Egyptian Cross Mystery (30 page)

A launch shot alongside, towing a rowboat which Ellery, through the sickish haze before his eyes, dimly recognized. A policeman stood up and shouted: “We got it!”

They all ran to the rail. “What’s that?” cried Vaughn.

“Found this rowboat floatin’ in the Sound,” yelled the officer. “Markings show she belongs to that estate next door to Bradwood.”

“A light leaped into Vaughn’s eyes. “The Lynn boat! Sure, that’s the answer. Anything in it, officer?”

“Nothing except the oars.”

The Inspector spoke rapidly to the man named Bill: “Take a couple of the boys and go over that Lynn estate. Examine the slip especially, and the ground around it for footprints. Go over every inch of the place. See if you can trace the guy before he got there.”

Ellery sighed. A ripple went through the mass of men about him. Orders were shouted, detectives scrambled overside. Vaughn strode about, Professor Yardley leaned against the door of the radio operator’s cubicle—above which loomed the antenna masts and Stephen Megara’s body. District Attorney Isham bent over the rail with a greenish look about him. A little motorboat scooted up with Dr. Temple, his face startled; on the Bradwood dock a group of tiny men—women, too, from the white skirts.

A little moment of quiet ensued. The Inspector came over to where Ellery stood with the Professor, leaned against the door on his elbow, stuck a cigar into his mouth, and looked contemplatively up at the rigid corpse.

“Well, gentlemen?” he said. “How do you like it?”

“Ghastly,” muttered the Professor. “A perfect nightmare of insanity. The T’s again.”

Ellery was struck by a little blow of surprise. Of course. In the unsettled state of his emotions he had entirely overlooked the significance of the antenna mast as an instrument of crucifixion. The upright of the mast and the horizontal bar at the top from which the aerial wires were strung to the corresponding bar on the other side of the cabin roof resembled nothing so much as a slender steel capital T. … He noticed now, for the first time, that two men were on the roof behind the crucified body. One he recognized as Dr. Rumsen, the Medical Examiner; the other he had never seen before—a dark, lean old man with a look of the sea about him.

“They’ll be taking the body down in a minute,” remarked the Inspector. “That old bird up there is a sailor—expert on knots. I wanted him to have a look at the lashings before we cut the body down. … What d’ye say, Rollins?” he shouted at the old man.

The knot expert shook his head and straightened up. “No sailor ever tied them knots, Inspector. Just about as clumsy as a ’prentice hand would tie ’em. And another thing. They’re the same kind o’ knots as on that clothesline y’gave me three weeks ago.”

“Good!” said the Inspector cheerfully. “Take him down, Doc.” He turned back. “Used clothesline again—guess he didn’t want to waste time looking for rope on board. It isn’t as if this were an old sailing vessel, y’know. Same knots as we found on the rope used to lash Brad to the totem pole. Same knots, same man.”

“Not necessarily a
sequitur,”
said Ellery, “but with the other things you’re perfectly right. Exactly what is the story, Inspector? I understand Captain Swift was assaulted.”

“Yes. The poor old mutt is still out. Maybe he can tell us something. … Come up here, Doc,” said Vaughn to Dr. Temple, who was still standing in his motorboat alongside, hesitantly, as if he did not know whether to board the yacht or not, “we’ll need you.” Temple nodded and climbed the ladder.

“Good God,” he said, staring with fascination at the body, and went up to the radio operator’s cabin. Vaughn pointed to the wall and Dr. Temple found a skeleton ladder at the side of the cabin, which he climbed.

Ellery clucked to himself; the shock of the tragedy had so unnerved him that he had not observed the unsteady trail of blood on the deck. It ran in gobs and spatters from Megara’s cabin farther aft to the ladder leading up to the roof of the radio operator’s cabin. … On the roof Dr. Temple greeted Dr. Rumsen, introducing himself, and the two men, aided by the old sailor, began the unpleasant task of cutting down the body.

“The story is this,” resumed Vaughn quickly. “The body was seen as you see it now from the Bradwood dock this morning by one of my men. We beat it over here and found Captain Swift tied like an old chicken in his cabin, out like a light, with a bloody gash at the back of his head. Gave him a little first aid, and he’s resting now. You might take a look at Captain Swift, Doc!” he yelled up at Temple, “as soon as you’re through up there.” Temple nodded, and the Inspector continued: “Dr. Rumsen fixed the old man up a little as soon as he got here. Far as I can see—damned few facts—it’s a plain story. There was nobody aboard here last night except Megara and the Captain. Krosac somehow got to that Lynn estate, took the rowboat which has been tied to the slip there, and rowed out to the yacht. It was plenty dark last night, and the only light on the yacht came from the regular riding lights. Boarded, knocked the Captain on the head, and trussed him up, then sneaked into Megara’s cabin and did him in. The cabin’s a mess—just like the summerhouse was in the Brad murder.”

