The King is Dead (2 page)

‘Oh, yes?' said Abel Bendigo.

‘How great makes an interesting speculation. There is in existence an industrial monster known as The Bodigen Arms Company, munitions manufacturers, with affiliates all over the globe. This company is supposed to be owned lock and stock by your brother King. I say “supposed to be” because the only “proof” presented in evidence of his alleged ownership is the rather amusing one that Bodigen is an anagram of Bendigo. If it should happen to be true, I salaam. During World War II a single branch of The Bodigen Arms Company — just one branch out of the dozens in existence — showed profits after taxes of some forty-two millions a year.'

‘Go on,' said Abel Bendigo, blinking.

‘Your brother, Mr. Bendigo, is also said to be deeply involved in worldwide oil interests, steel, copper, aluminium — all the important metals — aircraft, shipbuilding, chemicals —'

‘Anything, that is,' said Inspector Queen, dabbing at his moustache, ‘relating to materials vital to war. I really must be getting downtown, Mr. Bendigo —'

‘Not yet.' Bendigo crossed his legs suddenly. ‘Go on, Mr. Queen.'

‘Personal data,' continued Ellery, ‘are almost as speculative. Your brother seems extremely shy. Little or nothing is known about his background. A photographer for a Kansas newspaper won a national spot-news photography award two years ago for snapping a picture of King Bendigo and managing to get away with an unbroken plate, although the decoy camera by which he pulled off the trick was smashed to crumbs — by these gentlemen here, for all I know. The photo shows a big man, handsome as the devil — I quote an eye-witness — at that time fifty-two years old, which makes him fifty-four today. But he looks little more than forty or so, and he carries himself — I quote again — “with an arrogant self-confidence usually associated with twenty.” “Dressed to kill,” it says here, and you'll forgive me if I wonder whether the reporter was trifling libellously with the English language when he wrote it.'

King Bendigo's brother smiled, but then the corners of his mouth dropped and snuffed the smile out.

‘I have in my possession,' he said slowly, ‘two letters. They were addressed to my brother. They're threat-letters.

‘Now a man in my brother's position, no matter how careful he is to avoid publicity, can hardly avoid cranks. Colonel Spring's PRPD takes all the necessary precautions against that sort of thing as a matter of routine. These letters, however, are a different run of shad.'

Bendigo took two folded sheets of paper from his inside breast pocket. ‘I want you to examine these, please.'

‘All right,' said Ellery, and he came over.

The Inspector rose, too. ‘Where are the envelopes?'

‘King's secretaries discarded them before their importance was appreciated. My brother's staff opens all his mail for sorting and distribution — all, that is, except letters marked “confidential” or under special seal. These two letters, I understand, were in the ordinary mail.'

Ellery made no move to unfold them. ‘Was no attempt made to recover the envelopes, Mr. Bendigo? From the waste-basket, or wherever they were tossed?'

‘There are no waste-baskets at our offices. Each secretary has beside his desk a chute which leads to a central macerating machine. Discarded paper goes down the chute and is chewed to pulp. The pulp feeds automatically into an incinerator.'

‘Since smoke,' murmured Ellery, ‘can't be yanked out of a file?'

Abel Bendigo's lips pursed. ‘We have no use, Mr. Queen, for mere accumulations.'

‘Let's see those letters, Ellery,' said the Inspector.

The two sheets of paper were identical. They were creamy single sheets, personal letter size, of a fine vellum-type stationery, unmarked by monogram or imprint. In the centre of each sheet there was a single line of typewriting.

‘The six-word message was the first,' said Bendigo.

The six-word message was:

You are going to be murdered —

The dash was not casual. It was impressed into the paper, as if the key had been struck at that point with force.

The message on the second sheet was almost identical with that on the first. The only difference was the addition of two words:

You are going to be murdered on Thursday —

As in the first message, the dash had been physically emphasized.

The Queens studied the two messages.

Bendigo waited.

Finally, the Inspector looked up. ‘Where in these notes does it say that
your brother King
is going to be murdered, Mr. Bendigo? I don't see any name on these. Anywhere.'

‘The envelopes, Inspector Queen.'

‘Did you see the envelopes?'

