“Well,” roared Bill, “what the hell are we waiting for?”
Ellery smiled and jabbed his cigaret out against the tray. “In either event, I’ve managed matters so that we’re on the road to a discovery. I took Andrea up to Trenton the other day to break down her last defense. I knew a sight of Lucy in her present condition and surroundings would do the trick. She cried all the way back to New York. I think today...”
But Bill was already in the corridor punching the elevator bell.
The fish-faced man frowned. “Miss Andrea is not at home.” His tone suggested that Miss Andrea would never be at home as he stared at Bill.
“Come off it,” said Bill curtly, pushing the man aside. They stepped into the duplex living-room of the Borden-Gimball apartment. Bill looked around quickly. “Well, where is she? We haven’t all day!”
“I beg your pardon, sir?”
Bill put his hand on the narrow chest and pushed. The fish-faced man’s nose came down and he staggered back with a look of fright. “Will you talk or do I have to shake it out of you?”
“I–I’m sorry, sir, but Miss Andrea isn’t at home.”
“Where is she?” snapped Ellery.
“She went out about an hour ago, sir, very suddenly.”
“Didn’t she say where she was going?”
“No, sir; she left no word.”
“Who is home?” demanded Bill.
“Only Mr. Borden, sir; it’s the nurse’s afternoon off and he is asleep in his room. I’m sorry, sir, but in his condition he really shouldn’t be disturbed.”
“Where’s Mrs. Gimball?”
The man looked distressed. “She’s out, too, sir. She left for Mr. Borden’s country estate on Oyster Bay.”
“Alone?” asked Ellery queerly.
“Yes, sir, at noon. For a few days’ rest, I believe, sir.”
Ellery’s face became very grave. Bill, looking at him, felt himself go suddenly cold. “Was Miss Andrea at home when her mother left?”
“No, sir.”
“You say Miss Andrea went out without explanation an hour ago? Alone?”
“Yes, sir. You see, sir, she had received a telegram—”
Ellery said, “Good Lord, man.”
“We’re too late!” shouted Bill. “Now you’ve done it, damn you, Ellery. Why didn’t you—”
“Now, Bill, this may be nothing at all. Where is this wire? Do you know? Hurry!”
The man’s eyes stared wildly now. “I took it to her boudoir, sir. It must still be—”
“Show us to her room!”
The butler scuttled off toward the stairs, leading them up to the second floor of the apartment. He indicated a door and backed away, looking scared. Ellery opened the door; the room was empty. There were evidences of a hasty departure. In the cool green-and-white chamber the silence was, somehow, ominous.
Bill cried out and pounced on a crumpled yellow paper lying where it had been thrown on the rug. It was a telegram, and it said: SOMETHING DREADFUL HAS HAPPENED COME AT ONCE ALONE SAY NOTHING TO ANYONE STOP AM AT NORTH SHORE INN BETWEEN ROSLYN AND OYSTER BAY ON MAIN ROAD HURRY... MOTHER
Ellery said slowly, “That’s bad, Bill. The North Shore Inn is Ben Duffy’s place — the orchestra-leader. It’s been shut down for months.”
Bill’s face worked. Then without a word he flung the telegram on the floor and sprang through the doorway. Ellery stooped, picked up the yellow paper, hesitated, thrust it in his pocket, and followed. Bill was already downstairs. Ellery said to the butler, who seemed fixed to the spot, “Were there any unusual callers today?”
“Callers, sir?”
“Yes, yes. Visitors. Speak up, man!”
“O-oh, yes, sir. A lady from the newspapers, sir. Some peculiar name. I think—”
Ellery blinked. “A Miss Ella Amity?”
“Yes, sir! That was her name.”
“When? Whom did she see?”
“She was here early this morning, sir. I don’t believe she saw anyone... Well, I don’t know, sir. I was off duty—”
“Rats,” said Ellery, and sped down the stairs.
The sun was low when Ellery’s Duesenberg rolled into the driveway before the sprawling, garish structure whose rather streaky sign said NORTH SHORE INN. The place was boarded up. There was no sign of life.
They jumped out of the car and made for the entrance. Ominously, the door stood ajar. They plunged into a vast chamber, dusty and stripped, its bare tables piled high with gilt chairs. In the gloom they could make out no details. Bill swore; and Ellery put his hand out. “Whoa, Bucephalus. There’s no sense in charging blindly into the unknown.” He paused and muttered, “I didn’t really believe... It does look as if we’re too late. The damned cheek of that woman!”
Bill shook him off and lunged forward. He began running up the room, knocking chairs and tables aside and raising dry dust. Ellery stood still, frowning. Then he turned aside and went to a half-door with a ledge above which a sign said CHECK ROOM. He leaned over the edge, eyes narrowed. “Bill!” he called in a low voice, and then he vaulted the ledge. Bill came pounding back, his face frantic. He found Ellery kneeling inside the tiny room beside the crumpled figure of Andrea. She was sprawled on the dirty floor, her knees drawn up, her hat off and her hair tumbled about, and she was very still. In the gloom her face was ashen.
“Good God,” whispered Bill. “She’s — she’s—”
“Nothing of the sort. Rustle a pail of water. There must be some sort of tap working in the kitchen. Where’s your nose? She’s been chloroformed!”
Bill swallowed hard and sped away. When he came back he found Ellery still on his knees, supporting the unconscious girl in a half sitting position and methodically slapping her cheeks. The imprints of his fingers were visible; but she was still as motionless as a corpse.
“No good,” said Ellery quietly. “She got a real dose. Put that pail down, Bill, and find some towels, a tablecloth, napkins — anything in the line of linen. Don’t be finicky about cleanliness. This is going to take heroic measures. Pick up a couple of chairs, too.”
When Bill returned, staggering under two chairs and an armful of dusty linen Ellery was bent over the girl’s torso, working swiftly. Bill’s eyes widened with shock. “What the devil are you doing?” he shouted.
“Turn your eyes away if you can’t bear the sight of female flesh. I’m exposing her chest, if you must know. What a moral young man! It’s part of the treatment, idiot. But first put those chairs on the path outside — together. She needs fresh air most of all.”
Bill gulped and hurried to the main door, yanked it open, looked back, gulped again, and disappeared. A moment later Ellery strode outside carrying Andrea’s limp body. “Get the pail. Together, I said! Right. Now get the pail.”
When Bill came back with the pail Andrea was lying face up on the two chairs, her head drooping far backward. Ellery had ripped open the waist under her sports suit, revealing her brassière. It was very pink and lacy.
Bill stood by, rather helplessly. Ellery worked in silence. He stuffed a tablecloth under the small of the girl’s back; he flung the napkins into the pail of cold water. Then he fished one out, sopping as it was, and curled it about Andrea’s pale face like a barber’s hot towel, so that only the tip and nostrils of her nose showed.
“Don’t stand there like a politician,” growled Ellery. “Come around and pick up her legs. Hold ’em high — and don’t let her drop off these chairs, either. What the deuce is the matter with you, Bill? Haven’t you ever seen a girl’s legs before?”