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| author | www-data <www-data@mail.pglaf.org> | 2026-06-07 05:58:12 -0700 |
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| committer | www-data <www-data@mail.pglaf.org> | 2026-06-07 05:58:12 -0700 |
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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9f57f44 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,13 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text +*.htm text +*.html text +*.png binary +*.jpg binary +*.svg text +*.pdf binary +*.bmp binary +*.zip binary +*.midi binary +*.mp3 binary diff --git a/78823-0.txt b/78823-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8804370 --- /dev/null +++ b/78823-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11932 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78823 *** + + + + + THE FRENCH POWDER MYSTERY + + _A Problem in Deduction_ + + By ELLERY QUEEN + + _Author of "The Roman Hat Mystery"_ + + FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY + NEW YORK + MCMXXX + + COPYRIGHT, 1930, BY FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY + + _All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced + without the written permission of the publishers._ + + _Printed in the United States of America_ + + + + + CONTENTS + + + THE FIRST EPISODE + + 1. "THE QUEENS WERE IN THE PARLOR" + + 2. "THE KINGS WERE IN THE COUNTING-HOUSE" + + 3. "HUMPTY-DUMPTY HAD A GREAT FALL" + + 4. "ALL THE KING'S HORSES" + + 5. "AND ALL THE KING'S MEN" + + 6. TESTIMONY + + 7. THE CORPSE + + 8. THE WATCHER + + 9. THE WATCHERS + + 10. MARION + + 11. LOOSE ENDS + + 12. OUT THE WINDOW + + + THE SECOND EPISODE + + 13. AT THE APARTMENT: _The Bedroom_ + + 14. AT THE APARTMENT: _The Lavatory_ + + 15. AT THE APARTMENT: _The Cardroom_ + + 16. AT THE APARTMENT: _Again the Bedroom_ + + 17. AT THE APARTMENT: _The Library_ + + 18. SCRAMBLED SIGNS + + 19. OPINIONS AND REPORTS + + + THE THIRD EPISODE + + 20. TOBACCO + + 21. KEYS AGAIN + + 22. BOOKS AGAIN + + 23. CONFIRMATION + + 24. THE QUEENS TAKE STOCK + + + THE FOURTH EPISODE + + 25. ELLERIUS BIBLIOPHILUS + + 26. THE TRAIL TO BERNICE + + 27. THE SIXTH BOOK + + 28. UNRAVELING THREADS + + 29. RAID! + + 30. REQUIEM + + 31. ALIBIS: MARION-ZORN + + 32. ALIBIS: MARCHBANKS + + 33. ALIBIS: CARMODY + + 34. ALIBIS: TRASK + + 35. ALIBIS: GRAY + + 36. "THE TIME HAS COME...." + + + THE LAST EPISODE + + 37. MAKE READY! + + 38. THE END OF ALL THINGS + + + + + SOME PERSONS OF IMPORTANCE ENCOUNTERED IN + THE COURSE OF THE FRENCH INVESTIGATION[1] + +[Footnote 1: The success of this device in his recent novel (_The Roman +Hat Mystery_) has encouraged Mr. Queen to repeat it here. It was found +useful by many of Mr. Queen's readers in keeping the _dramatis personæ_ +compactly before them.--THE EDITOR.] + +NOTE: A list of the personalities involved in _The French +Powder Mystery_ is here set at the disposition of the reader. He +is urged indeed to con the list painstakingly before attacking the +story proper, so that each name will be vigorously impressed upon +his consciousness; moreover, to refer often to this page during his +perusal of the story.... Bear in mind that the most piercing enjoyment +deriving from indulgence in detectival fiction arises from the battle +of wits between author and reader. Scrupulous attention to the cast of +characters is frequently a means to this eminently desirable end. + + ELLERY QUEEN. + + WINIFRED MARCHBANKS FRENCH, _Requiescat in pace_. What cesspool of + evil lies beneath her murder? + + BERNICE CARMODY, a child of ill-fortune. + + CYRUS FRENCH, a common American avatar--merchant prince and Puritan. + + MARION FRENCH, a silken Cinderella? + + WESTLEY WEAVER, amanuensis and lover--and friend to the author. + + VINCENT CARMODY, _l'homme sombre et malheureux_. A dealer in + antiquities. + + JOHN GRAY, director. A donor of book-ends. + + HUBERT MARCHBANKS, director. Ursine brother to the late Mrs. French. + + A. MELVILLE TRASK, director. Sycophantic blot on a fair 'scutcheon. + + CORNELIUS ZORN, director. An Antwerpian nabob, potbelly, + inhibitions and all. + + MRS. CORNELIUS ZORN, Zorn's Medusa-wife. + + PAUL LAVERY, the impeccable _français_. Pioneer in modern + art-decoration. Author of technical studies in the field of fine + arts, notably _L'Art de Faïence, publi par Monserat, Paris, 1913_. + + ARNOLD MACKENZIE, General Manager of French's, a Scot. + + WILLIAM CROUTHER, chief guardian of the law employed by French's. + + DIANA JOHNSON, a study in normal ebon. + + JAMES SPRINGER, Manager of the Book Department; a mysterioso. + + PETER O'FLAHERTY, lead head night-watchman of the French + establishment. + + HERMANN RALSKA, GEORGE POWERS, BERT BLOOM, nightwatchmen. + + HORTENSE UNDERHILL, genus _housekeeper tyranna_. + + DORIS KEATON, a maidenly minion. + + THE HON. SCOTT WELLES, just a Commissioner of Police. + + DR. SAMUEL PROUTY, Assistant Medical Examiner of New York County. + + HENRY SAMPSON, District Attorney of New York County. + + TIMOTHY CRONIN, Assistant District Attorney of New York County. + + THOMAS VELIE, Detective-Sergeant under the wing of Inspector Queen. + + HAGSTROM, HESSE, FLINT, RITTER, JOHNSON, PIGGOTT, sleuths attached + to the command of Inspector Queen. + + SALVATORE FIORELLI, Head of the Narcotic Squad. + + "JIMMY," Headquarters fingerprint expert who has ever remained + last-nameless. + + DJUNA, The Queens' beloved scull, who appears far too little. + + Detectives, policemen, clerks, a physician, a nurse, a Negro + caretaker, a freight watchman, etc., etc., etc., etc. + + and + + INSPECTOR RICHARD QUEEN + who, being not himself, is sorely beset in this adventure + + _and_ + + ELLERY QUEEN + who is so fortunate as to resolve it. + + +[ Illustration: + +A--Elevator shaft + +B--Stairway shaft + +C, D, E, F, G--French apartment + +C--Lavatory F--Anteroom D--Bedroom G--Cardroom E--Library + +H--Ground floor door to elevator, facing 39th Street corridor + +I--Ground floor door to stairway, facing Fifth Avenue corridor + +J--Window containing Lavery Exhibition + +K--Door to murder-window + +L--O'Flaherty's office, with view of 39th Street entrance + +M--Door from freight room +] + + + + + FOREWORD + + + EDITOR'S NOTE: It will be recalled by the readers of Mr. Queen's + last detective novel[2] that a foreword appeared therein written + by a gentleman designating himself as _J. J. McC._ The publishers + did not then, nor do they now, know the identity of this friend of + the two Queens. In deference to the author's wish, however, Mr. + McC. has been kind enough to pen once more a prefatory note to his + friend's new novel, and this note appears below. + + [Footnote 2: _The Roman Hat Mystery_, by Ellery Queen; published by + Frederick A. Stokes Company, 1929.] + +I have followed the fortunes of the Queens, father and son, with more +than casual interest for many years. Longer perhaps than any other +of their legion friends. Which places me, or so Ellery avers, in the +unfortunate position of Chorus, that quaint herald of the olden drama +who craves the auditor's sympathetic ear and receives at best his +willful impatience. + +It is with pleasure nevertheless that I once more enact my rôle of +prologue-master in a modern tale of murder and detection. This pleasure +derives from two causes: the warm reception accorded Mr. Queen's first +novel, for the publication of which I was more or less responsible, +under his _nom de plume_; and the long and sometimes arduous friendship +I have enjoyed with the Queens. + +I say "arduous" because the task of a mere mortal in attempting to +keep step with the busy life of a New York detective Inspector and +the intellectual activity of a book-worm and logician can adequately +be described only by that word. Richard Queen, whom I knew intimately +long before he retired, a veteran of thirty-two years' service in the +New York police department, was a dynamic little gray man, a bundle of +energy and industry. He knew his crime, he knew his criminals, and he +knew his law. He brought to these not uncommon attributes, however, +a daring of method that put him far above the average Detective +Inspector. A firm advocate of the more inspirational methods of his +son, he nevertheless was the practical policeman to his fingertips. +Under his long régime the Detective Bureau, except for those stormy +times when his official superiors took it upon themselves by +overhauling the department to satisfy a theory or a press opinion, +garnered a record of solved capital crimes which to this day is unique +in the police history of New York City. + +Ellery Queen, as may be imagined, deplored the more unimaginative +aspects of his father's profession. He was the pure logician, with a +generous dash of dreamer and artist thrown in--a lethal combination +to those felons who were so unfortunate as to be dissected by the +keen instruments of his mind, always under those questing pince-nez +eyeglasses. His "life work" before his father's retirement was hardly +visible to the eye, unless his casual custom of writing a detective +story when the spirit moved him may be termed a life work.[3] He +occupied himself chiefly in a student's pursuit of culture and +knowledge, and since he had an independent income from a maternal uncle +which removed him from the class of social parasite, he lived what he +characteristically termed the "ideal intellectual life." It was natural +for him to evince intense interest in crime, due to his environment, +which from childhood had been saturated with tales of murder and +law-breaking; but the artistic element in his nature made him useless +for routine police investigation. + +[Footnote 3: It is interesting to note that "Ellery Queen" published +many detective novels during his father's Inspectorship, but under his +real name, which is of course not Queen. These unrevealed stories, +however, should not be confused with the stories published under the +name of Ellery Queen, of which _The French Powder Mystery_ is the +second. These latter are taken practically untouched from actual +investigations undertaken by the author and his father; which accounts +both for the _nom de plume_ and the secrecy shrouding the identity of +the Queens.] + +I recall vividly a conversation between father and son one day many +years ago which brought out their wholly opposed viewpoints on the +subject of crime-detection. I relate the conversation here because it +will crystallize the difference between the two men so clearly--a point +quite essential to complete understanding of the Queens. + +The Inspector was expounding on his profession for my benefit, while +Ellery lounged in his chair between us. + +"Ordinary crime-detection," said the old man, "is almost wholly a +mechanical matter. Most crimes are committed by 'criminals'--that is to +say, by individuals habituated by environment and repetitious conduct +to the pursuit of law-breaking. Such persons in ninety-nine out of a +hundred cases have police records. + +"The detective in these ninety-nine hypothetical cases has much to go +on. Bertillon measurements--fingerprint records, intimate photographs, +a complete dossier. Moreover, he has a little file of the criminal's +idiosyncrasies. We have not developed this phase of detective science +so well as the London, Vienna and Berlin police, but we have at least +laid a foundation.... + +"A burglar who habitually makes use of a certain method of prying +open doors and windows, or blowing safes, for example; a hold-up +man who always wears a crude, home-made mask; a gunman who smokes +and drops a certain brand of cigaret, purely from habit; a gangster +with an inordinate fondness for women; a second-story man who always +works alone, or one who invariably employs a 'look-out'.... These +idiosyncrasies of method are sometimes as definite clues to the +identity of a criminal as his fingerprints. + +"It seems peculiar to the layman," went on Inspector Queen, when +he had inhaled deeply from his old snuff-box--a habit inseparable +from the man--"that a criminal should constantly use the same _modus +operandi_--always drop the same cigaret smoked the same way; always +wear the same kind of mask; always indulge in a wild orgy with women +after a 'job.' But they forget that crime is the criminal's business, +and that every business leaves its indelible mark of habit on the +business man." + +"Your psychological policeman, by the way," grinned Ellery, "doesn't +scorn the aid of informers, either, McC. Something like the little +tick-bird that sits on the rhino's back and warns of approaching +danger...." + +"I was coming to that," retorted his father equably. "As I said +in the beginning, we have plenty to go on in the case of the +hardened criminal. But most of all, despite my son's jeering +attitude, we have come to depend upon the underworld's 'squealers,' +'stool-pigeons'--they're called less polite names, too--for the +solution of routine crimes. It is an open secret that without the +stool-pigeon a huge percentage of felonies would remain unsolved. They +are as essential to the big city's police as a knowledge of the proper +source-book is to the lawyer. It stands to reason--the underworld by +its amazing grapevine inevitably knows who has pulled a big 'job.' Our +problem is to find a 'stoolie' who will part with the tip for a fair +consideration. It isn't always easy even then, by the way...." + +"Child's play," said Ellery in a provocative tone. And he grinned. + +"I firmly believe," went on the old Inspector imperturbably, "that +every police department in the world would collapse in six months if +the institution of underworld informing were to come to an end." + +Ellery lazily took up the cudgels. "Most of what you say, Sire, is +only too true. Which is why ninety per cent of your investigations hold +not a vestige of glamour for me. But the last ten per cent! + +"Where the police detective woefully falls down, J.J.," he said +smiling, turning to me, "is in the case of the crime whose perpetrator +is _not_ a habitual criminal, who has therefore left _no_ handy +fingerprints which will correspond with another set in your files, +about whose idiosyncrasies _nothing_ is known for the ludicrously +simple reason that he has never been a criminal before. Such a person, +generally speaking, is not of the underworld, and you can therefore +pump your stool-pigeon to your heart's delight without eliciting the +slightest morsel of useful information. + +"You have nothing to go on, I am happy to say," he continued, +twirling his pince-nez, "except the crime itself, and such clues and +pertinences as that crime reveals upon observation and investigation. +Obviously--and I say this with proper respect for my father's ancient +profession--obviously to nab the criminal in such a case is the more +difficult job by many headaches. Which explains two things--the +hideously high percentage of unsolved crimes in this country, and my +own absorbing avocation." + + * * * * * + +_The French Powder Mystery_ is one of the older cases from the Queens' +files--an actual case, as I have said, and one in which Ellery +exhibited scintillating proofs of his unique talents. He kept notes of +this case during the French investigation--one of his few practical +habits. Subsequently, with the unmasking of the murderer, he wrote a +book around the real-life plot, developing and embroidering the facts +to fit a literary pattern. + +I induced him to polish up the manuscript and have it published as +the second novel under his pen-name--and this at a time when I was +under his sacred roof in the Queens' Italian villa. For it will be +recalled that Ellery, having renounced his old profession utterly, now +that he is married and domesticated, has hidden his old cases in the +depths of a filing-cabinet and nothing less than the detonation of a +presumptuous friend's exhortations has been able to make him consent to +a revivication of the mellowed manuscripts. + +It should be borne in mind, in all fairness to Inspector Queen, that +the old sleuth's comparatively small rôle in the French case was due +to the enormous press of official business during that hectic season, +and in no small degree to the heckling he was subjected to by the newly +appointed civilian, Scott Welles, to the post of Commissioner of Police. + +In closing, it might be pleasant to point out that the Queens are at +this writing still in their tiny mountain-home in Italy; that Ellery's +son has learned to toddle and say with innocent gravity, "gramps"; +that Djuna is in perfect health and has recently undergone the stress +of a cosmic love-affair with a little witch of a country girl; that +the Inspector is still writing monographs for German magazines and +making occasional tours of inspection through the Continental police +departments; that Mrs. Ellery Queen has happily recovered from her +recent illness; and finally that Ellery himself, after his visit last +fall to New York, has returned to that "gem-encrusted" Roman scenery +with gratitude in his heart and, he says, (but I doubt it), no regrets +for the distractions of the West Side. + +Which leaves me little else to write but a most sincere hope that you +will enjoy the reading of _The French Powder Mystery_ fully as much as +I did. + + J. J. MCC. + + NEW YORK + _June, 1930_ + + + + + THE FIRST EPISODE + + + "_Parenthetically speaking ... in numerous cases the sole + difference between success and failure in the detection of crime is + a sort of ... osmotic reluctance (on the part of the detective's + mental perceptions) to seep through the cilia of_ WHAT SEEMS TO BE + _and reach the vital stream of_ WHAT ACTUALLY IS." + + --From A PRESCRIPTION FOR CRIME, + _By_ Dr. Luigi Pinna + + + + + 1 + + "THE QUEENS WERE IN THE PARLOR" + + +They sat about the old walnut table in the Queen apartment--five oddly +assorted individuals. There was District Attorney Henry Sampson, +a slender man with bright eyes. Beside Sampson glowered Salvatore +Fiorelli, head of the Narcotic Squad, a burly Italian with a long +black scar on his right cheek. Red-haired Timothy Cronin, Sampson's +assistant, was there. And Inspector Richard Queen and Ellery Queen sat +shoulder to shoulder with vastly differing facial expressions. The old +man sulked, bit the end of his mustache. Ellery stared vacantly at +Fiorelli's cicatrix. + +The calendar on the desk nearby read Tuesday, May the twenty-fourth, +19--. A mild spring breeze fluttered the window draperies. + +The Inspector glared about the board. "What did Welles ever do? I'd +like to know, Henry!" + +"Come now, Q, Scott Welles isn't a bad scout." + +"Rides to hounds, shoots a 91 on the course, and that makes him +eligible for the police commissionership, doesn't it? Of course, of +course! And the unnecessary work he piles on us...." + +"It isn't so bad as that," said Sampson. "He's done some useful things, +in all fairness. Flood Relief Committee, social work.... A man who has +been so active in non-political fields can't be a total loss, Q." + +The Inspector snorted. "How long has he been in office? No, don't tell +me--let me guess. Two days.... Well, here's what he's done to us in two +days. Get your teeth into this. + +"Number one--reorganized the Missing Persons Bureau. And why poor +Parsons got the gate _I_ don't know.... Number two--scrambled seven +precinct captains so thoroughly that they need road maps to get back +to familiar territory. Why? You tell me.... Number three--shifted the +make-up of Traffic B, C, and D. Number four--reduced a square two dozen +second-grade detectives to pounding beats. Any reason? Certainly! +Somebody whose grand-uncle's niece knows the Governor's fourth +secretary is out for blood.... Number five--raked over the Police +School and changed the rules. And I know he has his eagle eye on my pet +Homicide Squad...." + +"You'll burst a blood-vessel," said Cronin. + +"You haven't heard anything yet," said the Inspector grimly. "Every +first-grade detective must now make out a daily report--in line of +duty, mind you--a daily personal report direct to the Commissioner's +office!" + +"Well," grinned Cronin, "he's welcome to read 'em all. Half those +babies can't _spell_ homicide." + +"Read them nothing, Tim. Do you think he'd waste _his_ time? Not by +your Aunt Martha. No, sir! He sends them into _my_ office by his shiny +little secretary, Theodore B. B. St. Johns, with a polite message: +'The Commissioner's respects to Inspector Richard Queen, and the +Commissioner would be obliged for an opinion within the hour on the +veracity of the attached reports.' And there I am, sweating marbles to +keep my head clear for this narcotic investigation--there I am putting +my mark on a flock of flatfoot reports." The Inspector dug viciously +into his snuff-box. + +"You ain't spilled half of it, Queen," growled Fiorelli. "What's +this wall-eyed walrus, this pussy-footing specimen of a 'civvie' do +but sneak in on my department, sniff around among the boys, hook +a can of opium on the sly, and send it down to Jimmy for--guess +what--fingerprints! Fingerprints, by God! As if Jimmy could find the +print of a dope-peddler after a dozen of the gang had had their paws on +the can. Besides, we had the prints already! But no, he didn't stop for +explanations. And then Stern searched high and low for the can and came +runnin' to me with some crazy story that the guy we're lookin' for'd +walked himself straight into Headquarters and snitched a pot of opium!" +Fiorelli spread his huge hands mutely, stuck a stunted black cheroot +into his mouth. + +It was at this moment that Ellery picked up a little volume with torn +covers from the table and began to read. + +Sampson's grin faded. "All joking aside, though, if we don't gain +ground soon on the drug ring we'll all be in a mess. Welles shouldn't +have forced our hand and stirred up the White test case now. Looks as +if this gang--" He shook his head dubiously. + +"That's what riles me," complained the Inspector. "Here I am, just +getting the feel of Pete Slavin's mob, and I have to spend a whole day +down in Court testifying." + +There was silence, broken after a moment by Cronin. "How did you come +out on O'Shaughnessy in the Kingsley Arms murder?" he asked curiously. +"Has he come clean?" + +"Last night," said the Inspector. "We had to sweat him a little, but he +saw we had the goods on him and came through." The harsh lines around +his mouth softened. "Nice piece of work Ellery did there. When you stop +to think that we were on the case a whole day without a glimmer of +proof that O'Shaughnessy killed Herrin, although we were sure he'd done +it--along comes my son, spends ten minutes on the scene, and comes out +with enough proof to burn the murderer." + +"Another miracle, eh?" chuckled Sampson. "What's the inside story, +Q?" They glanced toward Ellery, but he was hunched in his chair, +assiduously reading. + +"As simple as rolling off a log," said Queen proudly. "It generally is +when he explains it.--Djuna, more coffee, will you, son?" + +An agile little figure popped out of the kitchenette, grinned, bobbed +his dark head, and disappeared. Djuna was Inspector Queen's valet, +man-of-all-work, cook, chambermaid, and unofficially the mascot of the +Detective Bureau.[4] He emerged with a percolator and refilled the cups +on the table. Ellery grasped his with a questioning hand and began to +sip, his eyes riveted on the book. + +[Footnote 4: See "_The Roman Hat Mystery_."] + +"Simple's hardly the word," resumed the Inspector. "Jimmy had sprinkled +that whole room with fingerprint powder and found nothing but Herrin's +own prints--and Herrin was deader than a mackerel. The boys all took +a whack at suggesting different places to sprinkle--it was quite a +game while it lasted...." He slapped the table. "Then Ellery marched +in. I reviewed the case for him and showed him what we'd found. You +remember we spotted Herrin's footprints in the crumbled plaster on the +dining-room floor. We were mighty puzzled about that, because from the +circumstances of the crime it was impossible for Herrin to have been +in that dining-room. And that's where superior mentality, I suppose +you'd call it, turned the trick. Ellery said: 'Are you certain those +are Herrin's footprints?' I told him they were, beyond a doubt. When I +told him why, he agreed--yet it was impossible for Herrin to have been +in that room. And there lay the prints, giving us the lie. 