The Spanish Cape Mystery

Chapter Two The Error is Rectified

The morning was fresh and cool, with the merest suggestion of dampness. But it was the salt dampness of sea-spray, and it stung the nostrils of the two men with an effect of invigoration. The sun was still low in the east and the wind in the sky over the sea was just whipping the gray night-mists away, revealing curlicue patches of white cloud and bluest heaven.

Mr. Ellery Queen, a notorious lover of Nature, filled his lungs behind the wheel of the low-slung, dilapidated Duesenberg; and, since he was also a practical creature, listened to the satisfactory hum of the rubber wheels on the concrete highway. Both were good, and he sighed. The road stretched behind him in a straight line, a lambent gray-white ribbon of clean deserted morning miles.

He glanced at his companion, a silvered old gentleman whose long legs were jackknifed before him and whose sunken gray eyes were deeply imbedded in ruches of wrinkles, like old gems in crumpled velvet. Judge Macklin was seventy-six; but he was sniffing the salt breeze like a puppy drawing its first breath.

“Tired?” yelled Ellery over the roar of the engine.

“I’m fresher than you are,” retorted the Judge. “‘The sea, the sea, the beautiful sea...’ Ellery, I feel positively rejuvenated!”

“The hardy perennial. I was beginning to feel the weight of my own years after that long drive, but this breeze does something to you. We must be nearly there, Judge.”

“Not far. Drive on, O Hermes!” And the old gentleman stretched his scraggly neck and began to sing in a powerful baritone that vied with the motor very creditably. The song had something to do with a sailor, and Ellery grinned. The old coot had more stamina than a youngster! Ellery returned his attention to the road and pressed his right foot a little more heavily on the accelerator.

Mr. Ellery Queen’s summer had been not unproductive; if anything, it had been overproductive. So much so that he had had little more than a weekend or two at the shore — he loved the sea — and no proper vacation at all. Imprisoned in New York for the best part of the hot season struggling with the ramifications of a peculiarly baffling murder-case which, truth to tell, he had been unable to solve, he found himself after Labor Day yearning after at least one extended fling at sparkling salt-water and comparative nudity before the fall set in. Perhaps, too, he was annoyed by his failure. At any rate, finding his father up to his little ears in work at Centre Street and all of his friends unavailable, he was beginning to resign himself to a solitary vacation somewhere when he heard from Judge Macklin.

Judge Macklin was a lifelong friend of Ellery’s father; he had sponsored, in fact, the Inspector’s early career in the Police Department. One of those rare jurists to whom truth is beauty and beauty truth, he had devoted the better part of his crowded life to the administration of justice; in the process acquiring a sense of humor, a modest fortune, and a national reputation. A widower and childless, he had tucked a younger Ellery under his wing, had selected Ellery’s university and curriculum, had seen him through the dark years of adolescence when the Inspector was plainly bewildered by the responsibilities of fatherhood, and had contributed a good deal to the development of Ellery’s unmistakable flair for the logical verities. At this time, well past the three-score-and-ten mark, the old gentleman had already been retired from the bench for a number of years, spending his leisure in slow peaceful travel. To Ellery he was a comrade and a tonic, for all the disparity in their ages. But after the Judge’s retirement from public life they had seen little of each other; their last meeting was over a year old. To hear from “the Solon,” as Ellery affectionately called him, so unexpectedly and fortuitously was a distinct pleasure, then; especially since he could not have asked for a more delightful vacation companion.

The Judge had wired Ellery from some improbable place in Tennessee — where (he said) he had perversely been resting his venerable bones during the hot weather and “studying the natives” — to meet him at a midway point so that they might journey the rest of the way to the coast together to take up a joint abode by the sea for a month’s vacation. The wire made Ellery whoop for joy, sling some things into a suitcase, grin goodbye to Djuna and his father, and make for his “faithful Rosinante,” a Quixotic affair of wheels and gadgets which had once been a famous racing-car. And he was on his way. They had met at the appointed place, embraced, babbled like women for an hour, conferred solemnly on the problem of whether to wait over the night — it was 2:30 in the morning when they met — or push on at once, decided that the occasion called for heroic measures; and despite the fact that neither had slept they paid off an astonished innkeeper at 4:15, jumped into Ellery’s Duesenberg, and were off to the accompaniment of the Judge’s most robust baritone.

