As he clutched the arms of his seat he saw dimly a massive pile of stone and wood beyond the lighted field. Then they were rushing down the little landing-place, bound, he could swear, for a head-on collision with a hangar.
Miraculously, however, the plane bumped and hopped to a safe stop; and Ellery opened his eyes.
A tall emaciated man was standing outside the hangar, shading his eyes from the glare of the arcs, staring at the plane. It seemed to Ellery that there was something peculiar about the man’s rigidity — as if the plane were some Medusa-like monster and he had been petrified by the mere sight of it.
Then the man relaxed and ran forward, waving his arms.
Ellery shook his head impatiently at the mercurial quality of his imagination. He tapped Ty on the shoulder and said gently: “Come on, Ty.” Ty started. “We’re here.”
Ty got up. “How is she?” Butcher shook his head. “Here. I’ll... I’ll give you a hand.”
Between them they managed to haul Bonnie out of the plane. Her body was flaccid, as if all her bones had melted; and her eyes were open, ignoring Butcher, ignoring Ty, fixed on space with a rather terrifying blankness.
Ellery stopped to talk to the pilot. When he jumped to the ground a moment later he heard the tall thin man exclaiming in a distressed voice. “But that’s not possible. Perfectly ghastly. When did it happen?”
“We can talk later,” said Butch shortly. “Miss Stuart needs your professional attention now, Dr. Junius.”
“Appalling,” said the doctor. “And the poor child; all broken up. Naturally! This way, please.”
The Army transport took to the air again as they passed the hangar, in which Ellery noted a small, stubby, powerful-looking plane, and entered a tree-canopied path leading to the dark mansion beyond. The transport circled the field once, raising echoes from the surrounding mountain walls, and then darted off towards the northwest.
“Careful. The path is rough.” Dr. Junius swept the ground with the beam of a flash. “Watch these steps.” Silently pursuing, Ellery made out a wide doorway. Open. A sepia cavern lay behind. The flashlight stabbed here and there; then it went out and lights sprang on.
They stood in an enormous, damp-smelling chamber, heavily raftered, with bulky oak furniture, a stone mat-strewn floor, and an immense dark fireplace.
“The settee,” said Dr. Junius briskly, running back to shut the door. Except for one penetrating glance in Ellery’s direction, the doctor paid no attention to him.
The man’s skin was yellowed and bland, so tightly drawn over his bones that it could not wrinkle. The eyes were clever and unfriendly. The figure was stooped, even thinner than Ellery had thought at first sight. He wore a pair of shapeless grimy slacks tucked into high, laced, lumberman’s shoes, and a mildew-green smoking-jacket glazed with age. Everything about the man was old — a creature who had grown old by a process of dehydration. There was something cringing about him, too, and watchful, as if he were constantly on the dodge from blows.
Ty and Butch laid Bonnie gently down on the settee.
“We weren’t expecting visitors,” whined Dr. Junius. “Mr. Royle, would you be good enough to start the fire?”
He scurried away, vanishing down a small side-hall, while Ty struck a match and applied it to the paper and kindling beneath the large logs in the fireplace. Butch rubbed his freezing hands, staring sombrely down at Bonnie’s white face. She moaned as the fire blazed up with a great snapping and crackling.
Dr. Junius came hurrying back with an armful of blankets and a small green-black bag, its handle hanging by one link.
“Now if you gentlemen will clear out. Would one of you be kind enough to watch the coffee? Kitchen is at the end of that hall. Brandy, too, in the pantry.”
“Where,” asked Ellery, “is Mr. Tolland Stuart?”
Dr. Junius, on his bony knees before the settee tucking Bonnie’s tossing figure into the blankets, looked up with a startled, ingratiating smile. “You’re the gentleman who phoned me a few hours ago from the Griffith Park airport, aren’t you? Voice has a distinctive ring. Hurry, please, Mr. Queen. We can discuss Mr. Stuart’s eccentricities later.”
The three men went wearily down the hall and, passing through a swinging door, found themselves in a gigantic kitchen, badly illuminated by a single small electric bulb. A pot of coffee bubbled on an old-fashioned range.
Ty sank into a chair at the worktable and rested his head on his arms. Butch blundered about until he found the pantry, and emerged with a dusty bottle of cognac.
“Drink this, Ty.”
“Please. Let me alone.”
“Drink it.”
Ty obeyed tiredly. The Boy Wonder took the bottle and another glass and went out. He returned empty-handed, and for some time they sat around in silence. Ellery turned off the light under the coffee. The house seemed unnaturally quiet.
Dr. Junius bobbed in.
“How is she?” asked Butch hoarsely.
“Nothing to be alarmed about. She’s had a bad shock, but she’s coming around.”
He ran out with the coffee. Ellery went to the pantry and, for lack of anything else to do, nosed about. The first thing he spied was a case of brandy on the floor. Then he remembered the ruddy bulb on Dr. Junius’s nose. He shrugged.
A long time later Dr. Junius called: “All right, gentlemen,” and they trooped back to the living-room.
Bonnie was sitting up before the fire, sipping the coffee. There was color in her cheeks and, while the circles under her eyes were heavy and leaden, her eyes were sane again.
She gave Butcher one hand and whispered: “I’m sorry I’ve been such a fuss, Butch.”
“Don’t be silly,” said Butch roughly. “Drink that java.”
Without turning her head she said: “Ty. Ty, it’s so hard to say... Ty, I’m sorry.”
“For me?” Ty laughed, and Dr. Junius looked alarmed. “I’m sorry, too. For you. For dad. For your mother. For the whole God-damned world.” He shut off the laugh in the middle of its highest note and flung himself full length on the mat before the fire at Bonnie’s feet, covering his face with his hands.
Bonnie looked down at him. Her lower lip began to quiver. She set the coffee-cup down blindly.
“Oh, here, don’t—” began Butcher miserably.
Dr. Junius whispered: “Let them alone. There’s really nothing to do for them but let the shock and hysteria wear off naturally. A good cry will do wonders for her, and the boy is fighting it off very nicely by himself.”
Bonnie wept softly into her fingers and Ty lay still before the fire. The Boy Wonder cursed and began to prowl up and down, throwing epileptic shadows on the flame-lit walls.
“Once again,” said Ellery. “Dr. Junius, where the hell is Tolland Stuart?”
“I suppose you find it strange.” The doctor’s hands were shaking, and it occurred to Ellery that Tolland Stuart’s dictum against alcohol worked a special hardship on his physician. “He’s upstairs behind a barricade.”
“What!”
Junius smiled apologetically. “Oh, he’s quite sane.”
“He must have heard our plane coming down. Hasn’t the man even a normal curiosity?”
“Mr. Stuart is — peculiar. He’s been nursing a grudge against the world for so many years that he detests the very sight of people. And then he’s a hypochondriac. And odd in other ways. I suppose you noticed the lack of central heating. He has a theory about that — that steam heat dries up your lungs. He has a theory about nearly everything.”
“Very amusing,” said Ellery, “but what’s all this to do with the fact that his granddaughter has come calling for the first time in years? Hasn’t he the decency to come downstairs to greet her?”