The King is Dead

7

The fourth letter turned up on the afternoon of the following day.

The day began with a humorous ultimatum from the King’s Surgeon-General. Dr. Storm’s quarters in the Residence were combined with a hospital wing, reserved for the use of the Bendigo family. Here, against a background of the most advanced equipment, with the assistance of a staff of medical and dental assistants and laboratory technicians, Dr. Storm supervised the daily ritual of examining into the health of the master of the Bendigo empire. The medical examination took place each morning before King Bendigo’s breakfast.

On this particular morning the stout little doctor, brandishing a clip of reports, waddled past the guards into the family dining-room, as King and his queen were rising from the table, to announce abruptly that there would be no work for his eminent patient that day.

“Something is wrong?” Karla asked quickly.

“Rot,” growled King. “I feel fine. A bit pooped, maybe—”

“A bit pooped, maybe,” mocked Dr. Storm. “A bit pooped, certainly! I don’t like you this morning. I don’t like you at all. And it’s a heavy, humid day. Bad for you, at your age. You’ll do nothing today but relax.”

“Go away, Stormy,” frowned King Bendigo. “Abel’s had to run over to Washington and I have a thousand things on my calendar. It’s out of the question.”

“I’ll go away,” said the Surgeon-General, showing his sharp little teeth, “and I won’t come back. Do you think I enjoy this exile? Oh, for an excuse, an excuse.”

“Why do you stay?” King was smiling.

“Because I detest genus homo. Because I’ve conquered all their little universes and staggered all their little minds and shocked all their little ethical sensibilities, and because you’ve given me a great hospital to play with — and a wealth of raw material. And because, my lord, I’m in love with you. You’re not to go near the Office today, do you hear? Not a step, or find another fool.”

“But my appointments, Stormy—”

“What will happen? A dynasty will fall? You’ll make ten million dollars less? To hell with your appointments.”

“Darling,” begged Karla. Her hand was on her husband’s arm and her eyes were very bright.

“You, too, Karla?” The great man sighed and turned to inspect himself in a mirror. He stuck out his tongue. “Aaaaa. Does look starchy—”

“It isn’t your tongue at all. It’s your muscle tone and vascular system. Do you stay, or do I go?”

“All right, all right, Doctor,” said the King tolerantly. “What are your orders?”

“I’ve given them to you. Do anything you like except work. Fly a kite. Get plastered. Make love to your wife. What do I care?”

So that afternoon, oppressed by the heat, nerves jangling, prowling restlessly, the Queens came upon an extraordinary scene. Passing by the Residence’s gymnasium, they heard masculine shouts and looked in to find royalty at play. Near the indoor pool there was a regulation prize ring, and in the ring the master of the island was wrestling with Max’l. The two men wore high laced shoes and tights; both were naked from the waist up. Max’l was completely furred; the King’s torso was as smooth as a boy’s. Beside the other man’s bulk, he looked slim.

As the Queens entered, Bendigo broke a vicious arm-lock by a backward somersault, and the next moment he had spun Max’l about and applied a full nelson. Max’l raised his great arms, hands clenched, and exerted all his strength in a downward pressure. But King’s eyes flashed and he held on. And then Max’l sagged and he began to wave his fingers frantically.

“Give up, Maximus?”

“Yah, yah!”

Laughing, King increased the pressure. Max’l’s eyes popped in his contorted face. Then, with a sort of contempt, King unlocked his hands and turned away. The great furred body crashed to the mat and lay still. After a moment Max’l rolled over and crawled to a corner of the ring, where he sat dejectedly, like an exhausted animal licking his wounds. He kept rubbing the back of his neck.

King spied them and waved gaily as he vaulted out of the ring.

“Do you wrestle, Queen?”

“After what I just witnessed — no, thank you!”

King laughed. “Karla. Our wandering guests.”

Karla looked up. She was in a French bathing suit, lying with goggles on under a sun lamp at the edge of the swimming pool. She sat up quickly.

“There you both are. I sent all over the Residence looking for you to ask you to join us. Where have you been hiding?”

“Here and there, Mrs. Bendigo. It’s a jittery day.”

King Bendigo was looking down at them, smiling. Ellery wondered what would happen to a man this potentate caught making love to his wife.

Max’l was on his feet now, looking foolish.

And in the pool was Judah Bendigo. There was no sign of Abel.

Judah’s white, emaciated body, wearing green bathing trunks, was floating in the pool like a broken lily pad. On the edge of the pool lay a bottle of Segonzac and a glass. As Ellery looked at him, Judah opened his eyes. They were bloodshot and bleared, but they did not blink. To Ellery’s stupefaction, one lid moved down and up in an unmistakable wink. And then both eyes closed and Judah paddled a little, moving lazily toward the bottle and the glass.

Karla was saying, “Why don’t you two cool off in the pool? There are dressing-rooms down here, and we have a central guest-supply room from which we can provide anything.”

“I wouldn’t bare my scrawniness before a beautiful woman, even at my age,” said the Inspector, “if my hide was baking off. Don’t mind if I do,” he said to an attendant, who had come up with a portable bar. “But my son here, he’s kind of proud of his physique—”

“Not any more,” said Ellery, glancing at King.

The big man laughed. “You’re slighter than I am, but Darius — my receptionist at the Office — tells me you’re a powerful boy. Do you box, Queen?”

“Well... yes.”

“Don’t let Kane tempt you into a boxing match, Mr. Queen,” said Karla. “There is a photograph in the trophy room — did you notice it the other evening? — showing my husband standing over the prostrate form of a champion.”

“Champion?” said the Inspector. “What champion?”