“By the way,” demanded Ellery when the important things had been polished off and over a year’s conversation made up, “just where is this Arcadia? I’m headed in the general direction, but I’ll be blessed if I possess second sight.”

“Know where Spanish Cape is?”

“Vaguely. I’ve heard of it.”

“Well,” said the Judge, “that’s where we’re going. Not to Spanish Cape, but to a lovely old dump right near it. About ten miles from Wayland Park and some fifty south of Maartens. It’s right off the State highway.”

“You’re not visiting some one?” asked Ellery in alarm. “With your juvenile enthusiasm, it would be just like you to foist a friend of yours upon some unsuspecting host.”

“And serve the rascal right, too,” chuckled the Judge. “But no, nothing like that. There’s a man I know who owns a cottage near Spanish Cape — only a few feet from the water’s edge, quite modest, but comfortable; regular summer affair — and the cottage is our destination.”

“Sounds alluring.”

“Wait until you see it. I’ve rented it from him in previous years — didn’t make it last summer because I was in Norway — so it came to mind this spring and I wrote him at his New York office. We made the usual deal, and here I am. I’ve taken the place until the middle of October, so we’ve a splendid bit of fishing in view.”

“Fishing,” groaned Ellery. “You’re a veritable Mr. Tutt! Always makes me think of broiled human skin and smarting eyes. I haven’t brought even an — an anchor. Do people fish?”

“They do, and we’re going to. I’ll make a young Walton out of you yet. There’s a perfectly scrumptious cruiser in the boathouse; one of the chief reasons I like the place. Don’t worry about gear. I’ve written my housekeeper in the city, and a whole mess of rods and lines and reels and hooks and things will be here Monday, express.”

“I hope,” said Ellery gloomily, “there’s a train-wreck.”

“Buck up! Matter of fact, we’re a day early. My arrangements with Waring—”

‘With whom?”

“Hollis Waring. Chap who owns the place. I’m not supposed to take possession until Monday, but I imagine it will be all right.”

“No chance of bumping into him, is there? I feel an uncommon craving for sequestration, somehow.”

“Not likely. He wrote me this spring that he wasn’t intending to use the cottage much this summer — that he expected to be in Europe during August and September.”

“Know him well?”

“Scarcely at all. In fact, only through correspondence. And then it was about the cottage, three years ago.”

“I suppose there’s a caretaker on the premises?”

Judge Macklin’s gray eyes, which by themselves were extraordinarily youthful, twinkled. “Oh, certainly! And a stiffish butler with sideburns and a man to brush our boots. Genuine Bertram Wooster-and-Jeeves arrangement. My dear young Croesus, where do you think you’re going? It’s the merest shack, and unless we can rustle a capable lady somewhere in the vicinity, we’ll have to do our own cleaning, marketing, and cooking. I’m a mean hand with the skillet, you know.”

Ellery looked doubtful. “I’m afraid my culinary genius is restricted to biscuits made from prepared flour, turgid coffee, and more or less Spanish omelets. You’ve the key, of course?”

“Waring said he’d leave it,” replied the Judge solemnly, “buried one foot deep, located two paces on a diagonal from the northeast corner of the cottage. That man has a sense of humor. My dear boy, this is honest country! In all the time I’ve spent here the nearest thing to a crime I’ve encountered was when Harry Stebbins, who has a gas-station and refreshment place on the main road nearby, charged me thirty-five cents for a ham sandwich. Hell, son, nobody locks his doors down this way!”

“It won’t be long now,” remarked the Judge with a sigh of eagerness, straining his eyes through the windshield as they topped a rise in the road.

“And high time, too,” shouted Ellery. “I’m beginning to feel hungry. How about victuals? Don’t tell me your whimsical landlord left a stock of canned goods there!”

“Lord,” moaned the old gentleman, “I’d clean forgotten about that. We’ll have to stop in Wye — that’s just before you get to Spanish Cape; about two miles north of it — and lay in some provender. There! There it is now, straight ahead. I hope we find a grocer’s or market open. It can’t be more than seven.”

By great good fortune they found a yawning tradesman unloading fresh vegetables before his establishment, and Ellery staggered back to the car under full sail with a princely larder. There was some argument about who should pay; which was settled in short order by the Judge’s masterly lecture on the unwritten laws of hospitality. The two men then stowed their provisions in the built-in rumbleseat and continued their journey. This time the Judge sang Anchors Aweigh.

