There was a pause, and Heath drew himself up aggressively.
“Say, Greene: know anything about firearms?” He shot the question out brutally.
Rex stiffened. His lips sagged open, and his cigarette fell to the floor. The muscles of his thin jowls twitched, and he glared menacingly at the Sergeant.
“What do you mean?” The words were like a snarl; and I noticed that his whole body was quivering.
“Know what became of your brother’s revolver?” pursued Heath relentlessly, thrusting out his jaw.
Rex’s mouth was working in a paroxysm of fury and fear, but he seemed unable to articulate.
“Where have you got it hidden?” Again Heath’s voice sounded harshly.
“Revolver? … Hidden? …” At last Rex had succeeded in formulating his words. “You—filthy rotter! If you’ve got any idea that I have the revolver, go up and tear my room apart and look for it—and be damned to you!” His eyes flashed, and his upper lip lifted over his teeth. But there was fright in his attitude as well as rage.
Heath had leaned forward and was about to say something further, when Vance quickly rose and laid a restraining hand on the Sergeant’s arm. He was too late, however, to avoid the thing he evidently hoped to forestall. What Heath had already said had proved sufficient stimulus to bring about a terrible reaction in his victim.
“What do I care what that unspeakable swine says?” he shouted, pointing a palsied finger at the Sergeant. Oaths and vituperation welled shrilly from his twitching lips. His insensate wrath seemed to pass all ordinary bounds. His enormous head was thrust forward like a python’s; and his face was cyanosed and contorted.
Vance stood poised, watching him alertly; and Markham had instinctively moved back his chair. Even Heath was startled by Rex’s inordinate malignity.
What might have happened I don’t know, had not Von Blon at that moment stepped swiftly into the room and placed a restraining hand on the youth’s shoulder.
“Rex!” he said, in a calm, authoritative voice. “Get a grip on yourself. You’re disturbing Ada.”
The other ceased speaking abruptly; but his ferocity of manner did not wholly abate. He shook off the doctor’s hand angrily and swung round, facing Von Blon.
“What are you interfering for?” he cried. “You’re always meddling in this house, coming here when you’re not sent for, and nosing into our affairs. Mother’s paralysis is only an excuse. You’ve said yourself she’ll never get well, and yet you keep coming, bringing her medicine and sending bills.” He gave the doctor a crafty leer. “Oh, you don’t deceive me. I know why you come here! It’s Sibella!” Again he thrust out his head and grinned shrewdly. “She’d be a good catch for a doctor, too—wouldn’t she? Plenty of money—”
Suddenly he halted. His eyes did not leave Von Blon, but he shrank back and the twitching of his face began once more. A quivering finger went up; and as he spoke his voice rose excitedly.
“But Sibella’s money isn’t enough. You want ours along with hers. So you’re arranging for her to inherit all of it. That’s it—that’s it! You’re the one who’s been doing all this. … Oh, my God! You’ve got Chester’s gun—you took it! And you’ve got a key to the house—easy enough for you to have one made. That’s how you got in.”
Von Blon shook his head sadly and smiled with rueful tolerance. It was an embarrassing moment, but he carried it off well.
“Come, Rex,” he said quietly, like a person speaking to a refractory child. “You’ve said enough—”
“Have I!” cried the youth, his eyes gleaming unnaturally. “You knew Chester had the revolver. You went camping with him the summer he got it—he told me so the other day, after Julia was killed.” His beady little eyes seemed to stare from his head; a spasm shook his emaciated body; and his fingers again began worrying the hem of his jacket.
Von Blon stepped swiftly forward and, putting a hand on each of his shoulders, shook him.
“That’ll do, Rex!” The words were a sharp command. “If you carry on this way, we’ll have to lock you up in an institution.”
The threat was uttered in what I considered an unnecessarily brutal tone; but it had the desired effect. A haunting fear showed in Rex’s eyes. He seemed suddenly to go limp, and he docilely permitted Von Blon to lead him from the room.
“A sweet specimen, that Rex,” commented Vance. “Not a person one would choose for a boon companion. Aggravated macrocephalia—cortical irritation. But I say, Sergeant; really, y’ know, you shouldn’t have prodded the lad so.”
Heath grunted.
“You can’t tell me that guy don’t know something. And you can bet your sweet life I’m going to search his room damn good for that gun.”
“It appears to me,” rejoined Vance, “he’s too flighty to have planned the massacre in this house. He might blow up under pressure and hit somebody with a handy missile; but I doubt if he’d lay any deep schemes and bide his time.”
“He’s good and scared about something,” persisted Heath morosely.
“Hasn’t he cause to be? Maybe he thinks the elusive gunman hereabouts will chose him as the next target.”
“If there is another gunman, he showed damn bad taste not picking Rex out first.” It was evident the Sergeant was still smarting under the epithets that had so recently been directed at him.
Von Blon returned to the drawing-room at this moment, looking troubled.
“I’ve got Rex quieted,” he said. “Gave him five grains of luminal. He’ll sleep for a few hours and wake up penitent. I’ve rarely seen him quite as violent as he was today. He’s supersensitive—cerebral neurasthenia; and he’s apt to fly off the handle. But he’s never dangerous.” He scanned our faces swiftly. “One of you gentlemen must have said something pretty severe.”
Heath looked sheepish. “I asked him where he’d hid the gun.”
“Ah!” The doctor gave the Sergeant a look of questioning reproach. “Too bad! We have to be careful with Rex. He’s all right so