‘No, but the staff —'

‘Did anyone but the secretaries who opened them — and threw them down the chute to be destroyed — see the envelopes?'

‘No. But they are reliable people, thoroughly screened. Of course, Inspector, you'll have to take my word for that. The envelopes were addressed to King Bendigo.' Bendigo was not irritated; if anything, he seemed pleased. ‘What do you think, Mr. Queen?'

‘I see what's bothering you. Threatening letters are usually hand-printed on cheap paper — the block-lettering, commonly in pencil, is almost always unidentifiable, and the cheap paper untraceable. These letters are remarkable for their frankness. The writer did not try to cover his tracks. He used expensive, distinctive notepaper which should be easy to trace. Instead of printing capitals in pencil, he typed his message on a Winchester —'

‘Winchester Noiseless Portable,' snapped the Inspector.

‘— virtually inviting identification. It's almost,' said Ellery thoughtfully, ‘as if he
wanted
the letters to be traced. Of course, they could be a practical joke.'

‘No one,' said Abel Bendigo, ‘jokes about the death of my brother King.'

‘Then they make no sense,' said Ellery, ‘at least to me. Do they make sense to you, Mr. Bendigo?'

‘It's your opinion, then, that these are the work of a crank?'

‘No, indeed,' murmured Ellery. ‘They make no sense because they're obviously
not
the work of a crank. The letters are unfinished: the first ends with an emphasized dash, the second adds a fact and ends with another emphasized dash. There is a progression here. So there will be more letters with more information. Since the first letter promises murder and the second promises murder on a Thursday, logically a third letter will specify on which of the fifty-two possible Thursdays the murder is planned to take place. It adds up to cold calculation, not aberration. Why, then, leave an open trail? That's why I say it makes no sense.'

The man in the leather chair seemed to weigh Ellery's words, each one carefully.

‘How far apart did the letters arrive?' asked the Inspector.

‘The second came Monday. The first a week ago.'

Ellery shrugged, turning to the mantel and his pipe. ‘I don't get it. I mean the purpose of all this, Mr. Bendigo. Your establishment is important and powerful enough to employ a private police force of great efficiency. Determining the authorship of these letters should be a kindergarten exercise to your Colonel Spring. Am I seriously to take it that you're proposing to engage me to do it for him?'

‘I haven't made myself clear.' Abel Bendigo's blandness remained unmarred. ‘This matter has nothing to do with Colonel Spring or the security department. I have not permitted it to be put in the Colonel's hands … I consider it too special a problem. I'm handling it personally.'

‘And you haven't got anywhere,' grinned the Inspector.

‘What worries me' — the prominent eyes chilled — ‘is that I
have
got somewhere.'

‘Oh,' said Ellery. ‘Then you know who sent the letters?'

‘I believe,' said Abel Bendigo, ‘I do.'

The Queens exchanged glances.

‘Well,' demanded the older man, ‘and who is it?'

Bendigo did not reply.

Ellery looked at the two guards. They had not relaxed. It was hard to say that they were even listening. ‘Shall we send these boys out for a beer, Mr. Bendigo?'

‘You misunderstand. I'd rather not disclose what I've found because I don't want to prejudice your investigation. I never jump to conclusions, Mr. Queen. And when I reach a conclusion I invariably double-check it. There's always the possibility — though not the probability — that in this matter I'm wrong. I want you gentlemen to tell me whether I am or not.'

‘And your brother King? What does he think of all this, Mr. Bendigo?'

‘He glanced at the letters and laughed. Threats amuse him. They don't amuse me.'

‘Then he doesn't know the results of your private investigation? Or even that you've been investigating?'

Bendigo shrugged. ‘I haven't told him. What he knows or doesn't know is another matter.' He said abruptly, ‘I want you both to come with me.'

‘This morning?'

‘This minute.'

Inspector Queen stared as if Abel Bendigo were out of his mind.

Ellery smiled. ‘My father is a salaried employee of the City of New York, Mr. Bendigo. And while I'm a relatively free soul, the necessity of earning a living has managed to foul me up in responsibilities and commitments. You can't walk in here and expect us to get up and walk out with you — with even you, Mr. Bendigo — on five minutes' notice.'

