Egyptian Cross Mystery by Ellery Queen Page A

leaned forward. “Does the letter T mean anything to any of you?”
    They stared at him. “T?” repeated Helene. “Whatever are you talking about?”
    “Evidently it doesn’t,” remarked Ellery, as Professor Yardley chuckled and whispered something in his ear. “Very well, then, Mrs. Brad, did your husband often refer to his Roumanian history?”
    “No, he never did. All I know is that he came to the United States from Roumania eighteen years ago, with Stephen Megara. It seems they were friends or business partners in the old country.”
    “How do you know this?”
    “Why—why, Thomas told me so.”
    Ellery’s eyes sparkled. “Pardon my curiosity, but it may be important. … Was your husband a wealthy man as an immigrant?”
    Mrs. Brad flushed. “I don’t know. When we married, he was.”
    Ellery looked thoughtful. He said “Hmm” several times, shook his head in a pleased way, and finally turned to the District Attorney. “And now, Mr. Isham, if I may have an atlas, I shan’t bother you for some time.”
    “An atlas!” The District Attorney gaped, and even Professor Yardley seemed disturbed. Inspector Vaughn scowled.
    “There’s one in the library,” said Lincoln dully. He left the drawing room.
    Ellery strolled up and down, an abstracted smile on his lips. Their eyes followed him without comprehension. “Mrs. Brad,” he said, pausing, “do you speak Greek or Roumanian?”
    She shook her head bewilderedly. Lincoln returned, carrying a large blue-covered book. “You, Mr. Lincoln,” said Ellery. “You’re in a business which is largely European and Asian in its contacts. Do you understand and speak either Greek or Roumanian?”
    “No. We haven’t occasion to use foreign languages. Our offices in Europe and Asia correspond in English, and our distributors do the same in this country.”
    “I see.” Ellery hefted the atlas thoughtfully. “That’s all from me, Mr. Isham.”
    The District Attorney waved a weary hand. “All right, Mrs. Brad. We’ll do our best, although frankly it looks like an insoluble mess. Just stick around, Mr. Lincoln, and you, Miss Brad; don’t leave the premises for a while, anyway.”
    The Brads and Jonah hesitated, looked at each other, then rose and left the room without speaking.
    The instant the door closed after them Ellery hurled himself into an armchair and opened the blue atlas. Professor Yardley was frowning. Isham and Vaughn exchanged helpless glances. But Ellery was occupied with the atlas for five full minutes, during which he returned to three different maps and the index, and consulted each page minutely. As he searched, his face brightened.
    He placed the book with studied care on the arm of the chair and rose. They looked at him expectantly.
    “I thought, by thunder,” he said, “that it would be so.” He turned to the Professor. “An amazing coincidence, if it is a coincidence. I leave you to judge. … Professor, hasn’t something about the names of our peculiar cast of characters struck you?”
    “The names, Queen?” Yardley was frankly confounded.
    “Yes. Brad—Megara. Brad—Roumanian. Megara—Greek. Does it strike a responsive chord in you?”
    Yardley shook his head, and Vaughn and Isham shrugged.
    “You know,” said Ellery, taking out his cigarette case and lighting one up with quick puffs, “it’s, little things like this that make life interesting. I’ve a friend who is a lunatic on one subject—that inane and juvenile game called Geography. Why he’s attracted to it the Unknowable only knows, but he plays it at every conceivable opportunity. With Brad it was checkers, with many it’s golf—well, with this friend of mine it’s Geography. He’s developed it to the point where he knows thousands of little geographic names. Something that came up not long ago …”
    “You’re being provocative,” snapped Professor Yardley. “Proceed.”
    Ellery grinned. “Thomas Brad was a Roumanian—there is a city in Roumania