'Very well,' +says this precious son o' mine, 'maybe he wasn't in the room, after +all.' 'But Ellery--the prints!' I objected. 'I have a notion,' he says, +and goes into the bedroom. + +"Well," sighed the Inspector, "he certainly did have a notion. In +the bedroom he looked over the shoes on Herrin's dead feet, took them +off, got some of the print powder from Jimmy, called for the copy of +O'Shaughnessy's fingerprints, sprinkled the shoes--and sure enough, +there was a beautiful thumb impression! He matched it with the file +print, and it proved to be O'Shaughnessy's.... You see, we'd looked in +every place in that apartment for fingerprints except the one place +where they were--on the dead body itself. Who'd ever think of looking +for the murderer's sign on his victim's shoes?" + +"Unlikely place," grunted the Italian. "How'd it figure?" + +"Ellery reasoned that if Herrin wasn't in that room and his shoes were, +it simply meant that somebody else wore or planted Herrin's shoes +there. Infantile, isn't it? But it had to be thought of." The old +man bore down on Ellery's bowed head with unconvincing irritability. +"Ellery, what on earth are you reading? You're hardly an attentive +host, son." + +"That's one time a layman's familiarity with fingerprints came in +handy," grinned Sampson. + +"Ellery!" + +Ellery looked up excitedly. He waved his book in triumph, and began to +recite to the amazed group at the table: "'If they went to sleep with +the sandals on, the thong worked into the feet and the sandals were +frozen fast to them. This was partly due to the fact that, since their +old sandals had failed, they wore untanned brogans made of newly flayed +ox-hides.'[5] Do you know, dad, that gives me a splendid idea?" His +face beamed as he reached for a pencil. + +[Footnote 5: I had been brushing up on my Xenophon, and when I ran +across the passage relating to the Retreat of the Ten Thousand through +ancient Armenia, the shoe reference gave me an idea for a short story. +The incident is ridiculous in retrospect, although at the time I was +quite oblivious to its humor.--E. Q.] + +Inspector Queen swung to his feet, grumbling. "You can't get anything +out of him when he's in that mood.... Come along, Henry--you going, +Fiorelli?--let's get down to City Hall." + + + + + 2 + + "THE KINGS WERE IN THE COUNTING-HOUSE" + + +It was eleven o'clock when Inspector Queen left his apartment on West +87th Street in the company of Sampson, Cronin and Fiorelli, bound for +the Criminal Courts Building. + +At precisely the same moment, some miles to the south, a man stood +quietly at the library dormer-window of a private apartment. The +apartment was situated on the sixth floor of French's, the Fifth +Avenue department store. The man at the window was Cyrus French, chief +stockholder of French's and president of its Board of Directors. + +French was watching the swirling traffic at the intersection of Fifth +Avenue and 39th Street with unseeing eyes. He was a dour-visaged man +of sixty-five, stocky, corpulent, iron-grey. He was dressed in a dark +business suit. A white flower gleamed on his lapel. + +He said: "I hope you made it clear that the meeting was for this +morning at eleven, Westley," and turned sharply to eye a man seated +beside a glass-topped desk before the window. + +Westley Weaver nodded. He was a fresh-faced young man, clean-shaven and +alert, in the early thirties. + +"Quite clear," he replied pleasantly. He looked up from a stenographic +notebook in which he had been writing. "As a matter of fact, here is a +carbon copy of the memorandum I typed yesterday afternoon. I left one +copy for each director, besides this one which you found on the desk +this morning." He indicated a slip of blue-tinted paper lying beside +the desk telephone. Except for five books standing between cylindrical +onyx book-ends at the extreme right of the desk, a telephone, and the +memorandum, the glass top was bare. "I followed up the memos to the +directors with telephone calls about a half-hour ago. They all promised +to be here on time." + +French grunted and turned again to look down upon the maze of morning +traffic. Hands clasped behind his back, he began to dictate store +business in his slightly grating voice. + +They were interrupted five minutes later by a knock on the outer door, +beyond an anteroom. French irritably called, "Come!" and there was the +sound of a hand fumbling with the invisible knob. French said, "Oh, +yes, the door's shut, of course; open it, Westley." + +Weaver went quickly through the anteroom and flung open the heavy door. +He admitted a weazened little old man who showed pale gums in a grin, +and with an amazing celerity for a man of his years tripped into the +room. + +"Never seem to remember that locked door of yours, Cyrus," he piped, +shaking hands with Westley and French. "Am I the first?" + +"That you are, John," said French with a vague smile. "The others +should be here any moment now." + +Weaver offered the old man a chair. "Won't you sit down, Mr. Gray?" + +Gray's seventy years sat lightly on his thin shoulders. He had +a bird-like head covered with thin white hair. His face was the +indeterminate color of parchment; it was constantly wreathed in smiles +which lifted his white mustache above thin red lips. He wore a wing +collar and an ascot tie. + +He accepted the chair and sat down with a preposterously lithe movement. + +"How was your trip, Cyrus?" he asked. "Did you find Whitney amenable?" + +"Quite, quite!" returned French, resuming his pacing. "In fact, I +should say that if we officially come to a complete agreement this +morning, we can consummate the merger in less than a month." + +"Fine! Good stroke of business!" John Gray rubbed his hands in a +curious gesture; they rasped together. + +There was a second knock at the door. Weaver again went into the +anteroom. + +"Mr. Trask and Mr. Marchbanks," he announced. "And if I'm not mistaken, +there comes Mr. Zorn from the elevator." Two men passed into the room, +and a moment later a third; whereupon Weaver hurried back to his chair +by the desk. The door swung shut with a click. + +The newcomers shook hands all around and dropped into chairs at a +long conference table in the middle of the room. They made a peculiar +group. Trask--A. Melville Trask in the Social Register--fell into a +habitually drooping attitude, sprawling in his chair and playing idly +with a pencil on the table before him. His associates paid little +attention to him. Hubert Marchbanks sat down heavily. He was a fleshy +man of forty-five, florid and clumsy-handed. At regular intervals his +loud voice broke in an asthmatic wheeze. Cornelius Zorn regarded his +fellow directors from behind old-fashioned gold-rimmed eyeglasses. His +head was bald and square, his fingers were thick, and he wore a reddish +mustache. His short figure completely filled the chair. He looked +startlingly like a prosperous butcher. + +French took a seat at the head of the table and regarded the others +solemnly. + +"Gentlemen--this is a meeting which will go down in the history of +department store merchandising." He paused, cleared his throat. +"Westley, will you see that a man is posted at the door so that we may +continue absolutely undisturbed?" + +"Yes, sir." Weaver picked up the telephone on the desk and said, +"Mr. Crouther's office, please." A moment later he said, "Crouther? +Who? Oh, yes.... Never mind looking for him; you can take care of +it. Send one of the store detectives up to the door of Mr. French's +private apartment. He is to see that no one disturbs Mr. French while +the Board meeting is going on.... He is not to interrupt us--merely +station himself at the door.... Whom will you send?... Oh! Jones? Good +enough. Tell Crouther about it when he comes in.... Oh, he's been in +since nine? Well, tell him for me when you see him; I'm very busy just +now." He hung up and returned quickly to a chair at French's right. He +snatched his pencil and poised it over his notebook. + +The five directors were poring over a sheaf of papers. French sat +staring at the blue May sky outside while they familiarized themselves +with the details of the documents, his heavy hands restless on the +table top. + +Suddenly he turned to Weaver and said in an undertone, "I'd almost +forgotten, Westley. Get the house on the wire. Let's see--it's +eleven-fifteen. They should be up by this time. Mrs. French may be +anxious about me--I haven't communicated with her since I left for +Great Neck yesterday." + +Weaver gave the number of the French house to the operator, and a +moment later spoke incisively into the mouthpiece. + +"Hortense? Is Mrs. French up yet?... Well, is Marion there, then? Or +Bernice?... Very well, let me speak with Marion...." + +He shifted his body away from French, who was talking in a low tone to +old John Gray. Weaver's eyes were bright and his face suddenly flushed. + +"Hello, hello! Marion?" he breathed into the telephone. "This is Wes. +I'm sorry--you know--I'm calling from the apartment--your father would +like to speak to you...." + +A woman's low voice answered. "Westley dear! I understand.... Oh, I'm +so sorry, darling, but if father's there we can't talk very long. You +love me? Say it!" + +"Oh, but I _can't_," whispered Weaver fiercely, his back rigid and +formal. But his face, turned away from French, was eloquent. + +"I know you can't, silly boy." The girl laughed. "I just said it to +make you wriggle. But you do, don't you?" She laughed again. + +"Yes. Yes. Oh, YES!" + +"Then let me talk to father, darling." + +Weaver cleared his throat hastily and turned to French. + +"Here's Marion at last, sir," he said, handing the instrument to the +old man. "Hortense Underhill says that neither Mrs. French nor Bernice +has come down yet." + +French hurriedly took the telephone from Weaver's hands. "Marion, this +is father. I've just arrived from Great Neck and I'm feeling fine. +Everything all right?... What's the matter? You seem a little tired.... +All right, dear. I merely wanted to let you know that I'm back safely. +You might tell Mother for me--I'll be too busy to call again this +morning. Good-by, dear." + +He returned to his chair, looked gravely around at the Board, and said, +"Now gentlemen, since you've had a few moments to become familiar +with the figures I thrashed out with Whitney, let's get to work." He +brandished a forefinger. + + * * * * * + +At eleven forty-five the telephone bell jangled, interrupting a heated +discussion between French and Zorn. Weaver's hand leaped to the +instrument. + +"Hello, hello! Mr. French is very busy just now.... Is that you, +Hortense? What is it?... Just a moment." He turned to French. "Pardon +me, sir--Hortense Underhill is on the wire and she seems disturbed +about something. Will you talk to her or call back?" + +French glared at Zorn, who was fiercely dabbing away the perspiration +on his thick neck, and snatched the telephone from Weaver. + +"Well, what is it?" + +A quavering feminine voice answered. "Mr. French, something dreadful's +happened. I can't find Mrs. French or Miss Bernice!" + +"Eh? What's that you say? What's the matter? Where are they?" + +"I don't know, sir. They hadn't rung for the maids all morning, and I +went up to see if anything was wrong a few minutes ago. You'll--you'll +never believe it, sir--I can't understand--" + +"Well!" + +"Their beds aren't touched. I don't think they slept home last night." + +French's voice rose in anger. "You silly woman--is that why you're +interrupting my Board meeting? It was raining last night and they +probably stayed overnight somewhere with friends." + +"But Mr. French--they would have called, or--" + +"Please, Hortense! Go back to your housework. I'll look into this +later." He slammed the receiver on the hook. + +"Foolishness ..." he muttered. Then he shrugged his shoulders. He +turned to Zorn again, palms on the table. "Now what's that? Do you mean +to tell me that you'd stand in the way of this merger just because of a +paltry few thousands? Let me tell you something, Zorn...." + + + + + 3 + + "HUMPTY-DUMPTY HAD A GREAT FALL" + + +French's occupied a square block in the heart of the mid-town section +of New York, on Fifth Avenue. On the borderline between the more +fashionable upper avenue and the office-building district farther +downtown, it catered to a mixed patronage of wealth and penury. At the +noon hour its broad aisles and six floors were crowded with shop girls +and stenographers; in mid-afternoon the tone of its clientele improved +perceptibly. It boasted at once therefore the lowest prices, the most +modern models, the widest assortment of saleable articles, in New York. +As a result of this compromise between attractive prices and exclusive +merchandise it was the most popular department store in the city. From +nine o'clock in the morning until five-thirty in the evening French's +was thronged with shoppers, the sidewalks surrounding the marble +structure and its many wings almost impassable. + +Cyrus French, pioneer department store owner, assisted by his associate +Board, exerted the full financial strength of his powerful organization +to make French's--an institution of two generations of French +ownership--the show place of the city. In those days, long before the +artistic movement had been communicated in the United States to the +more practical articles of use and wear, French's had already made +contact with its European representatives and held public exhibitions +of art objects, art furniture, and kindred modernistic ware. These +exhibits attracted huge crowds to the store. One of its main windows +fronting Fifth Avenue was devoted to exhibits of periodically imported +articles. This window became the focal point for the eyes of all New +York. Curious throngs constantly besieged its sheathing of plate glass. + +On the morning of Tuesday the twenty-fourth of May, at three minutes +of the noon hour, the heavy unpaneled door to this window opened and +a Negress in black dress, white apron and white cap entered. She +sauntered about the window, seemed to appraise its contents, and then +stood stiffly at attention, as if awaiting a predetermined moment to +begin her mysterious work. + +The contents of the window were arranged to illustrate a combination +living-room and bedroom, of an ultra-modern design created by Paul +Lavery, of Paris, according to a placard in a corner. This card +acknowledged Lavery's authorship of the articles on exhibition, and +called attention to "lectures on the fifth floor by M. Lavery." The +rear wall, into which the one door opened by which the Negress had +entered, was unrelieved by ornament and tinted a pastelle green. On +this wall hung a huge Venetian mirror, unframed, its edges cut in +an irregular design. Against the wall stood a long narrow table, +exhibiting an unpainted grain highly waxed. On the table stood a +squat prismatic lamp, made of a clouded glass procurable at that +period only from a unique modern art-objects factory in Austria. Odd +pieces--chairs, end-tables, bookcases, a divan, all of unorthodox +construction, peculiar and daring in conception--stood about the +gleaming floor of the window-room. The side walls served as background +for several pieces of miscellaneous utility. + +The lighting fixtures in the ceiling and on the side walls were all of +the "concealed" variety rapidly gaining vogue on the Continent. + +At the stroke of noon the Negress, who had remained motionless since +her entrance into the room, stirred into activity. By this time a +viscid mass of people had gathered outside the window on the sidewalk, +awaiting the Negress's demonstration with hungry eyes and restless +shoulders. + +Setting down a metal rack on which were hung a number of simply +lettered placards, the Negress picked up a long ivory wand and, +pointing to the legend on the first placard, proceeded solemnly to one +of the pieces on the east wall and began a pantomimic demonstration of +its construction and properties. + +The fifth placard--by this time the crowd had doubled in size and +overflowed from the sidewalk--bore the words: + + WALL-BED + + This Article of Furniture + Is Concealed in the West + Wall and Is Operated Electrically + by a Push-Button. + It is of Special Design, + Created by M. Paul Lavery, + and Is the Only One of Its + Kind in This Country. + +Pointing to the words once more, for emphasis, the Negress sedately +walked to the west wall, indicated with a flourish a small ivory button +set in a nacreous panel, and touched the button with one long black +finger. + +Before pressing it, she looked out once more on the jostling, expectant +crowd before the window. Necks craned eagerly to see the marvel about +to be revealed. + +What they saw was a marvel indeed--so unexpected, so horrible, so +grotesque that at the instant of its occurrence faces froze into +masks of stunned incredulity. It was like a moment snatched out of an +unbelievable nightmare.... For, as the Negress pushed the ivory button, +a section of the wall slid outward and downward with a swift noiseless +movement, two small wooden legs unfolded and shot out of the forepart +of the bedstead, the bed settled to a horizontal position--and the body +of a woman, pale-faced, crumpled, distorted, her clothes bloody in two +places, fell from the silken sheet to the floor at the Negress's feet. + +It was twelve-fifteen exactly. + + + + + 4 + + "ALL THE KING'S HORSES" + + +The Negress uttered one horrified shriek, so piercing that it was +distinctly audible through the heavy glass window, rolled her eyes +wildly, and fell fainting at the side of the body. + +The spectators outside still presented a tableau--they were stricken +into silence, petrified with fright. Then a woman on the sidewalk, +her face pressed immovably to the glass, screamed. Immobility became +frenzy, silence a dull unpunctuated roar. The crowd surged away from +the window, pushing madly backward, stampeding in terror. A child fell +and was trampled in the crush. A police whistle blew, and a bluecoat +ran shouting through the crowd, using his club freely. He seemed +bewildered by the uproar--he had not yet seen the two still figures in +the exhibition-window. + +Suddenly the door in the window burst open and a lean man wearing a +short pointed beard and a monocle ran into the room. His staring eyes +took in the two motionless figures on the shining floor, traveled +jerkily to the milling crowd outside and the policeman swinging his +club, and returned with dazed disbelief to the floor. With a soundless +oath he sprang forward, grasped a heavy silk cord in a corner near the +plate-glass window, and pulled. A translucent curtain fell immediately, +shutting off the view of the frantic people in the street. + +The bearded man knelt at the side of the Negress, felt her pulse, +hesitantly touched the skin of the other woman, rose and ran back to +the door. A growing crowd of sales-girls and shoppers was collecting on +the main floor of the department store, just outside the window. Three +men--floorwalkers--rushed through as if to enter. + +The man in the window spoke sharply: "You--get the head store detective +at once--no, never mind--here he comes--Mr. Crouther! _Mr. Crouther!_ +This way! Here!" + +A heavy-set, broad-shouldered man with a mottled complexion shoved +his way, cursing, through the crowd. He had just reached the entrance +of the window when the policeman who had dispersed the crowd on the +sidewalk ran up and dashed after him into the window. The three men +disappeared, the bluecoat slamming the door shut behind them. + +The bearded man stood aside. "There's been a terrible accident, +Crouther.... Glad you're here, officer.... My God, what an affair!" + +The head store detective pounded across the room and glared down at the +two women. "What happened to the coon, Mr. Lav-ery?" he bellowed at the +bearded man. + +"Fainted, I suppose!" + +"Here, Crouther, let me take a look," said the policeman, +unceremoniously pushing Lavery aside. He bent over the body of the +woman who had tumbled from the bed. + +Crouther cleared his throat importantly. "Listen here, Bush. This is +no time to make an examination. We oughtn't to touch a thing until +Headquarters is notified. Mr. Lav-ery and me--we'll stand guard here +while you use the 'phone. Go ahead now, Bush, don't be an egg!" + +The policeman stood undecidedly for a moment, scratched his head, and +finally left the room with hurried steps. + +"This is one sweet mess," growled Crouther. "What happened here, Mr. +Lav-ery? Who in hell is _this_ woman?" + +Lavery started nervously and plucked at his beard with long thin +fingers. "Why, don't you know? But of course not.... Good Heavens, +Crouther, what are we to do?" + +Crouther frowned. "Now don't go getting yourself all excited, Mr. +Lav-ery. This is a police job, pure and simple. Lucky I was on the +scene so quick. We gotta wait for the detail from Headquarters. Just +take it easy now--" + +Lavery regarded the store detective coldly. "I'm perfectly all right, +Mr. Crouther," he said. "I suggest--" he weighted the word with +authority--"that you immediately marshal your store forces to keep +order on the main floor. Make it appear as if nothing out of the way +has happened. Call Mr. MacKenzie. Send somebody to notify Mr. French +and the Board of Directors. I understand they're having a meeting +upstairs. This is--an affair of a grave nature--graver than you know. +Go now!" + +Crouther looked at Lavery rebelliously, shook his head, and made for +the door. As he opened it a small dark man with a physician's bag +stepped into the room. He glanced quickly around and without a word +crossed to the side of the two bodies. + +He favored the Negress with a scant glance and a feeling of the pulse. +He spoke without looking up. + +"Here--Mr. Lavery, is it?--you'll have to help--get one of the men +outside to give you a hand--the Negress has merely fainted--get her a +glass of water and put her on that divan there--send somebody for one +of the nurses from the infirmary...." + +Lavery nodded. He went to the door and looked out over the whispering +crowd on the floor. + +"Mr. MacKenzie! Here, please!" + +A middle-aged man with a pleasant Scotch face hurried up and into the +room. "Help me, please," said Lavery. + +The doctor busied himself over the body of the other woman. His +movements concealed her face. Lavery and MacKenzie picked up the +reviving form of the Negress and carried her to the divan. A +floorwalker outside was dispatched for a glass of water and reappeared +in a twinkling. The Negress gulped, groaned. + +The doctor looked up gravely. "This woman is dead," he announced. "Has +been for quite a while. What's more, she's been shot. Got it in the +heart. Looks like murder, Mr. Lavery!" + +"_Nom du chien!_" muttered Lavery. His face was sickly white. + +MacKenzie scurried across the room to look down at the huddled corpse. +He fell back with a cry. + +"Good God! _It's Mrs. French!