hall, preparatory to striking five, very audible footsteps rattled down the main stairs. Tentatively he called Camilla's name. Camilla, looking a trifle shaken, hurried into the lounge and extended her hands to him.
"I went up to see Madge. I did see her. Then they threw me out."
"Threw you out? Never mind! How's Madge?"
"Not too bad, I thought. But it was all rather peculiar. She wasn't in bed; she was lying on a chaise-longue in her negligee. Do you know, Alan, that in all the front bedrooms upstairs (Madge's, for instance) the air-conditioner is in the right-hand window of two windows? Whereas in Mr. Maynard's study—and in my own bedroom at the back, as I think I've told you—the air-conditioner is in the left-hand window. Did you know that?"
"I hadn't particularly noticed, though I remember the fact now you mention it. Why
do
you mention it, Camilla? What difference does it make where the air-conditioner is?"
"I
know. That's what I
said!"
Camilla marched to the games-table, picked up the pack of cards Alan had been shuffling, and cut the cards before putting them down.
"I mention it," she went on, "because it's the very first thing Madge said when I walked in. I wondered what she was talking about, and / asked what difference it made where the ai
r-conditioner was. Madge said, “I
t doesn't. When you're cooped up like this, your mind fastens on some silly little trifle and chases it all over the place. Look here!' she said.
"I've told you Madge was lying on a chaise-longue, or rather sitting up against the head of it. In her hands she had a little puzzle: a kind of flat glass-topped box not three inches long by two inches broad, with shiny little pellets inside. You tilted the box to make them roll into holes.
" 'Look here!' Madge said. 'There are three or four perfectly good books on that bedside table, and I can't open one of them. Mark Sheldon gave me this; I've sat here trying and trying to make the puzzle work, and once I started weeping because I couldn't.'
"Maybe I'm as inconsequential as she is. I said, 'When did Mark give it to you? He hasn't been here since early yesterday evening, and he didn't give you anything then.'
Then she told me he had given it to her days and days ago; that he had any number of puzzles of the same kind, and claimed they were a wonderful test of reflexes.
"I couldn't be inconsequential any longer. I said, 'Madge, what's been going on here?' And I explained we'd gone to Fort Moultrie because Dr. Fell wanted to see something there, though I didn't mention that horrible message on the blackboard. 'Rip came running after us,' I said, 'with some story about Valerie Huret going berserk and trying to kill you. Is it true?'
"While I'd been speaking Madge went as white as a counterpane. Then she practically burst out. 'In one sense, anyway, Valerie
did
try to kill me. I hate herl And I hate her,' Madge said, 'because she hates me; isn't that always the reason? Camilla, don't believe everything they say against me.'