‘Your father has been taken care of —'

‘Hold it.' The Inspector deliberately went back to the drop-leaf table and sat down. ‘And how would you go about “taking care of” me, Mr. Bendigo?'

But Bendigo said patiently, ‘As for you, Mr. Queen, you're between novels and you are four issues ahead with the editorial work on
Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine
. And the only investigation on your calendar at the present time has been taken out of your hands.'

‘Has it?' said Ellery. ‘That's news to me.'

‘If you'll glance through your morning mail, you'll find a note from a man named Harold P. Consideo terminating your connexion with his affairs.'

Ellery looked at him. He went to the table after a moment and picked up the letters on his breakfast plate. He shuffled through them and came to one that made him stop and look at Abel Bendigo again. Then he tore off the end of the envelope.

A letter fell out. Ellery glanced through it. The Inspector reached over and took the letter and he read it, too.

‘Mr. Bendigo,' said Ellery, ‘what makes you think you can interfere in my life this way?' The man in the chair drummed on the leather. ‘How well do you know Consideo?'

‘I don't know him at all. These things are easily arranged. Let's not waste time on Consideo. Are you ready?'

‘Me?' said Ellery. ‘I think not.'

‘How long will it take you?'

‘Too long, Mr. Bendigo, for your busy schedule.'

Bendigo opened his pink mouth. But then he shut it and regarded Ellery earnestly. ‘Why do you take this attitude?'

‘A shoehorn has nothing to say about who buys it or the use it's put to. A man wants to feel that he has. Mr. Bendigo,' said Ellery, ‘I like to be asked.'

‘And I'm his old man,' said his father.

‘I apologize. We Bendigos live in something of a vacuum. Of course, you're perfectly right.' He leaned forward, pudgy hands clasped like a deacon. ‘Making sure who wrote these letters is of great importance, and not only to me. The assassination of my brother would be followed by the most serious consequences all over the world.' He was choosing his words with care. Now he looked up at them with a smile. ‘Would you gentlemen accept the assignment?'

Ellery smiled back. ‘Where are your headquarters?'

‘On Bendigo Island.'

‘Bendigo Island … I don't believe I know it. Do you, Dad?'

‘I've heard tell,' said the Inspector dryly, ‘but I can't tell you where it is.'

‘It's not well known,' said their visitor. ‘And you won't find it on any chart.'

‘Where is it?'

Abel Bendigo looked regretful. ‘I really mustn't say, Mr. Queen. It's one of our strictest rules. You'll be taken there and returned to this apartment when the job is done.'

‘How far away is it?'

‘I wish I were free to tell you.'

‘How long does it take to get there from New York?'

‘Planes travel fast these days. Not too long.'

Ellery shrugged. ‘I'm afraid, Mr. Bendigo, I'll have to think it over.'

‘And
I'm
afraid,' said Inspector Queen, getting out of his chair, ‘I'll have to be moseying on down to Centre Street. Interesting experience meeting you, Mr. Bendigo, and I've never meant anything more in my life.'

‘Call your office first, Inspector.'

‘What for?'

‘You'll find that, as of this morning, you're on leave of absence. On full pay.'

‘Now I know this is a pipe dream!'

The Inspector, russet about the ears and neck, stamped past Brown Shirt into his bedroom. Abel Bendigo quietly waited. Ellery heard his father's voice, on his direct wire to Police Headquarters, raised in outrage, as if a leave of absence on full pay were cruel and unusual punishment. When the Inspector came out, however, he was looking thoughtful.

‘Nobody seems to know how it happened or why!'

Bendigo smiled again. ‘Mr. Queen, you'll change your mind?'

‘I can't very well change it when I haven't yet made it up.'

Bendigo rose, glancing at his wristwatch. Something final glittered from his eyeglasses. ‘I was asked not to use this unless it became necessary, Mr. Queen. You've left me no choice.' He handed a long envelope to Ellery. Then he turned to one of the windows, clasping his hands at his back.

The Inspector glared at the envelope. It was addressed by hand to
Mr. Ellery Queen, New York City
. The reverse was heavily sealed with wax.