_" + + + + + 5 + + "AND ALL THE KING'S MEN" + + +The window-door opened quickly and two men stepped in. One, a tall +lank individual smoking a blackish cigar, stopped short, peered about +him, and then, catching sight of the body, immediately advanced to the +farther side of the wall-bed, on the floor by which lay the dead woman. +He favored the little physician with a keen glance, nodded and without +further ado dropped to his knees. After a moment he looked up. + +"The store doctor, are you?" + +The physician nodded nervously. "Yes. I've made a superficial +examination. She's dead. I--" + +"I can see that," said the newcomer. "I'm Prouty, Assistant Medical +Examiner. Stand by, doctor." Again he bent over the body, opening his +bag with one hand. + +The second of the two men who had arrived was an iron-jawed giant. He +had stopped at the door, softly prodding it shut behind him. Now his +eyes flickered over the frozen faces of Lavery, MacKenzie and the store +doctor. His own face was cold and harsh and expressionless. + +It was not until Dr. Prouty began his examination that this man +vitalized into action. He took a purposeful step forward toward +MacKenzie, but stopped suddenly as the door shivered under a violent +pounding. + +"Come in!" he said sharply, standing between the door and the bed, so +that the body was hidden from the newcomers. + +The door was flung aside. A small army of men surged forward. The tall +man blocked their path. + +"Just a moment," he said lowly. "We can't have so many people in here. +Who are you?" + +Cyrus French, flushed and choleric, snapped: "I am the owner of this +establishment, and these gentlemen all have a right to be here. They +are the Board of Directors--this is Mr. Crouther, our head store +detective--stand aside, please." + +The tall man did not move. "Mr. French, eh? Board of Directors?... +Hello, Crouther.... Who is this?" He pointed to Westley Weaver, who +hovered about the edge of the group, a trifle pale. + +"Mr. Weaver, my secretary," said French impatiently. "Who are you, sir? +What's happened here? Let me pass." + +"I see." The tall man reflected a moment, hesitated, then said firmly, +"I'm Sergeant Velie of the Homicide Squad. Sorry, Mr. French, but +you'll have to abide by my orders here. Come in, but don't touch +anything and let me give the orders." He stepped aside. He seemed to be +waiting for something with unwearying patience. + +Lavery ran forward, his eyes distended as he saw Cyrus French stride +toward the bed. He intercepted the old man, grasped his lapel. + +"Mr. French--please do not look--just now...." + +French petulantly brushed him aside. "Let me be, Lavery! What is +this--a conspiracy? Ordered about in my own store!" He proceeded to +the bed, and Lavery fell back, a resigned look on his mobile face. +Suddenly, as if struck by a thought, he took John Gray aside, speaking +in the director's ear. Gray paled, stood transfixed to the spot, then +with an indistinct cry he leaped to French's side. + +He was just in time. The store owner had bent curiously over Dr. +Prouty's shoulder, taken one look at the woman on the floor, and +collapsed without a sound. Gray caught him as he sank. Lavery sprang +forward and assisted in carrying the old man's limp body to a chair on +the other side of the room. + +A nurse in white cap and gown had slipped into the room and was +ministering to the hysterical Negress on the divan. She went quickly +over to French, slipped a vial under his nose, and instructed Lavery +to chafe his hands. Gray paced nervously up and down, muttering to +himself. The store doctor hurried over to help the nurse. + +The directors and the secretary, huddled together in a horror-struck +group, moved hesitantly toward the body. Weaver and Marchbanks cried +out together at seeing the woman's face. Zorn bit his lip and turned +away. Trask averted his face in horror. Then, in the same mechanical +motion, they moved slowly backward to a corner, glancing helplessly at +each other. + +Velie crooked a huge finger at Crouther. "What have you done?" + +The store detective grinned. "Taken care of all the details, don't you +worry. I've got all my men scrambled on the main floor and they've +scattered the mob. Got everything well in hand. Trust Bill Crouther for +that, Sergeant! Won't be much for you guys to do, that's a fact." + +Velie grunted. "Well, here's something for you to do while we're +waiting. Get a big stretch of the main floor roped off right around +this section, and keep everybody away. It's a little late now, I +suppose, to close the doors. Wouldn't do much good. Whoever did this +job is miles away from here by now. Get going, Crouther!" + +The store detective nodded, turned away, turned back. "Say, +Sergeant--know just who the woman on the floor is? Might help us right +now." + +"Yes?" Velie smiled frostily. "Can't see how. But it doesn't take much +to figure it out. It's French's wife. Blast it, this is a great place +for a murder!" + +"No!" Crouther's jaw dropped. "French's wife, hey? The big cheese +himself.... Well, well!" He stole a glance at the slack figure of +French and a moment later his voice resounded through the window as he +roared instructions outside. + +Silence in the window-room. The group in the corner had not moved. +The Negress and French had both been revived--the black woman's eyes +rolling wildly as she clung to the starched skirt of the nurse, +French's face a pasty white as he half-lay in the chair listening to +Gray's low-voiced words of sympathy. Gray himself seemed drained of his +queer vitality. + +Velie beckoned to MacKenzie, who hovered nervously at Prouty's shoulder. + +"You're MacKenzie, the store manager?" + +"Yes, Sergeant." + +"It's time to get a move on, Mr. MacKenzie." Velie eyed him coldly. +"Get a hold on yourself. Somebody's got to keep his wits about him. +This is part of your job." The store manager squared his shoulders. +"Now listen. This is important and it's got to be done thoroughly." He +lowered his voice. "No employees to leave the building--item number +one, and I'm holding you responsible for its execution. Number two, +check up on all employees who are not at their posts. Number three, +make out a list of all employees absent from the store to-day, with the +reasons for their absence. Hop to it!" + +MacKenzie mumbled submissively, shuffled away. + +Velie took Lavery, who stood talking to Weaver, to one side. + +"You seem to have some authority here. May I ask who you are?" + +"My name is Paul Lavery, and I am exhibiting the modern furniture +on display upstairs on the fifth floor. This room is a sample of my +exhibition." + +"I see. Well, you've kept your head, Mr. Lavery. The dead woman is Mrs. +French?" + +Lavery averted his eyes. "Yes, Sergeant. It was quite a shock to all +of us, no doubt. How in God's name did she ever get--" He stopped +abruptly, worried his lip. + +"Did she ever get here, you meant to say?" finished Velie grimly. "Well +now, that's a question, isn't it? I--Just a moment, Mr. Lavery!" + +He turned on his heel and walked swiftly to the door to greet a group +of new arrivals. + +"Morning, Inspector. Morning, Mr. Queen! Glad you've come, sir. You'll +find things in a rotten mess." He stepped aside and waved a large hand +at the room and its assorted occupants. "Pretty, eh, sir? More like a +wake than the scene of a crime!" It was a long speech for Velie. + +Inspector Richard Queen--small, pert, like a white-thatched +bird--followed the circuit of Velie's hand with his eyes. + +"My goodness!" he exclaimed in annoyance. "How did so many people get +into this room? I'm surprised at you, Thomas." + +"Inspector." Queen paused at Velie's deep voice. "I thought it +might--" his voice became inaudible as he murmured a few words in the +Inspector's ear. + +"Yes, yes, I see, Thomas." The Inspector patted his arm. "Tell me soon. +Let's have a peep at the body." + +He trotted across the room and slipped to the far side of the wall-bed. +Prouty, his hands busy on the corpse, nodded in greeting. + +"Murder," he said. "No sign of the revolver." + +The Inspector peered intently into the ghastly face of the dead woman, +ran his eye over the disarranged clothing. + +"Well, we'll have the boys look a little later. Keep going, Doc." He +sighed and returned to Velie at the other side of the room. + +"Now let's have it, Thomas. From the beginning." His little eyes roved +judiciously about the men in the room as Velie rapidly outlined in +an undertone the events of the past half-hour.... Outside a body of +plainclothes men and a scattering of uniformed policemen could be seen. +The patrolman, Bush, was among them. + +Ellery Queen shut the door and leaned against it. He was tall and +sparely built, with athletic hands, taper-fingered. He wore immaculate +grey tweeds and carried a stick and a light coat. On his thin nose +perched a pince-nez. Above it rose a forehead of wide proportions, +white and untroubled. His hair was smoothly black. From the pocket of +the coat protruded a small volume in faded covers. + +He looked curiously at each person in the room--curiously and slowly, +as if he enjoyed his scrutiny. The characteristics of each individual +as his eyes passed from one to another he seemed to store away in a +corner of his brain. His examination was almost visibly digestive. Yet +it was not entirely concentrated, for he listened intently to each +word of Velie's recital to the Inspector. Suddenly his eyes, in their +panoramic course, met those of Westley Weaver, who stood miserably in a +corner leaning against the wall. + +Into the eyes of each leaped instant recognition. They started forward +simultaneously, hands outstretched. + +"Ellery Queen. Thank God!" + +"By the Seven Virgins of Theophilus--Westley Weaver!" They wrung each +other's hands with undisguised pleasure. Inspector Queen glanced their +way, quizzically; then he turned back to hear the last of Velie's +rumbled comments. + +"It's awfully good seeing your classic features again, Ellery," +murmured Weaver. His face dropped back into strained lines. "Are +you--is that the Inspector?" + +"In the indefatigable flesh, Westley," said Ellery. "The pater +himself, with his nose to the scent.--But tell me things, boy. It's--O +Tempes!--isn't it five or six years since we last met?" + +"All of that, Ellery. I'm glad you're here, for more than one reason, +El. It's a little comforting," said Weaver in a low voice. "This--this +thing...." + +Ellery's smile faded. "The tragedy, eh, Westley? Tell me--how do you +figure in it? You didn't kill the lady, by any chance?" His tone was +jocular, but behind it was a certain anxiety which his father, ears +cocked, found a little strange. + +"Ellery!" Weaver's eyes met his straightforwardly. "That isn't even +funny." Then the look of misery crept in again. "It's awful, El. Just +awful. You haven't any idea how awful it is...." + +Ellery patted Weaver's arm lightly, removed his pince-nez with an +absent motion. "I'll get it all in a moment, Westley. I'll hold +_tête-à-tête_ conversation with you later. Hang on, won't you? I see +my father signaling me frantically. Chin up, Wes!" He moved away, +again smiling. Weaver's eyes held a glimmer of hope as he dropped back +against the wall. + +The Inspector murmured to his son for a moment. Ellery made a +low-voiced reply. Then Ellery strode over to the farther side of the +bed and stood over Prouty, watching the medical examiner as he worked +swiftly over the body. + +The Inspector turned to the assembled crowd in the room. "A little +quiet now, please," he said. + +A thick curtain of silence dropped over the room. + + + + + 6 + + TESTIMONY + + +The Inspector stepped forward. + +"It will be necessary for every one to wait here," he began +sententiously, "while we make some elementary but essential +investigations. Let me say at once, to forestall any claims of special +privilege that may be made, that this is undoubtedly a case of murder. +In cases of murder, the most serious charge that can be brought +against an individual, the law is no respecter either of persons or +institutions. A woman is dead of violence. Somebody killed her. That +somebody may be miles away at this moment, or in this room now. You +can understand, gentlemen"--and his tired eyes considered the five +directors especially--"that the sooner we get down to business, the +better. Too much time has been lost already." + +He went abruptly to the door, opened it, and called in a penetrating +voice: "Piggott! Hesse! Hagstrom! Flint! Johnson! Ritter!" + +Six detectives strolled into the room. Ritter, a burly man, closed the +door behind him. + +"Hagstrom, your book." The detective whipped out a small notebook and a +pencil. + +"Piggott, Hesse, Flint--the room!" He added something in a low tone. +The three detectives grinned and dispersed to different portions of the +room. They began a slow, methodical search of furniture, floors, walls. + +"Johnson--the bed!" One of the two remaining men went directly to the +wall-bed and began to examine its contents. + +"Ritter--stand by." The Inspector slipped his hands into a coat pocket +and withdrew his brown old snuff-box. He filled his nostrils with +aromatic snuff, inhaled deeply and restored the box to his pocket. + +"Now!" he said, and glared about the room at his thoroughly cowed +audience. Ellery met his eye for an instant and smiled slightly. "Now! +You, there!" He pointed an accusing finger at the Negress, who was +staring at him with wide eyes, her skin greyish-violet with fright. + +"Yassuh," she quavered, tottering to her feet. + +"Your name?" snapped Queen. + +"Di--Diana Johnson, suh," she whispered, gazing at him in scared +fascination. + +"Diana Johnson, eh?" The Inspector took a step forward, leveled his +finger at her. "Why did you open this bed at twelve-fifteen to-day?" + +"Ah--Ah had to, suh," she faltered. "Dat was--" + +Lavery waved his arm hesitantly at the Inspector. "I can explain that--" + +"Sir!" Lavery colored, then smiled cynically. "Go on, Johnson." + +"Yassuh, yassuh! Dat was de reg'lar time fo' de exhibition, suh. Ah +always comes out into dis room at a couple o' minutes befo' twelve an' +gets ready fo' de exhibition, suh." The words tumbled out. "An' den, +when Ah'd just got through showin' dis contraption hyah"--she indicated +the divan, which seemed a combination of sofa, bed and bookcase--"Ah +goes to de wall, pushes de button, and den dat--dat dead 'ooman falls +out right at mah feet...." She shuddered and drew a deep breath, +glancing at the detective Hagstrom, who was busily taking down her +words in shorthand. + +"You had no idea the body was inside when you pressed the button, Miss +Johnson?" demanded the Inspector. + +The Negress's eyes flew wide open. "Nosuh! Ah wouldn't 'a' teched dat +bed fo' a thousan' dolluhs ef Ah'd know dat!" The uniformed nurse +giggled nervously. She sobered instantly as the Inspector stared in her +direction. + +"Very well. That's all." He turned to Hagstrom. "Got every word?" The +detective nodded, maintaining a severe silence as the old man winked +fleetingly at him. Inspector Queen turned back to the group. "Nurse, +take Diana Johnson to your hospital upstairs and keep her there until I +give the word!" + +The Negress stumbled in her eagerness to leave the window-room. The +nurse followed somewhat sulkily behind. + +The Inspector had Patrolman Bush summoned. The policeman saluted, +answered a few questions about what had occurred on the sidewalk at the +moment the body fell, and subsequently inside the window-room, and was +commissioned to go back to his post on Fifth Avenue. + +"Crouther!" The store detective was standing by the side of Ellery and +Dr. Prouty. He now slouched forward and stared boldly at Queen. "You're +the head store detective?" + +"Yes, Inspector." He shuffled his feet and grinned, displaying +tobacco-stained teeth. + +"Sergeant Velie tells me that he instructed you to scatter your men +through the main floor soon after the body was discovered. Have you +attended to that?" + +"Yes, sir. Got a squad of a half-dozen store detectives workin' +outside, and put every available 'spotter' on the job, too," replied +Crouther promptly. "But they haven't turned up anybody suspicious yet." + +"Could hardly expect it." The Inspector took another pinch of snuff. +"Tell me just what you found when you came in here." + +"Well, Inspector, the first I knew about the murder was when one of my +detectives 'phoned me upstairs in my office that something had happened +outside on the sidewalk--riot or something. I came down right away and +as I passed this window I heard Mr. Lavery yell for me. I ran in, saw +the body layin' here, and the darky fainting on the floor. Bush, the +officer on the beat, came in right after me. I told 'em nothing ought +to be touched until the Headquarters men got here, and then got right +after the mobs outside, and generally kept an eye on everything until +Sergeant Velie got here. I followed his orders after that, that's a +fact. I--" + +"Here, here, Crouther, that's plenty," said the Inspector. "Don't +leave, I may be able to use you later. Short-handed enough as it is, +the Lord knows. A department store!" He muttered under his breath and +turned to Dr. Prouty. + +"Doc! Ready for me yet?" + +The kneeling police doctor nodded. "Just about, Inspector. Want me to +shoot the works right here?" He seemed tacitly to question the wisdom +of imparting his information before a group of laymen. + +"Might as well," grunted Queen. "It can't be very enlightening." + +"Don't know about that." Prouty stood up with a groan, took a firmer +grip on the black cigar between his teeth. + +"Woman was killed by two bullets," he said deliberately, "both from a +Colt .38 revolver. Probably from the same gun--hard to tell exactly +without putting them under the microscope." He held up two encarmined +blobs of metal, blunted completely out of shape. The Inspector took +them, turned them over in his fingers, and in silence handed them to +Ellery, who immediately bent over them with a curious eagerness. + +Prouty stared dreamily down at the body, plunging his hands into his +pockets. "One bullet," he continued, "entered the body directly in +the center of the cardiac region. Nice jagged _pericardial_ wound, +Inspector. Smashed the _sternum_ bone, pierced the _pericardial +septum_, which is the membrane separating the _pericardium_ from the +main body cavity, then took the logical course through--first the +fibrous layer of the _pericardium_, then the serous inner layer, and +finally the anterior tip of the heart, where the great vessels are. +Spilled quite a bit of the yellow _pericardial_ fluid, too. Bullet +entered the body at an angle and it's left a fearful wound...." + +"Then death was instantaneous?" asked Ellery. "The second bullet was +unnecessary?" + +"Quite," said Prouty dryly. "Death would be instantaneous from either +wound. As a matter of fact, the second bullet--maybe it's not the +second, though, I can't tell of course which hit her first--bullet +number two made a better job of it than even bullet number one. Because +it penetrated the _precordia_, which is the region a little below the +heart and above the abdomen. This is also a ragged wound, and since +the _precordial_ sector takes in muscles and blood-vessels of major +importance, it's as vital a spot as the heart itself...." Prouty +stopped suddenly. His eyes strayed almost with irritation to the dead +woman on the floor. + +"Was the revolver fired close to the body?" put in the Inspector. + +"No powder stains, Inspector," said Prouty, still regarding the corpse +with a frown. + +"Were both bullets fired from the same spot?" asked Ellery. + +"Hard to say. The lateral angles are similar, indicating that whoever +fired both bullets stood to the right of the woman. But the downward +course of the bullets disturbs me. They're too much alike." + +"What do you mean?" demanded Ellery, leaning forward. + +"Well," growled Prouty, biting on his cigar, "if the woman were in +exactly the same position when both shots were fired--assuming that +both shots were fired almost simultaneously, of course--there should +be a greater _downward_ angle to the _precordial_ wound than to the +_pericardial_. Because the _precordia_ is located below the heart, and +the gun would have to be aimed lower.... Well, perhaps I shouldn't say +these things at all. There are any number of explanations, I suppose, +for that difference in angle. Ought to have Ken Knowles look over the +bullets and the wounds, though." + +"He'll get his chance," said the Inspector with a sigh. "Is that all, +Doc?" + +Ellery looked up from another scrutiny of the two bullets. "How long +has she been dead?" + +Prouty replied promptly: "About twelve hours, I should say. I'll be +able to fix the time of death more accurately after the autopsy. But +she certainly died no earlier than midnight and probably no later than +two in the morning." + +"Through now?" asked Inspector Queen patiently. + +"Yes. But there's one thing that has me a little...." Prouty set his +jaw. "There's something queer here, Inspector. From what I know of +_precordial_ wounds I can't believe that this one should have bled so +little. You've noticed, I suppose, that the clothing above both wounds +is stiff with coagulated blood, but not so much of it as you might +expect. At least as a medical man might expect." + +"Why?" + +"I've seen plenty of _precordial_ wounds," said Prouty calmly, "and +they're messy, Inspector. Bleed like hell. In fact, especially in this +case, where the hole is blasted pretty large, due to the angle, there +should be pools and pools of it. The _pericardial_ would bleed freely, +but not profusely. But the other--I say, there's something queer here, +and I thought I'd call it to your attention." + +Ellery shot his father a warning glance as the old man opened his +mouth to reply. The Inspector clamped his lips together and dismissed +Prouty with a nod. Ellery returned the two bullets to Prouty, who put +them carefully into his bag. + +The police doctor unhurriedly covered the body with a sheet from the +hanging bed and departed, his last words a promise to hurry the morgue +wagon. + +"Is the store physician here?" Queen asked. + +The small dark doctor stepped uncertainly forward from a corner. His +teeth gleamed as he said, "Yes, sir?" + +"Have you anything to add to Dr. Prouty's analysis, doctor?" questioned +Queen, with disarming gentleness. + +"Not a thing, not a thing, sir," said the store physician, looking +uneasily at Prouty's retreating figure. "A precise if somewhat sketchy +diagnosis. The bullets entered--" + +"Thank you, doctor." Inspector Queen turned his back on the little +physician and beckoned imperiously to the store detective. + +"Crouther," he asked in a low tone, "who's your head night-watchman?" + +"O'Flaherty--Pete O'Flaherty, Inspector." + +"How many watchmen are on duty here at night?" + +"Four. O'Flaherty tends the night-door on the 39th Street side, Ralska +and Powers do the rounds, and Bloom is on duty at the 39th Street night +freight-entrance." + +"Thanks." The Inspector turned to Detective Ritter. "Get hold of +this man MacKenzie, the store manager, find the home addresses of +O'Flaherty, Ralska, Powers and Bloom, and get 'em down here as fast as +a cab will carry them. Scoot!" Ritter lumbered away. + +Ellery suddenly straightened, adjusted his pince-nez more firmly on his +nose, and strode over to his father. They held a whispered colloquy for +a moment, whereupon Ellery quietly retreated to his vantage-point near +the bed and the Inspector crooked his finger at Westley Weaver. + +"Mr. Weaver," he asked, "I take it that you are Mr. French's +confidential secretary?" + +"Yes, sir," responded Weaver warily. + +The Inspector glanced sidewise at Cyrus French, huddled exhausted +in the chair. John Gray's small white hand was solicitously patting +French's arm. "I'd rather not bother Mr. French at this time with +questions.--You were with him all morning?