The Hess Cross by James Thayer Read Free Book Online

the puzzle of Maura's death together. None of their old adversaries knew they would be in Chicago, because they had come to the Midwest in utmost secrecy. And they hadn't been here long enough to have made enemies. Had they been followed from Lip's Lower Level? No, not followed. They would have known within two blocks. Crown could not remember anyone watching them with undue interest at Lip's. Yet, it couldn't have been a random killing. The murderers had been too persistent and ruthless for that. The pieces didn't fit.
    Crown knew he had not been analyzing the killing clearly. Grief numbed him. He tried to push it aside, but it returned again and again with aching persistence. He had worked with Miguel for four years. Their assignments had been hazardous and important, and they had risked their lives together on occasions too numerous to recall. They had developed an intuitive knowledge of the other's actions. This unerring sense had made them the Priest's most valued team.
    Miguel was gone and Crown was left with a rush of emotion. His mind was sodden. His thoughts wandered to Spain, France, and Norway, where he and Miguel had worked together. The comradeship and the accomplishment they had shared in those places returned to sharpen the grief. Crown couldn't put Miguel's death into a compartment and force it into a corner of his mind. It pervaded him and spread to all corners of his thoughts like a winter blizzard.
    For two days he had sat in his dim little room mechanically working through a case of warm beer, and there had come a certainty. The killer was somehow connected with his reason for being in Chicago. He would meet Miguel'smurderer again. Crown had no doubt of the outcome of that encounter.
    Crown climbed the front steps of the home to a large porch. The house was typical of others along Woodlawn. It was a large red-brick single-family unit that covered most of its lot. The front yard was very small and was encircled by an iron seven-foot-high spike fence broached by a swinging black iron gate. Crown could not see the guards, but there was no question the gate was closely watched by men ordered to let only him through. The Priest was cautious.
    A tall, drawn man Crown vaguely recalled seeing once in Sackville-West's office in Washington answered the door, said a smileless hello, and led him toward the study. The window shades were drawn, and it took a few seconds for Crown to adjust to the dim light. The tall man opened the study door and gestured Crown inside.
    Richard Sackville-West stood next to a large table that was covered with the papier-mâché reproduction of a battlefield. Several acres of hills and fields had been constructed in miniature with infinite care. A blue stream meandered down from the hills and cut through the pastures near a cluster of toothpick-and-paper houses. A tiny bridge on each end of the town crossed the stream. The hills were made of papier-mâché and covered with green-tinted cotton and small twigs, a believable mock-up of a forest. The remainder of the board was open field bisected by hedgerows made of a brown rubbery substance.
    Located in strategic positions on the battlefield were squadrons of colorfully uniformed and helmeted ancient Greek troops. The metal soldiers were no more than a half-inch high, and were positioned in orderly phalanxes of ten men across and four rows deep. Each soldier carried a glittering sword in an upraised position. The Greeks were elaborately and authentically hand-painted. Even the soldiers' eyes had been carefully drawn on the lead. Behind the footsoldiers were squadrons of cavalry. The riders sat erect, with their shields turned toward the opposing hill.
    Facing the rows of Greeks were enemy troops wearing darker, more somber uniforms. The enemy front row carried spears and shields, and following rows had swords held across their chests. The darker soldiers were backed by platoons of archers kneeling on a papier-mâché hill overlooking the