In three minutes they were approaching Spanish Cape. Ellery braked the car to a roll while he admired the looming rock. Through some freak of nature it was the only bit of country within sight above sea-level to any considerable degree. It lay placidly in the young sun, a sleeping giant, its plateau-like top out of range except for the fringes, which they could see were covered with trees and bushes.

“Nice, isn’t it?” roared the Judge happily. “Here, El, stop the car. Opposite that gas-station there. I want to say hello to my old friend Harry Stebbins — the brigand!”

“I suppose that chunk of inviting rubble,” murmured Ellery, steering the Duesenberg off the road onto the gravel before the Grecian-pillared structure with its heraldic red pumps, “isn’t public property? Couldn’t be. Our millionaires don’t permit such things.”

“Private as the very devil,” laughed Judge Macklin. “Where’s Harry? In more ways than one. In the first place, there’s only one way to get to it by land, and that’s up the branch-road across the highway there.” Ellery saw two massive stone pylons flanking the entrance to the branch-road across the way, slashing through the cool-looking trees of the parkland. “Park’s only a narrow piece, the branch is fenced on both sides with high barbed wire, and when you get through the park you have to proceed on the neck — just a bit of rock-road wide enough for a couple of cars. Road’s on a level, and since Spanish Cape rises, the result is a sunken highway clear through to the sea-end of the Cape. Look at those cliffs! Extend all around the Cape. How would you like to climb ’em?... In the second place, the Cape’s owned by Walter Godfrey.” He said this in a grim tone of finality, as if the mere name were sufficient explanation.

“Godfrey?” frowned Ellery. “The Wall Street Godfrey?”

“One of the... uh... many wolves of that distinguished thoroughfare,” murmured Judge Macklin. “Exclusive, too. There are several human beings on that blessed rock, I understand, but its owner isn’t numbered among ’em. In all the time I’ve spent barely a stone’s-throw from the place, I’ve never set foot on it. Not that I haven’t tried to be neighborly!”

“He doesn’t believe in the bucolic virtues?”

“Not he. Matter of fact, in one of the chattier exchanges of correspondence between Waring and me, he mentioned the same thing. He’s never been anywhere near the Godfrey... er... palace, and he’s been a neighbor of Godfrey’s for God knows how many years.”

“Maybe,” grinned Ellery, “you and your landlord aren’t hoity-toity-enough.”

“Oh, no doubt about it. In some quarters an honest judge isn’t too welcome. You see—”

“Come, come, there’s a story under your whiskers!”

“Haven’t any, and nothing of the sort. I simply mean that a man like Godfrey could scarcely have amassed a fortune on the Street in so short a time unless he took liberties with the law. I know nothing about the fellow, but I know enough about human nature to make me suspect various things.

From all I hear, he’s a queer one. Nice daughter, though. She came sailing along in a canoe one day a couple of summers ago with a blond young man, and we made quite firm friends while the young man scowled... Ah, there, Harry, you young dog! And in a bathing suit, too!”

The Judge scrambled from the Duesenberg and ran, beaming, to grasp the hand of a florid, pot-bellied, middle-aged little man in a flaming red bathing-suit and rubber shoes who had just emerged, blinking, from the office of his establishment. He was rubbing his fat red neck with a Turkish towel.

“Judge Macklin!” gasped Stebbins, dropping the towel; then he grinned from ear to ear and pumped the old man’s hand vigorously. “Sight for sore eyes, all right. Might ‘a’ known you’d be up in these parts this time o’ year. Where were you last September? And how’ve you been, sir?”

“Middling, middling, Harry. I was abroad last year. How’s Annie?”

Stebbins shook his bullet-head dolefully. “Been ailin’ bad, Judge, with her sciatica.” Ellery grasped that the unfortunate Annie was the fortunate Mrs. Stebbins.

“Tut, tut; a young woman like her! Send her my regrets and love. Harry, shake hands with Mr. Ellery Queen, a dear friend of mine.” Ellery dutifully shook the man’s hard, damp hand. “We’re spending a month on Waring’s place together. By the way, Waring isn’t here, is he?”

“Ain’t seen him since beginning of summer, Judge.”