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Mr. French was not aware of Mrs. French's presence in the store?" + +"No, sir!" The response was immediate and sharp. Weaver regarded Queen +with suspicious eyes. + +"Were you?" + +"I? No, sir!" + +"Hmmm!" The Inspector's chin sank on his chest, and he communed with +himself for an instant. Suddenly his finger shot toward the group of +directors on the other side of the room. "How about you gentlemen? Any +of you know that Mrs. French was here--this morning or last night?" + +There was a chorus of horrified noes. Cornelius Zorn's face grew red. +He began to protest angrily. + +"Please!" The Inspector's tone flung them back in silence. "Mr. Weaver. +How is it that all these gentlemen are present in the store this +morning? They're not here every day, are they?" + +Weaver's frank face lightened, as if from relief. "All of our directors +are active in the management of the store, Inspector. They're here +every day, if only for an hour or so. As for this morning, there was a +directors' meeting in Mr. French's private apartment upstairs." + +"Eh?" Queen seemed pleased as well as startled. "A private apartment +upstairs, you say? On what floor?" + +"The sixth--that's the top floor of the store." + +Ellery stirred into life. Again he crossed the floor, again he +whispered to his father, and again the old man nodded. + +"Mr. Weaver," continued the Inspector, a note of eagerness in his +voice, "how long were you and the Board in Mr. French's private +apartment this morning?" + +Weaver seemed surprised at the question. "Why, all morning, Inspector. +I arrived at about eight-thirty, Mr. French at about nine, and the +other directors at a little past eleven." + +"I see." The Inspector mused. "Did you leave the apartment at any time +during the morning?" + +"No, sir." The reply was snapped back at him. + +"And the others--Mr. French, the directors?" pressed the Inspector +patiently. + +"No, sir! We were all there until one of the store detectives notified +us that an accident had occurred here. And I must say, sir--" + +"Westley, Westley ..." murmured Ellery chidingly, and Weaver turned to +him with startled eyes. They fell before the meaning glance of Ellery, +and Weaver bit his lip nervously. He did not finish what he had begun +to say. + +"Now, sir." The Inspector seemed to be enjoying himself in a tired +way--utterly disregarding the bewildered eyes of the many people in the +room. "Now, sir! Be very careful. At what time did this notification +come?" + +"At twelve-twenty-five," replied Weaver in a calmer tone. + +"Very well.--Every one then left the apartment?" Weaver nodded. "Did +you lock the door?" + +"The door closed after us, Inspector." + +"And the apartment remained that way, unguarded?" + +"Not at all," said Weaver promptly. "At the beginning of the +conference this morning, at Mr. French's suggestion, I got one of the +store detectives to stand guard outside the apartment door. He is +probably still there, because his orders were specific. In fact, I +remember seeing him lounging about outside when we all rushed out to +see what was the matter down here." + +"_Very_ good!" beamed the old man. "A store detective, you say? +Reliable?" + +"Absolutely, Inspector," said Crouther, from his corner. "Sergeant +Velie knows him, too. Jones is his name--an ex-policeman--used to be on +a beat with Velie." The Inspector looked at the Sergeant inquiringly; +he nodded in confirmation. + +"Thomas," said Queen with one hand digging into his side-pocket for a +pinch of snuff, "see to it, will you? See if this Jones fellow is still +there, if he's been there all the time, if he's seen anything, if any +one tried to get into the apartment since Mr. French, Mr. Weaver and +the other gentlemen left. And take one of the boys along to relieve +him--to relieve him, you understand?" + +Velie grunted stonily and tramped out of the window-room. As he left, +a policeman entered, saluted Inspector Queen and reported, "There's a +'phone call out there in the leather-goods department for a Mr. Westley +Weaver, Inspector." + +"What's that? Call?" The Inspector turned on Weaver, who stood +miserably in a corner. + +Weaver straightened. "Probably from Krafft of the Comptroller's +office," he said. "I was to give him a report this morning, and the +meeting and everything that happened afterward drove it out of my +mind.... May I leave?" + +Queen hesitated, his glance flickering toward Ellery, who was absently +fingering his pince-nez. Ellery gave a slight nod. + +"Go ahead," the Inspector growled to Weaver. "But come right back." + +Weaver followed the policeman to the leather-goods counter directly +facing the door of the window-room. A clerk eagerly handed the +telephone to him. + +"Hello--Krafft? This is Weaver speaking. I'm sorry about that +report--Who? Oh." + +A curious change came over his face as he heard Marion French's +voice over the wire. He lowered his voice immediately and bent over +the instrument. The policeman, lounging behind him, surreptitiously +shuffled closer, trying to catch the conversation. + +"Why, what's the matter, dear?" asked Marion, a note of anxiety in her +voice. "Is anything wrong? I tried to get you at the apartment, but +there was no answer. The operator had to search for you.... I thought +father had a directors' meeting this morning." + +"Marion!" Weaver's voice was insistent. "I really can't stop to explain +now. Something's happened, dearest--something so ..." He stopped, +seemed to be wrestling mentally with some problem. His lips tightened. +"Sweetheart, will you do something for me?" + +"But, Wes dear," came the girl's anxious voice, "whatever is the +matter? Has anything happened to father?" + +"No--no." Weaver hunched desperately over the telephone. "Be my own +honey and don't ask questions now.... Where are you now?" + +"Why, at home, dear. But, Wes, what _is_ the trouble?" There was a +frightened catch in her voice. "Has it anything to do with Winifred or +Bernice? They're not at home, Wes--haven't been all night...." Then she +laughed a little. "But there! I shan't worry you, dearest. I'll take a +cab and be down in fifteen minutes." + +"I knew you would." Weaver almost sobbed in a tense relief. "Whatever +happens, sweet, I love you, I love you, do you understand?" + +"Westley! You silly boy--you've frightened me out of my wits. Good-by +now--I'll be downtown in a jiffy." There was a tender little sound +through the receiver--it might have been a kiss--and Weaver hung up +with a sigh. + +The policeman jumped back as Weaver turned--jumped back with a broad +grin. Weaver flushed furiously, started to speak, then shook his head. + +"There's a young lady coming down here, officer," he said swiftly. +"She'll be here in about a quarter of an hour. Won't you please let me +know the moment she gets here? She's Miss Marion French. I'll be in the +window." + +The bluecoat lost his grin. "Well now," he said slowly, scraping his +jaw, "I just don't know about that. Guess you'll have to tell the +Inspector about it. _I_ haven't the authority." + +He marched Weaver back into the window-room against the young man's +protests at the heavy hand on his arm. + +"Inspector," he said respectfully, still grasping Weaver's arm, "this +feller wants me to let him know when a certain young lady by the name +of Miss Marion French gets here." + +Queen looked up in surprise, a surprise that deepened rapidly into +brusqueness. "Was that telephone call from your Mr. Krafft?" he asked +Weaver. + +Before Weaver could speak, the policeman interposed: "Not by a long +sight, sir. 'Twas a lady, and I think he called her 'Marion.'" + +"Look here, Inspector!" said Weaver hotly, shaking off the bluecoat's +hand. "This is asinine. I thought the call was from Mr. Krafft, but +it was Miss French--Mr. French's daughter. A--a semi-business call. +And I took the liberty of asking her to come down here immediately. +That's all. Is that a crime? As for letting me know when she arrives--I +naturally want to spare her the shock of walking into this place and +seeing her stepmother's dead body on the floor." + +The Inspector took a pinch of snuff, glancing mildly from Weaver to +Ellery. "I see. I see. I'm sorry, Mr. Weaver.... That's right, isn't +it, officer?" he snapped, whirling on the bluecoat. + +"Yes, sir! Heard it all plain as day. He's telling the truth." + +"And mighty fortunate for him he is," grumbled the Inspector. "Stand +back, Mr. Weaver. We'll attend to the young lady when she arrives.... +Now then!" he cried, rubbing his hands, "Mr. French!" + +The old man looked up in bleary bewilderment, his eyes blank and +staring. + +"Mr. French, is there anything you would like to say that might clear +up some of this mystery?" + +"I--I--I--beg--your--pardon?" stammered French, raising his head with +an effort from the back-cushion of the chair. He seemed stricken by his +wife's death to the point of imbecility. + +Queen regarded him with pity, looked into the eyes of John Gray, +whose face was threatening, muttered, "Never mind," and squared his +shoulders. "Ellery, my son, how about a careful look-see at the body?" +He peered at Ellery from beneath overhung brows. + +Ellery stirred. "Lookers-on," he said clearly, "see more than players. +And if you think that quotation is inept, dad, you don't know your +son's favorite author, Anonymous. Play on!" + + + + + 7 + + THE CORPSE + + +Inspector Queen moved over to the other side of the room, where +the body lay between the bed and the window. Waving aside the +detective Johnson, who was rummaging among the bedclothes, the old +man knelt on the floor beside the dead woman. He removed the white +sheet. Ellery bent over his father's shoulder, his gaze detached but +characteristically panoramic. + +The body lay in an oddly crumpled position, the left arm outstretched, +the right slightly crooked beneath the back. The head was in profile, +a brown toque-style hat pushed pathetically over one eye. Mrs. French +had been a small slender woman, with delicate hands and feet. The eyes +were fixed in a sort of bewildered glare, wide open. The mouth drooled; +a thin trickle of blood, now dark and dry, streaked the chin. + +The clothes were simple and severe, but rich in quality, as might be +expected from a woman of Mrs. French's age and position. There was a +light brown cloth coat, trimmed at the collar and cuffs with brown fox; +a dark tan dress of a jersey material, with a breast and waist design +of orange and brown; brown silk stockings and a pair of uncompromising +brown walking-shoes. + +The Inspector looked up. + +"Notice the mud on her shoes, El?" he asked _sotto voce_. + +Ellery nodded. "Doesn't take a heap of perspicacity," he remarked. "It +rained all day yesterday; remember the downpour last night? No wonder +the poor lady wet her patrician feet. As a matter of fact, you can see +traces of the wet even on the trimming of the toque.--Yes, dad, Mrs. +French was out in the rain yesterday. Not very important." + +"Why not?" the old man asked, his hands softly moving aside the collar +of the coat. + +"Because she probably wet her shoes and hat in crossing the sidewalk to +the store," retorted Ellery. "What of it?" + +The Inspector did not reply. His seeking hand plunged suddenly beneath +the coat-collar and reappeared with a filmy, color-clouded scarf. + +"Here's something," he said, turning the gauze-like material over in +his hands. "Must have slipped down inside the coat when she tumbled out +of the bed." An exclamation escaped him. On one corner of the scarf was +a silk-embroidered monogram. Ellery leaned farther forward over his +father's shoulder. + +"_M.F._," he said. He straightened up, frowning, saying nothing. + +The Inspector turned his head toward the group of directors at the +other side of the room. They were huddled together, watching his every +gesture. At his movement they started guiltily and averted their heads. + +"What was Mrs. French's first name?" Queen questioned the group; and +as if each one had been addressed individually, there was an instant +chorus of "Winifred!" + +"Winifred, eh?" muttered the old man, letting his eyes return +fleetingly to the body. Then he fixed Weaver with his grey eyes. + +"Winifred, eh?" he repeated. Weaver bobbed his head mechanically. He +seemed horrified at the wisp of silk in the Inspector's hand. "Winifred +what? Any middle name or initials?" + +"Winifred--Winifred Marchbanks French," stammered the secretary. + +The Inspector nodded curtly. Rising, he strode over to Cyrus French, +who was watching him with dull, uncomprehending eyes. + +"Mr. French--" Queen shook the millionaire's shoulder gently--"Mr. +French, is this your wife's scarf?" He held the scarf up before +French's eyes. "Do you understand me, sir? Is this scarf Mrs. French's?" + +"Eh? I--Let me see it!" The old man snatched it in a sort of frenzy +from the Inspector's hand. He bent over it avidly, pulled it smooth, +examined the monogram with feverish fingers--and slumped back in his +chair. + +"Is it, Mr. French?" pursued the Inspector, taking the scarf from him. + +"No." It was a flat, colorless, indifferent negative. + +The Inspector turned toward the silent group. "Can any one here +identify this scarf?" He held it high. There was no answer. The +Inspector repeated his question, glaring at each one individually. Of +them all, only Westley Weaver averted his glance. + +"So! Weaver, eh? No nonsense, now, young man!" snapped Queen, grasping +the secretary by the arm. "What do the letters _M.F._ stand for--Marion +French?" + +The young man gulped, sent an agonized glance toward Ellery, who +returned the glance commiseratingly, looked at old Cyrus French, who +was mumbling to himself.... + +"You can't believe she had anything to do--to do with it!" cried +Weaver, shaking his arm free. "It's absurd--crazy!... You _can't_ +believe she had anything to do with this, Inspector. She's too fine, +too young, too--" + +"Marion French." The Inspector turned toward John Gray. "Mr. French's +daughter, I believe Mr. Weaver said before?" + +Gray nodded sullenly. Cyrus French suddenly attempted to leap from his +chair. He uttered a hoarse cry. "My God, no! Not Marion! Not Marion!" +His eyes blazed as Gray and Marchbanks, the directors nearest the old +man, jumped to support his quivering body. The spasm lasted for a brief +moment; he collapsed into his chair. + +Inspector Queen returned without a word to his examination of the dead +woman. Ellery had been a silent witness of the little drama, his sharp +eyes flitting from face to face as it unfolded. Now he sent a glance +of reassurance at Weaver, who was leaning abjectly against a table, +and then stooped to pick up an object from the floor which was almost +hidden by the dead woman's tumbled skirt. + +It was a small handbag of dark brown suède, monogrammed with the +initials _W.M.F._ Ellery sat down on the edge of the bed and turned +the bag over in his hands. Curiously he lifted the flap and began +to spread the contents of the bag on the mattress. He removed a +small change-purse, a gold vanity-case, a lace handkerchief, a gold +card-case, all monogrammed _W.M.F._, and finally a silver-chased +lipstick. + +The Inspector looked up. "What's that you have there?" he asked sharply. + +"Bag of the deceased," murmured Ellery. "Would you care to examine it?" + +"Would I--" The Inspector glared at his son in mock heat. "Ellery, +sometimes you try me beyond patience!" + +Ellery handed it over with a smile. The old man examined the bag +minutely. He pawed over the articles on the bed and gave up in disgust. + +"Nothing there that I can see," he snorted. "And I'm--" + +"No?" Ellery's tone was provocative. + +"What do you mean?" asked his father with a change of tone, looking +back at the contents of the bag. "Purse, vanity, hanky, card-case, +lipstick--what's interesting there?" + +Ellery faced about squarely so that his back hid the articles on the +bed from the observation of the others. He picked up the lipstick with +care and offered it to his father. The old man took it cautiously, +suspiciously. Suddenly an exclamation escaped him. + +"Exactly--_C_," murmured Ellery. "What do you make of it?" + +The lipstick was large and deep. On the cap was a chastely engraved +initial, _C_. The Inspector peered at it in some astonishment and made +as if to question the men in the room. But Ellery halted him with a +warning gesture and took the lipstick from his father's fingers. He +unscrewed the initialed cap and twisted the body of the stick until a +half-inch of red paste was visible above the orifice. His eyes shifted +toward the dead woman's face. They brightened at what they saw. + +He knelt quickly by his father's side, their bodies still shielding +their movements from the eyes of the onlookers. + +"Have a peep at this, dad," he said in an undertone, offering the +lipstick. The old man looked at it in a puzzled way. + +"Poisoned?" he asked. "But that's impossible--how could you tell +without an analysis?" + +"No, no!" exclaimed Ellery in the same low tone. "The color, dad--the +color!" + +The Inspector's face lightened. He looked from the stick in Ellery's +hand to the dead woman's lips. The fact was self-evident--the coloring +on the lips had not come from the stick in Ellery's possession. The +lips were painted a light shade of red, almost pink, whereas the stick +itself was a dark carmine in shade. + +"Here, El--let me have that!" said the Inspector. He took the open +stick and swiftly made a red mark on the dead woman's face. + +"Different, all right," he muttered. He wiped off the smudge with a +corner of the sheet. "But I don't see--" + +"There really should be another lipstick, eh?" remarked Ellery lightly, +standing up. + +The old man snatched at the woman's handbag and went through it once +more, hurriedly. No, there was no sign of another lipstick. He motioned +to the detective Johnson. + +"Find anything in the bed or the closet here, Johnson?" + +"Not a thing, Chief." + +"Sure? No sign of a lipstick?" + +"Nope." + +"Piggott! Hesse! Flint!" The three detectives stopped short in their +search of the room and crossed to the Inspector's side. The old man +repeated his questions.... Nothing. The detectives had found no alien +articles in the room. + +"Is Crouther here? Crouther!" The store detective hurried over. + +"Been out seeing that things were moving in the store," he announced +unasked. "Everything's shipshape--boys've been hustling, that's a +fact.--What can I do for you, Inspector?" + +"Did you see a lipstick around here when you found the body?" + +"Lipstick? No, sir! Wouldn't have touched it if I'd seen it anyway. +Told everybody to leave things alone. I know that much, Inspector!" + +"Mr. Lavery!" The Frenchman sauntered up. No, he had seen no sign of a +lipstick. Perhaps the Negress--? + +"Hardly! Piggott, send some one up to the infirmary and find out if +this Johnson girl saw it." + +The Inspector turned back to Ellery with a frowning brow. "Now, that's +funny, isn't it, Ellery? Could some one here have appropriated the +darned thing?" + +Ellery smiled. "'Honest labor,' as old Tom Dekker had it, 'bears a +lovely face,' but I'm very much afraid, dad.... No, your efforts in the +direction of finding a lipstick thief are wasted. I could almost make a +nice conjecture...." + +"What _do_ you mean, Ellery?" groaned the Inspector. "Where is it, +then, if no one took it?" + +"We'll come to that in the course of inexorable time," said Ellery +imperturbably. "But examine the face of our poor clay again, +dad--particularly the labial portion. See anything interesting aside +from the color of the lipstick?" + +"Eh?" The Inspector turned startled eyes to the corpse. He felt +for his snuff-box and nervously took a generous pinch. "No, I +can't say that I--By jiminy!" He muttered beneath his breath. "The +lips--unfinished...." + +"Precisely." Ellery twirled his pince-nez about his finger. "Observed +the phenomenon the moment I looked at the body. What amazing +juxtaposition of circumstances could have caused a handsome woman still +in her prime to leave her lips only half painted?" He pursed his mouth, +fell into deep thought. His eyes did not leave the dead woman's lips, +which showed the pinkish color of the lipstick on both the upper and +lower lip, on the upper two dabs of unsmeared color and on the lower +one a dab exactly in the center. Where the lipstick had not yet been +smeared, the lips were a sickly purple--the color of unadorned death. + +The Inspector passed his hand wearily across his brow just as Piggott +returned. + +"Well?" + +"The colored girl fainted," reported the detective, "just as the body +fell out of the wall-bed. Never saw anything, much less a lipstick." +Inspector Queen draped the sheet over the body in baffled silence. + + + + + 8 + + THE WATCHER + + +The door opened and Sergeant Velie entered, accompanied by a +steady-eyed man dressed in black. This newcomer saluted the Inspector +respectfully and stood waiting. + +"This is Robert Jones, Inspector," said Velie in his deep clipped +tones. "Attached to the store force, and I'll vouch for him personally. +Jones was the man called by Mr. Weaver this morning to stand outside +the apartment door during the directors' meeting." + +"How about it, Jones?" asked Inspector Queen. + +"I was ordered to Mr. French's apartment this morning at eleven," +replied the store detective. "I was told to stand guard outside and see +that no one disturbed the meeting. According to my instructions...." + +"And where did your instructions come from?" + +"I understood that Mr. Weaver had 'phoned, sir," replied Jones. The +Inspector looked at Weaver, who nodded, and then motioned the man to +continue. + +"According to my instructions," said Jones, "I strolled about outside +the apartment without interrupting the meeting. I was in the sixth +floor corridor near the apartment until about twelve-fifteen. At that +time the door opened and Mr. French, the other directors and Mr. Weaver +ran out and took the elevator, going downstairs. They all seemed +excited...." + +"Did you know why Mr. French, Mr. Weaver and the others ran out of the +apartment that way?" + +"No, sir. As I said, they seemed excited and paid no attention to me. I +didn't hear about Mrs. French being dead until one of the boys dropped +by about a half-hour later with the news." + +"Did the directors close the door when they left the apartment?" + +"The door closed by itself--swung shut." + +"So you didn't enter the apartment?" + +"No, sir!" + +"Did any one come up to the apartment while you stood guard this +morning?" + +"Not a soul, Inspector. And after the directors left, there was no one +except the chap I told you about, who merely spilled his story and +went right down again. I've been on duty until five minutes ago, when +Sergeant Velie had two of his own men relieve me." + +The Inspector mused. "And you're certain no one went into the +apartment, Jones? It may be quite important." + +"Dead certain, Inspector," replied Jones clearly. "The reason I stayed +on after the directors left was because I didn't know exactly what to +do under the circumstances, and I've always found it a safe bet to +stand pat when something unusual happens." + +"Good enough, Jones!" said the Inspector. "That's all." + +Jones saluted, went up to Crouther and asked what he was to do. The +head store detective, his chest held high, detailed him to help handle +the crowds in the store. And Jones departed. + + + + + 9 + + THE WATCHERS + + +The Inspector went quickly to the door and peered over the heads of the +seething crowds on the main floor. + +"MacKenzie! Is MacKenzie there?" he shouted. + +"Right here!" came the faint bellow of the store manager's voice. +"Coming!" + +Queen trotted back into the room, fumbling for his snuff-box. He eyed +the directors almost roguishly; his good humor seemed for the moment +to have returned. The occupants of the room, with the exception of +Cyrus French, who was still plunged in a deep lethargy of grief and +indifference to what was going on, had by this time shaken off some +of their horror and were growing restless. Zorn stole surreptitious +glances at his heavy gold watch; Marchbanks was pacing belligerently +up and down the room; Trask at regular intervals averted his head and +gulped down some whisky from a flask in his pocket; Gray, his face +as ashen as his hair, stood in silence behind old French's chair. +Lavery was very quiet, watching with bright inquisitive eyes the least +movement of the Inspector and his men. Weaver, his boyish face strained +and lined, seemed to be enduring agonies. He frequently sought Ellery +with pleading eyes, as if asking for help which he knew, instinctively, +could not be forthcoming. + +"I must ask you to have patience for a short time longer, gentlemen," +said the Inspector, smoothing his mustache with the back of his small +hand. "We have a few things more to do here--and then we'll see.... Ah! +You're MacKenzie, I take it? Are those the watchmen? Bring 'em in, man!" + +The middle-aged Scotchman had entered the window-room, herding before +him four oldish men with frightened faces and fidgety hands. Ritter +made up the rear. + +"Yes, Inspector. By the way, I'm having the employees checked up, as +Sergeant Velie instructed me to." MacKenzie waved the four men forward. +They shuffled a step farther into the room, reluctantly. + +"Who's the head night-watchman among you?" demanded the Inspector. + +A corpulent old man with fleshy features and placid eyes stepped +forward, touching his forehead. + +"I am, sor--Peter O'Flaherty's me name." + +"Were you on duty last night, O'Flaherty?" + +"Yes, sor. That I was." + +"What time did you go on?" + +"Me reg'lar hour, sor," said the watchman. "Ha'past five. It's O'Shane +I relieve at th' desk in the night-office on th' 39th Street side. +These boys here"--he indicated the three men behind him with a fat and +calloused forefinger--"they come on with me. They was with me last +night, reg'lar." + +"I see." The Inspector paused. "O'Flaherty, do you know what has +happened?" + +"Yes, sor. I've been told. And a shame it is, sor," responded +O'Flaherty soberly. He stole a glance at the limp figure of Cyrus +French, then jerked his head back toward the Inspector as if he had +committed an indiscretion. His cronies followed his gaze, and looked +forward again in exactly the same manner. + +"Did you know Mrs. French by sight?" asked the Inspector, his keen +little eyes studying the old man. + +"I did, sor," replied O'Flaherty. "She used to come to th' store +sometimes after closing when Mr. French was still here." + +"Often?" + +"No, sor. Not so very. But I knowed her right enough, sor." + +"Hmmm." Inspector Queen relaxed. "Now, O'Flaherty, answer +carefully--and truthfully. As truthfully as if you were on the +witness-stand.