The Player on the Other Side (25 page)

‘He won't get hurt,' Ellery assured her, ‘although he's got to get shocked, and scared. There's somebody in the offing who's expecting exactly that, and that somebody mustn't be disappointed.'

‘What are you intending to do?'

He smiled at her, but not with his eyes. ‘Restricted information, Ann,' and quickly, ‘Here he comes — and goes. That fellow takes the “swift completion of his appointed rounds” business seriously, doesn't he?'

Through the dining-room window, diagonally across the little park, they saw the mailman. He was a young one, who leaped up Percival York's front steps, barely paused and was off again. Something in Ellery was whimsically nettled by the speed and casualness. There should have been — at the least — a sting of menacing music. And here, oblivious in his cousin's house, Percival York, instead of releasing a booming laugh (as he did), chased by Archer's comradely cackle (as now happened), should have begun to shrivel under the shadow of a great and featureless foreboding. Mighty poor mood-writing, Ellery told it in his heart.

Ann asked tremulously, ‘Are you going to let Perce just … find it there when he gets home?' He knew she was thinking of how alone he would be at the moment of truth, with no one to turn to.

‘Certainly not,' Ellery said. ‘You watch.'

And so Ann Drew watched — watched the closed door of the castle oblique to their vantage post, its blind lamps, the grin of its slit-lipped mail slot … watched as the door swung inward and the sturdy little figure of Mrs. Schriver appeared, bearing something in two dimensions, a white rectangle.

‘She's under orders,' said Ellery to the stricken girl. ‘Complete the delivery,' and he left the dining room so abruptly that Beelzebub started and woofed.

Ellery strode to the study, knuckled the door frame to announce himself to Percival York and Tom Archer and stepped inside.

Because it was uncluttered and otherwise unused, Inspector Queen had set up his field headquarters, as it were, in the little bedroom-workroom of the late Emily York's house directly north of the battle site.

The Inspector and three of his lieutenants were studying a detailed plan of York Square, its four castles and environs, when Sergeant Velie thundered in.

‘Jonesy just called, Inspector. He's nosed out a flop joint where some character's been coming in late at night and rattling away on a typewriter in the room he rented.'

Quiet settled. The tip of the Inspector's nose had changed color. He stared at the good sergeant as if he had never seen that grizzled enormity before.

‘Velie. Tell him to seal that room —'

‘Jonesy did that first thing.'

‘— keep the manager under wraps till I get there —'

‘He's got the manager practically hog-tied.'

‘— get his hooks on the typewriter —'

‘That,' Sergeant Velie rumbled uneasily, ‘Jonesy can't do, Inspector. It's gone. The guy checked out.'

The old man cursed and jumped up. ‘What name was he registered under?'

‘W-y-e, Jonesy said. Wye.'

‘Tell Jones to sit on this till I get there!' Velie, for all his bulk, took off like a sparrow. ‘Piggott, buzz the Robert York house and tell my son to wait outside — now. Then go relieve Hesse — you'll find him in the bushes beside the terrace. Zillie, I'm leaving you in charge of Percival York's skin, and right now it's a hell of a lot more valuable than yours, I don't care what the NAACP says!' Detective Zilgitt grinned. ‘Now hop.'

Sergeant Velie had the cruiser waiting, and he burned rubber down the Square to Robert York's. Ellery made it in one bound, and they headed west.

‘What's going on?'

‘Somebody leaked,' said Inspector Queen through his teeth. ‘Jones found some fleabag hotel where a man's been staying who used a typewriter at night and calls himself Mr. W-y-e.'

Ellery blinked. ‘Anyone we know?'

‘We'll soon find out.'

Ellery shifted on his lean rump. ‘Leaked? How do you mean?'

‘He's gone,' spat the Inspector. ‘
And
his typewriter.'

‘Not necessarily a leak, Dad.'

‘He's lit out, hasn't he? How else would you figure?'

‘Period,' said Ellery. ‘Project accomplished. He's through, that's all.'

The Inspector chewed on a thumbnail. ‘Sure. Of course. This case is getting me … Velie!' he howled. ‘Don't
park
here. Get going!'

‘Now he's going to take it out on me,' Sergeant Velie said in an aggrieved tone. ‘What am I supposed to do, Inspector, fly this thing?' They were caught in an intersection jam-up.

