“Honestly, gentlemen, I haven’t been avoiding you. With King down, there’s been no time to breathe.” Abel looked grayer than usual and his narrow shoulders sagged with fatigue. “What’s on your mind?”
“Lots of things,” said Ellery, “but a good place to start would be: Why did you order Judah’s release?”
Abel sighed. “I should have explained that. Do you mind if we sit down?... One of the critical things that’s been occupying me — perhaps the most critical — is keeping the real story of what happened on the night of June twenty-first from getting out. You’ll have noticed that Mr. Monahew and Sir Cardigan and Monsieur Cassebeer are under the impression that King is indisposed because of influenza. If it became known that he was the victim of an assassination attempt that nearly succeeded, the news would cause the most serious repercussions. Throughout the world. Our affairs are normally very delicate, gentlemen, and they’re so spread out that — as a great European statesman remarked only the other day — let King Bendigo stand in a draft and the whole world sneezes.”
Abel smiled faintly, but the Queens remained grim.
“What’s that got to do with your brother Judah?” asked the Inspector.
“The gentlemen from the United States, Great Britain, and France are very astute. If Judah were kept out of sight for any length of time, they would start speculating. They might put two and two together — King’s sudden ‘illness,’ Judah’s sudden disappearance.” Abel shook his head. “It’s safer this way. Judah can’t possibly get to King. And he’s being watched closely without seeming to be.”
The Queens said nothing for a while.
Then the Inspector said: “Another thing, Mr. Bendigo. We’ve been trying to see Dr. Storm’s patient without being permitted within a hundred yards of his bed. There are some questions we’d like to ask him. How about arranging a visit to his bedside?”
“Dr. Storm won’t allow it. My brother’s still a very sick man, he says.”
“We understand you see him daily.”
“For just a few minutes. To relieve his mind about pending matters; he frets a good deal. That’s all, really.”
Ellery said quietly: “Have you asked him anything about the shooting?”
“Of course. He’s been no help at all. And I can’t press him. Storm says he must not be excited.”
“But he must have said something. He was shot in the breast. How can you be shot in the breast at close range without seeing who’s shooting you?”
Abel said earnestly: “Exactly what I asked King, knowing it’s the one thing you’d want answered. But he says he can’t remember anything happening except that he woke up in the hospital.” Abel rose. “Is there anything else, gentlemen?”
“Yes,” said Ellery. “The most important question of all.”
“Well, well?” said Abel, a trifle impatiently.
“What are we doing here?”
Abel stared his illegible, unavoidable stare. They could see his features smooth out as if under a hot iron. When he spoke, he was the Prime Minister. “I hired you to confirm my own findings about the authorship of the letters. You did so. I then asked you to stay on to help in a delicate family situation. Which isn’t settled yet.”
“You want us to keep going, Mr. Bendigo?” There was nothing to be read in Ellery’s face, either.
“Most certainly I do. Especially during the next few weeks. When King is allowed out of bed we’ll have the whole problem of Judah on our backs again. I can’t keep him under lock and key—”
“Why not?” demanded the Inspector. “With King back on his feet, anything you do with Judah won’t be noticed.”
The Prime Minister vanished. Abel sat down again, shaking his head, his glasses twinkling a little. “I don’t blame you. It must all seem very strange to you. The truth is, what we have most to contend with is not so much Judah as King himself. Contrary to my expectations, King won’t allow Judah to be locked up. He has his weaknesses, you know. Courage to the point of foolhardiness is one of them. Tremendous pride is another. To lock Judah up, according to King’s code, would be a personal defeat. I realize that now. And then the family relationship... I’m sure I don’t have to go on... Of course, there’s still the matter of the way Judah did it. That bothers me, Mr. Queen, bothers me enormously. And King. We can’t make head or tail of it. Have you made any progress at all?”
Ellery shifted to the other foot. “You can hardly progress, Mr. Bendigo, when you’re caught between the irresistible force and the immovable object. The facts say the attack on your brother was a physical impossibility — and yet, here he is with a bullet hole near his heart. Did you find time to read our report on the ballistics tests?”
“Incredible,” murmured Abel.
“Exactly. Not to be believed. And yet there’s no room for doubt. That the bullet dug out of your brother’s chest was fired from Judah’s gun when Judah’s gun couldn’t possibly, under the ironclad circumstances, have fired it is a scientific fact. It’s something new under the sun, as far as my father and I are concerned.”
“And that bothers you. Of course. A man of your training, your exceptional talents, Mr. Queen... No offense, Inspector.” Abel smiled. “You and I are in the same class — good, solid plug-horses. But the pace of the thoroughbred—” He shook his head as he rose again. “You keep on it, Mr. Queen. I know if anyone can make sense out of it, you’re the man.”
It was only when the private Bendigo elevator had closed on Abel’s smallish figure, the narrow bland face, the broad disturbing brow, that the Queens found themselves totting up the items of their conversation with him. And reaching the sum total of zero.
As usual, Abel had really not answered anything.
They were at breakfast in their suite the next morning when Abel phoned.
“I got to thinking last night, as I was getting ready for bed,” Abel’s twang said, “about our talk, Mr. Queen. It seems to me Dr. Storm is being over-cautious. King is really getting along very well. And I see no reason why you should have to rely on secondhand answers to your questions when you can get them directly from King. I’ve arranged with Dr. Storm for you and Inspector Queen to visit my brother at eleven o’clock this morning. Storm gives you only a few minutes—”
“That’s all we want,” Ellery said quickly. “Thank you!” But when he hung up he did not speak quickly at all. “Abel’s arranged for us to see King this morning, Dad. It’s his way of telling us he knows we were skeptical or dissatisfied with his report of what King said about the shooting. I wonder what it means.”
“I wonder what anything means!”
They were admitted to the hospital wing without question, and a guard escorted them to the door of King Bendigo’s room. As they walked up the beautiful corridor they met Immanuel Peabody. The lawyer had just emerged from the royal sickroom with a briefcase under his arm, and he hurried past them with a frown and a wave of the hand. “The White Rabbit,” muttered Ellery. “‘Oh, my ears and whiskers, how late it’s getting!’”
“I wonder where he was when Judah pulled his miracle,” grunted his father. “And what the devil he carries in that briefcase!”
Then they were admitted to the presence.
The King looked very well, as his brother had remarked. He was thinner and his complexion had paled, but his black eyes were as lively as ever and there was scarcely a trace of weakness in his gestures.
And Max’l was eating nuts again, in a chair beside his master’s bed.
Dr. Storm stood Napoleonically before one of the windows, his back to them. Without turning he snapped, “Five minutes.”