Rather pointedly, Ellery thought.
The ship began to move.
“Would you take seats, please?” said Brown Shirt’s pleasantly chill voice.
He strapped them into two of the armchairs.
“You forgot the electrodes,” muttered the Inspector.
Ellery said nothing. He was watching Blue Shirt. Blue Shirt was moving from window to window, pulling down metal-vaned black blinds and securing them to the sills.
“All this hush-hush,” said Ellery. They had felt the lift of the ship and heard the motors settle down to a comfortable thunder, and Ellery had even made a note of the take-off time, but these were mechanical observations in a hopeless cause. “How secret can you keep an island?”
“There probably aren’t five men in the United States who know where it is.”
“How do you know?”
“I heard an earful from one of the brass who’d been head of liaison at Bendigo Midwestern headquarters, in Illinois, till about two years after the war. He was feeling brotherly after six Martinis — I’d got his son out of a bad jam in New York.”
“I don’t get the point of it all,” said Ellery, staring at the blinded windows.
“Seems this King Bendigo’s always been a secretive gent,” said the Inspector reflectively. “Some men never grow up. Play the same games, on a bigger scale. He probably had a dark cellar as a kid, a secret hideout, and buried treasure you got to with a map drawn in blood.
“Take this island of his. There’s no earthly reason the General could see why Bendigo would need an island home office. Or why, if he had to have an island, he’d make a mystery of its whereabouts. During the war he operated from the mainland, like anybody else.”
“Then Bendigo Island is a post-war development?”
“Yes and no. The way I heard it, the island was owned by one of our allies. England or France, maybe, but I’m guessing. It was one of those islands that never got onto a map, like so many in the Pacific, only this one is supposed to be in the Atlantic.”
“I don’t believe it. I mean that it’s not on the map.”
“I’m not asking you to believe it,” said his father. “I’m telling you what I heard. The likeliest explanation is that it’s on the map, all right, but as an uninhabited island. Maybe surrounded by dangerous reefs and off the regular sea and air lanes.
“Well, during the war,” continued the Inspector, “the government that owned the island decided to prepare it for an emergency hideout. It may have been during the Battle of Britain, if it was England. If it was France, it was probably after the fall of Paris but before De Gaulle fell foul of F.D.R.
“Anyway, the British, or the French Resistance, or what-have-you, began secret construction on the island. It was then known as Location XXX, and only a few of the top brass in Washington knew anything about it. It was done with the consent of the United States government, of course — for all I know, with us supplying most of the materials.
“According to the General’s story, they built for keeps — a tremendous administration building, a lot of it under ground, shelters, barracks, arsenals, factories, a couple of airfields — the works; they even dredged out an artificial harbor. The idea was that if the government of the country that owned the island had to leave home base in a hurry, this was where they’d evacuate to. The whole shoreline was camouflaged and the waters around the island mined. The development of radar made it possible to anticipate the approach of aircraft, too.”
Ellery said darkly, “I’ve never heard a syllable of this.”
“You weren’t supposed to. It was one of the best-kept secrets of the war. As it turned out, the island was never used. The installations were finished just about when the European phase of the war ended. And after Hiroshima, atomic developments made the whole project seem kind of silly.”
“And Bendigo bought it?”
“Leased it on a ninety-nine-year lease. Complete, just the way they’d built it, right down to the radar. The lease was cleared with Washington, but even if Washington didn’t like the idea they couldn’t do much about it. Bendigo had been too important during the war. And he’s still at it.”
The Inspector stopped. One of the uniformed stewards was approaching.
“Would you gentlemen care for your luncheon now?”
Brown Shirt was strolling their way.
“Later, I think,” Ellery said. “Unless we land soon?”
“I can’t say about that, sir,” said the steward.
“Don’t you know when we set down? I’m not asking you where. I’m just asking when.”
“I can’t say about anything, sir, but lunch.” The steward retreated, and Brown Shirt turned away.
“Relax,” grinned Inspector Queen. “These people are said to go through a screening that makes an F.B.I. atomic project clearance look like a vag booking in the Squedunk Corners pokey.” Then he looked grim. “This island of Bendigo’s is no joke. Bendigo’s supposed to have a private army there. For that matter, his own navy and air force, too.”
“Navy?” said Ellery incredulously. “Air force? You mean shooting stuff?”
The Inspector shrugged. “I can only tell you what the General told me. Maybe he was pulling my leg. But he mentioned at least two ex-warships, a light cruiser and a heavy cruiser, and a system of submarine nets and underwater detectors, as well as a couple of submarines. The shoreline’s still camouflaged and the radar works twenty-four hours a day. You might say it’s a whole new little country. Autonomous. Whom would Bendigo have to account to? I guess that’s why Washington is so interested.”
“His Christian name begins to impress me. Shooting stuff... What’s he expect, an invasion?”
“Don’t be childish. Nobody invades a man as powerful as King Bendigo. Not because you couldn’t wipe him off the map he isn’t on, but because he’s in too many places at the same time. He’s spread all over the globe. Bendigo Island’s just the — the concentration of his personality, his court, you might say. It’s just that, by the way, from what the General said. Bendigo’s added a real palace to the island... No, I imagine the shooting stuff — his ‘army,’ his ‘navy,’ his ‘air force’ — it’s all kind of automatic. It goes with power. It’s for show, like a throne. No self-respecting royalty without it.”
“But it’s... outmoded, all that,” complained Ellery. “He can’t be a boy playing with lead soldiers. What are a couple of warships and a few planes in the world of A- and H-bombs? Beanshooters. I don’t get it.”
The Inspector shrugged again and looked around. The steward anticipated him. There was a bottle at his elbow immediately, and a glass.
Ellery squirmed in the chair. He got up. But then he sat down again.
The Inspector sipped, leaned back, closed his eyes. The motors flowed on like a waterfall. He felt sleepy suddenly.
But his arm was prodded and he opened one eye.
“His family,” Ellery mumbled.
“Hm?”
“His family. Does it consist of his brother Abel and himself exclusively? Is King married? Children? Parents? What do you know about him personally, Dad?”
The Inspector struggled awake. “There are three brothers, not two. No sisters, and if their parents are living the General doesn’t know about them. Only one of the brothers is married, and that’s King himself. No children. Take a snooze, son.”
But Ellery said, “Who’s the third brother? Where does he fit?”
“Hmm?” The Inspector opened the eye again. “Judah?”
“Who?”
“Judah Bendigo. He’s the middle one. King’s the eldest of the three. Abel’s the baby. Abel is sort of the Prime Minister — he and King are very close. But Judah... the General didn’t know what he did in the outfit. Didn’t see Judah do anything but lap up brandy. His impression was Judah’s a lush.”