‘What's bothering me,' murmured Ellery, ‘is — Walt should have received the usual letter of instruction from Y. It ought to be on the clipboard in Walt's ceiling right now. When was it last checked, Dad?'

‘About an hour ago, and it wasn't there. Maybe this time the robot destroyed it. What bothers
me
,' muttered the Inspector, massaging his rigid neck, ‘is the post office promised to tip us to any letter addressed to Walt, too, and they didn't.
Why?
'

‘Maybe because it didn't go through the mail.'

‘Then it would have to have been delivered by hand! And the men all swear it wasn't.'

‘Not this morning. But how about last night?'

‘Last
night?
' the old man said blankly.

‘Yes. The security force moves as Percival moves. Last night Perce went back to his house, as usual, and the men went back with him. Leaving,' Ellery said savagely, ‘leaving Robert's premises unguarded. Meaning that Y himself, in person could have slipped up to Walt's, dropped his letter of instructions
in re
Operation Percival, and slipped away. Mr. W-y-e plays a mighty cool game. I'm beginning to feel like an idiot.' Then he shouted, ‘Velie! Can't you get us out of this mess?'

‘You, too?' mourned the sergeant; and he once more activated his siren. The traffic tangle slowly unsnarled.

The Inspector began a bitter mumble, ‘That's what comes —'

‘I know,' yelled Ellery. ‘That's what comes of an insistence on taking the tails off Walt! All right, it's my fault! Does that satisfy you?'

His father, startled, subsided. Ellery, ashamed immediately, also subsided. They sat, each man an island, side by side, in silence. Just as Sergeant Velie got in the clear Ellery said, ‘I'm sorry, Dad,' and the Inspector said, ‘For what, for what?' and they both felt better. But not much.

With surface irrelevance, as the sergeant rocketed them toward their objective, Ellery found himself thinking of Percival York, and how he had taken the arrival of his white card with the second H on it. First Percival had shut his eyes. Then he had opened them. Then he had begun to perspire. Then he had turned yellowish and had seemed about to faint. But when Ellery had reached quickly for the carafe and a glass, Percival had shaken his head and said, ‘It's all right, Mr. Queen. In a way I'm glad. The waiting, the not knowing, is a lot worse. I'll be fine. Let the devil come. I'm ready.' Percival York had rejoined the human race.

Which I'd better do, too, Ellery thought grimly; and he leaned forward, approximately himself again, as the sergeant shot the cruiser up to the curb before the Hotel Altitude.

The word ‘Hotel' in its title may have had technical justification, but otherwise it was as relative to the conjuration of whispering elevators, cut flowers in spanking rooms all foam and chrome and noiseless waiters as the one-hoss shay to Cape Kennedy.

The Altitude was an old-law, five-story rattletrap of once-red brick, with flaking fire escapes on its shade-lidded, embarrassed façade, and the mean smell of poverty. Everything about it, outside and in, spoke of dirt and secrets.

The lobby was tiny and so, except for his ears, was the ancient desk clerk. He was bald and unshaven and all but toothless; and he was frightened almost to death by the towering young plainclothesman, Jones.

‘This is the manager, Inspector,' said Jones smartly. ‘Doubles as desk clerk.'

‘You've done a good day's work, Jones,' growled Inspector Queen; and, ‘You,' he rapped to the little bald old man, ‘what's your name?'

The flaccid chin wobbled. Finally, ‘Gill.'

‘All right, Gill, let's see your book.'

‘Book?'

‘Registry!'

‘Oh. Use cards, I do.'

‘I don't care if you use toilet paper! Let me see the record for this Mr. Wye.'

The ancient's hand shook its way through a five-and-dime store tin-box, file, located a card.

‘No hold it by the edges! That's right. Now drop it on this.' The Inspector spread his handkerchief on the cigarette-stippled desk.

He stooped over it tautly, Ellery sat by his side. Name: Wye comma dash. Address: New York City. Mr. Wye-comma-dash had checked in seven weeks before, checked out the preceding night. The handwriting on the registration card was as uncertain as a kindergarten exercise.

‘Funny handwriting,' muttered Ellery; but: ‘Oh, I wrote this card up,' quavered Mr. Gill.

They looked at each other.

‘How come?' snapped the Inspector.

‘Had to. He made the reservation by phone, said he'd be checking in late, wanted everything ready for him, asked how much the room'd be by the month. I told him, and he said he'd mail it to me. When the money came in, I put the key in Room Three-twelve and left the door unlocked, like he told me to do.'

