“To tell the truth,” groaned Ellery, sitting down and feeling very good all at once, “we’re both reduced almost to the point of cannibalism.”
The man laughed heartily. “I suppose we should introduce ourselves after the unfortunate manner of our meeting. I’m John Xavier.”
“Ah!” cried Ellery. “I thought you looked familiar. Dr. Xavier. I’ve seen your picture in the papers numberless times. As a matter of fact, I’d rather deduced a medico as the master of this house when I saw that etching after Rembrandt on your foyer wall. No one but a medical man would have displayed such — ah — original taste in decoration.” He grinned. “Remember the doctor’s face, don’t you, dad?” The Inspector nodded with vague enthusiasm; in his mood at the moment he would have remembered anything. “We’re the Queens, father and son, Dr. Xavier.”
Dr. Xavier murmured something gracious. “Mr. Queen,” he said to the Inspector. The Queens exchanged glances. Their host, then, was ignorant of the police connection of the Inspector. Ellery’s eyes warned his father, and the Inspector nodded imperceptibly. It did seem pointless to bring up his official title. People as a rule stiffened up on such creatures as detectives and policemen.
Dr. Xavier sat down in a leather chair and produced cigarettes. “And now, while we’re waiting for my excellent housekeeper’s no doubt frenzied preparations to bear fruit, suppose you tell me something about this... fire.”
His mild and slightly absent expression did not change; but something queer had crept into his voice.
The Inspector went into lurid detail, their host nodding at every sentence and maintaining a perfect air of polite perturbation. Ellery, whose eyes were paining him, took his spectacle case out of his pocket, polished the lenses of his pince-nez wearily, and perched them on the bridge of his nose. He was in a mood to feel hypercritical about everything, he told himself glumly; why shouldn’t Dr. Xavier show polite perturbation? The man’s house was perched on top of a hill whose base was burning. Perhaps, he thought, closing his eyes, Dr. Xavier wasn’t showing enough perturbation...
The Inspector was saying sententiously: “We really ought to be making inquiries, Doctor. Have you a phone?”
“At your elbow, Mr. Queen. There’s a branch line running up the Arrow from the Valley.”
The Inspector took the instrument and put in a call to Osquewa. He had considerable difficulty getting a connection. When he finally succeeded it was to discover that the entire town had been impressed into service for the purpose of fighting the flames, including the Sheriff, the Mayor, and the Town Board. The lone telephone operator supplied the information.
The old man put down the telephone with a grave look. “I guess this is a little more serious than usual. The fire’s ringing the whole base of the mountain, Doctor, and every able-bodied man and woman for miles around is fighting it.”
“Good lord,” muttered Dr. Xavier. Perturbation had increased, but politeness had vanished. He rose and began to stride about.
“So,” said the Inspector comfortably, “I guess we’re stuck here, Doctor, at least for the night.”
“Oh, that.” The big man waved his muscular right hand. “Naturally. Wouldn’t think of letting you push on, even under normal circumstances.” He was frowning deeply and biting his lip. “This thing,” he went on, “begins to look...”
Ellery’s head was spinning. Despite the thickening atmosphere of mystery — his intuition told him that something very odd indeed was taking place in this lonely house perched on the shoulder of a mountain — he yearned most of all for bed and sleep. Even hunger had crept off, and the fire seemed far away. He could not keep his lids up, where conventionally they belonged. Dr. Xavier in his grave voice, now touched with the faintest mixture of excitement and dissimulation, was saying something about “the drought... probably spontaneous combustion...” and then Ellery heard no more.
He awoke with a guilty start. A woman’s unsteady voice was saying in his ear: “If you don’t mind, sir...” and he leaped to his feet to find the stout squat figure of Mrs. Wheary standing by his chair with a tray in her broad hands.
“Oh, I say!” he exclaimed, reddening. “Execrable manners. Please excuse it, Doctor. The fact is — the long drive, the fire—”
“Nonsense,” said Dr. Xavier with an abstracted laugh. “Your father and I were just commenting upon the inadequate capacity of the younger generation for standing up under physical punishment. It’s quite all right, Mr. Queen. Would you care to wash up before—?”
“If we may.” Ellery eyed the tray hungrily. The pangs had returned, catching him unaware, and he could have devoured the cold food before him on the spot, tray and all.
Dr. Xavier conducted them to the corridor, turned left, and led the way to a staircase overlooking another corridor which crossed the one leading out of the foyer. They ascended a flight of carpeted stairs and found themselves on the landing of what was apparently the sleeping-quarters floor. Except for a dim night light above the landing the single hall was dark. All doors were tightly closed. The rooms behind the doors were silent as niches in a tomb.
“Brr!” muttered Ellery in his father’s ear as they followed the stately figure of their host down the hall. “Nice place for a murder. Even the wind is performing in character! Listen to that silly howling, will you? The banshees are out in full force tonight.”
“You listen to it,” growled the Inspector contentedly, “or even them. Not even an army of banshees could ruffle my hair tonight, old son. Why, this place looks like the Marble Palace to me! Murder? You’re off your nut. This is the nicest damned house I’ve ever set foot in.”
“I’ve seen nicer,” said Ellery gloomily. “Besides, you’ve always been primarily a creature of the senses... Ah, Doctor! This is perfectly angelic of you.”
Dr. Xavier had flung open a door. The room was a vast bedroom — all the rooms in this gargantuan establishment were enormous — and neatly grouped on the floor at the foot of the wide double bed were the heterogeneous components of the Queens’ luggage.
“Not another word,” said Dr. Xavier. And yet he said it absently, without the proper heartiness one might expect from an otherwise impeccable host. “Where on earth could you go with the fire burning below? This is the only house for miles around, Mr. Queen... I’ve taken the liberty, while you were — resting downstairs, of having my man Bones carry your luggage up here. Bones — odd name, eh? He’s an unfortunate old derelict I picked up years ago; quite devoted to me, I assure you, despite a certain gruffness of manner, ha-ha! Bones will take care of your car. We’ve a garage here; cars get frightfully damp outdoors at this elevation, you know.”
“Bully for Bones,” murmured Ellery.
“Yes, yes... And now, there’s the lavatory. The general bathroom is behind the landing. I’ll leave you to your ablutions.”
He smiled and left the room, closing the door gently. The Queens, left alone in the center of that colossal bedchamber, stared wordlessly at each other. Then the Inspector shrugged, stripped off his coat, and made for the indicated lavatory door.
Ellery followed, muttering: “Ablutions! That’s the first time I’ve heard that word in twenty years. Remember the fussy old Greek who taught me at the Crosley School? Did a Mrs. Malaprop with the word, misusing it for ‘absolution.’ Ablutions! I tell you, dad, the more I see of this ominous establishment the less I like it.”
“The more fool you,” burbled the Inspector to the accompaniment of snorts and running water. “Good, by God! I needed this. Come on, son; get going. That grub downstairs won’t last forever.”