“I see you’ve been swimming already. Aren’t you ashamed to be seen trotting along the public highways with that pot-belly of yours hanging over your knees, you young reprobate?”

Stebbins grinned sheepishly. “Well, sir, I guess I am a sight for sore eyes, at that. But then everybody does it around here, and I like a dip in the early mornin’. Public beach is deserted this time o’ day.”

“Is that the beach we passed a mile or so back?” demanded Ellery.

“Yes, Mr. Queen. There’s another on the other side — right next to Mr. Waring’s place, where you’re goin’.”

“Must be an interesting stretch of road right here,” said Ellery reflectively, “of a hot summer’s afternoon. With all the pretty girls tripping along in their bathing suits — and considering what bathing suits are this season...”

“You young men,” groaned the Judge. “As a matter of fact, I remember some of the local prudes complained to the authorities two summers ago about the near-nakedness of the bathers on the road. You see, there’s a local ordinance which permits bathers to walk on this stretch of highway in bathing costume. Anything happen, Harry?”

“Not a thing, Judge,” chuckled Stebbins. “We still do it within the law.”

“It’s the envy of oldsters that create such controversies. We can’t swim—”

“High time you learned,” said Ellery severely. “Then I won’t have to act young Rollo and go about fishing you out of oceans and things, as I was forced to do six years ago up in Maine. I should think that in seventy-six years or so a man would learn to comport himself in other media than dry land.”

“Talking about fishing,” said the Judge hastily, with a blush, “how is it, Harry? They biting?”

“Pretty good, Judge, from all I hear. Ain’t got much time, myself, for the rod. Well, well! You’re lookin’ fine. I see you stocked up on grub. Any time, ye know—”

“You’ll not hook me thirty-five cents for a ham sandwich again in a hurry,” said the Judge in a severe tone. “I’ll never—”

A small drab-looking automobile came whizzing down the highway very intent on its business, whatever it might be. There was a strip of gilt lettering on the front door of the sedan, but the car was going so fast that they could not make out the legend. To their surprise brakes squealed, the sedan lurched left, and then shot like a dart between the two pylons marking the entrance to Spanish Cape and disappeared under the flanking trees of the park.

“Is that,” asked Ellery, “the normal method of driving in this part of our great and glorious country, Mr. Stebbins?”

The filling-station proprietor scratched his head. “Not for ordinary folks, maybe, but them’s police.”

“Police?” echoed the Judge and Ellery together.

“County police car.” Stebbins seemed troubled. “Second one I’ve seen scoot into the Cape in the last fifteen minutes. Must be somethin’ doin’.”

They squinted in silence down the shaded road through the park. But they could hear nothing, and the sky was still blue, and the sun was a little higher and growing warmish, and the salt breeze had a hot smell about it.

“Police, eh?” said Judge Macklin reflectively. His fine nostrils were quivering a little.

Ellery tapped his arm in sudden panic. “Now, Judge, for the love of heaven! Is this surcease from care or isn’t it? You’re not intending to meddle in some one’s private affairs, I trust?”

The old man sighed. “I suppose not. I should think, though, that you would feel—”

“Naughty, naughty,” said Ellery grimly. “Nothing doing. I’ve just had one taste of work, dear Solon, and I assure you it has been sufficient unto the day. My needs at the moment are purely animal: a swim, a mess of eggs, and then sweet Morpheus. See you again soon, Mr. Stebbins.”

“Sure, sure,” said Stebbins with a start; he had been staring with grave eyes at the Spanish Cape road. “Glad to’ve met you, Mr. Queen. You’ll be wantin’ a housekeeper, won’t you, Judge?”

“We certainly shall. Do you know any one?”

“If my Annie were feelin’ better—” said Stebbins. “Well, I don’t know no one offhand, Judge, but I’ll keep my eyes peeled. Maybe Annie will hear o’ some one.”

“I’m sure she will. See you soon, Harry.” And the Judge climbed back into the Duesenberg. They all seemed rather depressed: the Judge was silent, Stebbins uneasy, and Ellery desperately intent upon the usually simple business of starting the car. Then they rolled off, leaving the gray little filling-station man staring.

Both men were occupied with uncommunicated thoughts on the short journey from the service station to the leftward branch-road which led to the Waring cottage and the waterfront. Ellery turned off at the Judge’s brief direction and they were at once plunged in the cool green depths of the park.