--Did you see Mrs. French last night?" + +Silence had fallen in the room--a silence pregnant with beating hearts +and racing pulses. All eyes were on the broad mottled face of the old +watchman. He licked his lips, seemed to reflect, squared his shoulders. + +"Yes, sor," he said, with a little hiss. + +"At what time?" + +"'Twas just eleven forty-five, sor," replied O'Flaherty. "Y'see, there +ain't but one night-entrance to th' store after hours. All th' other +doors and exits are ironed up. That one door is on 39th Street, th' +Employees' Entrance. There ain't no way but that t'get in or out o' the +buildin'. I--" + +Ellery moved suddenly, and everybody turned toward him. He smiled +deprecatingly at O'Flaherty. "Sorry, dad, but I've just thought of +something.... O'Flaherty, do I understand you to say that there is only +one way into the store after hours--the Employees' Entrance?" + +O'Flaherty champed his blue old jaws reflectively. "Why, yes, sor," he +said. "And what's wrong about that?" + +"Very little," smiled Ellery, "except that I believe there is a night +freight-entrance on the 39th Street side as well...." + +"Oh, that!" snorted the old watchman. "'Tain't hardly an entrance, sor. +Mostly always shut. So, as I was sayin'--" + +Ellery lifted a slender hand. "One moment, O'Flaherty. You say, 'Mostly +always shut.' Just what do you mean by that?" + +"Well," replied O'Flaherty, scratching his poll, "it's shut down +tighter'n a drum all night exceptin' between eleven o'clock and +eleven-thirty. So it don't hardly count." + +"That's _your_ point of view," said Ellery argumentatively. "I thought +there must be a good reason for having a special night-watchman at the +spot all night. Who is he?" + +"That's Bloom over here," said O'Flaherty. "Bloom, step out, man, and +let the gentlemen look ye over." + +Bloom, a sturdy middle-aged man with reddish, graying hair, stepped +uncertainly forward. "That's me," he said. "Nothin' wrong in my freight +department last night, if that's what you wanna know...." + +"No?" Ellery eyed him keenly. "Exactly why is the freight-entrance +opened between eleven and eleven-thirty?" + +"Fer the delivery of groceries an' meats an' such," answered Bloom. +"Big turn-over every day in the store restaurant, and then there's the +Employees' Restaurant too. Get supplies fresh every night." + +"Who is the trucker?" interrupted the Inspector. + +"Buckley & Green. Same driver an' unloader every night, sir." + +"I see," said the Inspector. "Get it down, Hagstrom, and make a note to +question the men on the truck.... Anything else, Ellery?" + +"Yes." Ellery turned once more to the red-haired night-watchman. +"Tell us just what happens every night when the Buckley & Green truck +arrives." + +"Well, I go on duty at ten," said Bloom. "At eleven every night the +truck rolls up and Johnny Salvatore, the driver, rings the night bell +outside the freight-door...." + +"Is the freight-door kept locked after five-thirty?" + +MacKenzie, the store manager, interrupted. "Yes, sir. It's +automatically locked at closing-time. Never opened till the truck comes +up at eleven." + +"Go on, Bloom." + +"When Johnny rings, I unlock the door--it's sheet iron--and roll 'er +up. Then the truck drives inside, an' Marino, the unloader, unpacks the +stuff and stores it, while Johnny and myself check it over in my booth +near the door. That's all. When they're through, they take the truck +out, I unroll the door, and lock it, and just stay there all night." + +Ellery pondered. "Does the door remain open while the truck is being +unloaded?" + +"Sure," said Bloom. "It's only for a half an hour, and besides, nobody +could hardly get in without one of us seeing 'em." + +"You're sure of that?" asked Ellery sharply. "Positive? Swear to it, +man?" + +Bloom hesitated. "Well, I don't hardly see how anybody _could_," he +said lamely. "Marino's out there unloading, and Johnny and me in the +booth right by the door...." + +"How many electric lights are there in this freight room?" demanded +Ellery. + +Bloom looked bewildered. "Why, there's one big light right over where +the truck is, and then there's a small one in my booth. Johnny keeps +his headlights on, too." + +"How big is this freight room?" + +"Oh, about seventy-five foot deep by fifty wide. Store emergency trucks +are parked there for the night, too." + +"How far from your booth does the truck unload?" + +"Oh, 'way in, near the back, where there's a chute from the kitchen." + +"And one light in all that black expanse," murmured Ellery. "The booth +is enclosed, I suppose?" + +"Just a glass window facing the inside of the room." + +Ellery played with his pince-nez. "Bloom, if I told you to swear that +nobody could get into that freight room, past the entrance, without +your seeing him, would you do it?" + +Bloom smiled in a sickly fashion. "Well, sir," he said, "I don't know +as I would." + +"Did you see anybody get in last night while the door was open and you +and Salvatore were in the booth checking over the goods?" + +"No, sir!" + +"But somebody might have got in?" + +"I--I guess so...." + +"One question more," said Ellery genially. "These deliveries are made +_every night_, without fail, and at exactly the same hour?" + +"Yes, sir. Been that way as long as I can remember." + +"Another, if you'll pardon me. Did you lock that freight-door last +night promptly at eleven-thirty?" + +"To the dot." + +"Were you at that door all night?" + +"Yes, sir. On my chair, right by the door." + +"No disturbance? Didn't hear or see anything suspicious?" + +"No, sir." + +"If--any one--tried--to--get--out--of--the--building--by--that--door," +said Ellery with startling emphasis, "you would have heard and seen +him?" + +"Sure thing, sir," said Bloom weakly, glancing with despair at +MacKenzie. + +"Very well, then," drawled Ellery, waving his arm negligently toward +Bloom, "the inquisition may proceed, Inspector." And he stepped back, +making furious notes in his book. + +The Inspector, who had been listening with a gradually clarifying +expression on his face, sighed and said to O'Flaherty, "You were +saying that Mrs. French came into the building at eleven-forty-five, +O'Flaherty. Let's have the rest of it." + +The head night-watchman wiped his brow with a slightly shaking hand and +a dubious glance in Ellery's direction. Then he took up the thread of +his story. "Well, I sits at th' night-desk all night--never gets up, +while Ralska and Powers here does the rounds every hour. That's me job, +sor--an' besides I check out all those who put in overtime, like th' +executive people, and such. Yes, sor. I--" + +"Easy, O'Flaherty," said the Inspector, with interest. "Tell us just +exactly what happened when Mrs. French arrived. You're sure it was +eleven-forty-five?" + +"Yes, sor. I looked at th' time-clock next th' desk, 'cause I gotta put +down all arrivals on me time-sheet...." + +"Oh, the time-sheet?" muttered Queen. "Mr. MacKenzie, will you please +see that I get last night's time-sheet at once? Even before the report +on the employees." MacKenzie nodded and left. "All right, O'Flaherty. +Go on." + +"Well, sor, through the night-door acrost th' hall I sees a taxi roll +up and Mrs. French she steps out. She pays th' driver and knocks. I +sees who 'tis and opens quick. She gives me a cheery good-evenin', +and asks if Mr. Cyrus French was still in th' buildin', I says no, +ma'am, Mr. Cyrus French'd left early in th' afternoon, as he had, sor, +carryin' a brief-case. She thanks me, stops to think a bit, then she +says she'll go up to Mr. French's private apartment anyway, and starts +to walk out o' th' office toward the private elevator that's only used +to go up to th' apartment. I says to her, I says, Kin I get one o' +the boys to run th' elevator up for her an' open th' apartment door? +She says no thanks, right polite, sor, and rummages in her bag for a +minute, as if to see she's got her key. Yes, she had it--she fishes it +out o' her bag and shows it to me. Then she--" + +"Just a moment, O'Flaherty." The Inspector seemed perturbed. "You say +she had a key to the apartment? How is that, do you know?" + +"Well, sor, there're only a certain number o' keys to Mr. French's +apartment, sor," answered O'Flaherty, more comfortably. "S'far as +I know, Mr. Cyrus French has one, Mrs. French had one, Miss Marion +has one, Miss Bernice has one--me workin' here for seventeen years, +I knows th' fam'ly right well, sor--Mr. Weaver has one, and there's +one master-key in th' desk in my office all th' time. That's half a +dozen altogether, sor. Th' master-key is in case a key is needed in an +emergency." + +"You say Mrs. French showed you her key before she left your office, +O'Flaherty? How do you know it was the key to the apartment?" asked the +Inspector. + +"Easy enough, sor. Y'see, each key--they're special Yales, sor--each +key has a little gold dingus on it with th' initials o' the person it +belongs to. Th' key Mrs. French showed me had that on. Besides, I know +th' looks o' that key; it was the right one, all right." + +"One second, O'Flaherty." The Inspector turned to Weaver. "Have you +your apartment key on you, Weaver? Let me have it, please?" + +Weaver extracted a leather key-case from his vest-pocket and handed it +to Queen. Among a number of different keys was one with a small gold +disc fused into the tiny hole at the top. On this disc were engraved +the initials, _W.W._ The Inspector looked up at O'Flaherty. + +"A key like this?" + +"Just th' same, sor," said O'Flaherty, "exceptin' th' initials." + +"Very well." Queen returned the key-case to Weaver. "Now, O'Flaherty, +before you continue, tell me this--where do you keep your master-key to +the apartment?" + +"Right in a special drawer in th' desk, sor. It's there all the time, +day and night." + +"Was it in its place last night?" + +"Yes, sor. I always looks for it special. It was there--the right key, +no mistake, sor. It's got a tab on it too, with th' word 'Master' on +it." + +"O'Flaherty," asked the Inspector quietly, "were you at your desk all +night? Did you leave your office at all?" + +"No, sor!" answered the old watchman emphatically. "From th' minute +I got there, at five-thirty, I didn't leave th' office until I was +relieved this mornin' by O'Shane at eight-thirty. I got longer hours +than him 'cause he's got more to do on his shift, with checkin' in +employees and all. And as for leavin' the desk, I brings me own feed +from home, even hot coffee in a thermos bottle. No, sor, I was on th' +watch all night." + +"I see." Queen shook his head as if to clear the mists of weariness and +motioned the watchman to continue with his story. + +"Well, sor," said O'Flaherty, "when Mrs. French left me office, I got +up out o' me chair, went into the hall, and watched her. She went to +th' elevator, opened th' door, an' went in. That's the last I saw +o' her, sor. When I saw she didn't come down I thought nothin' of +it, 'cause a number o' times Mrs. French has stayed overnight in Mr. +French's apartment upstairs. I thought she'd done th' same this night. +So that's all I know, sor." + +Ellery stirred. He lifted the dead woman's handbag from the bed and +dangled it before the watchman's eyes. + +"O'Flaherty," he asked in a drawling voice, "have you ever seen this +before?" + +The watchman replied, "Yes, sor! That's th' bag Mrs. French was +carryin' last night." + +"The bag, then," pursued Ellery softly, "from which she took her +gold-topped key?" + +The watchman seemed puzzled. "Why, yes, sor." Ellery seemed satisfied +and dropped back to whisper in his father's ear. The Inspector frowned, +then nodded. He turned to Crouther. + +"Crouther, will you please get the master-key in the office on the 39th +Street side." Crouther grunted cheerfully and departed. "Now then." The +Inspector picked up the gauzy scarf initialed _M.F._ which he had found +on the dead body. "O'Flaherty, do you recall Mrs. French's having worn +this last night? Think carefully." + +O'Flaherty took the wisp of silk in his horny fat fingers and turned it +over and over, his forehead wrinkled. "Well, sor," he said finally, in +a hesitant tone. "I can't rightly say. Seemed to me for a minute as if +I'd seen Mrs. French wear it, and then again seemed as if I hadn't. No, +I couldn't rightly say. No, sor," and he returned it to the Inspector +with a gesture of helplessness. + +"You're not sure?" The Inspector dropped the scarf back on the bed. +"Everything seem all right last night? No alarms?" + +"No, sor. O' course you know th' store's wired against burglars. Quiet +as a church last night. S'far as I know, nothin' happened out o' th' +way." + +Queen said to Sergeant Velie: "Thomas, call up the alarm central office +and find out if they've a report on last night. Probably not, or we'd +have heard from them by this time." Velie left, silently as usual. + +"O'Flaherty, did you see any one else enter the building last night +except Mrs. French? At any time during the night?" continued the +Inspector. + +"No, sor, absolutely not. Not a soul." O'Flaherty seemed anxious to +make this point clear, after his defection concerning the scarf. + +"Ah there, MacKenzie! Let me have the time-sheet, please." Queen took +from the store manager, who had just returned, a long scroll of ruled +paper. He looked it over hurriedly. Something seemed to catch his eye. + +"I see by your sheet, O'Flaherty," he said, "that Mr. Weaver and a Mr. +Springer were the last to leave the store yesterday evening? Did you +make these notations?" + +"Yes, sor, Mr. Springer went out about a quarter to seven, and Mr. +Weaver a few minutes after." + +"Is that right, Weaver?" demanded the Inspector, turning to the +secretary. + +"Yes," replied Weaver in a colorless tone. "I stayed a little later +last night to prepare some papers for Mr. French to-day; I believe I +shaved.... I left a little before seven." + +"Who is this Springer?" + +"Oh, James Springer is the head of our Book Department, Inspector," put +in mild-mannered MacKenzie. "Often stays late. A very conscientious +man, sir." + +"Yes, yes. Now--you men!" The Inspector pointed to the two watchmen who +had not yet spoken. "Anything to say? Anything to add to O'Flaherty's +story? One at a time.... Your name?" + +One of the watchmen cleared his throat nervously. "George Powers, +Inspector. No, sir, I got nothin' to say." + +"Everything all right when you went your rounds? Do you cover this part +of the store?" + +"Yes, sir, everythin' was okay on my rounds. No, sir, I don't cover the +main floor. That's Ralska's job, here." + +"Ralska, eh? What's your first name, Ralska?" demanded the Inspector. + +The third watchman expelled his breath noisily. "Hermann, sir. Hermann +Ralska. I think--" + +"You think, eh?" Queen turned. "Hagstrom, you're taking this down, of +course?" + +"Yep, Chief," grinned the detective, his pencil busy in his notebook. + +"Now, Ralska, you were about to think something, no doubt very +important," snarled the Inspector. His temper seemed frayed and raw +once more. "What was it?" + +Ralska held himself stiffly. "I thought I heard somethin' funny last +night on the main floor." + +"Oh, you did! Where, exactly?" + +"Right about here--outside this window-room." + +"No!" Inspector Queen grew very quiet. "Outside this window-room. Very +good, Ralska. What was it?" + +The watchman seemed to take heart at Queen's calmer tone. "It was +just about one o'clock in the morning. Maybe a few minutes earlier. +I was in the part of the store near the Fift' Avenue and 39t' Street +side. This here window faces Fift' Avenue, past the night-office, so +it's a good distance away. I heard a queer kind o' noise. Can't make +up my mind what it was. Might 'a' been some one movin' around, might +'a' been a footstep, might 'a' been a door closin'--just don't know. +Anyway, I wasn't suspicious or anything--you get so you hear noises +that never happened on a night job like this.... But I went over in +that direction and couldn't see anything wrong, so I thought it must be +my imagination. Even tried a couple of the window doors. But they were +all locked. Tried this one, too. So I stopped in to have a word with +O'Flaherty here, and went on ahead, with my rounds. That's all." + +"Oh!" Inspector Queen seemed disappointed. "So you're not certain of +where the noise came from--if there was a noise?" + +"Well," responded Ralska carefully, "if it was anythin' at all it came +from this section o' the floor near these big street-window displays." + +"Nothing else all night?" + +"No, sir." + +"All right, that's all for you four men. You may go back home and catch +up on your sleep. Be back here to-night for work as usual." + +"Yes, sir; yes, sir." The watchmen backed out of the window-room and +disappeared. + +The Inspector, brandishing the time-sheet in his hand, addressed the +store manager. "MacKenzie, have you given this sheet any study?" + +The Scotchman replied, "Yes, Inspector--thought you might be interested +and looked it over on the way." + +"Fine! MacKenzie, what's the verdict? Was every employee of the +store checked out regularly yesterday?" Queen's face was composed, +indifferent. + +MacKenzie did not hesitate. "As you can see, we have a simple check-out +system--by departments.... I can certainly assert that every _employee_ +who was _in the store_ yesterday checked out." + +"Does that include executives and gentlemen like the Board of +Directors?" + +"Yes, sir--there are their names in the proper places." + +"Very well--thank you," said the Inspector thoughtfully. "Please don't +forget that list of absentees, MacKenzie." + +Velie and Crouther at this point reëntered the room together. Crouther +handed the Inspector a key, an exact replica of the one in Weaver's +possession, marked "Master" on its gold disk as O'Flaherty had averred. +The detective-sergeant relayed a negative report from the burglar-alarm +company. Nothing unusual had occurred during the night. + +The Inspector turned again to MacKenzie. "How reliable is this +O'Flaherty?" + +"True-blue. Would give his life for Mr. French, Inspector," returned +MacKenzie warmly. "He's the oldest employee of the store--knew Mr. +French in the old days." + +"That's a fact," echoed Crouther, as if anxious to have his opinion +considered as well. + +"It has just occurred to me ..." Inspector Queen faced MacKenzie +inquiringly. "Just how private is Mr. French's apartment? Who has +access to it besides the French family and Mr. Weaver?" + +MacKenzie scraped his jaw slowly. "Hardly any one else, Inspector," +he replied. "Of course, the Board of Directors meet in Mr. French's +apartment periodically for conferences and other business matters; but +the only keys to it are in the possession of the people O'Flaherty has +mentioned. As a matter of fact, it's almost peculiar how little we +people know about Mr. French's apartment. In all my association with +the store, and it's a matter of ten years or so, I can't recall having +been in the apartment more than half a dozen times. I was thinking that +only last week, when Mr. French summoned me there for some special +instructions regarding the store. As for other employees--well, Mr. +French has always been adamant in the matter of his privacy. Aside +from O'Flaherty opening the door for the cleaning-woman three times +a week, and letting her out just before he goes off duty, there's +not an employee of the store who has access or occasion to visit the +apartment." + +"I see, I see. The apartment--we seem to be going back to that +apartment," muttered the Inspector. "Well! There seems to be very +little left here.... Ellery, what do you think?" + +Ellery swung his pince-nez with unaccustomed vigor as he regarded his +father. There was a troubled glint in the depths of his eyes. + +"Think? Think?" He smiled fretfully. "My ratiocinative machinery has +been chiefly occupied in the last half-hour or so with a stubborn +little problem." He bit his lip. + +"Problem? What problem?" growled his father affectionately. "I haven't +had a moment to think clearly, and you talk of problems!" + +"The problem," enunciated Ellery distinctly but not loudly enough to +be heard by the others, "of why Mrs. French's key to her husband's +apartment is missing." + + + + + 10 + + MARION + + +"Not much of a problem," said Inspector Queen. "There is no particular +reason for expecting to find the key--here. Besides, I can't see that +it's of much importance." + +"_Alors_--we'll let it go at that," said Ellery, smiling. "I am always +worried by omissions." He dropped back, searching his vest-pocket for a +cigaret-case. His father eyed him sharply. Ellery rarely smoked. + +A policeman pushed open the window-door at this moment and lumbered +over to the Inspector. "Young lady outside giving the name of Marion +French. Says she wants Mr. Weaver," he whispered hoarsely. "Scared to +death at the mobs and the cops. One o' the floorwalkers is with her. +What'll I do, Inspector?" + +The Inspector's eyes narrowed. He shot a glance at Weaver. The +secretary seemed to sense the import of the message, although he had +not heard the whispered words; for he stepped forward at once. + +"I beg your pardon, Inspector," he said eagerly, "but if that's Miss +French I'd like your permission to go to her at once and--" + +"Amazing intuition!" cried the Inspector suddenly, his white face +creasing into smiles. "Yes, I think I--Come along, Mr. Weaver. You +shall introduce me to Mr. French's daughter." He turned sharply to +Velie. "Carry on for a moment, Thomas. No one is to leave. I'll be back +in a jiffy." + +Preceded by a revitalized Weaver, he trotted out of the window-room. + +Weaver broke into a run as they stepped out onto the main floor. The +center of a little crowd of detectives and policemen, a young girl +stood stiffly, her face drained of color, eyes wild with a nameless +fear. As she caught sight of Weaver, a tremulous cry escaped her and +she swayed forward weakly. + +"Westley! What is the matter? These policemen--detectives--" Her arms +stretched out. In full sight of the grinning police and the Inspector, +Weaver and the girl embraced. + +"Sweetheart! You must get hold of yourself ..." Weaver whispered +desperately into the girl's ear as she clung to him. + +"Wes--tell me. Who is it? Not--" She drew away from him with horror in +her eyes. "Not--Winifred?" + +She read the answer in his eyes even before he nodded. + +The Inspector obtruded his elastic little figure between them. "Mr. +Weaver," he smiled, "may I have the pleasure...?" + +"Oh, yes--yes!" Weaver stepped quickly backward, releasing the girl. +He seemed astonished at the interruption, as if he had forgotten +momentarily the place, the circumstances, the time.... "Marion