As he lay there at ease, thinking and smoking, he heard from time to time the weary steps in the corridor outside of the returning members of the household. The tonal quality of the sounds told their story with laconic eloquence. There was no sound of human voices. The steps were heavy, dragging, hopeless. Doors snicked laboriously shut. At the far end of the hall... that would be Miss Forrest, no longer the ebullient creature embarking on a gay adventure. Soon after steps across the corridor — Mrs. Xavier. Then the slow shuffling of four rhythmic feet — the twins; no shouting now. Finally Dr. Holmes and Mark Xavier, and lagging behind them yet continuing after the others had ceased, two pairs of plodding feet... Mrs. Wheary and Bones bound for their rooms on the attic floor.
There was a long interval of complete silence then and Ellery wondered, through the maze of his thoughts, where his father was. Still hoping against hope, no doubt; still searching for a way out which did not exist. A new thought struck him and he forgot everything as he pursued it with fierce concentration.
He was roused by a slow dragging step outside the door. He covered himself hastily with the sheet. The door opened and the Inspector appeared on the threshold, a ghost with dead eyes.
The old man said not a word. He shuffled into the lavatory and Ellery heard him bathing his face and hands. Then he shuffled out and sat down in the armchair and stared at the wall with the same haggard eyes. There was a long angry red scratch on his left cheek, and his wrinkled hands were pricked with wounds.
“Nothing, dad?”
“Nothing.”
Ellery could barely hear his voice; it was cracked with fatigue.
And then the old man muttered: “You?”
“Lord, no... It was horrible, wasn’t it?”
“It was — that.”
“Hear the booming on your side?”
“Yes. Blasting. Puny scum!”
“Now, now, dad,” said Ellery gently. “They’re doing their best.”
“How about the others?”
“I heard them all returning.”
“Nobody said anything?”
“The sound of their footsteps spoke for them... Dad.”
The Inspector raised his head a trifle. “Hey?” he mumbled lifelessly.
“I saw something damned significant.”
Hope flared into the old man’s eyes; he jerked around. “The fire—?” he cried.
“No,” said Ellery quietly, and the gray head drooped again. “I’m afraid we’ll have to put ourselves into — other hands for that. If we’re lucky...” He shrugged. “One becomes resigned to what appears to be the inevitable. Even when the inevitable is the end of all things. I suppose you realize that our chances—”
“Slim.”
“Yes. We may as well keep our heads. There’s nothing we can do, really. The other thing—”
“The murder? Pah!”
“Why not?” Ellery sat up, hugging his knees. “It’s the only decent — well, the only sane thing, at any rate. Normal occupation keeps men — and women — out of the insane asylums.” The Inspector grunted feebly. “Yes, dad. Don’t let it put you under. The fire’s taken something out of us, addled us a bit. I’ve never believed in, always scoffed at what I thought was bilgewater — that ‘Carry on!’ spirit of the romanticized Englishman. But there’s something in it... There are two things I must tell you. One is what I saw when I was coming back to the house.”
A sparkle of interest crept into the old man’s eye. “Saw?”
“Mrs. Carreau and Smith—”
“Those two!” The Inspector started from the chair, eyes snapping.
“That’s better,” chuckled Ellery. “Now you’re yourself again. They had a secret confab when they thought they were unobserved. Mrs. Carreau demanded something from Smith. Smith was defiant, the big ape, and then something she said took all the bluster out of him. He gave her what she demanded like a lamb. She tore it into bits and threw it away. It was a check for ten thousand dollars made out to cash and signed by Marie Carreau. I’ve the pieces in my pocket.”
“Good lord!” The Inspector jumped up and began to pace the floor.
“It’s fairly clear, I think,” mused Ellery. “Explains a lot of things. Why Smith was so anxious to leave the mountain the other night, why he was so reluctant to face Mrs. Carreau when he had to come back, why they met in secret this afternoon. Blackmail!”
“Sure. Sure.”
“Smith came up here, having trailed Mrs. Carreau, and managed to see her alone, or possibly with the Forrest girl present. He soaked her for ten thousand dollars. No wonder he was anxious to get away! But when the murder occurred and we popped into the scene, and no one could leave, events took a different turn. Don’t you see?”
“Blackmail,” muttered the Inspector. “It might be the kids...”
“What else? So long as the fact that she was the mother of Siamese twins remained unknown, she was glad to pay any amount of hush money to keep Smith’s mouth shut. But with a murder, an investigation, the certainty that when the road was open and the official police came upon the scene the story would come out — well, there was no longer any reason to pay Mr. Frank J. Smith for silence. Consequently she has just mustered up enough courage to demand the return of the check. Smith sees the light, returns it... and there you are.”
“I wonder—” began the Inspector thoughtfully.
“Oh, there are all sorts of possibilities,” murmured Ellery. “But that’s not the important thing, dad. There’s something else. I’ve been thinking—”
The Inspector grunted.
“Yes, thinking, and after an exhaustive bout with my memory I’ve come to a certain conclusion. Let me go over it for you—”
“About the murder?”
Ellery reached for the fresh underclothes draped over the footboard. “Yes,” he said, “very decidedly about the murder.”
It was a fire-scarred and woebegone company which assembled in the game-room after Mrs. Wheary’s mandatory dinner of tinned tuna, preserved plums, and withered tomatoes. They all showed signs of their frightful passage through the woods, and a more patched and iodine-stained assembly of human creatures Ellery had never seen. But it was the internal wounds which depressed the corners of their mouths and brought the glint of desperation into their eyes. Even the twins were subdued.
The Inspector began abruptly. “I’ve called you people together for two reasons. One is to take stock, and the other will come in a moment. First, did anybody find anything down there?”
The misery on their faces was answer enough.
“Well, there’s nothing to do then but sit and wait. Meanwhile,” continued the Inspector in a sharp voice, “I want to remind you that the same state of affairs exists now as existed before. There’s a corpse in this house, and a murderer.”
Ellery saw that most, if not all, of them had quite forgotten. The pressure of their own danger had banished it from their minds. Now the old restraints came back and an instant readjustment of facial expressions. Smith sat very still. Ann Forrest flashed a warning glance at Mrs. Carreau. Mark Xavier nervously snapped a cigarette in two. Mrs. Xavier’s black eyes glittered. The twins, breathed more quickly, Dr. Holmes paled, and Mrs. Carreau twisted her handkerchief into a crumpled ball.
“We assume,” the Inspector went on shortly, “the best, not the worst. By that I mean that I’m taking for granted that somehow we’ll all get out of this mess. Consequently, we’re going to proceed as if there were no fire but just a delay in the arrival of the regular officer having jurisdiction over this patch of mountainside. Do you understand?”