“There’s a bloody T somewhere, of course?” asked Ellery.

“On the door of Megara’s cabin.” Vaughn scraped his blue jaws. “When I stop to think of it, it’s absolutely unbelievable. I’ve seen plenty of murder in my time, but nothing as coldblooded as this; and don’t forget, when we investigate a Camorra kill, for instance, we find fancy carving! You go into that cabin and see what’s there. Or maybe you’d rather not. It looks like the inside of a butcher shop. He hacked Megara’s head off right on that floor, and there’s enough blood splashed about in there to paint the yacht red.” The Inspector added thoughtfully: “It must have been a man-size job toting Megara’s body from the cabin up that ladder to the top of the radio operator’s cubbyhole, but I guess it wasn’t any tougher than stringing Brad up on the totem pole. Krosac must be one hefty guy.”

“It seems to me,” said Professor Yardley, “that he couldn’t avoid being splashed with the blood of his victim, Inspector. Don’t you think there may be a trail to a man with bloodstained clothes?”

“No,” said Ellery before Vaughn could reply. “This crime, like the murder of Kling and the murder of Brad, was planned in advance. Krosac knew that his crime would entail the spilling of blood, so he provided himself in each case with a change of clothing. … Really elementary, Professor. I should say, Inspector, that your trail will lead to a limping man who carried either a bundle or a small cheap valise. It isn’t likely that he would wear the change of garments underneath those which he knew would become bloodied.”

“Never thought of that,” confessed Vaughn. “A good point. But I’ll take care of both ends—I’ve got men out all along the line on the prowl for Krosac.” He leaned over the side and shouted an order to a man in a launch; the launch departed at once.

By this time the body had been cut down, and Dr. Rumsen was kneeling on the roof of the cabin beneath the denuded antenna mast examining the corpse. Dr. Temple had descended some minutes before, talked to Isham at the rail, and then turned aft. A few moments later they all followed, bound for Captain Swift’s cabin.

They found Dr. Temple bending over the prone figure of the old sailing master. Captain Swift was lying in a bunk, eyes closed. The top of his tousled old head was caked with dry blood.

“He’s coming around,” said the physician. “Bad gash there, worse than the one I got. It’s lucky he’s such a tough old fellow; it might easily have given him concussion of the brain.”

The Captain’s cabin was in no way disordered; here, at any rate, the murderer had met with little resistance. Ellery noted that a stubby automatic lay on a table within arm’s length of the bunk.

“Not fired,” said Vaughn, observing the direction of his glance. “Swift didn’t get a chance to grab it, I guess.”

The old man uttered a hollow retching groan, and his eyelids twitched open to reveal glassy, faded eyes. He stared up at Dr. Temple fixedly for a moment, and then his head turned in a slow arc to regard the others. A swift spasm of pain contracted his body; it convulsed like a snake from head to foot, and he closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the glassiness had gone.

“Take it easy, Captain,” said the physician. “Don’t move your head. I’ve a little decoration for you.” They noticed that the wound had been treated. Dr. Temple rummaged in a medicine cabinet, found a roll of bandage, and without a word being spoken by anyone, swathed the wounded head until the old sea dog resembled a war casualty.

“Feel all right now, Captain?” asked District Attorney Isham eagerly. He was panting in his zeal to talk to the old man.

Captain Swift grunted. “Reckon so. What th’ devil happened?”

Vaughn said: “Megara’s been murdered.”

The seaman blinked, and moistened his dry lips. “Got his, eh?”

“Yes. We want your story, Captain.”

“Is it th’ next day?”

No one laughed; they knew what he meant. “Yes, Captain.”

Captain Swift stared up at the ceiling of the cabin. “Mr. Megara ’n’ me, we left the house last night an’ rolled back to th’
Helene.
Far as I c’d tell, everything was shipshape. We chinned awhile—Mr. Megara said somethin’ about maybe makin’ a voyage to Africa after everything blew over. Then we turned in—him to his cabin an’ me to mine. But first I took a turn on deck, like I always do; no watchman aboard, an’ I like to be on th’ safe side.”

“You saw no evidence of a man hiding on board?” asked Ellery.

“Nope,” croaked the Captain. “But I can’t say for sure. Might ’a’ been skulkin’ in one o’ the cabins, or below.”

“And then you turned in,” said Isham encouragingly. “What time was this, Captain?”

