He turned left and made for the trees, in the direction of the spot where Ellery had reclined before luncheon. The sun was low, and the air was still and sticky. The sky was like a brazen disc gleaming in colored lights. He sniffed suddenly and stopped short. A feeble breeze had conveyed an acrid odor to his nostrils. It was — yes, the smell of burning wood! Startled, he glanced at the sky just above the trees. But he could see no smoke. The direction of the wind had changed, he thought moodily, and now they would probably smother with the foul smell of the resinous fire until the wind changed direction again. As he strode on a large flake of ash settled softly upon one of his hands. He brushed it off quickly and went on.
He gained the shady cover of the marginal trees and peered into the gloom, his eyes tingling after the brilliance of the open terrain. Ellery was nowhere to be seen. The Inspector remained quietly where he was until his pupils adjusted themselves to the shadows, and then stepped forward listening with cocked ears. The trees closed in over him, stifling him with their hot green odor.
He was about to shout Ellery’s name when he heard an odd tearing sound from his right. He tiptoed in that direction and cautiously peeped around the trunk of a large tree.
Fifteen feet away Ellery leaned against a cedar, occupied with a curious business. He was surrounded by a scattering of ripped and crumpled playing cards. His hands were raised before him at the instant the Inspector caught sight of him, forefinger and thumb of each hand delicately gripping the top edge of a card. His eyes were trained earnestly upon the topmost branch of the tree opposite. Then he ripped the card, almost negligently. In the same motion he crumpled one of the pieces and threw it away. He lowered his eyes at once to study the torn half remaining in his hand, grunted, tossed it to the ground, dipped his hand into one of his coat pockets, drew out another card, and began to repeat the whole incredible process of gripping, looking away, tearing, crumpling, examining, and so on.
The Inspector watched his son with bunched brows for some time. Then his foot moved and a twig snapped. Ellery’s head darted round in the direction of the sound.
“Oh, it’s you,” he said, relaxing. “That’s bad business, pater. Get you a bullet some time.”
The Inspector glowered. “What in time are you doing?”
“Worthy research,” replied Ellery, frowning. “I’m on the trail of that ectoplasm I spoke about this afternoon. It’s beginning to take recognizable shape. Here!” He thrust his hand into his pocket and produced another card. The Inspector noted that it came from a deck he had observed in the game-room the night before. “Do something for me, will you, dad?” He thrust the pasteboard into his father’s astonished hand. “Tear this card in two, crumple one of the pieces and throw it away.”
“What the devil for?” demanded the old gentleman.
“Go on, go on. This is a new form or relaxation for tired sleuths. Tear it and crumple one piece.”
Shrugging, the Inspector obeyed. Ellery’s eyes remained fixed upon his father’s hand. “Well?” growled the Inspector, surveying the fragment he was holding.
“Hmm. Interesting I thought it would work; but then I couldn’t be sure, being conscious of what I was striving for. That’s the hell of making tests when you know what you want to achieve... Here, wait a moment. If that’s true, and it looks like a Euclidean axiom now, there’s only one other problem...” He sank to the card-cluttered ground at the foot of the cedar, squatting on his heels, sucking his lower lip and gazing abstractedly on the ground.
The Inspector began to fume, thought better of it, and waited more patiently for the result of his son’s profound and no doubt esoteric meditations. Experience had taught him that Ellery rarely acted mysterious without purpose. There was evidently something important going on behind the wrinkles of that tanned forehead. Reflecting over the possibilities, the Inspector was even beginning to see a faint glimmer of light when he was startled by Ellery’s springing to his feet with a wild gleam in his eye.
“Solved!” shouted Ellery. “By George, I might have known. That was child’s play compared with the other. Yes, stands to reason on reconsideration... Must be right. Shining vindication of the sadly abused observational and ratiocinative process. Skoal! Come along, sire. You are about to witness the materialization of a wraith. Somebody’s going to be grateful for the persistence of that little ghost that haunted my brain pan this morning!”
He hurried toward the clearing, sober faced, but quite plainly triumphant. The Inspector pattered along behind, with the merest suggestion of a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.
Ellery bounded up the steps of the porch and looked about, his breath coming a little quickly. “Would you people mind coming upstairs with us for a moment? We’ve something rather important to go over.”
Mrs. Carreau rose, startled. “All of us? Important, Mr. Queen?” The twins dropped their miniature chessboard and jumped up, mouths open.
“Of a surety. Ah — Mr. Smith, you too, please. And Mr. Xavier, we’ll need you. Francis and Julian, of course.”
Without waiting he dashed into the house. The woman, the two men, and the twins looked in some trepidation and bewilderment at the Inspector, but the old gentleman was grimly — and not for the first time — playing his role. He had set his features in very stern and omniscient lines. He followed them into the house, inwardly wondering what it was all about. The sickness in his stomach was distressing.
“Come in, come in,” said Ellery cheerfully, as they paused doubtfully in the doorway of Mrs. Xavier’s bedroom. The confessed murderess was propped on her elbows in bed, staring with a sort of fascinated fear at Ellery’s noncommittal back. Miss Forrest had risen, pale and obviously alarmed. Dr. Holmes was studying Ellery’s profile with enigmatic eyes.
They trooped in, all of them awkwardly avoiding the woman on the bed.
“Nothing formal about this,” continued Ellery in the same light tone. “Sit down, Mrs. Carreau. Ah, you prefer to stand, Miss Forrest? Well, I shan’t weary you. Where’s Mrs. Wheary? And Bones? We must have Bones.” He strode into the corridor and they heard him shouting for the housekeeper and the man-of-all-work. He returned and a moment later the stout woman and the emaciated old man appeared, apprehensively pale. “Ah, come in, come in. Now, I believe, we’re ready for a little demonstration of the niceties of criminal planning. To err is human; thank God we’re dealing with flesh and blood!”
This remarkable speech had an immediate effect. Mrs. Xavier slowly sat up in bed, black eyes staring and hands clutching the sheet.
“What—” she began, and licked her dry lips. “Aren’t you finished with — me?”
“And the divine quality of forgiveness... of course you remember that,” continued Ellery rapidly. “Mrs. Xavier, compose yourself. This may prove slightly shocking.”
“Come to the point, man,” growled Mark Xavier.
Ellery fixed him with a cold eye. “You will please permit me to conduct this demonstration without interference, Mr. Xavier. I should like to point out that guilt is a large and comprehensive term. We are all a tribe of stone-throwers — first-stone-throwers, I might add. You will kindly remember that.”
The man looked puzzled.
“And now,” said Ellery quietly, “for the lesson. I’m going,” he went on, digging his hand into his pocket, “to show you a card trick.” He produced a playing card.
“Card trick!” gasped Miss Forrest.
“A very unusual card trick, to be sure. This is one that immortal Houdini did not include in his repertoire. Please observe.” He held the card up before them, his fingers holding the back, his two thumbs pointing toward each other as they held the face of the card. “I am going to treat this card as if I wanted to tear it in half, and then I am going to crumple one of the halves and throw it away.”