The Player on the Other Side (19 page)

‘He hasn't confessed?' Ellery asked slowly.

‘He hasn't
anything
, I tell you. Anyway, the evidence confesses for him.' The old man closed his eyes and settled down on his tail. ‘Let me tell it from the top. Ann Drew called the news in, hysterical. When I got there I found Myra dead, and those three females …' He shuddered. ‘Took me half the morning to get coherent stories out of them. Even the policewoman.

‘By that time,' he continued, ‘I'd found the envelope with the W-card in it, and I'd also had a preliminary report from Doc Prouty about the poison, because some of it had spilled on the night table and on the floor beside Myra's bed — only a few grains, but enough for a quick analysis. Prouty's done the p.m. since, and his findings check. It's a commercial rat poison — arsenic and Dicumerol compound. The box it came from is still on a shelf in the Robert York garage, half empty. The gin in the jug is loaded with it. The glass she drank from is coated with it. And there was enough in Myra's innards to kill a couple of horses.'

Their car raced into the almost-tunnel under the U.N. Building, and Inspector Queen subsided. When they emerged he said, ‘You know how fast that stuff kills?'

‘With a big dose? I'd say five minutes.'

‘The dose was bigger than that,' said the Inspector grimly. ‘Nearer three minutes, Prouty says. Well, yesterday afternoon Walt showed up to fix a porch screen that was torn and to clean a stained bathtub —'

‘I know,' Ellery said. ‘I met him coming out, and he told me about it.'

‘He was upstairs there almost an hour. While he was fixing the screen, Myra was nipping at her jug. And showed no ill effects, so at that time the gin in the jug had to be all right. Then Walt came in to work on the tub in Myra's bathroom. Myra was higher than a kite, so for propriety's sake Ann and Policewoman Constant hustled her into Ann's room. They didn't take Myra back to her own room until Walt finished and left.'

‘So during that period Walt was alone in Myra's quarters?'

‘That's it. And after the women brought Myra back and until she went to bed last night, the policewoman states, neither Ann Drew nor Mrs. Schriver nor anyone else touched that jug — Constant swears to that. Not even Myra, because they wouldn't let her have any more — the only reason Ann didn't take the jug away altogether, she says, is that Myra would have raised holy hell. Anyway, Constant herself locked the bedroom door after they put Myra to bed, and that room wasn't entered until this morning, when Ann unlocked the door and found her dead. She'd obviously waited till they left her alone, then downed a whole glassful of arsenic-flavored gin. Prouty says she died well before midnight. She was mighty cold turkey this morning.'

‘So only Walt could have dropped the stuff into the jug.' Ellery seemed uneasy. ‘Yet he didn't confess, you say.'

‘He didn't deny, either!' said his father, the irritation rubbing through.

‘And that's it, Dad?'

‘No, that's not it. There's more. After I'd got the women's stories yesterday morning, I sent for Walt. When he was brought in I was mulling over what they'd told me, and the card business and all so I wasn't really paying him much mind. I actually heard myself say to him, “What's your full name?” as if he were a suspect in a line-up.'

The old man paused, so casually that Ellery jerked to attention. ‘So?' Ellery said. ‘What's the point?'

‘The point,' the Inspector said, ‘is that he answered my question — in full.'

‘Answered the question in full? What do you mean?'

‘He gave me his name. His full name.'

‘His full name? He doesn't know his full name!'

‘I guess I shocked it out of him,' the Inspector said with a faint chuckle. ‘You can do that sometimes with amnesiacs.'

‘But what is it? What did he say?'

‘Why,' said the old man, ‘he said, “John Henry Walt.”'

‘John Henry Walt? Walt is his
surname
?' Ellery turned the name over on his tongue. ‘John — Henry — Walt. John Henry Walt!' he exploded. ‘
The initials of his name!
'

‘J, H and now W,' nodded Inspector Queen waving the white card Myra York had received. ‘It's not really surprising, son. You know how these birds unconsciously want to be caught. This one was signing his name — in installments.'

‘He's crazy!' Ellery howled, as if his father had not spoken at all; and then he remembered that he had said something like that about John Henry Walt at the very beginning.

21

Attack Pressed

He had concluded his most recent letter of instructions to Walt — specifying and explicating the various matters of screen-mending. Miss Myra's bathtub rust stain, the granular material in the box on the garage shelf and the alternatives of opportunity open to Walt for the dropping of the material into the jug at Miss Myra's bedside — in this vein:

… therefore we have now come to a situation in which you may have to reveal yourself.