“The heavyweight champion of the world,” chuckled King Bendigo. “It was a long time ago — I was in my early twenties. He was barnstorming up around my way, putting on exhibitions and pushing over the yokels, and some of my local admirers persuaded me to climb into the ring with him. I got in a lucky right cross in the first twenty seconds, he went down, and one of my newspaper friends snapped a flash photo of it. He ran like hell, as I recall it, and so did I! That photo is one of my proudest possessions. — Maximo! How you feeling?”

“We wrestle again,” grunted Max. “I’ll break your arm this time. Come on!”

“No. I feel like showing off. Let’s put the gloves on, Max’l. I’m going to knock your block off.”

“Oh, this has been the loveliest day,” sighed Karla. “Go on, Max’l. Knock his off. I’d love to see your block flying off, darling...”

“You heard the Madame,” grinned King Bendigo. “Toss me my gloves.”

Two pairs of eight-ounce boxing gloves hung over one of the ring posts. One pair was the regulation color, the other had an iridescent purple cast. It was these gloves that Max’l tossed with a growl down to his master. Ellery noticed a great many pairs of boxing gloves hanging on one of the gymnasium walls; none of them was purple. His stomach crawled.

It was as King was drawing on the left glove that it happened. His big hand stuck midway into the glove, and with a scowl he withdrew his hand. Then he probed with his forefinger.

It came out hooked about a wad of paper.

Cream-colored paper.

Bendigo unfolded it. He exclaimed with annoyance and whirled as if to accuse someone of something. As he whirled, the sole of his gym shoe slipped on the apron of the pool and, with a comical shout, he tumbled backwards into the water, landing with a splash that soaked Ellery and the Inspector to the skin.

Karla, who had not seen him withdraw the note from the boxing glove, cried out in terror; but then, at the sight of her lord and master threshing and floundering about in the pool, she burst into laughter.

“Oh, Kane, I can’t help it! That was so funny! Judah, don’t just float there like a dead stick. Help him!”

The great man sank, came to the surface, howled, got a mouthful of water, and sank again. Judah sat up in the pool, startled. Then he swam over to his brother with quick strokes and seized the royal chin.

“A miracle! A miracle!” Judah cried. “Ozymandias revealed!

“Who’s got a hook to barb this foot of clay? And watch out for typhoons!”

As Ellery and the Inspector dragged the spluttering man out of the pool, Ellery was thinking that it was the first time he had heard Judah Bendigo’s voice.

“Kane, I’m so sorry. Darling, are you all right? But I’ve never seen you lose your dignity before. Humpty-dumpty!” Karla laughed and laughed, holding his head tenderly.

He shook her off, jumped to his feet, and strode out of the gymnasium. His face was black.

Max’l, who had stood stupidly in the ring through it all, vaulted to the floor and ran after his master.

Karla stopped laughing.

“He is angry,” she said slowly. “He laughs a great deal, but never at himself... What was that piece of paper? Another of those threatening notes?”

Then she did know.

“I’m afraid so, Mrs. Bendigo.” Ellery had picked up the paper as it fell from Bendigo’s hand and had slipped it into his pocket. He produced it now, and Karla and his father read it with him.

Judah was sitting on the edge of the pool, calmly pouring himself a drink.

It was the same kind of paper, and the typing had been done on a Winchester Noiseless Portable.

This time the message said:

You are going to be murdered on Thursday, June 21, at exactly 12.00 o’clock —

“I can’t believe it,” Karla said. “I have known about the others — I wormed it out of Kane — but it is all so silly. So uselessly melodramatic.” She drew her robe about her. “Excuse me,” she said faintly. “I will dress.”

She ran toward the dressing-rooms.

And that was when they turned around to find that Judah Bendigo was gone.

With the bottle and the glass.

Neither of the Queens bothered to change his wet clothing. They hurried upstairs and dashed for the private elevator.

“The nicks in the o,” muttered the Inspector. “Six small o’s, and every one has the double nick. Now the question is—”

“Your report, Captain,” Ellery said to the officer of the guard. “Let me have it, please!”

The officer thrust a time-sheet into Ellery’s hand.

They retreated as pell-mell as they had come.

In their own rooms, with the door locked, they bent over the report.

There was one name on it.

No one had entered or left Judah Bendigo’s quarters since Ellery had nicked the o’s in Judah Bendigo’s typewriter but Judah Bendigo.

Not only had Judah Bendigo’s typewriter been used in the composition of the fourth threatening note, but it could only have been Judah Bendigo who used it.

“All right,” said the Inspector, pacing. “So now we know it. It’s Judah Bendigo on the level, and the time is definitely set for Thursday, June twenty-first, twelve o’clock, and that’s that.”

“That’s not that. Twelve o’clock what?”

“What?”

“Noon or midnight. There’s going to be a fifth note.”

“I don’t care about that, Ellery. Right now the important thing is that we know it’s Judah. Only now that we know it, what do we do about it?”

“Report to Abel.”

“Who’s in Washington.”

Ellery shrugged. “Then we wait till he gets back.”

“Suppose,” said his father, “suppose Abel doesn’t get back till Friday, June twenty-second?”

Ellery tapped his lip with the edge of the note.

“Or suppose he gets back in time. We report. He says ‘Thank you, gentlemen, that’s what I thought, here’s your hat — take off!’ So we fly into the sunset, or whatever the devil direction New York is from here — and I ask you, Why? What were we needed for in the first place?”

“And what,” mumbled Ellery, “what do they do with Brother Judah? Skin him alive? Hang him by the neck till he can’t even swallow Segonzac? Slap his skinny little wrist?”

“Climb out of those wet clothes, son. No sense getting pneumonia on top of a first-class skull ache.”

They undressed in silence.