Egyptian Cross Mystery by Ellery Queen Page B

named Brad. Does that mean anything to you?”
    “Not a damned thing,” growled Vaughn.
    “Stephen Megara is a Greek. There is a city in Greece named Megara!”
    “Well,” muttered Isham, “what of it?”
    Ellery tapped Isham’s arm lightly. “And suppose I tell you that the man who seemingly has no connection with either our millionaire rug importer or our millionaire yachtsman, the poor Arroyo schoolmaster who was murdered six months ago—in a word, that Andrew Van …”
    “You don’t mean to say—” spluttered Vaughn.
    “Van’s naturalization papers gave his native country as Armenia. There’s a city in Armenia called Van—and a lake, too, for that matter.” He relaxed, and smiled. “And if in three cases, two related on the surface, the other related to one of the two by method of murder, the same phenomenon occurs—” Ellery shrugged. “If that’s coincidence, then I’m the Queen of Sheba.”
    “Certainly peculiar,” muttered Professor Yardley. “On the surface a deliberate attempt to authenticate nationalities.”
    “As if all the names are assumed, were picked from an atlas.” Ellery blew a smoke ring. “Interesting, eh? Three gentlemen, obviously of foreign extraction, very desirous indeed of concealing their real names, and, judging from the care they employed to authenticate their nationalities, as you say, of concealing their true birthplaces as well.”
    “Good God,” groaned Isham. “What next?”
    “An even more significant fact,” said Ellery cheerfully. “One would suppose that Van, Brad, and Megara having changed their names, the fourth foreign actor in the tragedy, the elusive Krosac, also picked his moniker from Rand McNally. But he didn’t—at least, there’s no city anywhere in Europe or in the Near East named Krosac. No city, lake, mountain, anything. The inference?”
    “Three aliases,” said the Professor slowly, “and one apparently genuine name. With the owner of the apparently genuine name indubitably involved in the murder of one of the aliases. Perhaps … I should say, Queen, my boy, that we’re beginning to grasp the key to the hieroglyphs.”
    “You agree, then,” said Ellery with eagerness, “that there’s an Egyptian aroma in the atmosphere?”
    Yardley started. “Oh, that! My dear chap, can’t a pedagogue use a simple figure of speech without being taken literally?”

6. Checkers and Pipes
    T HEY WERE ALL THOUGHTFUL as they left the drawing room and Isham led the way to the right wing of the house, where the late Thomas Brad’s study was situated. A detective paraded the hall in front of the closed library door. As they paused before it, a stout motherly-looking woman in rustling black appeared from somewhere in the rear.
    “I’m Mrs. Baxter,” she announced anxiously. “Can I offer you gentlemen some luncheon?”
    Inspector Vaughn’s eyes grew brighter. “An angel in disguise! I forgot all about chow. You’re the housekeeper, aren’t you?”
    “Yes, sir. Will the other gentlemen eat, too?”
    Professor Yardley shook his head. “I’ve really no right to impose this way. My own place is just across the road, and I know Old Nanny is furious at my absence. Vittles gettin’ cold, as she says. I think I’ll leave now. … Queen, you’re my guest, remember.”
    “Must you go?” asked Ellery. “I’ve been looking forward to a long talk. …”
    “See you tonight.” The Professor waved his arm. “I’ll take your bags out of that old wreck of yours and park your car in my own garage.”
    He smiled at the two officials and walked off.
    Luncheon was a solemn affair. It was served in a cheery dining room to the three men—no one else in the house seemed inclined toward food—and for the most part they ate in silence. Mrs. Baxter served them herself.
    Ellery munched doggedly; his brain was spinning like a planet and hurling off some extraordinary thoughts. But he kept them to himself. Isham complained once, with fervor, about his