Free The Dragon’s Teeth by Ellery Queen Page B

the boudoir.
    â€œKerrie! What on earth—”
    â€œVi, Vi!” Kerrie lunged for her friend’s high bosom and held on for dear life. “Something—somebody—in my bedroom—tried …”
    â€œKerrie, you had a nightmare.”
    â€œI was awake, I tell you! Somebody—climbed up the vines—I think—tried to—knife me—”
    â€œKerrie!”
    â€œWhen I screamed, he—it jumped back through the window—I saw the flash of the curtains—”
    â€œWho was it?”
    â€œI don’t know. I don’t know. Oh, Vi—”
    â€œYou stay here,” said Vi grimly. She grabbed an iron poker from the rack of firetools at the boudoir fireplace and ran into Kerrie’s bedroom. She snapped on the light.
    The room was empty.
    Kerrie followed to the doorway, looking in, her teeth chattering. The curtains were still moving a little.
    Vi looked at the bed; Kerrie looked at it. There was a fresh slash a foot long in the silk coverlet. Vi threw back the coverlet; the sheet and mattress were slashed, too.
    She went to the windows and locked them.
    â€œGot away clean. Kerrie, haven’t you any idea—”
    â€œN-n-no. I couldn’t really s-see. It was too d-dark.”
    â€œKerrie. Hon. You’re—”
    There was a sharp-and-soft rap on the corridor door.
    The two women looked at each other.
    Then Vi moved to the door and said: “Who—is it?”
    â€œQueen. Did—Who screamed in there?”
    â€œDon’t let him in,” whispered Kerrie. “You—I’m not dressed.…” She felt calm suddenly.
    Vi unlocked the door and opened it to a space of two inches. She looked at Beau coldly. He was in pajamas and his hair was a tumbled log-jam.
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” he demanded in an undertone. “Where’s Kerrie? It was Kerrie who screamed, wasn’t it?”
    â€œSomebody climbed in from the terrace just now and tried to knife her. She yelped, and whoever it was beat it.”
    â€œKnifed!” Beau was silent. Then he cried: “Kerrie!”
    â€œWhat do you want?”
    â€œAre you all right?”
    â€œPerfectly all right.”
    Beau grunted with relief. “Who was it?”
    â€œI don’t know. I didn’t see.”
    â€œKnifed, huh,” muttered Beau. “Listen. Don’t say anything about it. I’ll—I’ll keep my eyes open. And after this keep your doors and windows locked at night!”
    â€œYes,” said Kerrie.
    Vi shut and locked the door. With Kerrie following her closely, she shuffled on her bare soles to the boudoir door and locked that. Then she locked her own bedroom door.
    â€œI guess we’re safe now, hon.”
    â€œVi,” whispered Kerrie. “Are you—scared?”
    â€œNot … much.”
    â€œWould you mind if I spent the rest of the night with you?”
    â€œOh, Kerrie!”
    Kerrie fell asleep in Vi’s bed, clutching Vi’s big warm body desperately. Vi lay awake for a long time, staring into the darkness.
    Beau did not sleep at all. He returned to his room, dressed, and began a noiseless tour of inspection. He found the place where the intruder had climbed into Kerrie’s room—from the terrace directly under her windows. He climbed the vine like a cat, examining each foot of it in the light of an electric torch. But except for several bruises and, in one place, a snapped piece of trellis-work, there were no clues.
    He sought out the night-watchman. But the watchman had seen and heard nothing.
    In the house again, he stole into Edmund De Carlos’s bedroom. In the heavy half-light the man’s beard jutted toward the ceiling, his mouth open and his teeth palely visible as he snored. There was a smell of alcohol about his bed. He was sprawled on it fully clothed.
    Beau listened to his snores, eyes on the motionless figure. The snores were regular, too regular. And