Dark of the moon - Dr. Gideon Fell 22 by John Dickson Carr Page B
Authors: John Dickson Carr
Tags: Mystery
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gesture of despair. "Oh, God save us! Men!"
In silence Camilla and Alan followed the little procession up the steps, across the porch, and into the main hall. Putting down mask and glove on the table, where Rip had put his own glove and Yancey the bat, Alan took his coat from Camilla. There was no sign of Henry Maynard, for which he felt profoundly grateful.
"Honeychile," Yancey exclaimed to Madge, "where's your daddy?"
"If you ask me, he's up in his study doing a little sulking. Yancey, wait! Where are you going?"
"That salver thing we were using for home plate: I left it out in the sand! And he's as mad as a hornet already! I'll just—"
"No, let it be! George will bring it in!"
"Yes, Stonewall," advised Rip Hillboro, "you let it be. I've got something to say."
A subdued Rip, who had made handsome apology, clearly could not remain subdued. He had reared up again. His fair hair in a crew-cut seemed only a knife-edge of hair.
"Just before we went out there," he said, "I started to ask a question. And I'll ask it now come hell or high water. Follow me."
This time the procession poured after him down into the library, Dr. Fell bringing up the rear. Rip assumed a commanding position in the middle of the room.
"A remark was made—in what context I don't know and can't say; the Oracle of Goliath wouldn't tell me— that somebody has been acting suspiciously. Here's my question, ladies and gentlemen, and I think we'll all be interested in the answer." Dramatically he stabbed a finger towards the door on the right of the fireplace. "Which of you stole the tomahawk out of that room?"
7
A lightning-bolt just outside the windows could have produced no greater effect.
"Tomahawk?" blurted Madge.
"No!" Camilla whispered. "No, no, no!
"Somebody acting suspiciously?" she continued to Rip. "You heard something when you came in here with Yancey. But it wasn't what you think you heard."
"Wasn't it?"
"Mr. Crandall was telling us about a girl from Jersey City. Madge's father is suspicious of the stories he tells and the language, he-uses, always afraid he'll come out with something dreadful—"
"—which he often does, let's face it," concurred Mr. Crandall, addressing Dr. Fell. "Maybe I'm out of place in good society. My father was a cabinet-maker; he apprenticed me to a cabinet-maker when I was fifteen years old. But I didn't stay apprenticed; there was too much printer's ink in my veins. I'm a crude kind of fellow, au fond, though I've picked up a good deal over the years. I can be very refined when I want to be. When it's absolutely necessary, I can be as refined as all getout! You see—"
"Not," Camilla interrupted, "that there hasn't been suspicious behavior, everywhere and all the time. Considering what happened at half-past one this morning, when Madge saw a man on the beach ..." Rapidly she recounted Madge's story, to the cross-eyed absorption of Dr. Fell. "And now, to top everything else . . . !"
Madge herself, lost in some unhappy dream, did not seem to be listening. She ran across to the open door of the other room, which remained dark, and groped just inside for a switch. Light glowed from a crystal chandelier. The others followed Madge inside.
It was as lofty as the library, though a good deal narrower between this door and a big double-leaf French window, flanked by a sash window on either side, in the opposite wall at the back. Both French window and sash windows were masked in rich red curtains patterned with gold.
Against walls of polished white wood more Maynard ancestors looked down from portraits. But first of all, on those walls, you saw the weapons.
The firearms, set out in tiers, ranged from an early flintlock musket down through heavy eighteenth- and nineteenth-century rifles to a Winchester repeater circa 1898, with pistols of corresponding dates. All were well-cared-for but dark with age. Along the right-haad wall, stretched a rack of swords. Beside the French window, incongruously, a blackboard
In silence Camilla and Alan followed the little procession up the steps, across the porch, and into the main hall. Putting down mask and glove on the table, where Rip had put his own glove and Yancey the bat, Alan took his coat from Camilla. There was no sign of Henry Maynard, for which he felt profoundly grateful.
"Honeychile," Yancey exclaimed to Madge, "where's your daddy?"
"If you ask me, he's up in his study doing a little sulking. Yancey, wait! Where are you going?"
"That salver thing we were using for home plate: I left it out in the sand! And he's as mad as a hornet already! I'll just—"
"No, let it be! George will bring it in!"
"Yes, Stonewall," advised Rip Hillboro, "you let it be. I've got something to say."
A subdued Rip, who had made handsome apology, clearly could not remain subdued. He had reared up again. His fair hair in a crew-cut seemed only a knife-edge of hair.
"Just before we went out there," he said, "I started to ask a question. And I'll ask it now come hell or high water. Follow me."
This time the procession poured after him down into the library, Dr. Fell bringing up the rear. Rip assumed a commanding position in the middle of the room.
"A remark was made—in what context I don't know and can't say; the Oracle of Goliath wouldn't tell me— that somebody has been acting suspiciously. Here's my question, ladies and gentlemen, and I think we'll all be interested in the answer." Dramatically he stabbed a finger towards the door on the right of the fireplace. "Which of you stole the tomahawk out of that room?"
7
A lightning-bolt just outside the windows could have produced no greater effect.
"Tomahawk?" blurted Madge.
"No!" Camilla whispered. "No, no, no!
"Somebody acting suspiciously?" she continued to Rip. "You heard something when you came in here with Yancey. But it wasn't what you think you heard."
"Wasn't it?"
"Mr. Crandall was telling us about a girl from Jersey City. Madge's father is suspicious of the stories he tells and the language, he-uses, always afraid he'll come out with something dreadful—"
"—which he often does, let's face it," concurred Mr. Crandall, addressing Dr. Fell. "Maybe I'm out of place in good society. My father was a cabinet-maker; he apprenticed me to a cabinet-maker when I was fifteen years old. But I didn't stay apprenticed; there was too much printer's ink in my veins. I'm a crude kind of fellow, au fond, though I've picked up a good deal over the years. I can be very refined when I want to be. When it's absolutely necessary, I can be as refined as all getout! You see—"
"Not," Camilla interrupted, "that there hasn't been suspicious behavior, everywhere and all the time. Considering what happened at half-past one this morning, when Madge saw a man on the beach ..." Rapidly she recounted Madge's story, to the cross-eyed absorption of Dr. Fell. "And now, to top everything else . . . !"
Madge herself, lost in some unhappy dream, did not seem to be listening. She ran across to the open door of the other room, which remained dark, and groped just inside for a switch. Light glowed from a crystal chandelier. The others followed Madge inside.
It was as lofty as the library, though a good deal narrower between this door and a big double-leaf French window, flanked by a sash window on either side, in the opposite wall at the back. Both French window and sash windows were masked in rich red curtains patterned with gold.
Against walls of polished white wood more Maynard ancestors looked down from portraits. But first of all, on those walls, you saw the weapons.
The firearms, set out in tiers, ranged from an early flintlock musket down through heavy eighteenth- and nineteenth-century rifles to a Winchester repeater circa 1898, with pistols of corresponding dates. All were well-cared-for but dark with age. Along the right-haad wall, stretched a rack of swords. Beside the French window, incongruously, a blackboard
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