“Well!” said Ellery after a moment. “This is something like. Despite hunger, thirst, and fatigue I’m beginning to enjoy myself.”

“Eh?” said the Judge absently. “Oh, yes. This is really a lovely spot, El.”

“You don’t act,” commented Ellery in a dry tone, “as if you appreciated it.”

“Nonsense!” The Judge raised his lank form vigorously and peered ahead. “I feel ten years younger already. Keep going, son. We’ll be out of the park in a moment, and the road’s perfectly straight from that point on.”

They emerged into the full glare of the sun, drinking in the beauty of the shimmering beach, the blue of water and sky. The cliffs of Spanish Cape towered, silent and a little forbidding, beyond and to their left.

“Impressive place,” murmured Ellery, driving slowly.

“Oh, quite. There you are, El. That group of little buildings ahead. This fence here on the right keeps the rabble away; that’s a public bathing beach beyond the fence. Never could understand why Waring built a cottage so close to such a place; although I don’t believe we’ll be pestered. The people here are well-behaved.” He stopped rather abruptly and blinked his wrinkled lids over the wise liquid eyes, sitting up a little and peering ahead. “Ellery,” he said in a sharp tone, “is that a car down by the Waring cottage, or am I seeing things?”

“It’s a car, right enough,” said Ellery, “but I had some vague notion that it might have belonged to Waring and that he left it here for you. Crumby idea, though, I can see that. Queer, isn’t it?”

“It could scarcely be Waring’s,” muttered Judge Macklin. “I’m sure he’s in Europe; and besides he has nothing smaller than a Packard. That thing looks like one of Henry Ford’s more cosmic errors. Step on it, son!”

The Duesenberg slid very quietly indeed to a stop behind a battered old car at the end of the Waring road, near the cottage. Ellery vaulted to the gravel and strolled over to the parked car, his eyes restless. The Judge got out a little stiffly, his mouth set in a thin line.

They looked over the car together. There was nothing alien inside, either human or inanimate. The key to the ignition protruded from the lock, several others hanging below the dashboard from a small chain.

“Lights are still on,” murmured Ellery, but even as they spoke the lights flickered and died. “Hmm. Battery’s exhausted. It’s been standing here all night, probably. Well, well! A pretty little mystery. Sneak-thieves, d’ye think?” He extended his hand to the front door of the car. The Judge grasped his arm.

“I shouldn’t,” he said quietly.

“For heaven’s sake, why not?”

“One never knows. I’m an incorrigible believer in the efficacy of fingerprints.”

“Pshaw! Your imagination’s been heated by that scuttling little police car.” Nevertheless Ellery refrained from touching the handle. “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s... er... dig up that romantic key Waring buried for you and be about our business. I’m tired.”

They circled the car and slowly walked up to the cottage. And stopped short.

The door stood ajar a bit, and about its hinges the wood was freshly splintered. The interior of the house exuded cool silence.

They looked at each other with puzzled, suddenly wary glances. Then Ellery darted noiselessly back to the Duesenberg, rummaged, came up with a heavy wrench, sped back, motioned the Judge aside, sprang at the door, kicked it open, raised the wrench and dashed over the sill.

The old gentleman set his lips and followed with a rush.

He found Ellery just inside the shattered door, glaring at the floor to one side, beneath a front window. Then Ellery swore beneath his breath, raised the wrench again, and plunged off into the bedroom. He reappeared a moment later to vanish into the kitchen.

“No luck,” he panted, returning, and hurled the wrench away. “Well, judge?”

Judge Macklin was on his bony knees on the cement floor. A chair had turned over and a woman lay in the chair, her arms and legs tied to it with tough cord. Her head, it was plain, had struck the cement; there was a trickle of dried blood beneath her right temple, and she was unconscious.

“Well!” said the Judge quietly. “We’re in something messy up to our respective necks. Ellery, this is Rosa Godfrey, daughter of that old robber-baron on Spanish Cape!”

There were violet shadows under her closed eyes. And her hair had come loose, tumbling about her face like black silk. She looked horribly tired and worn.

“Poor child,” murmured Judge Macklin. “Thank heaven, she’s breathing normally. Let’s get her out of this atrocious harness, Ellery.”