You may not say my name, but in all other ways you may answer their questions. Or, if you choose, you may answer some or none at all.

Remember, you need fear nothing, for in this matter you are I. And you know who I am, My Dear Walt. These men cannot harm me, and through me you are immune. You have my blessing and my protection.

I am proud of you. I trust you. I admire you.

Y

22

Position Play

He sat dampishly on the rivulets of the old black leather chair near Inspector Queen's desk, all bulge-eyes and grudging hair, and looking not at all like a coming fortunate man. The Inspector's office door was open, and now and again someone would walk in, drop papers in the Inspector's
IN
basket, glance sluggishly at the incipient millionaire and walk out. When these intruders were in uniform Percival York would sigh a small comforted sigh. When the men who dropped in wore ordinary clothing, he would frankly cower until they left. Throughout, he sweated.

The arrival of the Queens, father and son, aroused his gratitude. Percival said, ‘Hellohellohello,' in a warm tone and actually rose to offer his hand, such as it was. Ellery gave a token wave; the Inspector ignored it.

‘What do
you
want?' the Inspector asked absently, sitting down at his desk and poking in the basket. He picked out a file folder and at once became absorbed in its contents.

York put his fingers in his mouth and popped his eyes. Then he took the fingers out and said, ‘Autopsy report on my cousin Myra?'

‘Did you read it, Mr. York?' Ellery asked, reading it himself over the Inspector's shoulder. ‘Nothing spectacular, Dad,' he murmured, ‘far as I can see. Oh, you
didn't
read it, Mr. York. Well, you haven't missed anything.' He was about to add, You're also sitting in my favorite chair; but then he shrugged and perched on the corner of his father's desk instead.

The Inspector uttered an impolite sound and scaled Doc Prouty's opus to one side. ‘I seem to remember, Mr. York,' he said, ‘asking you a question.'

‘Fair enough,' Percival giggled. ‘I'll ask you one, Inspector, and we'll be even. Did you know my cousin Myra used to be a fatal female?'

‘A what?' said the Inspector.

‘A lover-girl. Ashtoreth and Freya and Lorelei. What you'd call a vamp, I suppose. That Myra,' mourned Percival shaking his head. ‘Too bad.'

‘What are you talking about?'

‘And got through the whole thing
virgo intacta
, or I miss my guess,' said Percival, sucking on a thumb thoughtfully.

Ellery asked softly, ‘Mallory?'

‘Mallory and.'

‘Mallory and?' The old gentleman was becoming nettled. ‘Mallory and! What kind of sense does that make?'

Percival York smirked.

‘Let's have it.' Although it is not possible to describe the Inspector's tone, except in terms of quietude, it made Percival York stop smirking and begin to talk almost like a rational human being.

‘Maybe I'm clobbering a dead horse,' the Sole Survivor conceded, ‘maybe it was only kid stuff, but hear this: Mallory had a rival. Did you know that?'

‘No, I didn't,' confessed Ellery with gleaming eyes. ‘Who was the dead horse, pray?'

‘Nathaniel York, Junior, in living memory of,' exulted Percival, quoting the bronze plaque in York Square. ‘Gone but not forgotten. Head split open on a tropical mud-flat, all for love and a world well lost. Though he was breathing plenty hard while he had it.'

‘Nathaniel, Junior, was in love with Myra York?'

‘Mad about her. Myra was delicious in her bloom, and I yield to no man in my devotion to
l'amour
, but that boy overdid it. Would go about mumbling things like Myra was his oyster and oh how he'd like to swallow her whole — that sort of tenth-grade hyperbole.

‘But Junior's papa,' continued Percival, lying back to enjoy his sensation, ‘— that was my revered uncle, Nathaniel o' the Purse Strings — old Nate threw fits. Very loud ones, too, full of I'll cut-you-offs and thou-shalt-nots and so on — Uncle Nathaniel was co-author of the Ten Commandments, a sort of post-Victorian Moses crossed with the spirit of Billy Sunday. Because Myra and young Nat were first cousins, you see. But Junior didn't care a figleaf about that, and anyway Uncle's pride and joy was all set to clasp the blushful maiden to his breast and flee, when along comes this Mallory, and Myra falls in love with
him
. And that's when Junior fleed — flew — oh, hell, you know what I mean — and got himself butchered in the Mato Grosso or somewhere. After which, heh-heh, Mallory dumped
her
. And that, gentlemen, is a little-known chapter in York history.'

