The Devil's Cook by Ellery Queen Page B

watching him.
    â€œProfessor Miles,” he began.
    â€œIt’s Terry, isn’t it? She’s dead, isn’t she?”
    Jay’s voice was washed of life and luster. Bartholdi answered as if he were dictating mortuary statistics for the record.
    â€œIt’s a body. There was no identification on it. You can tell me if it’s your wife.”
    They went into the morgue, and saw, and it was. It was Terry, or what was left of her. In spite of the anguish and terror of violent death, she seemed at peace in this bleak depository. Perhaps it was only that she was empty. Her throat was clawed by her own nails, where she had dug futilely at whatever had strangled her; it was a miracle that any loveliness had survived. She had clearly been dead for some time. Jay’s mind caught and clung to an ugly thought.
    Thank God, the weather has been cold .
    â€œYes,” he said. “That’s Terry.”
    He spoke with a brittle brusqueness, as if impatient with the unpleasant task that fate had imposed upon him and wishing to be done with it. Bartholdi, watching him closely, recognized the last thin defense against hysteria. He took Jay by the arm and steered him away, jerking his head toward the door as his glance slid across the white mask of Farley’s face beyond Jay’s shoulder. In the hall, the three men stopped. A long sigh, like an escape valve, came from Jay.
    â€œAre you all right, Professor Miles?” Captain Bartholdi asked.
    â€œWhere did you find her?”
    â€œWe’d better go back to my office.”
    â€œPoor Terry. Poor Terry.”
    â€œI’m sorry this was necessary.”
    They took the elevator back to Bartholdi’s office. Jay had a peculiar gassy sensation, as though he were in danger of violating the law of gravity with every step; he kept lifting his feet, one after the other, with exorbitant care. He felt a great relief at reaching the security of a chair. He suddenly became aware that in the chair beside him sat Farley. He had forgotten Farley. He had no such positive feeling about Bartholdi, across the desk. Although the captain seemed kind and sympathetic, he was an unpleasant factor, brimming with painful questions demanding answers.
    â€œWould you like a glass of water?” Bartholdi asked.
    â€œNo, thanks.”
    â€œA cigarette?”
    Bartholdi passed them, and Jay and Farley accepted. The business of supplying lights accomplished, Bartholdi leaned back-behind a stratum of smoke. “Late this morning, shortly before noon, we received a call from a man who lives on the east edge of town, on Wildwood Road. This man has a son, a kid named Charles. It seems that Charles and a friend named Vernon decided on Sunday to investigate an empty old house in the neighborhood. Known as the Skully place. It seems this kid Charles was curious because he claims he saw a mysterious light moving in an upstairs window last Friday night. Or early Saturday morning, to be exact. The two boys got into the house through a basement window. Upstairs, in the same room where Charles claims to have seen the light, they found the body of your wife, Professor Miles. It. scared the daylights out of them, of course, and they ran home to spill everything to Charles’s father, who called us in, as I said. A couple of patrolmen were sent out to investigate, and there was the body, just as the kids reported.”
    Bartholdi’s eyes had gone dreamy again. Again he seemed to be listening for something, hearing something, a distant accompaniment to his own voice.
    â€œThat’s where I came in,” he went on after a moment. “I was out there within half an hour. Here, subject to revision, are the conclusions I’ve drawn: The victim was killed some time ago. In the light of what you’ve told me, I’d say it was probably Friday night, not too long after she disappeared. She had not been attacked, and so rape would appear to be out. She was,