by Otto Penzler
Then the world went black. It was a curious thing. The snow grew gray, and grayer, and finally very dark gray, becoming jet black at the last instant, as if flooded from underneath by ink. And with some surprise he felt the cold wet kiss of the drift on his cheek.
He opened his eyes to find himself flat on his back in the snow and Thorne in the great-coat stooped over him, nose jutting from blued face like a winter thorn.
“Queen!” cried the old man, shaking him. “Are you all right?”
Ellery sat up, licking his lips. “As well as might be expected,” he groaned. “What hit me? It felt like one of God’s angrier thunderbolts.” He caressed the back of his head, and staggered to his feet. “Well, Thorne, we seem to have reached the border of the enchanted land.”
“You’re not delirious?” asked the lawyer anxiously.
Ellery looked about for the tracks which should have been there. But except for the double line at the head of which Thorne stood, there were none. Apparently he had lain unconscious in the snow for a long time.
“Farther than this,” he said with a grimace, “we may not go. Hands off. Nose out. Mind your own business. Beyond this invisible boundary-line lie Sheol and Domdaniel and Abaddon. Lasciate ogni speranza voi ch’entrate.… Forgive me, Thorne. Did you save my life?”
Thorne jerked about, searching the silent woods. “I don’t know. I think not. At least I found you lying here, alone. Gave me quite a start—thought you were dead.”
“As well,” said Ellery with a shiver, “I might have been.”
“When you left the house Alice went upstairs, Reinach said something about a cat-nap, and I wandered out of the house. I waded through the drifts on the road for a spell, and then I thought of you and made my way back. Your tracks were almost obliterated; but they were visible enough to take me across the clearing to the edge of the woods, and I finally blundered upon you. By now the tracks are gone.”
“I don’t like this at all,” said Ellery, “and yet in another sense I like it very much.”
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t imagine,” said Ellery, “a divine agency stooping to such a mean assault.”
“Yes, it’s open war now,” muttered Thorne. “Whoever it is—he’ll stop at nothing.”
“A benevolent war, at any rate. I was quite at his mercy, and he might have killed me as easily as—”
He stopped. A sharp report, like a pine-knot snapping in a fire or an ice-stiffened twig breaking in two, but greatly magnified, had come to his ears. Then the echo came to them, softer but unmistakable.
It was the report of a gun.
“From the house!” yelled Ellery. “Come on!”
Thorne was pale as they scrambled through the drifts. “Gun—I forgot. I left my revolver under the pillow in my bedroom. Do you think—?”
Ellery scrabbled at his own pocket. “Mine’s still here.… No, by George, I’ve been scotched!” His cold fingers fumbled with the cylinder. “Bullets taken out. And I’ve no spare ammunition.” He fell silent, his mouth hardening.
They found the women and Reinach running about like startled animals, searching for they knew not what.
“Did you hear it, too?” cried the fat man as they burst into the house. He seemed extraordinarily excited. “Someone fired a shot!”
“Where?” asked Ellery, his eyes on the rove. “Keith?”
“Don’t know where he is. Milly says it might have come from behind the house. I was napping and couldn’t tell. Revolvers! At least he’s come out in the open.”
“Who has?” asked Ellery.
The fat man shrugged. Ellery went through to the kitchen and opened the back door. The snow outside was smooth, untrodden. When he returned to the living-room Alice was adjusting a scarf about her neck with fingers that shook.
“I don’t know how long you people intend to stay in this ghastly place,” she said in a passionate voice. “But I’ve had quite enough, thank you. Mr. Thorne, I insist you take me away at once. At once! I shan’t stay another instant.”
“Now, now, Miss Mayhew,” said Thorne in a distressed way, taking her hands. “I should like nothing better. But can’t you see—”
Ellery, on his way upstairs three steps at a time, heard no more. He made for Thorne’s room and kicked the door open, sniffing. Then, with rather a grim smile, he went to the tumbled bed and pulled the pillow away. A long-barreled, old-fashioned revolver lay there. He examined the cylinder; it was empty. Then he put the muzzle to his nose.
