Ellery picked up his hat. “To Trenton.”
“Trenton!” gasped Andrea’s mother.
“We are going to revisit the scene of the crime.”
They all went pale at that, and for a moment were too startled to speak. Then Senator Frueh jumped up, brandishing a fat fist. “Now, that is going too far!” he roared. “You’ve no authority — I shall forbid my clients—”
“My dear Senator. Have you a personal objection to visiting the scene of the crime?”
“I’ve never been there!”
“You relieve me. Then that’s settled. Shall we go?”
Nobody stirred but Bill. The old millionaire asked quietly, in his bass voice: “May I ask what you hope to achieve by this unusual procedure, Mr. Queen? I know you would not make such a painful request unless you felt it to be necessary to some end you have in mind.”
“I had rather not explain my hopes, Mr. Borden. But the plan is simple. We are going to engage in a very dramatic undertaking. We shall re-enact the murder of Joseph Kent Gimball.”
The eyelid drooped. “Is that essential?”
“It was necessity that mothered the invention, sir, but the demonstration will be art in imitation of nature. Now, please, ladies and gentlemen. I shall greatly dislike having to exert official pressure to compel your attendance.”
“I shan’t go,” said Jessica Borden sullenly. “I’ve had enough. He’s dead. That woman is — why don’t you let us alone?”
“Jessica.” The old invalid turned his good eye toward his daughter. “Get your things on.”
The woman bit her thin lower lip. Then she said submissively, “Yes, Father,” rose, and went upstairs to her bedroom.
No one said anything until Jasper Borden again broke the silence. “I believe,” he said heavily, “that I shall go, too. Andrea, ring for the nurse.”
Andrea was shocked out of her immobility. “But, Grandfather—!”
“Did you hear what I said, child?”
Ellery retired to the door to wait. They all rose now and began to scatter, moving slowly. The piscine butler appeared loaded with hats.
“Ellery,” said Bill in a low voice.
“Hello, Bill. Well, how has your job worked out during the past few days? I don’t see any scars or wounds.”
Bill was grim. “It’s been hell. The duchess is a demon on wheels. I haven’t been able to get in here at all until today. But Andrea and I worked out a plan. I’ve been spending my days hanging around outside, watching. She agreed not to set foot from the apartment when I wasn’t on duty. At other times, we’ve been out together.”
“Promising start for a young couple with honorable intentions,” grinned Ellery. “Any signs of trouble?”
“No.”
Andrea came down, dressed for the street. She had a light coat on and her right hand was jammed into its pocket. It was almost as if within that pocket she were gripping a gun. Bill took a step toward her eagerly, but she shook her head, looked around, and signaled Ellery with her blue eyes. Ellery frowned, watching the pocket. Then his nod told Bill to wait where he was, and he stepped out into the corridor with Andrea.
She began in a swift whisper, “I had to talk to you before—,” and stopped to look around again, apprehensively.
“Andrea, whatever is the matter?”
“This.” The hand came out of the pocket. “This came in the mail this morning, wrapped in cheap paper, addressed to me.”
Ellery did not take it. His eyes rested on it for a moment and then searched her face. The hand holding the object trembled. It was a cheap little plaster group of figures, colored a mottled red. The group represented three squatting monkeys on a pedestal. One had his paw on his mouth, one on his eyes, one had both paws on his ears. “Speak no evil, see no evil, hear no evil,” said Andrea in the same whisper. “Or however it goes. Isn’t it insane?” She laughed rather hysterically. “But it frightens me. It’s—”
“Another warning.” Ellery frowned. “Our quarry is growing nervous. Did you save the wrappings?”
“Oh! I threw them away. I’m sure you couldn’t have got anything from them.”
“Tush. You confident people. And you’ve messed that thing up so that even if there were fingerprints on it they’re gone. Have you told Bill about this?”
“No. I didn’t want to worry him. Poor Bill! He’s been such a comfort these past few days—”
“Put it back in your pocket,” said Ellery sharply. “Someone’s coming.” The elevator-door opened and a tall figure stepped out. “Ah, Jones! Good man. Nice of you to come,” said Ellery.
Andrea blushed and fled into the apartment. Jones’s surly, blood-shot eyes remained fixed on the open doorway through which she had vanished. “Got your message,” he said thickly. He was apparently very drunk. “Don’t know why I came. They don’t want me here.”
“Well,” said Ellery cheerfully, “they don’t want me here, either.”
“What’s up, Sherlock? More deep stuff?”
“I thought you might like to join us. We’re bound for Trenton and an experiment.”
Jones laughed. “Or for hell. It’s all the same to me.”
The sun was a sliver of orange arc over the trees beyond the Delaware when they reached the isolated shack near the Marine Terminal. Ellery, piloting his Duesenberg in the van of the fleet of cars, had led them by a circuitous route on the outskirts of Trenton to Lamberton Road with a caution that indicated his reluctance to attract the attention of some inquisitive reporter roving the city streets.
It had been a sultry day; the leaves of the trees surrounding the shack were motionless. The foliage was so still, stood up so woodenly, that there was something unreal about the scene, as if it were a crude and lifeless imitation of nature. Even the surface of the river, glimpsed beyond the wooded shore, was only a glassy representation of living water. In this solitude the shack stood silently, a poor daub on a brutal landscape.
There was no conversation as Ellery, with a quick glance about, led his unwilling guests into the shack. They were making stern efforts to control themselves, all except Jasper Borden, whose grim eye in that iron face missed nothing. Finch and Bill Angell had some difficulty in maneuvering the old invalid’s wheelchair, which had been carted along, into the house. But finally they were all inside, disposed along the walls, quiet as awed children, the lamp on the table lit against the dimness of dusk and Ellery holding the center of the stage.
For a time he said nothing at all, content to let them steep themselves in the atmosphere of the place. Nothing, apparently, had altered since that eventful night weeks ago except that the area beyond the table was clear, the suits of clothing on the wall-rack were gone, and the odor of death had dissipated. But as they stood and sat there, watching emptiness, it came back distilled by their imaginations until they could almost see the dead flesh of Gimball frozen in its agony on the floor between them.
“Now if you will excuse me,” said Ellery suddenly, striding to the door, “I’ll get the props. As long as we’re staging a drama, we may as well use the technical terms. Please don’t move, anyone.”
He went out quickly, shutting the door behind him; and Bill moved over and set his back against it. The side door was shut. But suddenly, in the deep and awkward silence, it made a noise; and their eyes flew about in something like panic. It was open. The tall willowy figure of Ella Amity stood framed in the doorway.
“Hullo,” she said slowly, looking around. She wore no hat. Her red hair against the light of outdoors was a flaming and untidy nimbus about her hair. “It’s little Ella, folks. May I come in?” She calmly moved forward, closed the door, and stood there with roving, gleaming eyes. After a moment they looked away. The newspaper-woman’s nostrils began to quiver.