dear, +may I present Inspector Richard Queen. Inspector--Miss French." + +Queen took the proffered little hand and bowed. Marion murmured a +perfunctory pleasance, while her large grey eyes widened in stricken +interest at this tiny middle-aged gentleman with the clean white +mustache who bent over her hand. + +"You're investigating--a crime, Inspector Queen?" she faltered, +shrinking from him, clutching at Weaver's hand. + +"Unfortunately, Miss French," said the Inspector. "I'm genuinely +grieved that you've had such an unpleasant reception--more than I can +say...." Weaver glared at him in bewildered wrath. The old Machiavelli! +He had known all along what would happen!... The Inspector proceeded +in a gentle tone. "It's your stepmother, my dear--shockingly murdered. +Terrible! Terrible!" He clucked his tongue like a solicitous old hen. + +"Murdered!" The girl grew very still. The hand in Weaver's twitched +once, and was limp. For the instant both Weaver and the Inspector +thought she would faint, and involuntarily moved forward to her aid. +She staggered back. "No--thank you," she whispered. "My God--Winifred! +And she and Bernice were away--all night...." + +The Inspector stiffened. Then his hand fumbled for his snuff-box. +"Bernice, I believe you said, Miss French?" he said. "The watchman +mentioned that name before, too.... A sister, perhaps, my dear?" he +asked ingratiatingly. + +"Oh--what have I--Oh, Wes dear, take me away, take me away!" She buried +her face in the folds of Weaver's coat. + +Weaver said, above her head, "A perfectly natural remark, Inspector. +The housekeeper, Hortense Underhill, called Mr. French this morning +during the conference to report that neither Mrs. French nor Bernice, +her daughter, had slept at home.... You see, of course, that +Marion--Miss French...." + +"Yes, yes, naturally." Queen smiled, touched the girl's arm. She +started convulsively. "If you'll come this way, Miss French--? Please +be brave. There is something I want you--to see." + +He waited. Weaver gave him an outraged glance, but pressed the girl's +arm encouragingly and led her, stumbling, toward the window. The +Inspector followed, beckoning to one of the detectives nearby, who +immediately took his place outside the window-door after the trio +entered the room. + +There was a little rustle of excitement as Weaver helped the girl into +the room. Even old French, shaking as if with ague, showed a light of +reason in his eyes as he spied her. + +"Marion my dear!" he cried in a terrible voice. + +She broke away from Weaver and fell on her knees before her father's +chair. No one spoke. The men looked uneasily away. Father and daughter +clung to each other.... + +For the first time since he had come into the chamber of death, +Marchbanks, brother of the dead woman, spoke. + +"This--is--hellish," he said, savagely and slowly, glaring +out of bloodshot eyes at the trim figure of the Inspector. +Ellery, in his corner, crooked his body slightly forward. +"I'm--getting--out--of--this." + +The Inspector signaled to Velie. The burly Sergeant stumped across the +floor and towered above Marchbanks, saying nothing, his arms hanging +loosely by his sides. Marchbanks, large and corpulent, shrank before +the huge detective. He flushed, muttered beneath his breath, stepped +back. + +"Now," said the Inspector equably, "Miss French, may I trouble you to +answer a few questions?" + +"Oh, I say, Inspector," protested Weaver, despite Ellery's warning +flick of the finger, "do you think it absolutely necessary to--" + +"I'm quite ready, sir," came the quiet voice of the girl, and she rose +to her feet, her eyes a trifle red, but clearly composed. Her father +had slumped back in his chair. He had forgotten her already. She smiled +wanly at Weaver, who sent her an ardent glance across the room. But she +kept her head averted from the sheeted corpse in the corner by the bed. + +"Miss French," snapped the Inspector, flicking the gauzy scarf from the +dead woman's clothes before her eyes, "is this your scarf?" + +She whitened. "Yes. How does it come here?" + +"That," said the Inspector dispassionately, "is what _I_ should like to +know. Can you explain its presence?" + +The girl's eyes flashed, but she spoke calmly enough. "No, sir, I +cannot." + +"Miss French," went on the Inspector after a stifling pause, "your +scarf was found around Mrs. French's neck under her coat-collar. Does +that convey anything to you--perhaps suggest an explanation?" + +"She was wearing it?" Marion gasped. "I--I can't understand it. +She--she never did that before." She glanced helplessly at Weaver, +shifted her gaze and met Ellery's eyes. + +They looked at each other for a startled moment. Ellery saw a +slender girl with smoky hair and deep grey eyes. There was an +unaccented cleanliness about the lines of her young body that made +him feel pleased for Weaver's sake. She gave the impression of +straightforwardness and strength of will--honest eyes, firm lips, small +strong hands, a pleasingly cleft chin and a good straight nose. Ellery +smiled. + +Marion saw a tall athletic man with a suggestion of nascent vigor, +startlingly intellectual about the forehead and lips, cool and quiet +and composed. He looked thirty, but was younger. There was a hint of +Bond Street about his clothes. His long thin fingers clasped a little +book and he regarded her out of pince-nez eyeglasses.... Then she +blushed slightly and her eyes wavered away toward the Inspector. + +"When did you last see this scarf, Miss French?" went on the old man. + +"Oh, I--" Her tone changed; she took command of herself. "I seem to +remember wearing it yesterday," she said slowly. + +"Yesterday? Very interesting, Miss French. Do you recall just where--?" + +"I left the house directly after luncheon," she said, "wearing the +scarf under this coat. I met a friend at Carnegie Hall and we spent +the afternoon at a recital--Pasternak the pianist. We parted after the +recital and I took a 'bus down to the store. I do seem to remember +wearing the scarf all day...." Her brow wrinkled prettily. "I don't +remember having it, however, when I returned home." + +"You say you came to the store, Miss French?" interrupted the Inspector +politely. "For any special reason?" + +"Why--not particularly. I did think I might still catch father. I knew +he was leaving for Great Neck, but I didn't know exactly when, and--" + +The Inspector held up a ridiculously tiny white hand. "Just a moment, +Miss French. You say your father went to Great Neck yesterday?" + +"Why, yes. I understood he was to go out there for business. +There's--there's nothing wrong--about that, is there, sir?" She bit her +lip. + +"No, no--positively no!" said the Inspector, smiling. He turned to +Weaver. "Why didn't you tell me that Mr. French took a little trip +yesterday, Mr. Weaver?" + +"You didn't ask me," retorted Weaver. + +The Inspector started, then chuckled. "One on me," he said. "It's true +enough. When did he return and why did he go?" + +Weaver looked compassionately at the limp, oblivious figure of his +employer. "He went early yesterday afternoon to confer with Farnham +Whitney on Whitney's estate. A matter of merger, Inspector--the meeting +this morning discussed just that. Mr. French told me that he was driven +into the city early this morning by Whitney's chauffeur--arrived at the +store at nine o'clock. Anything else?" + +"Not just now." Queen turned to Marion. "Your pardon, my dear, for the +interruption.... Now where specifically did you go when you came to the +store?" + +"To my father's apartment on the sixth floor." + +"Indeed?" muttered the Inspector. "And why, may I ask, did you go to +your father's apartment?" + +"I usually go there when I'm at the store, which isn't often," +explained Marion. "Besides, I was told that Mr. Weaver was there, +working, and I thought--it might be nice to pay him a little visit...." +She eyed her father apprehensively, but he was insensible to words. + +"You went there directly on entering the store? And left immediately +from the apartment?" + +"Yes." + +"Is it possible," insinuated the Inspector very gently, "that you may +have dropped your scarf in the apartment, Miss French?" + +She did not reply immediately. Weaver tried frantically to catch her +eye, moving his lips, framing the word "No!" She shook her head. + +"Quite possible, Inspector," she said quietly. + +"I see." The Inspector beamed. "Now, when did you see Mrs. French last?" + +"At dinner last night. I had an appointment for the evening and left +almost immediately." + +"Did Mrs. French seem herself? Notice anything unusual, abnormal in her +speech or actions?" + +"Well.... She did seem worried about Bernice," Marion said slowly. + +"Ah!" Queen rubbed his hands together. "Then I infer that +your--stepsister, is it?--was not at home for dinner?" + +"No," replied Marion after a hesitating silence. "Winifred--my +stepmother told me that Bernice had gone out and would not be home for +dinner. But she seemed worried nevertheless." + +"She gave no indication of a reason for this worry?" + +"None whatever." + +"What is your step-sister's name? Is it French?" + +"No, Inspector. She retains her father's name of Carmody," murmured +Marion. + +"I see. I see." The Inspector stood plunged in thought. John Gray +shifted impatiently, whispered a word to Cornelius Zorn, who shook his +head sadly and leaned resignedly against the back of French's chair. +Queen paid no attention to them. He looked up at Marion. Her passive, +tired little figure drooped. + +"One question more for the moment, Miss French," he said, "and you may +rest.... Can you suggest, from anything that you know of Mrs. French's +background or affairs, or from anything that transpired recently--last +night, yesterday, perhaps--can you suggest," he repeated, "a possible +explanation for this crime? It's murder, of course," he continued +hastily, before she could reply, "and I know you are naturally chary +of answering. Take your time--think carefully over everything that has +occurred lately...." He stopped. "Now, Miss French, can you tell me +anything I might wish to hear?" + +There was naked silence in the room--a raw pulsing quiet that beat +invisibly against the atmosphere. Ellery heard quick breaths +drawn, saw bodies tense, eyes sharpen, hands twitch as, to a man, +the occupants of the room with the exception of Cyrus French leaned +forward, watching Marion French as she stood there, facing them. + +But she said, "No," very matter-of-factly, and the Inspector's eyes +flickered. Everybody relaxed. Some one sighed. Ellery noted that it was +Zorn. Trask lit a cigaret nervously and let the fire die. Marchbanks +sat frozen to his chair. Weaver made a little movement of despair.... + +"Then that will be all, Miss French," returned Inspector Queen, in a +tone as casual as the girl's had been. He seemed pleasantly absorbed in +a contemplation of Lavery's formal cravat. "Please," he added, just as +pleasantly, "do not leave the room.... Mr. Lavery, may I have your ear +for the moment?" + +Marion dropped back and Weaver sprang to her side, dragging a chair +with him. She sank into it with a little smile, shading her eyes with +a nerveless hand. The other snuggled secretly into Weaver's eager +grasp.... Ellery watched them for a moment, then turned his sharp eyes +on Lavery. + +The Frenchman bowed, waited, fingers riffling his short beard. + + + + + 11 + + LOOSE ENDS + + +"As I understand it, Mr. Lavery, you are responsible for this +exhibition of modernistic house-furnishings?" Inspector Queen's voice +took a fresh note. + +"That is correct." + +"How long has this exhibition been going on?" + +"About a month, I should say." + +"Your main exhibition rooms are where?" + +"On the fifth floor." Lavery spread his fingers. "You see, this is more +or less of a pioneer project in New York, Inspector. I was invited to +exhibit some of my creations to the American public by Mr. French and +his Board, who are very much in sympathy with the movement. Most of the +purely enterprising details of the present exhibition emanate from Mr. +French, allow me to add." + +"Just what do you mean?" + +Lavery showed his teeth in a smile. "The matter of these +window-exhibits, for example. That was wholly Mr. French's idea, and I +do suppose it has resulted in much advertising for the establishment. +Certainly the crowds have flocked from the sidewalk outside to the +fifth floor exhibition rooms in such numbers that we have had to call +in special ushers to handle them." + +"I see." The Inspector nodded politely. "So these window-exhibits were +Mr. French's idea? Yes, yes--you have just told me that.... How long +has this particular window been dressed so, Mr. Lavery?" + +"This is the--let me see--the end of the second week of the +living-room-bedroom exhibit," answered Lavery, stroking his short +modish beard again. "The fourteenth day, to be exact. To-morrow we were +to have changed the room's contents, removed them to make way for a +model dining-room." + +"Oh, the windows are changed bi-weekly? Then this is the second room +you have exhibited?" + +"Quite so. The first was a full bedroom." + +Queen mused openly. His eyes drooped with weariness; blackish pouches +stood out beneath. He took a short turn up and down the room, halting +once more before Lavery. + +"It seems to me," he said, more to himself than to Lavery, "that this +unfortunate accident and its attendant circumstances dovetail too +fortuitously.... However! Mr. Lavery, is this window-exhibit held at +the same time each day?" + +Lavery stared. "Yes--yes, certainly." + +"At _exactly_ the same time each day, Mr. Lavery?" pursued the +Inspector. + +"Oh, yes!" said Lavery. "The Negress has entered this window at noon of +each day ever since the institution of the exhibit." + +"Very good!" The Inspector seemed pleased again. "Now, Mr. Lavery--in +the month that these demonstrations have taken place, has there ever to +your knowledge been one day on which the time-schedule was not adhered +to?" + +"No," said Lavery with positiveness. "And I am in a position to know, +sir. It has been my habit to stand on the main floor behind the +window-room during the Negress's demonstration every day. My lecture +upstairs is not scheduled until three-thirty of the afternoon, you see." + +The Inspector raised his eyebrows. "Oh, you lecture, too, Mr. Lavery?" + +"But of course!" cried Lavery. "I have been told," he added gravely, +"that my description of the work of the Viennese Hoffman has created +something of a stir among the _monde artistique_." + +"Indeed!" smiled the Inspector. "One question more, Mr. Lavery, and +then I think we will have finished with you for the present.--This +exhibition as a whole is not entirely a spontaneous thing? I mean," he +added, "steps have been taken to make the public aware both of your +window-demonstrations and of your lectures upstairs?" + +"Assuredly. The publicity and advertising have been planned most +carefully," rejoined Lavery. "We have circularized all the art-schools +and allied organizations. The charge-accounts, I understand, have +likewise been covered by personal letters from the management. The +bulk of the public attention, however, has been secured by means of +newspaper advertisements. Of course you have seen those?" + +"Well, I rarely read department store ads," the Inspector replied +hastily. "And I suppose you have received all sorts of publicity?" + +"Yes--yes, indeed," and Lavery again flashed his white teeth. "If you +would condescend to examine my scrap-books--" + +"Hardly necessary, Mr. Lavery, and thank you for your patience. That's +all." + +"A moment, please.--May I?" Ellery had stepped forward, smiling. The +Inspector glanced at him, waved his hand briefly, as if to say, "Your +witness!" and retreated to the bed, where he sat down with a sigh. + +Lavery had turned in his tracks and now stood stroking his beard, his +eyes politely questioning. + +Ellery did not speak for a moment. He twirled his pince-nez, looked up +suddenly. "I am quite interested in your work, Mr. Lavery," he said +with a disarming grimace. "Although I fear my esthetic studies have not +exhausted the field of modern interior decoration. As a matter of fact, +I was much interested the other day in your lecture on Bruno Paul...." + +"So you attended my impromptu classes upstairs, sir?" exclaimed Lavery, +flushing with pleasure. "Perhaps I was a trifle enthusiastic about +Paul--I know him quite well, you see...." + +"Indeed!" Ellery looked at the floor. "I take it that you have been +in America before, Mr. Lavery--your English is quite untouched by +Gallicism." + +"Well, I have traveled more or less extensively," admitted Lavery. +"This is my fifth visit to the States--Mr. Queen, is it?" + +"I'm sorry!" said Ellery. "I am Inspector Queen's unruly scion.... Mr. +Lavery, how many demonstrations a day are given in this window?" + +"Just one." Lavery raised his black brows. + +"How long does each demonstration take?" + +"Thirty-two minutes exactly." + +"Interesting," murmured Ellery. "By the way, is this room kept open at +all times?" + +"Not at all. There are some very valuable pieces in this room. It is +kept locked except when it is being used for demonstration purposes." + +"Of course! That was stupid of me," smiled Ellery. "You have a key, +naturally?" + +"A number of keys exist, Mr. Queen," answered Lavery. "The idea of the +lock is more to prevent transient trespassing during the day than to +keep out possible night-prowlers. It is presumed that after hours, in +an establishment as well guarded as this--provided with modern burglar +alarms, guards, and so on--the room would be safe enough against +burglary." + +"If you will pardon me for interrupting," came the mild voice of +MacKenzie, the store manager, "I am in a better position to clear up +the question of the keys than Mr. Lavery." + +"Delighted to have you," said Ellery quickly, but he began once more +to twirl his pince-nez. The Inspector, seated on the bed, preserved a +watchful silence. + +"We have a number of duplicate keys," explained MacKenzie, "to each +of the windows. In this particular instance Mr. Lavery has one, Diana +Johnson the demonstrator has one (which she leaves at the Employees' +Office desk when she leaves for the day), the floorwalker on this +section of the main floor and the store detectives each have one, and +there is a complete set of duplicates kept in the general offices on +the mezzanine floor. I am afraid very many people could have secured a +key." + +Ellery did not seem perturbed. He walked suddenly to the door, opened +it, peered out over the main floor for a moment, and returned. + +"Mr. MacKenzie, will you please summon that clerk at the leather-goods +counter opposite this window?" + +MacKenzie departed, returning shortly with a short, stout, middle-aged +man. He was white-faced and nervous. + +"Were you on duty all this morning?" inquired Ellery kindly. The man +jerked his head in the affirmative. "And yesterday afternoon?" Another +jerk. "Did you leave your post at any time this morning or yesterday +afternoon?" + +The clerk found his voice. "Oh, no, sir!" + +"Very well!" Ellery spoke softly. "Did you at any time during yesterday +afternoon or this morning notice any one entering or leaving this +window-room?" + +"No, sir." The man's tone was assured. "I've been on duty all the +time; I couldn't help but notice if any one had used this room, sir. I +haven't been very busy," he added, with an apologetic side-glance at +MacKenzie. + +"Thank you." The clerk left with eager steps. + +"Well!" Ellery sighed. "We seem to be progressing, and yet nothing +takes definite shape...." Shrugging his shoulders, he turned once more +to Lavery. + +"Mr. Lavery, are these windows illuminated after dark?" + +"No, Mr. Queen. The shades are drawn after every demonstration, and +they are kept drawn until the following day." + +"Then," and Ellery emphasized the word, "then I take it that these +lighting fixtures are dummies?" + +Eyes long since dulled by waiting and wretchedness expectantly followed +the direction of Ellery's arm. He was pointing toward the oddly cut, +clouded-glass wall lights. The eyes all turned, too, to observe the +numerous queerly shaped lamps about the room. + +For answer Lavery strode to the rear wall and, after a moment's +manipulation, removed one of the modernistic fixtures. The socket +which should have held an electric bulb was empty. + +"We have no use for lights here," he said, "so we have not installed +them." With a swift movement he restored the fixture to its place on +the wall. + +Ellery took a decisive step forward. But then he shook his head, +retreated, turned to the Inspector. + +"Henceforward, or at least for the present, I shall be silent," he +said, smiling, "and latinically pass for a philosopher." + + + + + 12 + + OUT THE WINDOW.... + + +A policeman pushed his way into the room, looked about as if to catch +the eye of authority, was summoned peremptorily by old Queen, mumbled a +few words, and departed almost as quickly as he had come. + +The Inspector immediately took John Gray aside and whispered in the +little director's ear. Gray nodded and went to the side of Cyrus +French, who was staring blankly into space, muttering to himself. With +the aid of Weaver and Zorn, Gray managed to twist French's chair around +so that the old man's back was to the body. French noticed nothing. +The store physician took his pulse professionally. Marion's hand was +at her throat; she stood up quickly and leaned against the back of her +father's chair. + +Then the door opened and two white-garbed men with visored caps +entered, bearing a stretcher between them. They saluted the Inspector, +who jerked his thumb toward the sheeted corpse. + +Ellery had withdrawn into the far corner of the room beyond the bed to +hold communion with his pince-nez. He frowned at it, tapped it on the +back of his hand, threw his lightcoat on the bed and sat down, taking +his head between his hands. Finally, as if he had come to either an +impasse or a conclusion, he produced from the pocket of his coat the +volume it contained, and began to scribble hurriedly on the fly-leaf. +He paid not the slightest attention to the two police doctors stooped +over the dead woman. + +Nor did he protest when he was unceremoniously moved by a silent, +nervous man who had entered immediately behind the stretcher bearers, +and who was now engaged with the help of an assistant in photographing +the dead woman, her position on the floor, the bed, the handbag and +other articles connected with the victim. Ellery's eyes followed the +police photographer, but abstractedly. + +Suddenly he snapped his little book back into his pocket and waited +thoughtfully until he caught his father's eye. + +"Lord, son," said the Inspector, coming over, "I'm tired. And worried. +_And_ apprehensive." + +"Apprehensive? Come, now--don't fall into that silly frame of mind, +dad. Why should you be apprehensive? This case is coming along, coming +along...." + +"Oh, you've probably caught the murderer and hidden him in your +vest-pocket," growled the old man. "I'm not worried about the murderer, +I'm worried about Welles." + +"Sorry!" Ellery moved closer. "Don't let Welles rile you, dad; I don't +think he's as bad as you've painted him. And while he's merely heckling +you, I'll be working under-cover--grasp the idea?" + +"It's not half bad at that," said the Inspector. "My gosh! He's liable +to walk in here any minute now, El! I never thought of that! By this +time he has a telephoned report and--Yes! What is it?" + +A bluecoat tramped in with a message and left. + +The Inspector groaned. "Word's just come that Welles is on his way +here--now we'll have arrests, interviews, grillings, reporters running +over the place, and merry--" + +Ellery's air of raillery vanished. He grasped his father's arm and +guided him swiftly to an angle in the wall. + +"If that's the case, dad, let me tell you what is in my mind--quickly." +He looked around; they were fairly unobserved. He lowered his voice. +"Have you reached any definite conclusions yet? I'd like to have your +reactions before I tell you mine." + +"Well--" the