“Well?” said Thorne from the doorway. The English girl was clinging to him.
“Well,” said Ellery, tossing the gun aside, “we’re facing fact now, not fancy. It’s war, Thorne, as you said. The shot was fired from your revolver. Barrel’s still warm, muzzle still reeks, and you can smell the burned gunpowder if you sniff this cold air hard enough. And the bullets are gone.”
“But what does it mean?” moaned Alice.
“It means that somebody’s being terribly cute. It was a harmless trick to get Thorne and me back to the house. Probably the shot was a warning as well as a decoy.”
Alice sank into Thorne’s bed. “You mean we—”
“Yes,” said Ellery, “from now on we’re prisoners, Miss Mayhew. Prisoners who may not stray beyond the confines of the jail. I wonder,” he added with a frown, “precisely why.…”
The day passed in a timeless haze. The world of outdoors became more and more choked in the folds of the snow. The air was a solid white sheet. It seemed as if the very heavens had opened to admit all the snow that ever was, or ever would be.
Young Keith appeared suddenly at noon, taciturn and leaden-eyed, gulped down some hot food, and without explanation retired to his bedroom. Dr. Reinach shambled about quietly for some time; then he disappeared, only to show up, wet, grimy, and silent, before dinner. As the day wore on, less and less was said. Thorne in desperation took to a bottle of whisky. Keith came down at eight o’clock, made himself some coffee, drank three cups, and went upstairs again. Dr. Reinach appeared to have lost his good nature; he was morose, almost sullen, opening his mouth only to snarl at his wife.
They all retired early, without conversation.
At midnight the strain was more than even Ellery’s iron nerves could bear. He had prowled about his bedroom for hours, poking at the brisk fire in the grate, his mind leaping from improbability to fantasy until his head throbbed with one great ache. Sleep was impossible.
Moved by an impulse which he did not attempt to analyze, he slipped into his coat and went out into the frosty corridor. Thorne’s door was closed; Ellery heard the old man’s bed creaking and groaning. It was pitch-dark in the hall as he groped his way about. Suddenly Ellery’s toe caught in a rent in the carpet and he staggered to regain his balance, coming up against the wall with a thud, his heels clattering on the bare planking at the bottom of the baseboard.
He had no sooner straightened up than he heard the stifled exclamation of a woman. It came from across the corridor; if he guessed right, from Alice Mayhew’s bedroom. It was such a weak, terrified exclamation that he sprang across the hall, fumbling in his pockets for a match as he did so. He found match and door in the same instant; he struck one and opened the door and stood still, the tiny light flaring up before him.
Alice was sitting up in bed, quilt drawn about her shoulders, her eyes gleaming in the quarter-light. Before an open drawer of a tallboy across the room, one hand arrested in the act of scattering its contents about, loomed Dr. Reinach, fully dressed. His shoes were wet; his expression was blank.
“Please stand still, Doctor,” said Ellery softly as the match sputtered out. “My revolver is useless as a percussion weapon, but it still can inflict damage as a blunt instrument.” He moved to a nearby table, where he had seen an oil-lamp before the match went out, struck another match, lighted the lamp, and stepped back again to stand against the door.
“Thank you,” whispered Alice.
“What happened, Miss
Mayhew?”
“I—don’t know. I slept badly. I came awake a moment ago when I heard the floor creak. And then you dashed in.” She cried suddenly, “Bless you!”
“You cried out.”
“Did I?” She sighed like a tired child. “I—Uncle Herbert!” she said suddenly, fiercely. “What’s the meaning of this? What are you doing in my room?”
The fat man’s eyes came open, innocent and beaming; his hand withdrew from the drawer and closed it; and he shifted his elephantine bulk until he was standing erect. “Doing, my dear?” he rumbled. “Why, I came in to see if you were all right.” His eyes were fixed on a patch of her white shoulders visible above the quilt. “You were so overwrought today. Purely an avuncular impulse, child. Forgive me if I startled you.”
