The Spanish Cape Mystery (Open Road) by Ellery Queen

Author:Ellery Queen [Queen, Ellery]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9781453289693
Publisher: MysteriousPress.com/Open Road
Published: 2013-02-05T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

OF HOSPITALITY

A SHIP WAS SINKING at sea. It was a sea of red waves tumbling deep, and the ship was a toy. Colossus stood astride the prow, boldly naked, leering at the dark moon inches above his head. The ship sank and the giant vanished. An instant later his head was small and floating on quiet water, turned blindly to the black heavens. The moon shone brightly on his face; it was John Marco. Then the sea vanished and John Marco was a tiny chinaware man swimming in a glass of water. He was very stiff and dead. The clear liquid kept bathing his white enamelled body, lifting his curly hair, bumping him idly against the sides of the glass, which gradually grew opaque with a dyeing scarlet which looked like…

Mr. Ellery Queen opened his eyes in darkness, feeling thirsty.

For a moment his brain was a dizzy vacuum groping toward memory. Then memory flooded back and he sat up, licking his chops and fumbling for the lamp beside his bed.

“Can’t say that vaunted subconscious of mine has been of any assistance,” he muttered as his fingers touched the switch. The room sprang alive. His throat was parched. He pressed the button beside his bed, lit a cigaret from his case on the night-table, and lay back smoking.

He had dreamed of men and women and seas and forests and strangely animate busts of Columbus and bloody coils of wire and forging cruisers and one-eyed monsters and…John Marco. Marco in a cloak, Marco naked, Marco in white drills, Marco in tails, Marco with horns sprouting from his forehead, Marco making Hollywood love to fat women, Marco dancing adagio in tights, Marco singing in doublet and hose, Marco shouting blasphemies. But nowhere in the turbulent career of his dream had he even glimpsed a rational answer to the problem of Marco murdered. His head ached and he did not feel at all rested.

He grunted at a knock on his door and Tiller glided in with a tray bearing glasses and bottles. Tiller was smiling paternally.

“You’ve had a nice nap, I trust, sir?” he said as he set the tray down on the night-table.

“Miserable.” Ellery grimaced at the contents o£ the bottles. “Plain water, Tiller. I’m thirsty as the very devil.”

“Yes, sir,” said Tiller with a raising of his precise little brows, and he took the tray away and returned instanter with a carafe. “You’ll be hungry, too, sir, no doubt,” he murmured as Ellery drained his third glass. “I’ll have a tray sent up at once.”

“Good lord! What time is it?”

“Long past dinner, sir. Mrs. Godfrey said you weren’t to be disturbed—you and Judge Macklin. It’s almost ten o’clock, sir.”

“Good for Mrs. Godfrey. Tray, eh? By George, I am hungry. Is the Judge still sleeping?”

“I fancy so, sir. He hasn’t rung.”

“‘Thou sleepest, Brutus, and yet Rome is in chains,’” said Ellery sadly. “Well, well, that’s the greatest boon of senescence. We’ll let the old gentleman have his rest; he’s earned it. Now fetch me that tray, Tiller, like a good fellow, while I wash some of this grime off my body.

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