“You do?” roared the Inspector. “How do you know? Who was it? Speak up, man!”
There was a rich stillness in the room. It was as if all breathing had ceased and time had stopped flowing and they stood suspended in the vast dark reaches of interstellar space.
Mark Xavier tried very hard. He made a superhuman effort. It was sickening to watch him try. His left arm bulged with the strain of raising himself. The red glare in his eyes became redder, hotter, wilder.
Dr. Holmes gripped the skin of Xavier’s naked left arm, hypodermic poised — an impersonal automaton.
“I—” It was the sole result of his effort. His white face went gray, a bubble of blood materialized between his lips, and he sank back unconscious.
The needle bit into his arm.
Then they breathed and stirred again, and the Inspector struggled to his feet and stood wiping his moist cheeks with his handkerchief.
“Gone?” said Ellery, licking his lips.
“No.” Dr. Holmes had risen, too, and was gazing moodily down upon the still figure. “Just out. I’ve given him morphine. Just enough to relax his muscles and keep him quiet.”
“How bad is he?” asked the Inspector huskily.
“Dangerous. I should say he has a chance. It’s all a matter of his condition. The bullet is lodged in his right lung—”
“Didn’t you get it out?” cried Ellery, appalled.
“Probe for it?” The physician raised an eyebrow. “My dear chap. That would be almost certainly fatal. As I say, his chances depend upon his condition. Off-hand I should say his condition is none too good, although I’ve never given him a physical examination. He’s a rather greedy toper, you know, and he runs a little to flesh. Seedy. Well!” He shrugged and turned to Miss Forrest, his expression softening. “Thank you — Ann. You were very helpful... And now, gentlemen, please help me get him upstairs. Be very careful. We don’t want to induce hemorrhage.”
The four men — Smith stood stupefied in a corner — raised the limp body and bore it upstairs to the bedroom in the western corner of the house overlooking the drive. The others trooped behind, huddled together as if for protection. No one seemed to relish being left alone. Mrs. Xavier was dazed; the horror had not left her eyes.
The men undressed him and got him after delicate work into his bed. Xavier was breathing hoarsely now, but he no longer twitched and his eyes were closed.
Then the Inspector opened the door. “Come on in and don’t make any noise. I’ve got something to say and I want all of you to hear it.”
They obeyed mechanically, their eyes drawn to the quiet figure beneath the sheet. A lamp on a night table beside the bed shed a glow over Xavier’s left cheek and the contour of his left side under the bedclothes.
“We seem,” said the Inspector quietly, “to have pulled another boner. I’m not sure yet, and I haven’t really made up my mind whether Mark Xavier was lying or not. I’ve seen men lie three seconds before they passed out. There’s no assurance that because a man knows he’s dying he’s going to tell the truth. At the same time there was something — well, convincing in what he said. If he merely framed Mrs. Xavier and didn’t kill Dr. Xavier, then there’s still a murderer on the loose in the house. And I want to tell you,” his eyes glittered, “that the next time there won’t be any mistake!”
They continued to stare.
Ellery snapped: “Do you think he’ll regain consciousness, Doctor?”
“Possible,” murmured Dr. Holmes. “When the effects of the morphine have passed off, he may come out of it without warning.” He shrugged. “Or he may not. There are all sorts of considerations. As to death, as well. He may get a hemorrhage after several hours, or he may linger and contract an infection — although I’ve cleansed and disinfected the wound — or succumb to disease.”
“Pleasant,” grunted Ellery. “Aside from that, he has a chance, eh? But what I’m interested in is the fact that he’ll probably regain consciousness. When he does—” He glanced significantly about.
“He’ll tell,” cried the twins suddenly and then, abashed by the sound of their own voices, shrank back against their mother.
“Yes, my lads, he’ll tell. A most intriguing prospect. Consequently I think, dad, that it would be best to leave nothing to chance.”
“I was just thinking that myself,” replied the Inspector grimly. “We’ll take turns watching him tonight — you and I. And,” he added after a pause, “no one else.” He turned sharply to Dr. Holmes. “I’ll take the first watch, Doctor, until two a.m., and then Mr. Queen will relieve me until morning. If we should want you—”
“At the first sign of returning consciousness,” said Dr. Holmes stiffly, “notify me at once. At once, please; every second may be important. My room is at the other end of the corridor, you know, next to yours. There’s nothing you can do for him, really, now.”
“Except protect whatever life he’s got left in him.”
“We’ll notify you,” said Ellery. He eyed the others for a moment and added: “For the benefit of anyone who may be contemplating desperate measures, I should like to announce that the man on watch beside this bed tonight will be armed with the same weapon which brought poor Xavier down... That’s all.”
When they were alone with the unconscious man the Queens felt a curious restraint. The Inspector sat down in a comfortable bedroom chair and loosened his collar, becoming very busy doing nothing of consequence. Ellery smoked gloomily by one of the windows.
“Well,” he said at last, “this is a fine mess we’re in.” The Inspector grunted. “Old Dead-Eye Dick himself,” continued Ellery bitterly. “Poor chap!”
“What are you talking about?” grumbled the Inspector uneasily.
“Your propensity for quick, straight, and thoughtless shooting, esteemed sire. It really wasn’t necessary, you know. He couldn’t have escaped.”
The Inspector looked uncomfortable. “Well,” he muttered, “maybe not, but when a man’s charged with murder and promptly takes a run-out powder, what the devil is a poor dumb cop to think? That’s as good as a confession. Naturally I warned him, and then took a potshot at him—”
“Oh, you’re very good at that,” said Ellery dryly. “The heavy years haven’t impaired your eagle’s eye and your marksmanship in the slightest. But still it was a reckless and unwarranted thing to do.”
“Well, suppose it was!” exploded the Inspector, red with exasperation. “It’s as much your fault as mine. You led me to believe—”
“Oh, hell, dad, I’m sorry,” said Ellery contritely. The old gentleman sank back, mollified. “You’re quite right. As a matter of fact, it was more my fault than yours. I assumed — damn my cocksureness! — that because someone had framed Mrs. Xavier for her husband’s murder that that someone must have been the murderer. Of course, on inspection, that’s a wholly unwarranted assumption. Yes, it’s rather far-fetched, but then fantastic facts are no excuse for fantastic logic.”
“Maybe he did lie—”
“I’m sure he didn’t.” Ellery sighed. “But there I go again. I’m not sure. I can’t be sure. Of that or anything. This affair hasn’t found me precisely shining... Well! Keep a sharp eye out. I’ll be back at two.”
“Don’t worry about me.” The Inspector glanced at the wounded man. “In a way, this is a sort of penance. If he doesn’t come out of this I guess...”
“If he or you or anyone,” said Ellery cryptically, his hand on the doorknob.
“Now what do you mean by that?” muttered the Inspector.
“Take a peep outside through that lovely window,” said Ellery dryly, and left the room.