old man peered about him cautiously, then cupped his +mouth in his small hands--"between you and me, son, there's something +queer about the whole business. As far as details are concerned, I'm +a little hazy--if you're clearer than I, it's probably because you +have had something of the advantage of an observer. But as to the +crime itself--the possible motive--the story behind it--I have the +inescapable feeling that the murder of Mrs. French is not half so +important to us as what may have necessitated the murder...." Ellery +nodded thoughtfully. "I have no doubt that this is a carefully planned +murder. Despite the weirdness of the place, the apparent sloppiness of +the crime, there is amazingly little to go on." + +"What about Marion French's scarf?" asked Ellery. + +"Fiddlesticks!" said the Inspector contemptuously. "Can't see that it +means anything intelligible. In all probability she left it somewhere +about and Mrs. French picked it up.... But I'll bet a cookie that the +Commissioner grabs it." + +"I think you're wrong there," commented Ellery. "He'll be afraid to +tackle French. Don't lose sight of French's power as head of the +Anti-Vice Society.... No, dad, for the present Welles will keep his +hands off Marion French." + +"Well, what have you concluded, Ellery?" + +Ellery produced his small volume and turned to the fly-leaf on which +he had scribbled a few moments before. He looked up. "I hadn't thought +about the remote nuances of the crime, dad," he said. "Although, +now that you've brought it up, it seems to me that you are probably +correct about the far-reaching significance of the motive as opposed +to the crime itself.... No, I've been chiefly occupied until now +with more direct affairs. I have four interesting little puzzlers to +elucidate. Listen carefully. + +"First, and probably most important," he began, referring to his notes, +"there is the puzzle of Mrs. French's key. We have a fair sequence of +incident. The night-watchman, O'Flaherty, observes the victim at about +eleven-fifty last night with the gold-disked apartment key in her +possession. She is lost sight of until twelve-fifteen to-day, when she +is found dead--still in the store, but with the key missing from the +scene of the crime. The question arises, then: Why is the key missing? +It seems on the face of it a pure matter of discovery, doesn't it? +Yet--regard the possibilities. It is plausible enough at this time to +suspect that the key's disappearance is connected with the crime, more +directly with the murderer. A murderer disappears, a key disappears. +It is not difficult to imagine that they disappeared together. Now, +if this is so--and for the present let us assume that it _is_ so--why +did the murderer take the key? Obviously, we can't answer that +question--yet. But--we now know that the murderer has in his possession +a key to a certain apartment--French's private apartment on the sixth +floor." + +"That's so," muttered the Inspector. "I'm glad you suggested sending +one of the boys to watch that apartment this morning." + +"I had that thought," said Ellery. "But something else disturbs me. +I can't help asking myself: Doesn't the absence of the key perhaps +indicate that the body was brought to this window from some other +place?" + +"I can't see that at all," objected the Inspector. "Can't see that it +has anything to do with it." + +"Let's not quarrel about it," murmured Ellery. "I can see one very, +very interesting possibility that makes my question logical and the +item of Marion French's scarf seems to point the same way. I think that +I'll be able to check up soon on the facts--which will put me in a +position to prove more definitely what I've just postulated.... Let me +get on to point number two. + +"The natural thought one has on finding the body in this window is that +the crime was committed here. Of course! Usually, one would not even +stop to question it." + +"It seemed funny to me, though," said the Inspector, frowning. + +"Ah! It did, eh? Perhaps I can crystallize your suspicion a bit later," +said Ellery brightly. "We enter, we see a body, we say: Crime was +committed here. But then we stop to observe. We are told by Prouty +that the woman has been dead some twelve hours. The body is found a +bit after noon. That would make it a short time after midnight when +Mrs. French died. In other words, when the crime was committed. Observe +that in any case the crime was committed in dead of night. What is the +appearance of this window at such a time--of this whole section of the +building? Total darkness!" + +"And--?" put in the Inspector dryly. + +"You don't seem to take my dramatics very seriously," laughed Ellery. +"Total darkness, I repeat. Yet we are supposing that this window is +the scene of the crime. We prowl about the window, ask ourselves: Are +there lights in here? If there are, that's the end of it. With the +door closed, and these heavy drapes on the street side, light would be +unobserved outside the window-room. We investigate and find--no, no +lights. Plenty of lamps, plenty of sockets--no bulbs. I doubt, indeed, +if the lamps are even wired. So--we suddenly visualize a crime in total +darkness. What--you don't like that idea? Neither do I!" + +"There are such things as flashlights, you know," objected Queen. + +"So there are. That occurred to me. Then I asked myself: If there was +a crime here, there was some logically necessary antecedent action. A +crime presupposes a meeting, a probable quarrel, a murder, and in this +case, disposal of the body in a _very_ queer and inconvenient place--a +wall-bed.... And all in the rays of a flashlight! As redoubtable Cyrano +would remark: No, I thank you!" + +"Might have carried bulbs with him, of course," muttered the Inspector, +then their eyes met and they both laughed at once. + +Ellery grew serious. "Well, let's leave the little matter of +illumination for the present. You'll admit it reeks slightly of +improbability? + +"And now to that exceedingly fascinating little thingamajig," he +continued, "the lipstick engraved with the letter _C_. That's my point +number three. In many ways, it's of extreme significance. The immediate +conclusion is that Lipstick marked _C_ does not belong to Mrs. French, +whose initials, engraved on three other articles in her bag, are +_W.M.F._ Now, Lipstick marked _C_ is of a noticeably darker shade +than the paint on the dead woman's lips. Which not only corroborates +the premise that Lipstick marked _C_ is not Mrs. French's, but also +that there is _another_ lipstick extant somewhere which _did_ belong +to Mrs. French. Follow?... Now where is that lipstick? It is not in +this window anywhere. Therefore it is somewhere else. Did the murderer +take it, along with the key? That seems silly. Ah--but haven't we a +clue? Of course! For observe ..." he paused, "the dead woman's lips. +Half-finished! And of a lighter shade. What does this mean? Undoubtedly +that Mrs. French was interrupted while she was dabbing at her lips with +her own lipstick now missing." + +"Why interrupted?" demanded the Inspector. + +"Have you ever seen a woman who began to paint her lips leave them +half-painted? It just isn't done. It _must_ have been an interruption +which prevented those lips from being entirely daubed. And a violent +interruption, I'll wager; nothing short of an unprecedentedly odd +occurrence would stop a woman from smearing that last red blob on the +right place." + +"The murder!" exclaimed the Inspector with a queer light in his eye. + +Ellery smiled. "Perhaps.--But do you grasp the implication, dad? If she +was interrupted by the murder or the incidents immediately preceding +the murder, and the lipstick is not in this window--" + +"Of course, of course!" exclaimed the old man. He sobered. "It's true, +though, that the lipstick might have been taken by the murderer for +purposes of his own." + +"On the other hand," returned Ellery, "if it was not taken by the +murderer, then it is still somewhere in or about the building. You +might institute a search through six floors of this drygoods mortuary." + +"Oh, impossible! But I suppose we'll have to have a try at it later." + +"Perhaps it won't be necessary in about fifteen minutes," said Ellery. +"At any rate, a genuinely interesting question comes up: To whom does +the _C_ lipstick belong, if it is not Mrs. French's? You might look +into that, dad. I have an idea that the answer to that question will +bring complications--_à la_ Scott Welles...." + +At mention of the Police Commissioner's name the Inspector's features +lengthened. "You'd better finish what you began, Ellery; he'll be here +any minute now." + +"And so I shall." Ellery removed his pince-nez and twirled it +recklessly in the air. "Before we proceed to point number four, bear in +mind that you're _cherchez_-ing two feminine accessories--_la lipstick +de Madame, et sa clef_.... + +"To point number four, then," continued Ellery with a faraway gleam in +his eye. "For point number four we must credit the habitually sharpened +perceptions of our grossly underpaid and revered medico, Sam Prouty. He +thought it strange that wounds of the nature of Mrs. French's should +have bled so little. At least, there was little trace of blood on her +body and clothes.... By the way, there was also a smear of dried blood +on the palm of her left hand--you noticed it, of course?" + +"Saw it, all right," muttered the Inspector. "Probably clapped her hand +to one of the wounds at the moment she was shot, and then--" + +"And then," finished Ellery, "her hand dropped in death and the +divine ichor, which by all the laws of physics, according to friend +Sam, should have gushed forth, did--what? I should say," he remarked +seriously after a pause, "that it obeyed the immutable laws of that +exact science and did gush forth freely...." + +"I see what you mean ..." murmured the old man. + +"It gushed forth freely--but not in this window. In other words, +we must look for an interesting combination of elements to explain +away the phenomenon of two bloody revolver-wounds being practically +bloodless on the discovery of the body...." + +"Let me sum up the indications to this point," Ellery continued +swiftly. "To my mind the absence of Mrs. French's apartment key; the +absence of normal illuminating-facilities in this window; the absence +of Mrs. French's rightful lipstick, which she must have had almost +directly before her death, since her lips are only half-painted; the +absence of blood from two logically bloody wounds; the presence of +Marion French's scarf; and another item of a more general but none the +less convincing nature--all converge into one conclusion." + +"And that is that the murder was not committed in this window," said +the Inspector, taking snuff with a steady hand. + +"Exactly." + +"Just what do you mean by still another item which points toward that +conclusion, Ellery?" + +"Has it struck you at all," answered Ellery slowly, "what an utterly +preposterous setting this window-room is for the crime of murder?" + +"I did think of it, as I mentioned before, but--" + +"You've been too plunged into detail to get a psychological slant on +this affair. Think of the privacy, the secrecy, the conveniences, +that a fully planned murder requires. Here--what did the murderer +have? An unlit, periodically patrolled window. Dangerous from start +to finish. In the heart of the main floor, where the nucleus of the +night-watchman's staff is located. Not fifty feet from the constantly +present head night-watchman's office. Why? No, dad, it's perfectly +silly! It was the first thought I had when I came in here." + +"True enough," muttered the Inspector. "Yet--if it didn't take place +here, why transport the body here at all _after_ the murder, if that is +what was done? It seems to me that almost as much danger, if not more, +existed in that event as in the first...." + +Ellery frowned. "That had occurred to me, of course.... There is an +explanation; there must be. I begin to see the manipulation of a fine +Italian hand...." + +"At any rate," broke in the Inspector with a slight impatience, "so +much is clear to me after your analysis: this window is certainly not +the scene of the crime. I think I see--yes, of course--it's as plain as +day--the apartment upstairs!" + +"Oh, that!" Ellery said absently. "Naturally. Wouldn't make sense +otherwise. The key, a logical place for the lipstick, privacy, +illumination ... yes, yes, the sixth floor apartment by all means. It's +my next stop...." + +"And it's positively depressing, El!" exclaimed the Inspector, as +if struck by a thought. "Imagine! That apartment has been used by +five people incessantly since eight-thirty this morning, when Weaver +arrived. Nobody noticed anything up there, so evidently traces of the +crime were removed from the apartment before that time. Goodness--if +only...." + +"Now don't be bothering your poor grey head with fancy!" laughed +Ellery, suddenly restored to good humor. "Of course the traces of the +crime have been removed. The top layer, so to speak. Perhaps even the +middle layer. But away down deep, underneath, we may find--who knows? +Yes, that's my next stop." + +"I can't help worrying about the reason this window was used at all," +frowned the Inspector. "Unless it's that time element...." + +"Heavens! You're becoming positively a genius, dad!" chuckled Ellery +affectionately. "I've just got over solving that little problem for +myself. Why was the body placed in the window? Let's apply unfailing +_logos_.... + +"There are two possibilities, either or both of which may be correct. +First: to keep attention away from the _real_ scene of the crime, which +is undoubtedly the apartment. Second, and more logically, _to prevent +the body from being discovered before noon_. The dead certainty of the +daily demonstration time--which, you have reasoned, of course, was +common knowledge to all New York--tenons much too snugly." + +"But why, Ellery?" objected Inspector Queen. "Why delay the body's +discovery until noon?" + +"If only we knew that!" murmured Ellery, with a shrug. "But in a +general way it seems reasonable that, if the murderer left the body to +be discovered--and he knew it with certainty--at twelve-fifteen, then +he had something to do _before noon_ which the discovery of the body +prematurely would have made dangerous or impossible. Do you follow me?" + +"But what on earth--" + +"Yes, what on earth," replied Ellery sadly. "What did the murderer have +to do on the morning of the crime? _I_ don't know." + +"We're just stumbling in the dark, Ellery," said the Inspector with a +faint groan. "Just staggering from premise to conclusion without a ray +of light anywhere.... For example, why couldn't the murderer have done +what he had to do last night, _in the building_? There are telephones, +you know, if he had to communicate with some one...." + +"Are there? But--we'll have to check up on that later." + +"I'll do that right away--" + +"Just a second, dad," interrupted Ellery. "Why not send Velie out to +that private elevator to look for traces of blood?" + +The Inspector stared at him, made a fist. "Goodness! How stupidly I've +managed things!" he cried. "Of course! Thomas!" + +Velie stalked across the room, received an inaudible instruction, and +immediately left. + +"I should have thought of that before," growled the Inspector, turning +back to Ellery. "Naturally, if the murder was committed in the +apartment, the body had to be brought down here from the sixth floor." + +"Probably find nothing," commented Ellery. "I'd pick the staircase, +myself.... But look here, dad. I want you to do something for +me.--Welles will be here any moment now. To all intents and purposes +this window is the scene of the crime. He'll want to hear all the +testimony all over again, anyway. Keep him down here--give me an hour +upstairs alone with Wes Weaver, won't you? I must see that apartment +at once. Nobody has been in it since the meeting broke up--it's been +watched all the time--there _must_ be something there.... Will you?" + +The Inspector wrung his hands helplessly. "Of course, son--anything you +say. You can certainly tackle it with a fresher mind than I can. I'll +keep Welles down here. Want to examine that Employees' Entrance office, +the freight room, and that whole section of the main floor, anyway.... +But why are you taking Weaver?" His voice sank lower. "Ellery--aren't +you playing a dangerous game?" + +"Why, dad!" Ellery's eyes opened wide in honest astonishment. "What do +you mean? If you've any suspicion of poor Wes, disabuse your mind of +it right now. Wes and I were bunkies at school; remember that summer +during which I stayed with a chum in Maine? That was Westley's father's +place. I know the poor boy as well as I know you. Father's a clergyman, +mother's a saint. Background clean, life's always been an open book. No +secrets, no past...." + +"But you don't know what he's bumped into in the city here, Ellery," +objected the Inspector. "You haven't seen him for years." + +"Look here, dad," said Ellery gravely. "You've never made a mistake +following my judgment, have you? Follow it now. Weaver's as innocent of +this crime as a lamb. His nervousness is plainly connected with Marion +French.... There! The photographer wants to talk to you." + +They turned back to the group. Inspector Queen spoke to the police +photographer for a few moments. Then, dismissing the man, he resolutely +beckoned the Scotch store manager. + +"Mr. MacKenzie, tell me--" he asked abruptly, "what is the condition of +your telephone service after shopping hours?" + +MacKenzie said: "All 'phones except on one trunk line are cut off at +six o'clock. That line is connected with O'Flaherty's desk at the night +exit. If there are any incoming calls, he takes them. Otherwise, there +is no telephone service at night." + +"I see by O'Flaherty's time-sheet and report-sheet that there were +no incoming or outgoing calls last night," remarked the Inspector, +consulting the chart. + +"You can rely on O'Flaherty, Inspector." + +"Well," pursued Queen, "suppose some department is working overtime? +'Phone service kept open?" + +"Yes," replied MacKenzie. "But only on written request of the head of +the department.--I should add that we have very little of that sort of +thing here, sir. Mr. French has always insisted that the closing hour +be kept more or less strictly. Of course, there are exceptions every +once in a while.--If there is no record on O'Flaherty's chart of such a +request, you may be sure no lines were open last night." + +"Not even in Mr. French's private apartment?" + +"Not even in Mr. French's apartment," returned the store manager. +"Unless Mr. French or Mr. Weaver instructs the head operator to the +contrary." + +The Inspector turned questioningly to Weaver, and Weaver shook his head +in an emphatic negative. + +"One thing more, Mr. MacKenzie. Are you aware of the last time before +yesterday that Mrs. French visited the store?" + +"I believe it was a week ago Monday, Inspector," replied MacKenzie +after some hesitation. "Yes, I'm fairly certain. She came in to speak +to me about some imported dress material." + +"And she did not appear at the store after that?" Inspector Queen +looked around at the other occupants of the room. There was no answer. + +At this moment Velie reëntered. He whispered to his superior and +stepped back. The Inspector turned to Ellery. "Nothing in the +elevator--not a sign of blood." + +A policeman stepped into the window-room and made for the Inspector. + +"The Commissioner's here, Inspector." + +"I'll be right out," said the Inspector wearily. As he left the room, +Ellery gave him a meaning glance. He nodded slightly. + +When he returned a few moments later, escorting the portly, pompous +figure of Commissioner Scott Welles and a small army of detectives and +deputies, Ellery and Westley Weaver had vanished. And Marion French sat +in her chair, clutching her father's hand, watching the window-door as +if with Weaver had gone some of her heart and courage. + + + + + THE SECOND EPISODE + + + _"As for the word CLUE, we are indebted for its genesis to + mythology.... Clue has descended etymologically from_ CLEW _(in + common with many other words of similar endings; i.e._, TREW, BLEW, + _etc.) ... being a literal Old English translation of the Greek + word for thread, directly traceable to the legend of Theseus and + Ariadne and the ball of cord she gave him with which to grope his + way out of the Labyrinth after killing the Minotaur.... A clue in + the detectival sense may be of an intangible as well as a tangible + nature; it may be a state of mind as well as a state of fact; or it + may derive from the absence of a relevant object as well as from + the presence of an irrelevant one.... But always, whatever its + nature, a clue is the thread which guides the crime investigator + through the labyrinth of nonessential data into the light of + complete comprehension...."