The fat man said nothing. His little eyes flicked from face to face and his breathing came in hoarse gasps.
“Well,” said Ellery sharply, “what were you doing on the mountain last night?”
The fat man’s bare chest surged suddenly. “And what’s it to you?”
“Still fractious, eh? I might inform you that you’re a damned live suspect for murder.”
“Murder!” The jowls sagged and all the cunning vanished from the froggy eyes in a twinkling. “Wh... who—?”
“Stop stalling,” snapped the Inspector. The revolver was still in his hand. “Who, eh? I thought a moment ago it didn’t make any difference... Who’d you like it to be?”
“Well!” The fat man sighed hugely, eyes never still. “Naturally... Murder... I don’t know anything about this, gentlemen; how could I? I was wandering around half the night looking for a way — for a way out. Then I parked my car down the road a bit and slept until morning. How should I—?”
“Did you drive back to the house at all when you found you couldn’t get past the road below?”
“Why — no. No.”
“Well, why the hell didn’t you?”
“I... I didn’t think of it.”
“What’s your name?”
The fat man hesitated. “Smith.”
“His name, he says,” remarked the Inspector to the world at large, “is Smith. Well, well. What Smith? Just Smith? Or hasn’t your imagination got to the point of picking a first name yet?”
“Frank — Frank Smith. Frank J. Smith.”
“Where you hail from?”
“Why — ah, New York.”
“Funny,” muttered the Inspector. “I thought I knew every evil pan in the City. Well, what were you doing up here yesterday evening?”
Mr. Smith licked his purple lips again. “Why — I guess I lost my way.”
“You guess?”
“I mean I lost my way, you see. When I... yes, when I got to the top here and saw I couldn’t go any farther, I turned round and drove down again. That’s when you met me, you see.”
“You sang a different tune then,” said the old gentleman disagreeably. “And you sure were in one hell of a hurry. So you don’t know anybody in this house, hey? When you were lost last night, you didn’t think of stopping in here and asking your way, either, did you?”
“N-no.” Mr. Smith’s eyes fidgeted from the Queens to the silent company behind them. “But who, may I ask, was the unfort—”
“Unfortunate who was passed violently from the here to the hereafter?” Ellery squinted at him thoughtfully. “A gentleman named John Xavier, Dr. John S. Xavier. Name mean anything to you?”
The emaciated man-of-all-work began to make threatening sounds deep in his scrawny throat again.
“No,” said Mr. Smith hastily. “Never heard of him.”
“And you’ve never toiled up this Arrow Mountain road before, Mr.... ah... Smith? Last night was the first time — your debut, as it were?”
“I assure you...”
Ellery bent and lifted one of the fat man’s puffy paws. Mr. Smith growled in a startled way and snatched his hand back. “Oh, I’m not going to bite. Just looking for rings, you know.”
“R-rings?”
“But you haven’t any.” Ellery sighed. “I think, dad, we’re... uh... blessed with another guest for some time. Mrs. Xavier — no, Mrs. Wheary might make the necessary arrangements.”
“I guess so,” said the Inspector glumly, putting his revolver away. “Got any duds in your car, Smith, or whatever your name is?”
“Yes, of course. But can’t I—? Isn’t the fire—?”
“You can’t, and the fire isn’t. Get your things out of the car; can’t trust you to Bones — he’s liable to chew your ear off. Good man, Bones. That’s the spirit. Keep your eyes open.” The Inspector tapped the silent old man on his bony shoulder. “Mrs. Wheary, show Mr. Smith to a room on the first floor. There’s an empty, isn’t there?”
“Y-yes, sir,” said Mrs. Wheary nervously. “Several.”
“Then feed him. You stay put, Smith. No funny business.” He turned to Mrs. Xavier, who had shrunken incredibly within herself; her flesh looked withered. “Beg pardon, Madam,” he said stiffly, “for taking charge of your household this way, but in murder cases we haven’t got time to stand on ceremony.”
“That’s quite all right,” she whispered. Ellery examined her with fresh interest. The vitriol seemed to have drained out of her since the discovery of her husband’s corpse. The smoke and fire of her black eyes had been quenched; they were lifeless. And behind them, in the glaze, he thought, lurked fear. She had altered completely — all but the dreadful half-smile. That clung to her lips with the stubborn vitality of physical habit.
“All right, folks,” said the Inspector abruptly. “Now let’s pay a little visit to the society lady upstairs. We’ll all see Mrs. Carreau together and then I’ll get the whole story straight without anyone trying to put one over or keep something back. Maybe well see daylight in this rotten business.”
A low, musical, controlled voice startled them into whirling toward the corridor. “There’s no need of that, Inspector. I’ve come down, you see.”
And in the same flashing instant Ellery, spinning about, caught sight of Mrs. Xavier’s eyes. They were hot, rich black again.
Chapter VII
The Weeping Lady
She was leaning on tall Ann Forrest’s arm — a dainty, fragile beauty with the bloom of a delicate fruit. She looked no older than thirty — scarcely that. Her little figure was trim, graceful, slender, sheathed in some gray, soft, clinging material. Her hair was smoky black and she had two straight, determined brows over brown eyes. There was sensitiveness in the thin flare of her nostrils and her little mouth. The lightest of touches had etched tiny wrinkles about her eyes. In her carriage, her poise, the way she stood and the way she held her head Ellery read breeding. A remarkable woman, he thought — quite as remarkable in her way as Mrs. Xavier. The thought swung him about. Mrs. Xavier had miraculously regained her youth. The fires had never been brighter in her extraordinary eyes, and all the drooping muscles had been revitalized. She was glaring with feline intensity at Mrs. Carreau. Fear had been displaced by the frankest, most naked hatred.
“You’re Mrs. Marie Carreau?” demanded the Inspector. If he still felt for her any of the admiration he had voiced to Ellery the night before, he did not show it.
“Yes,” replied the small woman. “That’s quite correct... I beg your pardon.” She turned to Mrs. Xavier, the queerest pain and compassion in the depths of her eyes. “I’m so sorry, my dear. Ann has told me. If there is anything I can do...”
The black pupils dilated; the olive nostrils flared. “Yes!” cried Mrs. Xavier, taking a step forward. “Yes! Get out of my house, that’s what you can do! You’ve made me suffer more... Get out of my house, you and your damned—”
“Sarah!” rasped Mark Xavier, grasping her arm and shaking her roughly. “Don’t forget yourself. Do you realize what you’re saying?”
The tall woman’s voice rose to a scream. “She... she—” A trickle of saliva appeared at one corner of her mouth. Her black eyes were blazing pits.
“Here, here,” said the Inspector softly. “What’s all this, Mrs. Xavier?”
Mrs. Carreau had not stirred; bloodless cheeks were her only sign of emotion. Ann Forrest gripped her round arm more tightly. Mrs. Xavier shuddered and shook her head from side to side. She relaxed limply against her brother-in-law.