And he had placed the remarkable figure of Dr. Reinach in the puzzle. The fat man was Sylvester Mayhew’s half-brother. He had also acted as Mayhew’s physician during the old man’s last illness. This illness and death seemed to have been very recent, for there had been some talk of “the funeral” in terms of fresh if detached sorrow. There was also a Mrs. Reinach glimmering unsubstantially in the background, and a queer old lady who was the dead man’s sister. But what the mystery was, or why Thorne was so perturbed, Ellery could not figure out.
The liner tied up to the pier at last. Officials scampered about, whistles blew, gang-planks appeared, passengers disembarked in droves to the accompaniment of the usual howls and embraces. Interest crept into Dr. Reinach’s little eyes, and Thorne was shaking.
“There she is!” croaked the lawyer. “I’d know her anywhere from her photographs. That slender girl in the brown turban!”
As Thorne hurried away Ellery studied the girl eagerly. She was anxiously scanning the crowd, a tall charming creature with an elasticity of movement more esthetic than athletic and a harmony of delicate feature that approached beauty. She was dressed so simply and inexpensively that he narrowed his eyes.
Thorne came back with her, patting her gloved hand and speaking quietly to her. Her face was alight and alive, and there was a natural gaiety in it which convinced Ellery that whatever mystery or tragedy lay before her, it was still unknown to her. At the same time there were certain signs about her eyes and mouth — fatigue, strain, worry, he could not put his finger on the exact cause — which puzzled him.
“I’m so glad,” she murmured in a cultured voice, strongly British in accent. Then her face grew grave and she looked from Ellery to Dr. Reinach.
“This is your uncle, Miss Mayhew,” said Thorne. “Dr. Reinach. This other gentleman is not, I regret to say, a relative. Mr. Ellery Queen, a colleague of mine.”
“Oh,” said the girl; and she turned to the fat man and said tremulously: “Uncle Herbert. How terribly odd. I mean — I’ve felt so all alone. You’ve been just a legend to me, Uncle Herbert, you and Aunt Sarah and the rest, and now...” She choked a little as she put her arms about the fat man and kissed his pendulous cheek.
“My dear,” said Dr. Reinach solemnly; and Ellery could have struck him for the Judas quality of his solemnity.
“But you must tell me everything! Father — how is father? It seems so strange to be... to be saying that.”