“Mr. Queen,” said Dr. Junius, baring his false teeth in a humorless grin, “if you knew as much about Mr. Tolland Stuart as I do you wouldn’t wonder at any of his vagaries.” The grin became a whining snarl. “When he came back late this afternoon from his damned eternal rabbit-shooting, and I told him about your call and his daughter Blythe apparently kidnapped on her wedding day and all, he shut himself up in his room and threatened to discharge me if I disturbed him. He claims he can’t stand excitement.”
“Can he?”
The doctor said spitefully: “He’s the healthiest man of his years I know. Damn all hypos! I have to sneak my liquor and coffee up here, go out into the woods for a smoke, and cook meat for myself when he’s out hunting. He’s a cunning, mean old maniac, that’s what he is, and why I bury myself up here with him is more than I can understand!”
The doctor looked frightened at his own outburst; he grew pale and silent.
“Nevertheless, don’t you think you might make an exception in this case? After all, a man’s daughter isn’t murdered every day.”
“You mean go up those stairs and into his bedroom, when he’s expressly forbidden it?”
“Something like that.”
Dr. Junius threw up his hands. “Not I, Mr. Queen, not I. I want to live out the few remaining years of my life with a whole skin.”
“Pshaw, he has you buffaloed.”
“Well, you’re welcome to try, if you don’t mind risking a load of buckshot. He always keeps a shotgun by his bed.”
Ellery said abruptly: “Ridiculous!”
The doctor made a weary gesture of invitation towards the oak staircase and trudged down the hall to the kitchen — and his cache of brandy — with sloping shoulders.
Ellery went to the foot of the staircase and shouted: “Mr. Stuart!”
Ty raised his head. “Grandfather,” said Bonnie limply. “I’d forgotten about him. Oh, Butch, we’ll have to tell him!”
“Mr. Stuart?” called Ellery again, almost angrily. Then he said: “Damn it, I’m going up.”
Dr. Junius reappeared, his ruddy nose a little ruddier. “Wait, please. If you insist on being foolhardy, I’ll go up with you. But it won’t do you any good, I warn you.”
He joined Ellery and together they began to ascend the stairs into the thickening shadows above.
And just then a low humming mutter came to their ears, growing louder with each passing moment, until it became raw thunder. They stopped short halfway up the stairs.
“A plane!” cried Dr. Junius. “Is it coming here?”
The thunder grew. It was a plane, unquestionably, and it was circling Tolland Stuart’s eyrie.
“This is the last straw,” moaned the doctor. “He’ll be unbearable for a week. Stay here, please. I’ll go out.”
And without waiting for an answer he hurried down the stairs and out into the darkness.
Ellery remained uncertainly on the staircase for an instant. Then he slowly descended.
Bonnie said: “I can’t understand grandfather. Is he ill? Why doesn’t he come down?”
No one answered. The only sounds came from the fire. The thunder had died.
And then Dr. Junius reappeared, wringing his hands. “He’ll kill me! Why did you all have to come here?”
A large man in an overcoat and fedora marched in, blinking in the firelight. He blinked at each of them, one by one.
Ellery smiled. “It seems we meet again, Inspector Glücke.”
Chapter 7
The Old Man
Inspector Glücke grunted and went to the fire, shedding his coat and rubbing his great red hands together. A man in flying togs followed him, and Dr. Junius hastily shut the outer door against a rising wind. The aviator sat quietly down in a corner. He said nothing, and Inspector Glücke did not introduce him.
“Let’s get you people straight now,” said Glücke, contracting his black brows. “You’re Miss Stuart, I suppose, and you’re Mr. Royle? You must be Butcher.”
Ty scrambled to his feet. “Well?” he said eagerly. “Have you found him?”
Bonnie cried: “Who is he?”
“No, now, all in good time. I’m half-frozen, and we’ve got a long wait, because the pilot says there’s a storm coming up. Where’s the old man?”
“Upstairs sulking,” said Ellery. “You don’t seem very glad to see me, old friend. And how did you horn into this case?”
Glücke grinned. “What d’ye mean? They were Angelenos, weren’t they? Say, this fire feels swell.”
“I take it you simply jumped in feet first and usurped the authority to handle the case?”
“Now don’t start anything, Queen. When we got the flash at Headquarters that Mr. Royle and Miss Stuart had been found dead — we already knew they’d been snatched — I got me a plane and flew up to that plateau. I beat the Riverside and San Bernardino County men by a hair. If you ask me, they were tickled to death to have L.A. step in and take over. It’s too big for them.”
“But not for you, eh?” murmured Ellery.
“Oh, it’s simple enough,” said the Inspector.
“Then you have found him!” cried Ty and Bonnie together.
“Not yet. But when we do, there’s our man, and that’s the end of it.”
“When you find him?” said Ellery dryly. “Don’t you mean ‘if’?”
“Maybe, maybe.” Glücke smiled. “Anyway, it’s no case for you, Queen. Just a plain, everyday manhunt.”
“How sure are you,” said Ellery, lighting a cigaret, “that it was a man?”
“You’re not suggesting it was a woman?” said the Inspector derisively.
“I’m suggesting the possibility. Miss Stuart, you and Mr. Royle saw that pilot in good light. Was it a man or woman?”
“Man,” said Ty. “Don’t be foolish. He was a man!”
“I don’t know,” sighed Bonnie, trying to concentrate. “You couldn’t really tell. Those flying togs were a man’s, but then a woman could have worn them. And you couldn’t see hair, or eyes, or even face. The goggles concealed the upper part of the face and the lower part was hidden by the turned-up collar.”
“He walked like a man,” cried Ty. “He was too tall for a woman.”
A spirited note crept into Bonnie’s voice. “Nonsense. Hollywood is full of impersonators of both sexes. And I’ll bet I’m as tall as that... creature was.”
“And nobody,” put in Ellery, “heard the creature’s voice, for the excellent reason that the creature took remarkable care not to speak. If it were a man, why the silence? He could have disguised his voice.”
“Now listen, Queen,” said Glücke plaintively, “stop throwing monkey-wrenches. All right, we don’t know whether it was a man or a woman. But, man or woman, we’ve got the height and build—”
“Have you? Heels can be built up, and those flying suits are bulky and deceptive. No, there’s only one thing you can be sure of.”
“What’s that?”
“That the pilot can fly an airplane.”
Glücke growled deep in his throat. Dr. Junius coughed in the silence. “I don’t want to seem inhospitable, but... I mean, don’t you think it would be wise to take off now, before the storm breaks, Inspector?”
“Huh?” The Inspector turned cold eyes on Dr. Junius.
“I said—”
“I heard what you said.” Glücke stared hard at the doctor’s saffron face. “What’s the matter with you? Nervous?”
“No. Certainly not,” said the doctor, backing away.
“Who are you, anyway? What are you doing here?”
“My name is Junius, and I’m a medical doctor. I live here with Mr. Stuart.”
“Where’d you come from? Did you know Blythe Stuart and Jack Royle?”