Chapter XIV
Cheater Cheated
They were all to carry the ghastly memory of that fantastic scene for the remainder of their lives. Themselves turned to stone, the gray little old gentleman leaning against the window, revolver, incredibly in hand, the snort of flame and smoke, the crashing report, the staggering of the almost invisible man running for cover... and then his single scream, sharp and unpleasant as a harpy’s, ending in a thick bubbling gurgle as abruptly as it had begun.
Xavier vanished.
The Inspector adjusted the safety catch, stowed the weapon in his hip pocket, brushed his lips with the same deadly hand in a queer gesture, and then trotted out onto the terrace. He clambered over the rail and with difficulty lowered himself to the ground below.
Ellery awoke, then, and darted out of the room. He vaulted the terrace rail and sped past his father into the darkness.
Their movement broke the spell. In the game-room Mrs. Carreau swayed and steadied herself on Francis’s shoulder. Miss Forrest, wholly colorless, uttered a choked little cry and sprang forward at the same time that Dr. Holmes, with a gasp, urged his leaden legs toward the window. Mrs. Xavier sank into her chair, her nostrils fluttering. The twins remained rooted to the floor, stricken.
They found the crumpled figure of Xavier on the rocks outside, prone and still. Ellery was on his knees, feeling for the man’s heart.
“Is he... he—?” panted Miss Forrest, stumbling up.
Ellery looked up at his father, who was staring down. “He’s still alive,” he said tonelessly, “and there’s blood on the tips of my fingers.” Then he got slowly to his feet and examined his hands in the quarter light.
“Take care of him, Doc,” said the Inspector quietly.
Dr. Holmes was on his knees, fingers probing. He looked up almost at once. “Can’t do anything here. You must have touched his back, Queen, because that’s where he’s wounded. He’s still conscious, I think. Help me, please, quickly.”
The man on the ground groaned once and from his lips came another bubbling gurgle. His limbs twitched spasmodically. The three men raised him gently and carried him up the steps of the porch, across the terrace and into the game-room. Miss Forrest followed hastily, with one sick glance over her shoulder into the darkness.
In silence they deposited the wounded man on a sofa near the piano, face down. In the full light of the room his broad back became the focal point of their eyes. A little to the right below the shoulder blade there was a dark round hole raggedly circled by a dark red stain.
His eyes on the stain, Dr. Holmes was stripping his coat off. As he rolled up his sleeves he murmured: “Mr. Queen. My surgical kit on one of the tables in the laboratory. Mrs. Wheary, a large pan of hot water at once, please. The ladies had better go away.”
“I can help,” said Miss Forrest swiftly. “I’ve been a nurse — Doctor.”
“Very well. The others please go. Inspector, have you a knife?”
Mrs. Wheary blundered from the room and Ellery went out of the doorway leading into the cross-hall, opened the corridor door to the laboratory, stumbled about until he found the switch, and immediately saw upon one of the laboratory tables a small black bag with the initials P. H. lettered upon it. He avoided looking in the direction of the refrigerator. Snatching up the bag he ran back to the game-room.
None of them had moved, despite Dr. Holmes’s admonition. They seemed fascinated by the physician’s deft fingers, the low groans of Xavier. Dr. Holmes was ripping the lawyer’s coat up the back with the keen blade of the Inspector’s penknife. When he had severed the coat he slit the wounded man’s shirt and undershirt, revealing the naked bullet-hole.
Ellery, stonily watching Xavier’s face, saw his left cheek twitch. There was a bloody foam in his lips and his eyes were only half closed.
Dr. Holmes opened his bag as Mrs. Wheary stumbled in with a huge pan of steaming water. Ann Forrest took this from the old lady’s shaking hands and deposited it upon the floor near the physician’s kneeling figure. He ripped a large piece of absorbent cotton from a roll, dipped it into the water...
The eyes opened full suddenly and glared without seeing anything. Twice the jaws worked soundlessly, and then they heard him gasp: “I didn’t do it. I didn’t do it. I didn’t do it,” over and over and over, as if it were a lesson he had learned which must be repeated endlessly in some dim schoolroom of his imagination.
The Inspector started. He leaned over Dr. Holmes and said in a whisper: “How bad is he?”
“Bad enough,” replied Dr. Holmes shortly. “Looks like the right lung.” He was bathing the wound quickly but gently, wiping the blood away. A strong odor of disinfectant rose.
“Can we — talk to him?”
“Ordinarily, I should say no. What he needs is absolute quiet. But in this case—” The Englishman shrugged his slim shoulders without pausing in his work.
Hastily the Inspector went to the head of the sofa and dropped to his knees in front of Xavier’s white face. The lawyer was still mumbling: “I didn’t do it, I didn’t do it,” with a sort of dull persistence.
“Xavier,” said the Inspector urgently. “Can you hear me?”
The slurred syllables stopped and the head jerked. His eyes shifted ever so little to focus upon the Inspector’s face. Intelligence came into them and a swift spasmodic pain. He whispered: “Why did you — shoot me, Inspector? I didn’t do it. I didn’t—”
“Why did you run?”
“Lost my — head. I thought — Went to pieces. Stupid... I didn’t do it, I didn’t!”
Ellery’s fingertips cut into his palms tightly. He bent forward and said sharply: “You’re a very sick man, Xavier. Why lie now? We know you did. You’re the only left-handed person in the house who could possibly have torn that six of spades as it was torn.”
Xavier’s lips trembled. “I didn’t — do it, I tell you.”
“You tore that six of spades and put it into your brother’s dead hand to frame your sister-in-law!”
“Yes...” gasped Xavier. “That’s — true. I did. I framed her. I wanted — but—”
Mrs. Xavier rose slowly, horror in her eyes. She put her hand to her mouth and kept it there, staring at her brother-in-law as if she were seeing him for the first time.
Dr. Holmes was working quickly now, with the silent assistance of white-lipped Miss Forrest. The cleansed wound kept oozing blood. The pan of water was crimson.
Ellery’s eyes were mere slits; his own lips were working and there was the oddest expression on his face. “Well, then—” he said slowly.
“You don’t understand,” panted Xavier. “I couldn’t sleep that night. I tossed around. There was a book I wanted in the library downstairs... What’s — that pain in my back?”
“Go on, Xavier. You’re being fixed up. Go on!”
“I... put my dressing gown on and went down to the—”
“What time was this?” demanded the Inspector.
“Two-thirty... I saw light from the study when I got to the library. The door was closed but the cracks — I went in, found John — cold, stiff, dead... So... so I framed her, I framed her—”
“Why?”
He tossed about, writhing. “But I didn’t do it, I didn’t kill John. He was dead when I got there, I tell you, sitting at the desk, dead as a stone—”
There was a dressing on the wound now, and Dr. Holmes was filling a hypodermic.
“You’re lying,” rasped the Inspector.
“I’m telling God’s own truth! He was dead — when I got there... I didn’t kill him.” His head lifted an inch, the cords of his neck white and ropy. “But — I know now who — did... I know who — did...”