Demmy was peering from his cousin to the Inspector in a pleased, yet confused sort of way. The old man nodded. “Thanks, Mrs. Sloane. That’s all right now.”
The Inspector went to the desk, picked up the dial telephone, and dialled a number. “Hello! Queen speaking . . . . Listen, Fred, what’s the name of that Greek interpreter who hangs around the Criminal Courts Building? . . . What? Trikkala? T-r-i-k-k-a-l-a? . . . Okay. Locate him right away and send him over to Eleven East Fifty-fourth Street. Tell him to ask for me.”
He banged the instrument back on the desk. “Please wait for me here, all of you,” he said, beckoned to Ellery and Pepper, nodded laconically to Sergeant Velie, and strode to the door. Demmy’s staring eyes followed the figures of the three men in a childishly astonished way.
They mounted the carpeted stairs, and at Pepper’s gesture turned to the right. He indicated a door not far from the head of the stairs, and the Inspector knocked. A woman’s voice, fat with tears, gurgled: “Who’s there?” in frightened tones.
“Mrs. Simms? This is Inspector Queen. May I come in a minute?”
“Who? Who? Oh, yes! Just a moment, sir, just a moment!” They heard a hasty bed-creak, a rustling accompanied by lusty feminine exhalations of breath, and a weak panting, “Come in, sir. Come in.”
The Inspector sighed, opened the door, and the three men entered the room to find themselves confronted by an awesome apparition. An old shawl was draped about Mrs. Simms’ bulging shoulders. Her grey hair was dishevelled―stiff strands stuck out all over her head, so that it faintly resembled the crowned head of the Statue of Liberty. Her face was puffy and red, and blotched with tears, and her matronly bosoms were heaving energetically as she rocked herself in an old-fashioned rocker. Carpet slippers covered her large swollen feet. And at those battered feet reposed an ancient Persian cat―evidently the adventurous Tootsie.
The three men walked in solemnly, and Mrs. Simms looked at them with such affrighted bovine eyes that Ellery gulped.
“How do you feel now, Mrs. Simms?” asked the Inspector amiably. sOh, terrible, sir, terrible.” Mrs. Simms rocked faster. “Who was that dreadful dead creature in the drawing-room, sir? He―it gave me the unholy creeps!”
“Oh, then you never saw that man before?”
“I?” she shrieked. “Heaven above! I? Mother of God, no!”
“All right, all right,” said the Inspector hurriedly. “Now, Mrs. Simms, do you recall last Friday night?”
Her damp handkerchief paused at her nose and a saner look came into her eye. “Last Friday night? The night before―before Mr. Khalkis died? I do, sir.”
“That’s very good, Mrs. Simms, very good. I understand you went to bed early―is that correct?”
“Indeed it is, sir. Mr. Khalkis himself told me to.”
“Did he tell you anything else?”
“Why, nothing important, sir, if that’s what you’re driving at.” Mrs. Simms blew her nose. “He just called me into the study and―”
“He called you in?”
“Well, I mean he rang for me. There’s a buzzer on his desk which leads to the kitchen downstairs.”
“What time was this?”
“Time? Let me see.” She puckered her old lips thoughtfully. “I’d say about a quarter to eleven.”
“At night, of course?”
“Well, of all things! Of course. And when I came in he told me to fetch him at once a percolator of water, three cups and saucers, some tea-balls, cream, lemon, and sugar. At once, he said.”
“Was he alone when you entered the library?”
“Oh, yes, sir. All alone, the poor creature sitting at his desk so nice and straight . . . . To think―just to think that―”
“Now, don’t think, Mrs. Simms,” said the Inspector. “And then what happened?”
She dabbed at her eyes. “I brought the tea-things right away and set them down on the tabouret by his desk. He asked me if I had brought everything he’d ordered―”
“Now, that’s queer,” muttered Ellery.
“Not at all, sir. He couldn’t see, you see. So he said in a sharper voice―he looked a mite nervous, it seemed to me, if you ask, sir, which you didn’t―he said to me, “Mrs. Simms, I want you to go to bed at once. Do you understand?” So I said, “Yes, Mr. Khalkis,” and I went right up to my room and to bed. And that’s all, sir.”
“He said nothing to you about having guests that night?”
“Me, sir? Oh, no, sir.” Mrs. Simms blew her nose again and then thrashed it about vigorously with her handkerchief. “Although I did think he might be having company of sorts, considering the three cups and all. But it wasn’t my place to ask, you see.”
“Of course not. So you didn’t see any visitors that night?”
“No, sir. I went right up to my room and to bed, as I said. I was that tired, sir, having had a bad day with rheumatics. My rheumatics―”
Tootsie rose, yawned, and began to wash her face.
“Yes, yes. We quite understand. That’s all for now, Mrs. Simms, and thank you very much,” said the Inspector, and they hastily left the room. Ellery was thoughtful as they descended the stairs; Pepper looked at him curiously and said, “You think . . . “
“My dear Pepper,” said Ellery, ‘that is the curse of my composition. I’m always thinking. I’m pursued by what Byron in Childe Harold―you recall that magnificent first canto?―saw fit to call, “The blight of life―the demon Thought”.”
“Well,” said Pepper dubiously, ‘there’s something in that.”
Chapter 8. Killed?
As they were about to re-enter the study downstairs, they heard voices from the drawing-room across the hall. The Inspector inquisitively trotted over and opened the door to peer in. His eyes sharpened and he strode inside without ceremony, Pepper and Ellery following meekly. They found Dr. Prouty chewing his cigar and looking out of the window into the graveyard, while another man―a man none of them had seen before―poked about the odorous corpse of Grimshaw. He straightened immediately, looking inquiry at Dr. Prouty. The Assistant Medical Examiner introduced the Queens and Pepper tersely, said: “This is Dr. Frost, Khalkis’s personal physician. Just came in,” and turned back to his window.
Dr. Duncan Frost was a handsome cleanly man, of fifty or more―the typical smart solid society physician with whom upper Fifth Avenue, Madison Avenue and the West Side commune for the preservation of their health. He murmured something polite and backed away, looking down at the swollen corpse with keen interest.
“I see you’ve been examining our find,” remarked the Inspector.
“Yes. Very interesting. Very interesting indeed,” replied Dr. Frost, “and quite incomprehensible to me. How on earth did this cadaver ever get into Khalkis’s coffin?”
“If we knew that, Doctor, we’d breathe easier.”
“Well, it’s a cinch it wasn’t in there when Khalkis was buried!” said Pepper dryly.
“Naturally! That’s what makes if so amazing.”
“I believe Dr. Prouty said you were Khalkis’s personal physician?” asked the Inspector abruptly.
“That’s correct, sir.”
“Have you ever seen this man before? Treated him?”
Dr. Frost shook his head. “An absolute stranger to me, Inspector. And I was associated with Khalkis for ever so many years. In fact, I live just across the court back here―on Fifty-fifth Street.”
“How long,” asked Ellery, “has the man been dead?”
The Assistant Medical Examiner turned his back on the window, smiled glumly, and the two physicians exchanged glances. “Matter of fact,” growled Dr. Prouty, “Frost and I were discussing that just before you men came in. Hard to tell from superficial examination. I’d want to examine the nude cadaver and his insides before I said definitely.”