‘Did he spell his name for you?' asked Ellery. ‘This W-y-e?'

‘Well, sure. No … wait … Guess he didn't at that.'

‘This is your spelling, then?'

‘Well, yes.'

‘Why isn't there a first name on the card?'

‘Didn't give me none. I asked him over the phone, and he mumbled something I didn't get. So I put in a dash.'

Inspector Queen retrieved his handkerchief in disgust, picked up the card. ‘When Why paid the second month's rent in advance — was that by cash, too?'

‘Yep.' Mr. Gill was losing his fear; his answers came readily now, as if he had suddenly mastered a difficult situation.

‘All right,' said the Inspector, and leaned toward the ancient across the desk. ‘Now listen to me very carefully, Mr. Gill. And answer the same way! What did this man look like?'

Mr. Gill retreated into apprehension. ‘I dunno.'

‘You don't
know
?'

‘He never come by the desk. Left the second month's money on the night table in his room, sticking out of the Gideon.'

‘Well, you must have seen him —'

‘Thought I did once,' Mr. Gill said hurriedly. ‘About three
A
.
M
., must have been. Course, it could have been somebody else. I was kind of dozing, like.'

Again the Queens looked at each other. Plainclothesman Jones looked on in sympathy.

‘All
right
,' said the Inspector with iron patience. ‘You thought you saw him once. What did he look like?'

‘I dunno, I tell you. Just saw him — I guess it was him — going out the door. Don't keep much light going, three o'clock and all.'

‘Well, was he tall, short, big, skinny, blond, brunet, limping?
Anything?
'

Mr. Gill looked helpless. ‘Dunno. Just a feller going out.'

‘His voice,' said Ellery. ‘You said —'

‘Dunno.'

‘Wait a second! You
said
you talked to him on the phone when he made the reservation. What kind of voice did he have?'

Mr. Gill seemed about to burst into senile tears. ‘I tell ye I
dunno!
Voice. Man's voice. Just a man's voice.'

‘Deep? Medium? High?'

‘I dunno,' Mr. Gill said, vocally wringing his hands. ‘I don't hear so good over the phone no more.'

Ellery stepped back. ‘I give up,' he said.

‘Well, not me!' snarled his father. ‘Look, Gill! Did this Mr. Wye have any luggage? Do you know
that
?

‘Oh, yes, sir. Little black case, typewriter like. Kept it under the bed. Wasn't here much, just nights every now and then. Some sort of a salesman is my guess,' the manager added in an eager-to-please tone. But then he spoiled it. ‘Though Tillie says he never used the bed.'

‘Tillie's the maid, I take it?' the Inspector grunted. At the ancient's nod he yapped, ‘Well, tell her to stay out of Three-twelve until further notice!'

Officer Jones inserted a delicate cough. ‘The maid's been and gone sir. Sorry about that, Inspector. It was before I got here.'

‘Tillie cleans real good,' said Mr. Gill anxiously.

‘Bro-ther,' said Inspector Queen. ‘Okay, Gill —'

‘Hold it,' said Ellery, returning suddenly from retirement. ‘If you've had no contact with him, Mr. Gill, how do you know he's checked out? He's paid up through next week, isn't he? Or did he turn in his key?'

‘I can answer that, Mr. Queen,' said the young plainclothesman. ‘Seems he dropped it on the desk last night while the old man was snoozing. That's how Gill knew he checked out — he'd always retained possession of the key before that, or stashed it somewhere outside the room. That, and the fact that the typewriter's gone. He's always kept it here before this. I talked to the maid on the phone.'

‘Where's the key now?' demanded the Inspector.

‘I've snagged it, Inspector, for the print boys.'

‘Okay, let's go on up.'

Sergeant Velie was waiting for them outside a door with 312 nailed to it in rusting digits.

‘You find anything in here,' announced the sergeant, ‘and I'll eat it.'

‘Alert the print men, Velie.'

‘They're already on their way. Inspector. I called in.'

The sergeant opened the door and they trooped into Y's room. A chipped enamel bedstead with a hilly mattress; a carpet thin and scabrous as a Biblical leper; a sagging bureau; a chair; a night table and a drunkenly leaning lampstand; a sour-smelling cubby of a bathroom; and that was all.