They released her with the aid of Ellery’s penknife, raised her limp soft body between them, carried her into the bedroom, and deposited her upon the bed. She moaned a little as the Judge bathed her face with water Ellery fetched from the kitchen. The wound on her temple was very slight, a superficial scratch. It was evident that she had been sitting by the window in the chair to which she had been bound, had fainted and relaxed, and the sudden movement had upset the chair so that she had fallen with it to strike her temple against the rough cement floor.

“I admire your robber-baron’s taste in daughters,” murmured Ellery.

“Very beautiful young wench. I approve.” He chafed her numb hands with enthusiasm; the cords had bitten deeply.

“Poor child,” said the Judge again, and bathed the blood away from her temple. She shivered and moaned once more, her lids fluttering. Ellery went away, found a medicine chest, and returned with a bottle of iodine. At the sting of the antiseptic she gasped and opened her eyes enormously, staring with horror.

“There, there, dear,” soothed the Judge, “you needn’t be frightened any more. You’re with friends. I’m Judge Macklin — you remember two summers ago? Judge Macklin. Don’t exert yourself, child; you’ve had a wretched experience.”

“Judge Macklin!” she panted, trying to sit up. She sank back with a groan, but the horror drained out of her blue eyes. “Oh, thank God. Thank God. Have they — have they found David?”

“David?”

“My uncle. David Kummer! He isn’t — don’t tell me he’s dea...” She put the back of her hand to her mouth and stared at them.

“We don’t know, my dear,” said the Judge gently, patting her other hand. “You see, we’ve just come; and there you were in the living-room tied to a chair. Please rest, Miss Godfrey, and meanwhile we’ll notify your father and mother—”

“You don’t understand!” she cried, and stopped. “Is this the Waring cottage?”

“Yes,” said the old man, astonished.

She looked at the window; the sunlight painted the floor. “And it’s morning! I’ve been here all night. The most dreadful thing’s happened.” Then she bit her lip and flashed a queer glance at Ellery. “Is it all right— Who is this, Judge Macklin?”

“A very dear young friend of mine,” said the Judge hastily. “Allow me to present Mr. Ellery Queen. As a matter of fact, he has something of a reputation as a detective. If anything drastic has happened—”

“Detective,” she repeated in a bitter voice. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that.” She sank back on the pillow and closed her eyes. “But let me tell you what happened, Mr. Queen. Who knows?” She shivered and opened her startling blue eyes again and began to tell the story of the wicked giant.

The two men listened with drawn brows, silent and troubled. She spoke clearly and left nothing out but the substance of her conversation with her uncle on the terrace before the arrival of the giant. And when she had finished they looked at each other, and Ellery sighed, and went out of the room.

When he returned the slim dark girl had swung her feet off the bed and was attempting in an absent way to tidy herself. She had smoothed her crumpled organdie and was fixing her hair. But at Ellery’s step she sprang to her feet. “Well, Mr. Queen?”

“There’s nothing outside that puts a fresh complexion on anything you’ve told us, Miss Godfrey,” he murmured, offering her a cigaret. She refused, and he lit one himself absently. The Judge did not smoke. “The cruiser is gone and there’s no sign of either your uncle or the man who spirited him away. The only clue is that car, which is still outside; and I don’t believe we’ll get much out of that.”

“Probably stolen,” muttered the Judge. “He wouldn’t have left it if it were traceable to him.”

“But he was so — so stupid!” cried Rosa. “He’d be capable of anything!”

“I agree,” said Ellery with a sorry smile, “that he can’t be very brilliant, if what you’ve told us is true. Quite a remarkable story, by the way, Miss Godfrey; almost incredible.”

“A monster of that size—” The Judge’s nostrils were quivering again. “He’ll be easy enough to identify. And that patch over one eye—”

“It might be a false one. Although I can’t see... It’s that telephone call he made that’s most interesting, Miss Godfrey. You’re sure you can’t give us a clue to the person he called?”

“Oh, I wish I could,” she panted, clenching her fists.

“Hmm. I think it’s fairly clear in its broad outline.” Ellery took a turn about the room, frowning. “This huge and stupid creature was hired by some one to kidnap your Mr. John Marco, who seems to be a very lucky chap all round. In the absence of a photograph, possibly, Marco was described roughly to your captor; does Marco generally wear whites for dinner, Miss Godfrey?”

“Yes, oh, yes!”