“I think,” sighed Ellery, “that I’ve misjudged you, Doctor. That’s not clever of you at all. Downright clumsy, in fact; I can only attribute it to a certain understandable confusion of the moment. Miss Mayhew isn’t normally to be found in the top drawer of a tallboy, no matter how capacious it may be.” He said sharply to Alice, “Did this fellow touch you?”
“Touch me?” Her shoulders twitched with repugnance. “No. If he had, in the dark, I—I think I should have died.”
“What a charming compliment,” said Dr. Reinach ruefully.
“Then what,” demanded Ellery, “were you looking for, Dr. Reinach?”
The fat man turned until his right side was toward the door. “I’m notoriously hard of hearing,” he chuckled, “in my right ear. Good night, Alice; pleasant dreams. May I pass, Sir Lancelot?”
Ellery kept his gaze on the fat man’s bland face until the door closed. For some time after the last echo of Dr. Reinach’s chuckle died away they were silent.
Then Alice slid down in the bed and clutched the edge of the quilt. “Mr. Queen, please! Take me away tomorrow. I mean it. I truly do. I—can’t tell you how frightened I am of—all this. Every time I think of that—that— How can such things be? We’re not in a place of sanity, Mr. Queen. We’ll all go mad if we remain here much longer. Won’t you take me away?”
Ellery sat down on the edge of her bed. “Are you really so upset, Miss Mayhew?” he asked gently.
“I’m simply terrified,” she whispered.
“Then Thorne and I will do what we can tomorrow.” He patted her arm through the quilt. “I’ll have a look at his car and see if something can’t be done with it. He said there’s some gas left in the tank. We’ll go as far as it will take us and walk the rest of the way.”
“But with so little petrol— Oh, I don’t care!” She stared up at him wide-eyed. “Do you think—he’ll let us?”
“He?”
“Whoever it is that—”
Ellery rose with a smile. “We’ll cross that bridge when it gets to us. Meanwhile, get some sleep; you’ll have a strenuous day tomorrow.”
“Do you think I’m—he’ll—”
“Leave the lamp burning and set a chair under the doorknob when I leave.” He took a quick look about. “By the way, Miss Mayhew, is there anything in your possession which Dr. Reinach might want to appropriate?”
“That’s puzzled me, too. I can’t imagine what I’ve got he could possibly want. I’m so poor, Mr. Queen—quite the Cinderella. There’s nothing; just my clothes, the things I came with.”
“No old letters, records, mementos?”
“Just one very old photograph of Mother.”
“Hmm, Dr. Reinach doesn’t strike me as that sentimental. Well, good night. Don’t forget the chair. You’ll be quite safe, I assure you.”
He waited in the frigid darkness of the corridor until he heard her creep out of bed and set a chair against the door. Then he went into his own room.
And there was Thorne in a shabby dressing-gown, looking like an ancient and disheveled specter of gloom.
“What ho! The ghost walks. Can’t you sleep, either?”
“Sleep!” The old man shuddered. “How can an honest man sleep in this God-forsaken place? I notice you seem rather cheerful.”
“Not cheerful. Alive.” Ellery sat down and lit a cigarette. “I heard you tossing about your bed a few minutes ago. Anything happen to pull you out into this cold?”
“No. Just nerves.” Thorne jumped up and began to pace the floor. “Where have you been?”
Ellery told him. “Remarkable chap, Reinach,” he concluded. “But we mustn’t allow our admiration to overpower us. We’ll really have to give this thing up, Thorne, at least temporarily. I had been hoping—But there! I’ve promised the poor girl. We’re leaving tomorrow as best we can.”
“And be found frozen stiff next March by a rescue party,” said Thorne miserably. “Pleasant prospect! And yet even death by freezing is preferable to this abominable place.” He looked curiously at Ellery. “I must say I’m a trifle disappointed in you, Queen. From what I’d heard about your professional cunning—”
“I never claimed”—Ellery shrugged—“to be a magician. Or even a theologian. What’s happened here is either the blackest magic or palpable proof that miracles can happen.”
“It would seem so,” muttered Thorne. “And yet, when you put your mind to it— It goes against reason, by thunder!”
