The man in the doorway uttered a curious sigh — whether of relief, despair, or sheer fatigue Ellery could not decide.
Dr. Holmes straightened; his eyes were deadly dull. “Quite finished now,” he announced in a flat voice.
“Ah,” said the Inspector. “Good man. What’s the verdict?”
“Precisely what,” demanded the physician, resting the knuckles of his right hand on the edge of the card-cluttered desk, “do you want to know?” He spoke with difficulty.
“Shots cause death?”
“Yes. No other marks of violence on the body, on superficial examination. Two bullets in the right breast, a little to the left of the sternum, one rather high. One smashed the third sternal rib and ricocheted into the summit of the right lung. The other was lower and passed between two ribs into the right bronchus, near the heart.”
From beyond the doorway came a sick gulp. The three men paid it no attention.
“Hemorrhage?” snapped the Inspector.
“Quite so. Bloody froth on the lips, as you can see.”
“Death instantaneous?”
“I should say not.”
“I could have told you that,” murmured Ellery.
“How?”
“Get to it in a moment. You haven’t had a really good look at the body, dad. Tell me, Doctor — what about the direction of the shots?”
Dr. Holmes passed his hand over his mouth. “I scarcely think there’s any mystery about that, Mr. Queen. The revolver—”
“Yes, yes,” said Ellery impatiently. “We can see that very clearly, Doctor. But do the angles of fire bear it out?”
“I should say so. Yes, unquestionably. Both passages show the same angle of direction. The weapon was fired from approximately that spot on the rug where you picked up the revolver.”
“Good,” said Ellery with satisfaction. “A little to Xavier’s right, but facing him. He could scarcely have been unaware of the presence of his murderer, then. By the way, you’ve no idea, I suppose, whether the weapon was in that drawer yesterday evening?”
Dr. Holmes shrugged. “I’m sorry, no.”
“It’s not really important. Probably it was. All the indications point to a crime of impulse. At least as far as the question of preparations is concerned.” Ellery explained to his father that the revolver had come from the cabinet drawer, had belonged to Dr. Xavier, and had been wiped clean of fingerprints after the crime.
“It’s easy enough, then, to figure out what happened,” said the Inspector thoughtfully. “No way of telling through which of the four doors the murderer entered: chances are it was through the library or hall. But this much is clear: when the murderer came in here the doctor was playing cards with himself right where he is now. Murderer opened the drawer, took out the gun... Was the gun kept loaded?”
“I believe so,” said Dr. Holmes dully.
“Took out the gun, standing just about at the cabinet there near the hall door, fired twice, wiped the gun clean, dropped it on the rug, and beat it into the cross-hall.”
“Not necessarily,” remarked Ellery.
The Inspector glared. “Why not? Why cross the room and go out by a far door when there’s one right behind you?”
Ellery said mildly: “I merely said ‘not necessarily.’ I suppose that’s what occurred. It still tells nothing. No matter which door the murderer used to enter the room and leave, there’s nothing to be learned from specific determination. None of these doors leads into a room from which there is no other exit. All of them were accessible to anyone in the house who descended unobserved to this floor, say, from upstairs.”
The Inspector grunted. Dr. Holmes said wearily: “If that’s all you want me for, gentlemen... The bullets are here.” He indicated two battered slugs coated with blackish blood which he had tossed to the desk.
“The same?” demanded the Inspector.
Ellery examined them indifferently. “Yes, same make as the ones in the revolver and cartridge box. Nothing there... Before you go, Doctor.”
“Yes?”
“How long has Dr. Xavier been dead?”
The young man consulted his wrist watch. “It’s almost ten now. Death occurred, I should judge, no later than nine hours ago. Roughly at one A.M. this morning.”
For the first time Mark Xavier in the doorway moved. He jerked his head up and drew in his breath with a whistling sound. As if this were a signal, Mrs. Xavier moaned and tottered back to a library chair. Ann Forrest, biting her lip, bent over her and murmured something sympathetic. The widow shook her head mechanically and leaned back, fixing her eyes upon the rigid left hand of her husband, just visible to her through the doorway.
“One a.m.,” frowned Ellery. “It must have been a little past eleven when we retired last night. I see... You omitted something, dad. No slightest sign of a struggle. That means he probably knew his murderer and didn’t suspect foul play until it was too late.”
“Fat lot of good that does us,” grunted the Inspector. “Sure he knew who bumped him. He knew everybody on this mountainside.”
“You mean to say, of course,” said Dr. Holmes in a strained voice, “in this house?”
“You got me the first time, Doc.”
The corridor door opened and Mrs. Wheary’s neat gray head poked in. “Breakfast—” she began, and then her eyes widened and her jaw sagged ludicrously. She screamed once and almost fell through the doorway. The emaciated figure of Bones sprang into view from behind her, throwing out his long arms to catch her fat body. Then he, too, caught sight of Dr. Xavier’s still figure and his gray wrinkled cheeks became grayer. He almost dropped the housekeeper’s figure.
Ellery leaped forward and caught the woman in his arms. She had fainted. Ann Forrest stepped gingerly into the study, hesitated, swallowed hard, and ran forward to help. Between them they managed to drag the heavy old woman into the library. Neither Mark Xavier nor the widow moved.
Leaving the housekeeper in the young woman’s charge, Ellery strode back into the study. The Inspector was scrutinizing the haggard old man with impersonal minuteness. Bones was gaping at his employer’s dead body, and he looked more like a corpse than the corpse itself. Snags of yellow teeth showed against the black of his open mouth. His eyes were glassy, goggling. Then sense came back into them, and a curious mounting rage. He worked his lips soundlessly for several moments until he forced a hoarse animal cry out of his wrinkled throat. Then he turned and plunged through the doorway. They heard him blundering along the cross-hall, repeating the senseless cry like a man stricken insane.
The Inspector sighed. “He takes it pretty, pretty,” he muttered. “Attention, everybody!”
He stalked to the library door and looked out at them. They looked back at him. Mrs. Wheary, revived, was sobbing quietly in a chair beside her mistress.
“Before we go ahead with a more thorough examination,” said the Inspector coldly, “there are a few things need clearing up. I want the truth, mind. Miss Forrest, you and Dr. Holmes left the game-room last night just before we did. Did you go right up to your room?”
“Yes,” said the girl in a low voice.
“Right to sleep?”
“Yes, Inspector.”
“You, Dr. Holmes?”
“Yes.”
“Mrs. Xavier, did you go right to your room last night when we left you on the landing, and did you stay there all night?”
The widow raised her extraordinary eyes; they were dazed. “I... yes.”