“Then unfortunately your uncle, who, you say, bears a superficial resemblance to Marco in build and size, also dressed in whites last night and innocently became the victim of a mistake in identity. By the way, Miss Godfrey — you’ll forgive me, I’m sure — has it been your custom to stroll out with Mr. Marco after dinner — perhaps to the terrace you described?”

Her eyes fell. “Yes.”

Ellery regarded her curiously for a moment. “Then you contributed, too. A ghastly tragedy of errors. This man came, blindly faithful to his instructions, refused to believe that your uncle was not Marco, and there you are. The telephone call is immensely important, since it establishes the hireling nature of your assailant. Apparently, too, he was commanded to report from the cottage. This place mades an ideal base of operations, deserted as it is and with a cruiser handy in the boathouse. The giant is quite obviously the merest tool.”

“But whom might he have been telephoning?” asked the Judge quietly.

Ellery shrugged. “If we knew that—”

They were all silent, and they were all thinking the same thing. A local telephone, the proximity of the mansion on Spanish Cape...

“What,” whispered Rosa, “do you think will — will happen to David?”

The Judge averted his face. Ellery said gently: “I see no point in ignoring the self-evident truth, Miss Godfrey. According to your story this big fellow said over the ‘phone: ‘He won’t bother you any more,’ or something like that. I referred to the crime before as a kidnaping. I’m afraid I was trying to spare your feelings, Miss Godfrey. What your captor said doesn’t sound at all like an abduction. It sounds brutally like — finale.”

Rosa choked something down and lowered her eyes; there was a sick look on her white face.

“I’m afraid so, my dear,” muttered the Judge.

“However,” continued Ellery in a more cheerful voice, “there’s no sense in anticipating. Anything may have happened or may still happen; at any rate, the whole affair’s a job for your regular police. They’re already at Spanish Cape, you know, Miss Godfrey.”

“They-are?”

“Two police cars were seen entering the grounds only a short time ago.” He looked at his cigaret. “In a way, our stumbling in here may have bungled matters. Whomever the big chap called, that person was apparently intending to see to it that you were released, Miss Godfrey, before any real harm came to you. You said your Goliath mentioned it over the ‘phone. Now, I’m afraid, it may be too late.” He shook his head. “On second thought, perhaps not. It’s possible that the instigator of this nasty business has already discovered his hireling’s blunder in nabbing the wrong man. That would make him lie low...” He went to one of the windows, opened it, and rather abruptly hurled his cigaret out. “Don’t you think, Miss Godfrey, you should notify your mother that you’re safe? She must be frantic.”

“Oh... mother,” mumbled Rosa, raising haggard eyes. “I’d... I’d forgotten. Yes. I’ll telephone right away.”

Hie Judge stepped in front of her, throwing a warning glance at Ellery. “Let Mr. Queen do it, my dear. You’d better lie down again.” She permitted herself to be led back to the bed; her mouth worked jerkily.

Ellery went into the living-room, shutting the door to the bedroom behind him. They heard the clatter of the dial, and his low voice. Neither the old man nor the girl said anything. Then the door opened and Ellery came back, a rather odd expression on his lean face.

“D-Dav—” began Rosa in a strangled voice.

“No, there’s no news about your uncle, Miss Godfrey,” said Ellery slowly. “Naturally, there’s been some anxiety about you and Mr. Kummer. I spoke to a local gentleman named Moley — Inspector Moley of the county detectives, you see.” He paused, apparently reluctant to go on.

“No news,” she said in an empty tone, staring at the floor.

“Moley?” growled the Judge. “I’ve met him. Good man. We had quite a chat on professional matters two years ago.”

“Your mother is sending a car over at once,” continued Ellery, eying the dark girl as if he were weighing something difficult and intangible. “A police car... By the way, it seems that one of your guests, Miss Godfrey, has been acting oddly. He appropriated one of your father’s cars a few minutes ago and went scooting off Spanish Cape as if all the devils in hell were after him. It was reported to Moley a moment before I called. Two motorcycle officers are after him.”

Her forehead was wrinkled, as if she had difficulty in hearing. “He?”

“A young man named Earle Cort.”

She started violently, and the Judge looked perturbed. “Earle!”

“Isn’t that the young man who was with you in the canoe two years ago, my dear?” muttered the Judge.