“Seven bells.”

“Eleven-thirty,” murmured Ellery.

“Right. I sleep heavy when I sleep. Can’t tell ye what time it was, but I found I was sittin’ up in my bunk, listenin’. Felt somethin’ was wrong. Then I thought I heard a man breathin hard ’longside the bunk. I made a quick grab for the gun on th’ table; but I never reached it. A flash lit in my lamps, an’ somethin’ hit me a fierce crack on th’ head. That’s all I knew till just now.”

“Little enough,” muttered Isham. “Didn’t you get a look at whoever it was that struck you?”

The Captain shook his head gingerly. “Not a peep. The room was darker’n pitch, an’ when the flash hit me, I was blinded.”

They left Captain Swift in Dr. Temple’s care and returned to the deck. Ellery was thoughtful; more, he was worried. He seemed to be searching his mind for an idea which persisted in remaining evasive. Finally he shook his head in disgust and gave up the effort.

They found Dr. Rumsen waiting for them on the deck below the antenna masts. The knot expert had disappeared.

“Well, Doc?’ asked Vaughn.

The Medical Examiner shrugged. “Nothing startling. If you remember what I told you about the body of Brad three weeks ago, I don’t have to say a word.”

“No marks of violence, eh?”

“Not below the neck. And above the neck—” He shrugged again. “As far as identification is concerned, it’s all clear. This Dr. Temple that was up here a while ago told me Megara was suffering from a recently contracted
hernia testis.
Is that right?”

“Megara said as much himself. It’s right, all right.”

“Well, this body is his, then, because there’s evidence of the hernia. Don’t even need an autopsy. And Temple looked at it directly after we cut the body down, before he went off. Said the body was Megara’s—he’d given the man a thorough examination in the nude, he said.”

“Good enough. What time do you figure Megara was killed?”

Dr. Rumsen squinted thoughtfully aloft. “All things considered, I’d say between one and one-thirty this morning.”

“Okay, Doc. We’ll take care of the corpse. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” The physician snorted and crept down the ladder to a waiting launch below. It immediately made off toward the mainland.

“Did you find anything stolen, Inspector?” frowned Ellery.

“No. There was a little cash in Megara’s wallet in the cabin. It wasn’t taken. And the wall safe wasn’t touched.”

“There’s one thing more—” began Ellery, when a launch slid up and discharged a group of perspiring men.

“Well?” demanded Vaughn. “Any signs of it?”

The leader of the group shook his head. “No, Chief. We’ve combed the grounds for a mile around.”

“Might have sunk it in the Cove,” muttered Vaughn.

“What’s that?” demanded Isham.

“Megara’s head. Not that it makes a hell of a lot of difference. I don’t think we’ll even drag.”

“I should if I were you,” said Ellery. “I was about to ask you if you’d searched for the head.”

“Well, maybe you’re right. … You, there, telephone for the dragging apparatus.”

“Do you think it’s important?” asked Professor Yardley in a low tone.

Ellery flung his hands out in an unaccustomed gesture of despair. “Damned if I know what’s important and what isn’t. There’s something buzzing about inside my brain. I can’t get hold of it. … It’s something I ought to do—I feel it, know it.” He stopped short and jammed a cigarette into his mouth. “I must say,” he snapped after a moment, “that as a member of the detective craft, I’m the profession’s most pitiable object.”

“Know thyself,” said the Professor dryly.

A
DETECTIVE CLIMBED ABOARD
with a familiar envelope.

“What’s this?” demanded Vaughn.

“Cable. Just got here.”

“Cable,” repeated Ellery slowly. “From Belgrade, Inspector?”

Vaughn tore open the envelope. “Yes. …” He ran his eye over the message, nodded gloomily.

“Just late enough,” remarked Isham, “to be of no use. What’s it say?”

The Inspector handed the cable to the District Attorney, and Isham read it aloud:

AGENTS HAVE FOUND OLD RECORDS OF TVAR-KROSAC FEUD STEFAN ANDREJA AND TOMISLAV TVAR AMBUSHED AND ASSASSINATED VELJA KROSACS FATHER AND TWO PATERNAL UNCLES THEN ROBBED KROSAC HOUSE OF LARGE SUM OF MONEY THEREAFTER FLEEING MONTENEGRO STOP COMPLAINT OF ELDER KROSACS WIDOW TOO LATE TO APPREHEND TVARS NO TRACE OF TVARS AFTER THIS NOR OF WIDOW KROSAC AND HER YOUNG SON VELJA COMPLETE DETAILS OF FEUD FOR SEVERAL GENERATIONS AVAILABLE TO YOU IF DESIRED