“I see,” said Ellery dryly, “the man of law is recovering from the initial shock. Well, it’s a shame to have to leave here now, in a way. I detest the thought of giving up—especially at the present time.”
“At the present time? What do you mean?”
“I dare say, Thorne, you haven’t emerged far enough from your condition of shock to have properly analyzed this little problem. I gave it a lot of thought today. The goal eludes me—but I’m near it,” he said softly, “very near it.”
“You mean,” gasped the lawyer, “you mean you actually—”
“Remarkable case,” said Ellery. “Oh, extraordinary—there isn’t a word in the English language or any other, for that matter, that properly describes it. If I were religiously inclined—” He puffed away thoughtfully. “It gets down to the very simple elements, as all truly great problems do. A fortune in gold exists. It is hidden in a house. The house disappears. To find the gold, then, you must first find the house. I believe—”
“Aside from that mumbo-jumbo with Keith’s broom the other day,” cried Thorne, “I can’t recall that you’ve made a single effort in that direction. Find the house!—why, you’ve done nothing but sit around and wait.”
“Exactly,” murmured Ellery.
“What?”
“Wait. That’s the prescription, my lean and angry friend. That’s the sigil that will exorcise the spirit of the Black House.”
“Sigil?” Thorne stared. “Spirit?”
“Wait. Precisely. Lord, how I’m waiting!”
Thorne looked puzzled and suspicious, as if he suspected Ellery of a contrary midnight humor. But Ellery sat soberly smoking. “Wait! For what, man? You’re more exasperating than that fat monstrosity! What are you waiting for?”
Ellery looked at him. Then he rose and flung his butt into the dying fire and placed his hand on the old man’s arm. “Go to bed, Thorne. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Queen, you must. I’ll go mad if I don’t see daylight on this thing soon!”
Ellery looked shocked, for no reason that Thorne could see. And then, just as inexplicably, he slapped Thorne’s shoulder and began to chuckle. “Go to bed,” he said, still chuckling.
“But you must tell me!”
Ellery sighed, losing his smile. “I can’t. You’d laugh.”
“I’m not in a laughing mood!”
“Nor is it a laughing matter. Thorne, I began to say a moment ago that if I, poor sinner that I am, possessed religious susceptibilities, I should have become permanently devout in the past three days. I suppose I’m a hopeless case. But even I see a power not of earth in this.”
“Play-actor,” growled the old lawyer. “Professing to see the hand of God in—Don’t be sacrilegious
, man. We’re not all heathen.”
Ellery looked out his window at the moonless night and the glimmering grayness of the snow-swathed world.
“Hand of God?” he murmured. “No, not hand, Thorne. If this case is ever solved, it will be by—a lamp.”
“Lamp?” said Thorne faintly. “Lamp?”
“In a manner of speaking. The lamp of God.”
A Question of Murder
The next day dawned sullenly, as ashen and hopeless a morning as ever was. Incredibly, it still snowed in the same thick fashion, as if the whole sky were crumbling bit by bit.
Ellery spent the better part of the day in the garage, tinkering at the big black car’s vitals. He left the doors wide open, so that anyone who wished might see what he was about. He knew little enough of automotive mechanics, and he felt from the start that he was engaged in a futile business. But in the late afternoon, after hours of vain experimentation, he suddenly came upon a tiny wire which seemed to him to be out of joint with its environment. It simply hung, a useless thing. Logic demanded a connection. He experimented. He found one.
As he stepped on the starter and heard the cold motor sputter into life, a shape darkened the entrance of the garage. He turned off the ignition quickly and looked up.
It was Keith, a black mass against the background of snow, standing with widespread legs, a large can hanging from each big hand.
“Hello, there,” murmured Ellery. “You’ve assumed human shape again, I see. Back on one of your infrequent jaunts to the world of men, Keith?”
Keith said quietly, “Going somewhere, Mr. Queen?”
“Certainly. Why—do you intend to stop me?”
“Depends on where you’re going.”
“Ah, a threat. Well, suppose I tell you where to go?”
“Tell all you want. You don’t get off these grounds until I know where you’re bound for.”