“Yes, yes. Earle... It isn’t possible. Not— He wouldn’t—”

“The complications seem to be accumulating,” said Ellery. Then he swung about abruptly. “Something a bit more immediate than Mr. Cort’s defection and the abduction of Miss Godfrey and Mr. Kummer has occurred, Judge.”

The old gentleman’s lips tightened. “Do you think—”

“I believe Miss Godfrey should know. She’s bound to know in a few moments, anyway.”

The dark girl looked up at him in a broken, confused way; she was dazed. “Wh-wh—” Her lips refused to function.

Ellery opened his mouth to speak, and closed it again. They all turned, startled. A high-powered car, to judge by its roar, was hurtling down the road toward the cottage. Before they could move they heard the grind of brakes, the slam of a door, and pounding footsteps on the gravel path. Then a whirlwind burst into the cottage — a tall, powerfully built young man with disheveled blond hair and a smooth skin burned dark brown by the sun. He was in shorts, and the muscles of his thighs and arms were taut.

“Earle!” cried Rosa.

He slammed the door shut behind him, set his half-naked back against it, flung one glance at Rosa as if to make sure that she was intact, and then growled at Ellery: “Well, you brigand, speak up. What in hell’s the idea, and where’s David Kummer?”

“Earle, don’t be silly,” snapped Rosa; normal color had returned to her face. “Don’t you remember Judge Macklin from two years ago? And this is Mr. Queen, a friend of his. They’ve taken this cottage and found me here this morning. Earle! Don’t stand there like a lump! What’s happened?”

The young man glared at them, and the glare turned to shame as a slow red crept down his neck. “I... I beg your pardon,” he muttered. “I didn’t know — Rosa, you’re all right?” He sprang to the bed and knelt by it, seizing her hand.

She snatched it away. “Quite well, thank you. Where were you last night when I needed you, when — when Uncle David and I were kidnaped by a horrible beast with one eye?” She laughed half-hysterically.

“Kidnaped!” he gasped. “Da— I didn’t know. I thought—”

Ellery eyed Cort reflectively. “I don’t hear the sounds of pursuit, Mr. Cort. I’ve just spoken with Inspector Moley at Spanish Cape, and he tells me two motorcycle policemen are after you.”

The young man stumbled to his feet, still dazed. “I shook ’em off, turned into this side-road... They went ahead. But Da—”

“How,” asked Judge Macklin softly, “did you know where to find Miss Godfrey, Mr. Cort?”

He sank into a chair, burying his face in his hands. Then he shook his head and looked up. “I’ll admit” he said slowly, “this is too much for my feeble brain. I got a telephone-call at the house a few minutes ago from somebody who said that I’d find Rosa here, in the Waring cottage. The police were already there, but I thought I’d — I tried to trace the call. But I couldn’t. Then I guess I... I lost my head, and here I am.”

Rosa kept her eyes steadfastly averted from the young man’s face; she seemed angry about something.

“Hmm,” said Ellery. “Was it a bass voice?”

Cort looked miserable. “I don’t know. It seemed to be a bad connection. I couldn’t get any feeling of sex out of the voice at all. It was a whisper.” He turned to regard the dark girl with a queer look of suffering. “Rosa—

“Well,” said Rosa coldly, looking at the wall, “do I have to sit here all day listening to a — listening, or will some one please tell me what’s happened at home?”

Ellery answered without removing his eyes from Earle Cort’s face. “Mr. Cort’s caller complicates matters. How many telephones are there in the house, Miss Godfrey?”

“Several. And extensions in every room.”

“Ah,” said Ellery softly. “Then it’s possible that your caller, Mr. Cort, telephoned from the house itself. Because the events of last night — certain events subsequent to your abduction, Miss Godfrey — would seem to indicate that the call your abductor put through was meant for some one in your father’s house. It’s not certain, of course, but...”

“I... I can’t believe it,” whispered Rosa, paling again.

“Because, you see,” muttered Ellery, “your improbable pirate’s error seems to have been discovered by his employer almost at once.”

“At once? I—”

“And the mistake rectified — perhaps personally.” Ellery frowned at another cigaret, and Earle Cort turned his head away. And Ellery said in a rather tight and puzzled voice: “For, you see, John Marco was found sitting on that beach terrace of yours, Miss Godfrey, early this morning... dead.”

“D-d—”

“Murdered.”