“Shirts, socks, underwear, the usual junk,” he reported. “And gewgaws. Lord, what gewgaws! Whole top drawer crammed full of ’em. Only these look new, not like those relics downstairs. Who says a medical man can’t be frivolous? Didn’t that poor fool know that stickpins went out of style fifteen years ago?”
“I told you it was a waste of time,” said Ellery irritably. Then a thought struck him. “No rings?”
“Rings?”
“I said rings.”
The Inspector scratched his head. “Now, by ginger, that is queer. You’d think a man with his fondness for trinkets would at least have one ring, wouldn’t you?”
“That was in my mind. I don’t recall any on his hands, do you?” said Ellery with a sharp note in his voice.
“No.”
“Hmm. This business of the rings is the oddest feature of the whole affair. We’d better watch our own or we’ll be losing them one of these fine days. Not that they’re worth anything, but then that’s what someone’s apparently after — rings that aren’t worth anything. Pshaw! It’s nutty... How about Mrs. Xavier? Do a Jimmy Valentine and go through her jewel box, will you?”
The Inspector obediently rifled Mrs. Xavier’s dressing table until he found the box. Both men examined its contents with practised eyes. And although it contained several diamond bracelets and two necklaces and a half-dozen pairs of earrings, all of them clearly expensive, there were no rings at all, not even cheap ones.
The Inspector closed the box thoughtfully and put it back where he had found it. “What’s it mean, El?”
“I wish I knew. It’s queer, deucedly queer. No rhyme nor reason really...”
A step outside caused them simultaneously to whirl and race noiselessly toward the door. They pressed close to each other behind it, scarcely breathing.
The knob moved a little, and stopped. There was a click as it moved again, and then the door very slowly pushed inward. It stopped half ajar and they could hear someone’s hoarse breath through the crack. Ellery squinted through it and stiffened.
Mark Xavier was standing with one foot in his sister-in-law’s room and the other in the corridor. He was pale and his body rigid with tension. He stood there that way without stirring for a full minute, as if he were debating whether to go in or go back. How long he would have remained that way Ellery was never to know; for of a sudden he whirled, hastily closed the door, and from the sound of his footsteps made off on a run down the hall.
The Inspector pulled the door open and peered out. Xavier was padding along the carpeted corridor toward the farther end, where his room lay. He fumbled with the knob for a moment, pulled his door open, and vanished.
“Now what did that mean?” murmured Ellery, emerging from Mrs. Xavier’s room and closing the door behind his father. “What scared him, and why did he want to sneak in there at all?”
“Somebody coming,” whispered the Inspector. The two men sped across the hall to their own room. They wheeled and walked leisurely back again, as if they were just going downstairs.
Two neatly brushed young heads appeared from below. It was the twins coming upstairs.
“Ah, boys,” said the Inspector genially. “Going in for a nap?”
“Yes, sir,” said Francis; he seemed startled. “Uh — you been up here long, sir?”
“We thought—” began Julian.
Francis paled; but something must have flashed between him and his brother, for Julian stopped.
“A little while,” smiled Ellery. “Why?”
“Did you see anybody — come up, sir?”
“No. We’ve just come out of our bedroom.”
The boys grinned rather feebly, shuffled their feet for a moment, and then went into their own room.
“Proving,” murmured Ellery as they descended the staircase, “that boys will be boys.”
“What d’ye mean?”
“Oh, it’s most obvious. They saw Xavier make for the upper floor and followed him out of sheer curiosity. He heard them coming up and ran. Did you ever know a normal boy who didn’t love to wallow in mysteries?”
“Hunh,” said the Inspector, compressing his lips. “That may be, but how about Xavier? What devilment was he up to?”
“What devilment was he up to,” said Ellery soberly, “indeed.”
The house wilted under the noon sun. Everything was hot to the touch and slithery with ash grime. They lolled about in the comparative coolness of the game-room, too listless to talk or play. Ann Forrest sat at the grand piano and fingered a meaningless tune; her face was moist with perspiration and her fingers were wet upon the keys. Even Smith had been driven from the furnace of the terrace; he sat by himself in a corner near the piano, sucking a cold cigar and blinking his froggy eyes from time to time.
Mrs. Xavier for the first time in over a day awakened to her responsibilities as a hostess. For hours now she had seemed to be emerging from a bad dream; her face was softer and her eyes not so agonized.
She rang for the elderly housekeeper. “Luncheon, Mrs. Wheary.”
Mrs. Wheary was visibly distressed. She wrung her hands and paled. “Oh, but, Mrs. Xavier, I... I can’t serve,” she whispered.
“And why not?” demanded Mrs. Xavier coldly.
“I mean I can’t serve a formal luncheon, Mrs. Xavier,” wailed the old lady. “There... there isn’t really enough variety... enough to eat, you see.”
The tall woman sat up straight. “Why— You mean we’ve run out of provisions?” she said slowly.
The housekeeper was surprised. “But you must have known, Mrs. Xavier!”
She passed her hand over her forehead. “Yes, yes, Mrs. Wheary. Perhaps I... I didn’t notice. I’ve been a little upset. Isn’t there — anything?”
“Just some canned things, Mrs. Xavier — salmon and tuna and sardines; there’s plenty of that; and just a few tins of peas and asparagus and fruit. I’ve baked bread this morning — there’s still a little flour and yeast — but the eggs and butter and potatoes and onions are gone, and the—”
“Please. Make up some sandwiches. Is there any coffee left?”
“Yes, Madam, but no cream.”
“Tea, then.”
Mrs. Wheary flushed and went away.
Mrs. Xavier murmured: “I’m so sorry. We were a little short to begin with, and now that the grocer’s missed the weekly delivery, and the fire—”
“We quite understand,” said Mrs. Carreau with a smile. “This isn’t the usual situation and we shouldn’t stand on the usual ceremony. Don’t distress yourself—”
“We’re all good soldiers, anyway,” said Miss Forrest gaily.
Mrs. Xavier sighed; she did not look directly at the small woman across the room.
“Perhaps if we went on short rations,” began Dr. Holmes hesitantly.
“It looks as if we’ll have to!” cried Miss Forrest, banging out a horrible chord, and then she blushed and fell silent.
No one said anything for a long time.
Then the Inspector said softly: “Look here, folks. We may as well face the facts. We’re in one devil of a fix. Up to now I’d hoped those people down there might do something with the fire.” They were regarding him furtively, striving to mask their alarm. He added in haste: “Oh, they undoubtedly will yet...”
“Did you see the smoke this morning?” said Mrs. Carreau quietly. “I saw it from my bedroom balcony.”
There was another silence. “At any rate,” said the Inspector hurriedly, “we mustn’t give up. As Dr. Holmes suggests, we’ll have to go on a very strict diet.” He grinned. “That ought to suit the ladies, eh?” They smiled feebly at that. “It’s the sensible thing to do. It’s just a question of holding out as long — I mean, until help comes. Just a question of time, you see.”