Egyptian Cross Mystery Read Online Free PDF Page A

search of the vicinity of Arroyo,” said the Colonel in a machine-gun voice, “fails to turn up the head of the murdered man. No trace of the missing servant Kling has been found. A description of Kling has been sent to all neighboring states and he is being watched for.”
    “I believe you have been in charge of the investigation relative to the last-known movements of both the deceased and the missing man, Colonel. What have you discovered?”
    “Andrew Van was last seen at four o’clock on the afternoon of Thursday, December twenty-fourth. He visited the house of Mrs. Rebecca Traub, a resident of Arroyo, to warn her that her son William, a pupil in his school, was falling behind in his studies. Then he went away and no one, as far as we can find, saw him alive again.”
    “And Kling?”
    “Kling was last seen by Timothy Traynor, a farmer between Arroyo and Pughtown, the same afternoon at a little past four. He bought a bushel of potatoes, paid for it in cash, and lugged it away on his shoulder.”
    “Was the bushel of potatoes found on Van’s premises? This might be important, Colonel, in determining whether Kling ever reached the house.”
    “Yes. Untouched, and identified by Traynor as the one bought from him that afternoon.”
    “Have you anything else to report?”
    Colonel Pickett looked around at the courtroom before replying. His mouth was like a trap as he said grimly: “I certainly have!”
    The courtroom became still as death. Ellery smiled wearily; the revelations had arrived. Colonel Pickett leaned over to whisper something into the Coroner’s ear; Stapleton blinked, smiled, wiped his fat cheeks, and nodded. The spectators, too, sensed the coming event, and twisted in their seats. Pickett signaled quietly to someone at the rear of the room.
    A tall trooper appeared, grasping the arm of an amazing individual: a little old man with unkempt long brown hair and a shaggy brown beard. He had small glittering eyes, the eyes of a fanatic. His skin was the color of dirty bronze, wrinkled and battered by sun and wind as if he had lived out doors all his life. He was dressed—Ellery’s eyes narrowed—in mud-encrusted khaki shorts and an old gray turtle-neck sweater. On his bare brown feet ropy with gray veins he wore a curious pair of sandals. And in his hand he carried a remarkable object—a wandlike rod topped by a crude representation of a snake, apparently handmade by a poor craftsman.
    There was instant hubbub, a burst of laughter, and the Coroner rapped like a madman for order.
    Behind the trooper and his fantastic charge shuffled a white-faced young man in oil-spattered overalls. That he was well-known to most of the spectators was evident, for hands furtively reached out as he passed and patted him encouragingly, while spectators throughout the room pointed openly at his shrinking figure.
    The three passed through the gateway of the railing and sat down. The brown-bearded old man was plainly in the grip of terrible fear; his eyes rolled, and his thin brown hands clenched and unclenched convulsively about the odd baton he carried.
    “Caspar Croker to the stand!”
    The white-faced young man in the oily overalls gulped, rose, and took the stand.
    “You operate a garage and gas station on Main Street, Weirton?” demanded the Coroner.
    “Why, sure. You know me, Mr.—”
    “Answer my question, please,” said Stapleton sternly. “Relate to the jury what occurred about eleven o’clock at night of Christmas Eve.”
    Croker drew a deep breath, looked around as if for a last friendly eye, and said: “I closed my garage Christmas Eve—wanted to celebrate. I live in a house right back of my garage. Eleven that night, while I was sittin’ in my front room with the wife, I heard an awful poundin’ and racket outside somewhere. Seemed like it was comin’ from my garage, so I ran out. Dark as old fury it was, too.” He gulped again, and resumed quickly. “Well, it was a man out there hammering on