Egyptian Cross Mystery by Ellery Queen Read Free Book Online

Ellery, tearing open the yellow envelope. “Who the deuce could be wiring me this early in the morning?”
    “Who’s it from?” mumbled the old man out of a mouthful of toast.
    “It’s from—” Ellery unfolded the message and glanced down at the typed signature. “From Yardley!” he cried, in vast surprise. He grinned at his father. “Professor Yardley. You remember, Dad. One of my profs at the University.”
    “Sure I do. The Ancient History feller, hey? Stayed with us one weekend when he came into New York. Ugly chap with chin whiskers, as I recall.”
    “One of the best. They don’t make ’em that way any more,” said Ellery. “God, it’s years since I’ve heard from him! Why on earth should he—”
    “I’d suggest,” said the old man mildly, “That you read the message. That’s generally the way to find out why a person writes to you. In some ways, my son, you’re thicker than mud.”
    The twinkle in his eye disappeared as he watched Ellery’s face. That gentleman’s jaw had dropped perceptibly.
    “What’s the matter?” asked the Inspector in haste. “Somebody die?” He still preserved the middle-class superstition that telegrams boded no good.
    Ellery tossed the yellow slip across the table, jumped from his chair, hurled his napkin at Djuna, and dashed into the bedroom, flinging off his dressing gown as he went.
    The Inspector read:
THOUGHT AFTER ALL THESE YEARS YOU MIGHT LIKE TO COMBINE BUSINESS WITH PLEASURE STOP WHY NOT PAY ME THAT LONG DEFERRED VISIT STOP YOU WILL FIND NICE JUICY MURDER ACROSS THE ROAD FROM MY SHACK STOP HAPPENED THIS VERY MORNING AND LOCAL GENDARMES STILL ARRIVING STOP VERY INTERESTING STOP MY NEIGHBOR FOUND CRUCIFIED TO HIS TOTEM POST WITH HEAD MISSING STOP I SHALL EXPECT YOU TODAY
    YARDLEY

4. Bradwood
    T HAT SOMETHING EXTRAORDINARY WAS going on was apparent miles before the old Duesenberg arrived at its destination. The Long Island highway it was following at Ellery’s customary reckless speed was thick with country troopers, who for once seemed uninterested in the spectacle of a tall earnest young man traveling at the rate of fifty-five miles per hour. Ellery, with the egotism of the specially favored speedster, was half hoping that some one would stop him. He would then have the opportunity of hurling “Police special!” in the teeth of his motorcycled antagonist; for he had cajoled the Inspector into telephoning the scene of the crime and explaining to Inspector Vaughn of the Nassau County police that “my famous son,” as the Inspector subtly said, was on his way, and would Vaughn accord the young hero every courtesy? Especially since, as the old man put it, this famous son had information which should prove of remarkable interest to Vaughn and the District Attorney. Then another call to District Attorney Isham of Nassau County, with a repetition of the encomia and the promise. Isham, a much harassed man that morning, mumbled something about “any news will be good news, Inspector; send him along,” and promised that nothing would be removed from the scene of the crime until Ellery arrived.
    It was noon when the Duesenberg swung into one of Long Island’s immaculate private roads and was challenged by a trooper on a motorcycle.
    “Bradwood this way?” yelled Ellery.
    “Yeah, but you ain’t goin’ there,” replied the trooper grimly. “Turn around, mister, and step on it.”
    “Inspector Vaughn and District Attorney Isham are expecting me,” said Ellery with a grin.
    “Oh! You’re Mr. Queen? Sorry, sir. Go ahead.”
    Vindicated and triumphant, Ellery shot forward and five minutes later drew up in the highway between two estates—one, from the cluster of official cars in its driveway, obviously Bradwood, where the murder had been committed; the other, by inference, since it was across the road, the dwelling of his friend and former instructor, Professor Yardley.
    The Professor himself, a tall, rangy, ugly man bearing a striking resemblance to