‘I thought,' said Ellery, ‘that Junior's reason for lighting out —'

‘Oh, yes,' said the York remnant magnanimously, ‘that was part of it, of course. But I doubt if Junior'd ever have given Papa the flirt of his exhaust except for Myra's fickleness. The two things gave him just enough thrust to escape Senior's orbit.'

‘Well,' murmured Queen the younger.

‘Well, what?' grated Queen the elder. ‘Kicking corpses around! Who cares about Junior's love-life twenty years ago, or whenever it was? Is that what brought you here, York? Because if it is, I'm busy, and thank you.'

Percival York shot glances to the right, the left and, otherwise unmoving, gave an all-by-himself impression of huddling. ‘I had to know something.'

The Inspector picked up the Myra York autopsy report again; not looking at York, he said, ‘What?'

‘Did Myra get a card? Like the ones Robert and Emily got?'

The old man looked up at that. ‘Why do you want to know?'

‘I just want to.' Percival sat up in the chair and pushed out his narrow chest. He also pushed out his lips.

‘You wouldn't be scared, would you?' asked the Inspector softly.

‘Who, me?'

‘All right,' said Ellery. ‘There was a card for Myra, too.'

‘God,' said York. ‘Oh, my God.'

‘I don't get this,' said the Inspector. ‘Why does that bother you so much, Mr. York?'

‘Because Myra wasn't — well, you know — well,' said Percival earnestly. ‘Or what you might call happy. I'd been rather — I mean, I think maybe —'

‘You thought maybe she wrote her own ticket bye-bye? Well, Mr. York, she didn't. What d'ye think we put Walt in the can for — jaywalking?'

Bull's-eye, Ellery thought, watching Percival York twitch.

‘He really did it, then …'

‘You don't think so?'

‘I don't know, Inspector. I don't see
why …
' He looked at them beseechingly. ‘May I ask what was on the card?'

‘A W,' said Ellery.

‘W? Did Walt confess?'

‘No,' said Ellery.

‘Then I don't see that proves it was Walt —'

‘Mr. York,' said Richard Queen. ‘Remember what the letters on the other cards were?'

‘A J on Robert's, and H on Emily's.'

‘And d'ye know Walt's full name?'

‘I don't think anyone does. Even Walt. Especially Walt.'

‘It's John Henry Walt,' said Ellery.

‘John Hen — JHW! Ohhhhh. Ohhhhhhhhh,' said Percival, the second sound being the sound of revealed truth. ‘Then he really did do it,' Percival breathed, as if this were the first time he had permitted himself even to hope for such a beautiful thing. ‘Crazy, man! I suppose he's plain psycho. By God,' said Percival York, preening himself, ‘I'm all right now!'

‘In the sense that you're safe,' said the Inspector dryly, ‘I'd say so.'

York rose, above the slur, in every dimension seeming to have increased by half. ‘Well, then,
hell
,' he said jovially. ‘We ought to have a drink and I'm buying!'

‘Sorry,' said Inspector Queen. ‘On duty, y'know.'

‘Off duty,' said Ellery. ‘Thanks just the same.'

York shrugged. He picked up his hat and jauntily walked out.

Ellery caught his father's stabbing gesture and jumped off the desk to swing the door shut as the Inspector dived for his phone. ‘Velie? Percival York's leaving the building and I want somebody to ride on his back and I
don't
want him to know; understand? Who've you got — Johnson, Hesse? Then how about Zilgitt? All right, put Zillie on him, and when Johnson or Hesse checks in tell him to tail Zillie. Anything happens to York, Velie, I'll have Doc Prouty uncork the Black Death around here.' He hung up and ground his hard old knuckles into his eye sockets.

‘Why?' murmured Ellery. ‘When you've got your man?'

‘Don't start going fancy on me, my son,' growled the old man. ‘I've got the right one, all right. Maybe I can't prove Walt knocked Robert York's head off, and maybe nobody can prove he shoved Emily York onto those subway tracks, but I've sure got him for poisoning Myra. All I need's a few bows to tie up the package, and our boy Percival may be hiding some ribbon ends in his pants pockets, that's all.'