“Then it wasn’t King who jumped into that mountain stream and saved seven-year-old Abel from drowning that day in the hills above Wrightsville. Who could it have been? Only the three brothers were involved, and Abel was the victim. So it could only have been Judah who rescued Abel. We know Judah can swim — we saw him do it in the indoor pool the day King accidentally fell in.”
“Judah saved Abel’s life,” said the Inspector softly, “and King took the credit.”
Ellery nodded over the flame of a match. He puffed and tossed the match out his window. “There’s the explanation in a phrase. The record shows that, even as a boy of fourteen, Kane had a domineering, unscrupulous character. Because Judah was a timid, sensitive boy, younger and physically weaker, and could be bullied into keeping his mouth shut, Kane deliberately stole the credit for Abel’s rescue from Judah. Accepted a medal for it — even made an amazing little speech about it, you’ll recall, saying, modestly that he didn’t really ‘deserve’ the medal, ‘anybody’ would have done the same! And Kane — as King — has taken the credit, stolen the spotlight, been the big shot ever since. In everything. That single incident, way back in 1911 in what was then one-horse Wrightsville, illuminates each of the three Bendigo brothers.
“Take King. Deep inside, he’s afraid. He must have been, he must still be, deathly afraid of the water — a boy who excelled in so many different sports and yet didn’t participate in one of the commonest sports of all, swimming, must have had a powerful psychological reason for not learning... He knows the truth about himself. He knows he’s no hero, that in reality he’s an inferior human being. But once that incident occurred, once he publicly proclaimed himself a hero as a swimmer — and probably his fear of water was what prompted him to do it — then he shaped his whole future development. He had to repress that sickening truth, in himself as well as to the world, and in order to do so he developed an enormously aggressive personality. Eventually his aggressiveness turned into grandiose channels, and with Abel’s implementation of his megalomaniac goals he’s become the incredible power he is today.”
“And Abel,” muttered the Inspector, “Abel’s been paying back his debt of gratitude.”
“Exactly. Abel was unconscious when he was pulled out; he didn’t see who rescued him. He was a young child, and of course he believed the story his big brother-hero told. So Abel has come through these past forty years believing he owes his life to King. And so devoting his life to his savior.
“And Judah,” said Ellery, “Judah was cuffed and cowed into keeping his mouth shut — Judah, who had reached the age of twelve scarred by the weight of his Judas cross and the cruelty of his schoolmates, not to mention that of his father. Judah couldn’t fight his husky big brother. Judah didn’t dare tell the truth. Judah could only watch the credit that belonged to him showered on the unscrupulous bully who had stolen it. There could be only one place for Judah to go, and that was still further into his shell. To complicate matters — the evidence is in these notes — Judah’s always been something of a masochist. Deep down he enjoyed his martyr’s role...
“There could be only one port for a man like that — and that’s where Judah has landed. At the business end of a bottle. He drinks for the reason most alcoholics drink. It’s a way of enduring his unhappiness.”
“I wonder how Abel found out...”
“The wonder isn’t so much that he found out as that it’s taken him so long. It seems incredible that Abel could have lived and worked by King’s side for so many years and remained ignorant of such a simple fact as his brother’s not knowing how to swim. But it’s not as incredible as it seems. Abel’s had a blind spot on the subject. From the age of seven he’s known — impressed into his brain by a traumatic experience of great force — that King could swim. And King threw up a clever smoke screen. What did Karla tell us? That except for a bit of wrestling and boxing with Max, King never takes any exercise. They’ve led unbelievably crowded lives, and Abel himself is hardly the sports-loving type.”
“Then Abel found out—”
“Or Judah, more than usually drunk, told him,” nodded Ellery. “Then all Abel would have to do was manufacture a test, as I did today... and everything would curdle in Abel. Instantly. To worship your brother for forty years, to dedicate your life to him, and suddenly to find that you’ve been worshiping a fraud — worse, a cheat... It would be a devastating experience. If Abel’s worship of King had blinded him to King’s faults, this knowledge would clear his eyes in a flash.
“So Abel drew up a new set of plans. The first plans of which his brother King had no knowledge.”
Ellery fell silent, and for some time they sat without speaking, continuing to watch what was going on below them. The launches streaked back and forth, the ships loaded, the cars and trucks continued to stream down from the cliffs, vessels plunged out to sea, planes landed empty and took off full...
“What the devil is he up to?” Ellery said at last. “Dad, this looks like a wholesale evacuation of the island.”
“I wonder where he is...”
“Who?”
“His Majesty. Do you suppose he’s alone?”
“Why?”
“If he is,” said the Inspector, “he’s not exactly safe.”
“He’s safe,” said Ellery gloomily. “You saw Max go after him. He hasn’t let King out of his sight since the night of the attempt. They’d have to kill Max first.”
“Well?” said the Inspector.
Ellery stared at him. Then he snapped on the ignition and kicked the starter.
17
The guards were gone from the foyer of the family’s apartments.
The corridors were deserted.
“They’re probably at the Home Office,” said the Inspector.
“No,” said Ellery, “no. If anything’s happened, it took place here!”
They pushed open the door and went in. There were no flunkies about. Everything was in disorder.
“Max?” roared the Inspector.
Ellery was already racing toward King Bendigo’s private suite. When the Inspector caught up with him he was at the doorway to a great bedchamber, looking in.
“Isn’t Max—” began the Inspector.
Then he stopped.
King Bendigo was lying neatly on his bed, his head on the bolster and his open eyes staring up at the canopy.
There was no sign of Max.
The master of Bendigo Island was dressed as they had last seen him, with still-damp slacks and soaked sports shoes, his torso naked. Three trails of blood snaked diagonally down the right side of his face. They led from a hole in his right temple. The hole looked burned; around it the flesh was tattooed with powder.
A revolver with a nickel finish was gripped in the right hand, which lay on the bed parallel with the body.
King’s forefinger was still on the trigger.
“S & W .22/32 kit gun,” said the Inspector, turning it over in his hands. “One shot fired. Suicide, all right—”
“You think so?” muttered Ellery.
“—if you’re blind. Look at the angle of the wound, from point of entry to point of exit, Ellery. The course of the bullet was sharply downward. If King had committed suicide, he’d have had to hold the gun pointing sharply downward — which means from above his head. To pull the trigger from such a position and make such a wound, he’d have had to hook his right thumb around it. With the forefinger it’s a physical impossibility.”