_ + + --From WILLIAM O. GREEN'S + Introduction to ARS CRIMINALIS + _By_ John Strang + +[Illustration: + +A--Cardroom + +B--Card table with banque cards + +C--Ash tray with stubs + +D--Servant's bedroom + +E--Anteroom + +F--Library + +G--Conference table and chairs + +H--Library desk + +I--Bedroom + +J--Lavatory + +K--Spring door to private apartment + +L--Elevator shaft + +M--Stairway + +N--Dressing table +] + + + + + 13 + + AT THE APARTMENT: _The Bedroom_ + + +Ellery and Westley Weaver picked their way unnoticed through the +throngs on the main floor. At the rear of the store, Weaver indicated +around the bend of the wall a small grilled door. A policeman stood +guard with his back to the ironwork. + +"That's the private elevator, Ellery." + +Ellery exhibited a special police pass signed in Inspector Queen's +punctilious hand. The policeman touched his cap and opened the grilled +door. + +Ellery noted the staircase door around the corner, then entered the +elevator. He closed the door carefully, touched the button marked 6, +and the elevator began to ascend. They stood in silence, Weaver's lip +creased under his teeth. + +The elevator was finished in bronze and ebony, with an inlaid +composition-rubber floor. It was spotlessly clean. On the further wall +was a low divan-like seat covered with black velvet. Ellery adjusted +his pince-nez and looked about him with interest. He bent over to +examine more closely the velvet seat, craned his neck at a suspicious +darkening in an angle of the wall. + +"Might have known Velie would overlook nothing," he thought. + +The elevator clicked to a stop. The door opened automatically and they +stepped out into a wide, deserted corridor. At one end of the corridor +was a high window. Almost directly opposite the elevator exit was an +unpaneled door of heavy mahogany. A neat small tablet, with the words: + + PRIVATE + CYRUS FRENCH + +was affixed to this door. + +A detective in plain clothes indolently leaned against the frame. He +seemed to recognize Ellery at once, for he greeted him and stepped +aside. + +"Going in, Mr. Queen?" he asked. + +"Righto!" said Ellery, cheerfully. "Be a good man and stick it outside +here while we're sniffing around the apartment. If you see any +one--with authority--coming, rap on the door. If it's just anybody, +shoo 'im away. Understand?" + +The detective nodded. + +Ellery turned to Weaver. "Let's have your key, Wes," he said in a +natural tone. Without a word Weaver handed him the key-case which +Inspector Queen had examined in the window not long before. + +Ellery selected the gold-disked key and inserted it in the keyhole. He +turned and the tumbler slipped back noiselessly. He pushed open the +bulky door. + +He seemed surprised at its rigid weight, for he stepped back, taking +his hand from the door, and it immediately swung shut. He tried the +knob. The door was again locked. + +"Stupid of me," he muttered, as he again unlocked the door with the +key. He waved Weaver inside the apartment before him, and then allowed +the door to swing shut once more. + +"Special spring lock," commented Weaver. "Why are you surprised, +Ellery? It's to insure absolute privacy. The Old Man's rather a bug on +that." + +"The door can't be opened from the outside without a key, then?" +asked Ellery. "There's no way of fixing the bolt so that the door is +temporarily unlocked?" + +"The door is always as stubborn as that," said Weaver, with a fleeting +grin. "Although I can't see what difference it makes." + +"Perhaps all the difference in the universe," said Ellery, knitting his +brows. Then he shrugged his shoulders and looked about him. + +They stood in a small, almost bare anteroom with a cunningly +converted skylight roof.... A Persian rug on the floor, a long +leather-upholstered bench flanked with standing ashtrays against the +wall opposite the door.... To the left was a single chair and a little +magazine rack. And that was all. + +The fourth wall was cut through for another door, smaller and not so +formidable-looking. + +"Not especially prepossessing," remarked Ellery. "Is this the usual +taste of our multimillionaires?" + +Weaver seemed to have recovered something of his natural buoyancy, now +that he and Ellery were alone. "Don't misjudge the Old Man," he said +hastily. "He's really a regular old duck, and knows a plain room from +a fancy one. But he keeps this anteroom for the purpose of herding +together the people who come to see him on business of the Anti-Vice +League. This is a sort of waiting-room. Although, to tell the truth, +it hasn't been used much. You know, French has an enormous suite of +offices further uptown for Anti-Vice League affairs; most of that +business is transacted there. I suppose, though, he couldn't resist the +thought of entertaining some of his cronies here when he had the place +designed." + +"Any visitors of that sort lately?" inquired Ellery, his hand on the +knob of the inner door. + +"Oh, no! Not for several months, I think. The Old Man's been too +wrapped up in the approaching merger with Whitney. Anti-Vice League has +suffered, I guess." + +"Well, then," said Ellery judiciously, "since there's nothing here of +interest, let's proceed." + +They walked into the next room, and the door swung shut behind them. +This door, however, had no lock. + +"This," said Weaver, "is the library." + +"So I see." Ellery slouched against the door, surveying the room with +open eagerness. + +Weaver seemed afraid of silences. He wet his lips and said, "This +is also the conference room for directors' meetings, the Old Man's +hideaway, et cetera. Rather neat layout, don't you think?" + +The room was at least twenty feet square, Ellery estimated, and +presented a businesslike, if informal, appearance. In the center +of the room stood a long mahogany table, surrounded by heavy +red-leather-covered chairs. The chairs presented a ragged appearance, +distributed unevenly around the table, showing signs of the haste with +which the morning's meeting had been adjourned. Papers in disorderly +piles were scattered over the table. + +"Not usually that way," commented Weaver, noticing Ellery's grimace +of distaste. "But the conference was an important one, everybody was +excited, and then the news of the accident downstairs.... It's a wonder +everything isn't in more of a mess than it is." + +"Naturally!" + +On the wall opposite Ellery was a severely framed portrait in oils +of a ruddy-faced, masterful-jawed man, dressed in the fashion of the +'Eighties. Ellery lifted an eyebrow inquiringly. + +"Mr. French's father--the Founder," said Weaver. + +Under the portrait were built-in bookcases, a large comfortable-looking +chair, and an end-table of modern design. An etching hung over the +chair. + +The wall on the corridor side and the wall near which they stood were +tastefully furniture-covered. On both walls, left and right, were +identically decorated doors of the swinging, rotary-hinged type. The +doors were finished in a fine-grained reddish leather, studded with +brass bolts. + +The Fifth Avenue side of the room held a large flat-topped desk, +at about five feet from the rear wall. Its shining surface held a +French-style telephone, a slip of blue memorandum paper, and at the +edge of the desk facing the rest of the room a half-dozen books between +handsome onyx book-ends. Behind the desk the wall was pierced by a +large dormer-window, draped in heavy red velvet. This window overlooked +Fifth Avenue. + +Ellery completed his stationary examination with a frown. He looked +down at Weaver's key-case, which he still held in his hand. + +"By the way, Wes," he said suddenly, "is this your own key? Ever lend +it to anybody?" + +"That's my own, all right, Ellery," replied Weaver indifferently. "Why?" + +"I merely thought that it might be interesting to discover whether the +key has ever been out of your possession." + +"Nothing there, I'm afraid," said Weaver. "It's never been off my +person. As a matter of fact, as far as I know, all five keys have been +exclusively in their owner's possession since the apartment was built." + +"Hardly," said Ellery in a dry tone. "You forget Mrs. French's." +He eyed the key contemplatively. "Greatly bother you, Westley, if +I appropriate yours for the time? I do believe I shall go into the +business of collecting this particular type of key." + +"Help yourself," replied Weaver in a small voice. Ellery detached the +key from the case, which he forthwith returned to Weaver. The key he +put into his vest-pocket. + +"By the way," said Ellery, "is this your office too?" + +"Oh, no!" replied Weaver. "I have my own office on the fifth floor. I +report there in the mornings before coming up here." + +"_Enfin!_" Ellery moved suddenly. "_Aux armes!_ Westley, it is my +earnest desire to peep into the privacy of Mr. French's bedroom. Will +you oblige by leading the way?" + +Weaver indicated the brass-studded door on the opposite wall. They +traversed the thick-carpeted distance silently and Weaver swung the +door inward. They emerged into a large squarish bedroom, with windows +overlooking both Fifth Avenue and 39th Street. + +The bedroom was, to Ellery's unaccustomed eyes, astonishingly +modernistic in tone and decoration. Twin beds sunk almost to the +floor level, both based on concentric ovals of a highly polished +wood, caught the eye at once. A queerly shaped man's wardrobe and a +daringly designed woman's dressing-table indicated that the room had +been laid out for the use of Mrs. French as well as of her husband. +Two diversions in the quietly toned but cubistic design of the walls +pointed to closets within. Two chairs of unorthodox shape, a small +night-table, a telephone table between the twin beds, a few bright +scatter-rugs--Ellery, unacquainted with the Continental vogue at first +hand, found the French bedroom a most engaging study. + +On the wall toward the corridor was a door. It was partly open. Through +it Ellery saw a lavatory in colored tiles as strikingly modern as the +bedroom itself. + +"Just what are you looking for, if you're looking for anything specific +at all?" inquired Weaver. + +"Lipstick. Should be here.... _And_ key. Let's hope it _isn't_ here." +Ellery smiled and stepped into the center of the room. + +He observed that the beds were made up. Everything seemed in perfect +order. He strode over to the wardrobe, looked at its bare top. The +dressing-table caught his eye. He walked toward it as if half afraid of +what he might find. Weaver followed him curiously. + +The top surface of the dressing-table held few articles. A small tray +of mother-of-pearl; a powder-jar; a hand-mirror. On the tray were some +feminine accoutrements--tiny scissors, a file, a buffer. Nothing had +the appearance of recent use. + +Ellery frowned. He turned his head away, turned it back as if +fascinated by the dressing-table. + +"Really," he muttered, "it should be here. Of all places. The logical +one. Of course!" + +His fingers had touched the tray. Its shell was slightly curved at the +edges. As the tray moved, something rolled off the table, where it had +nestled under the tray's edge, and fell to the floor. + +With a grin of triumph Ellery picked up the article. It was a small, +gold-chased lipstick. Weaver came over in some astonishment to see the +find. Ellery pointed to the three initials on the cap: _W.M.F._ + +"Why, that's Mrs. French's!" cried Weaver. + +"Dear Mrs. French," murmured Ellery under his breath. He lifted the cap +of the stick and twisted. A pinkish blob of paste appeared. + +"Seems to jibe," he said aloud. As if struck by a thought, he searched +his coat pocket and pulled out the larger, silver-chased lipstick from +the dead woman's bag in the window. + +Weaver suppressed an exclamation. Ellery looked at him pointedly. + +"So you recognized it, Wes?" he asked, smiling. "Now tell me--since +we're _tête-à-tête_ and your innocent mind can grope trustingly in my +presence.... To whom does this lipstick marked _C_ belong?" + +Weaver winced, raised his eyes to Ellery's cool ones. "To Bernice," he +said slowly. + +"Bernice? Bernice Carmody? The missing lady," drawled Ellery. "I +suppose Mrs. French was her real mother?" + +"Mrs. French was the Old Man's second wife. His daughter by his first +wife is Marion. First wife died about seven years ago. Bernice came +along with Mrs. French when the Old Man remarried." + +"And this is Bernice's lipstick?" + +"Yes. I recognized it immediately." + +"Evidently," chuckled Ellery, "from the way you jumped.... Just what do +you know, Wes, about this Bernice's disappearance? From Marion French's +demeanor, I gather that she knows something.... Now, now, Wes--be +patient with me! I'm not a lover, you know." + +"Oh, but I'm sure Marion's not keeping anything back!" protested +Weaver. "When the Inspector and I went out a while ago to meet her near +the entrance, she told him that Bernice and Mrs. French had not slept +at home...." + +"Not really!" Ellery was genuinely startled. "How is that, Wes? The +facts, old boy, the facts!" + +"This morning, just before the conference," explained Weaver, "the Old +Man asked me to call his home and let Mrs. French know that he had +returned from Great Neck safely. I talked to Hortense Underhill, the +housekeeper--really more than a housekeeper; she's been with the Old +Man for a dozen years. Hortense said that the only one up and about was +Marion. This was a little after eleven. French spoke to Marion, told +her the usual thing. + +"At a quarter to twelve Hortense called up in something of a panic. +She'd been worried over the silence of Mrs. French and Bernice, and on +going to their bedrooms had found both empty, and the beds not slept +in. Which meant, of course, that both women had not been home all +night...." + +"And what did French say to that?" + +"He seemed annoyed rather than worried," replied Weaver. "Seemed to +think that they had probably stayed overnight with friends. We went on +with the conference, which broke up when we received the news about +the--you know." + +"Why on earth dad hasn't followed up that disappearance ..." muttered +Ellery with a singular facial contortion. He sprang to the telephone +and ordered the store operator to summon Sergeant Velie. When Velie's +voice boomed over the wire, Ellery rapidly acquainted him with the +facts, advised him to let the Inspector know that he considered it +imperative that Bernice be searched for immediately; and added that +Commissioner Welles be kept downstairs as long as it was in Inspector +Queen's power to do so. Velie grunted complete understanding and hung +up. + +Ellery instantly demanded the French house telephone number from +Weaver, and transmitted it to the operator. + +"Hello!" An indistinguishable murmur in the depths of the instrument. +"Hello. This is a police officer talking. Miss Hortense Underhill?... +Never mind that now, Miss Underhill.... Has Bernice Carmody returned +yet?... I see.... Please! Take a cab immediately and come straight +to the French store. Yes, yes, immediately!... By the way, has Miss +Carmody a maid?... Very well. Bring her with you.... Yes, to Mr. +French's private apartment on the sixth floor. Ask for Sergeant Velie +when you get downstairs." + +He hung up. "Your Bernice has not returned," he said mildly. "For what +reason Fortunatus alone knows." He looked thoughtfully at the two +lipsticks in his hand. "Was Mrs. French a widow, Wes?" he asked after a +pause. + +"No. She was divorced from Carmody." + +"That's not Vincent Carmody, the antique-dealer, by any chance?" asked +Ellery, without changing expression. + +"That's the man. Know him?" + +"Slightly. I've been in his establishment." Ellery frowned as he +regarded the lipsticks. His eyes keened suddenly. + +"Now, I wonder ..." he said, putting the gold stick aside and turning +the silver one over in his fingers. He unscrewed the cap, twisted the +body so that the dark red paste emerged. He kept twisting absently +until the entire carmine length was visible. He tried to twist it still +further. To his surprise, there was a distinct click! and the entire +paste in its metal setting fell out of the silver case into his hand. + +"What have we here?" he asked in honest astonishment, peering into the +cavity. Weaver leaned over for a better view. Ellery tipped the case +and shook it. + +A little capsule about a half-inch around and perhaps an inch long +fell out into his hand. It was filled with a powdery white crystalline +substance. + +"What is it?" breathed Weaver. + +Ellery shook it, held it up to the light. "Well, sir," he said slowly, +a grim smile lifting the corners of his lips, "it looks very much like +heroin to me!" + +"Heroin? The drug, you mean?" asked Weaver excitedly. + +"Precisely." Ellery restored the capsule to the lipstick case, screwed +the paste section into place, and put the lipstick into his pocket. +"Nice commercial heroin. I may be wrong, but I doubt it. I'll have the +stuff analyzed for me at Headquarters. Westley," and he turned squarely +to French's secretary, "tell me the truth. To your knowledge is--or +was--any member of the French family a drug addict?" + +Weaver replied with unexpected promptitude. "Now that you've found this +heroin, if that's what it is, it seems to me that I recall something +queer in the conduct and actions of Bernice, especially of late. That's +her lipstick, isn't it?--Ellery, I shouldn't be at all surprised +if Bernice is addicted to the stuff. She's been jumpy, nervous, +peaked-looking--alternated fits of gloom with spasms of hilarity...." + +"You're describing the symptoms, all right," said Ellery. "Bernice, eh? +The lady becomes more and more interesting with every passing moment. +How about Mrs. French--French himself--Marion?" + +"No--not Marion!" almost shouted Weaver. Then he grinned in shame. +"Sorry. No, Ellery, you forget that the Old Man is head of the +Anti-Vice League--good Lord!" + +"Quite a situation, eh?" smiled Ellery. "And Mrs. French was normal in +that respect, you think?" + +"Oh, absolutely." + +"Anybody in the family besides yourself suspect that Bernice is a dope +fiend?" + +"I don't think so. No, I'm pretty sure no one did. Certainly not the +Old Man. Marion has commented at times about Bernice's conduct and +queer actions, but I'm positive she doesn't suspect--this. As for Mrs. +French--well, it's hard to tell just what she thought. Always was +tight-mouthed when it came to her darling Bernice. Though if she did +suspect, she did nothing about it. I'm inclined to believe she was +ignorant of the whole business." + +"And yet--" Ellery's eyes gleamed, "it's passing strange, Westley, that +the evidence should be found on Mrs. French's body--in her handbag, in +fact ... now, isn't it?" + +Weaver shrugged his shoulders wearily. "My head's in a perfect whirl." + +"Westley, old boy," pursued Ellery, fingering his pince-nez, "what do +you think Mr. French would say if he knew there was drug-addiction in +his own family?" + +Weaver shuddered. "You don't know what a temper the Old Man has when +he's aroused. And I think that that would arouse him--" He stopped +short, looked at Ellery suspiciously. Ellery smiled. + +"Time grows apace," he said with heartiness, but there was a disturbed +light in his eye. "On to the lavatory!" + + + + + 14 + + AT THE APARTMENT: _The Lavatory_ + + +"I hardly know what we may expect to find here," said Ellery dubiously, +as they stood in the glittering bathroom. "As a matter of fact, the +lavatory is the last place to look.... Everything all right, Westley? +Anything strike you as being out of place?" + +Weaver answered rapidly enough, "No," but a tinge of uncertainty shaded +his voice. Ellery glanced at him sharply, then around at the room. + +It was long and narrow. The tub was sunken. The washbowl was slender +and modern-looking. Above it hung a cunningly disguised chest. Ellery +pulled open its concealed door. It held on its three glass shelves some +bottles of house medicines, hair tonic, ointment, a tube of tooth-paste +and one of shaving cream, a safety-razor in an odd-looking wooden case, +two combs, and several other articles. + +Ellery slammed the door shut in a little flurry of disgust. "Come on, +Wes," he growled. "I'm doddering. There's nothing here." Nevertheless, +he stopped to open a door on the side. It was a closet for lavatory +linens. He poked his hand into a hamper and pulled out several soiled +towels. These he examined carelessly and threw back, looking at +Westley.... + +"Well, spill it, son!" he said, pleasantly enough. "There is something +on your mind. What's rotten in Denmark?" + +"It's queer," said Weaver thoughtfully, pulling at his lip. "I thought +it queer at the time, and now that things have happened, well--I'm +thinking it's even queerer.... Ellery, there's something missing!" + +"Missing?" Ellery's hand shot out and closed about Weaver's arm in a +mighty grip. "My God, and you've kept mum! What is it that's missing, +man?" + +"You'll think I'm an idiot ..." said Weaver hesitantly. + +"Westley!" + +"Sorry." Weaver cleared his throat. "Well, there's a razor blade +missing, if you must know!" He scanned Ellery's face for a sign of +levity. + +But Ellery did not laugh. "A razor-blade? Tell me about it," he urged, +leaning against the closet door. He eyed the cabinet above the washbowl +speculatively. + +"I got here this morning a bit earlier than usual," began Weaver, with +a worried frown. "Had to prepare for the Old Man's arrival, and there +were a number of papers to straighten out for the directors' meeting. +Usually, you know, the Old Man doesn't get here until ten o'clock; +it's only on special occasions--like this one of the conference--that +he comes earlier.... So I left the house in something of a hurry, +intending to shave up here. I do that quite often, by the way--which +is one of the reasons I keep a razor in the apartment.... When I got +here--it was about eight-thirty--I dashed for my razor. And there +wasn't any blade." + +"That seems not so extraordinary," said Ellery with a smile. "You +simply didn't have any in the cabinet." + +"Oh, but I did!" protested Weaver. "The reason I felt something was +funny was that last evening, before I left the store, I had shaved up +here. I left the blade in the razor." + +"Didn't you have any others?" + +"No. I'd run out of them and intended to get some more. But I forgot +to bring some in with me this morning. Consequently, when I wanted to +scrape some of the old beard off there wasn't anything to do it with. +Blade had vanished! Sounds silly, doesn't it? And I particularly left +that blade in the razor yesterday because I've forgotten to restock +before, and I found that you can always squeeze another shave out of +the old blade." + +"You mean that it had gone, absolutely? You're sure you left it in the +razor?" + +"Positive. I cleaned it and slipped it back." + +"You didn't break it, or anything like that?" + +"I tell you no, Ellery," Weaver replied patiently. "That blade was +there." + +Ellery's lips curved upward humorously. "A pretty problem at that," he +said. "Is that why your face is fuzzed?" + +"Right enough. I haven't had a chance all day to go out for a shave." + +"Seems peculiar," said Ellery thoughtfully. "I mean that you should +have had only one blade left in the cabinet. Where are French's blades?" + +"He doesn't shave himself," replied Weaver a trifle stiffly. "He never +has. Patronizes the same barber every morning." + +Ellery did not comment further. He opened the cabinet and took down the +wooden razor-case. He examined the plain silver razor inside, but could +see nothing of interest. + +"You handled the razor this morning?" + +"What do you mean?" + +"Did you take it out of the case?" + +"Oh, no! I didn't at all. When I saw the blade was missing, I didn't +even bother." + +"That's _very_ interesting." Ellery lifted the razor handle to the +level of his eyes, holding it by the tip, careful not to touch the +silver surface with his fingers. He breathed on the metal. It clouded +over for an instant. + +"Not the sign of a print," he commented. "Wiped away, undoubtedly." He +smiled suddenly. "We begin to find signs of a presence, an apparition, +a wraith here last night, old boy. Careful, wasn't he, she, or weren't +they?" + +Weaver laughed aloud. "Then you think my stolen blade has something to +do with this mess?" + +"To think," said Ellery solemnly, "is to know.... Keep this in mind, +Westley. I believe I heard you say downstairs that you left here +last night a bit before seven. The blade, then, was taken from this +apartment between about seven o'clock last night and eight-thirty this +morning. + +"Astounding!" murmured Weaver derisively. "So that's the sort of +hocus-pocus one must cultivate in order to be a detective?" + +"Laugh, varlet!" said Ellery sternly.... He stood in a queer attitude +of reflection. "I think we'll be going into the next chamber," he said +in an altogether different voice. "I begin to see a tiny light. It's +far off but--gossamer glimmer, nevertheless! _Allons, enfant!_" + + + + + 15 + + AT THE APARTMENT: _The Cardroom_ + + +He strode purposefully from the lavatory, marched through the bedroom, +entered the library once more. Weaver followed, his face betraying an +objective interest startlingly in variance with his nervousness of the +past hour. He seemed to have forgotten something. + +"What's past that door?" demanded Ellery abruptly, pointing to the +second red-leather, brass-studded door on the opposite side of the room. + +"That's the cardroom," replied Weaver interestedly. "Think there's +something to look for, El? By George, you're getting me positively +excited!" Then he stopped, his face lengthened, and he stood soberly +surveying his friend. + +"Cardroom, eh?" Ellery's eyes were bright. "Tell me, Wes--you were the +first in the apartment this morning and you're in the best position +to know--did any one who was in the library to-day go into any of the +other rooms?" + +Weaver pondered for a moment. "Except that the Old Man went into the +bedroom when he got in this morning, and put his coat and hat away, +nobody left the library." + +"Didn't French visit the bathroom to wash up?" + +"No. He was in a confounded hurry to dictate some store business and +get ready for the conference." + +"You were with him when he visited the bedroom?" + +"Yes." + +"And you're positive that none of the others--Zorn, Trask, Gray, +Marchbanks--left _this room_ all morning?" He took a short turn about +the room. "By the way, you were here every minute of the time, I +suppose?" + +Weaver smiled. "I seem to be in an affirmative mood this +afternoon.--Yes to both questions." + +Ellery rubbed his hands together in a little spasm of glee. "The +apartment, then, with the one exception of the library, is in exactly +the same condition as when you arrived at eight-thirty. Excellent, most +excellent, my omniscient and exceedingly helpful Westley!" + +He walked briskly toward the cardroom door and pushed it open, Weaver +at his heels. And Weaver cried out in sheer astonishment from behind +Ellery's broad shoulders.... + +The cardroom was smaller than both the library and the bedroom. It was +paneled in walnut. Cheerful drapes hung over the single large window +overlooking Fifth Avenue. A thick rug covered the floor. + +But Ellery, following the line of Weaver's gaze, saw that he was +staring in horror at a hexagonal, baize-covered card-table in the +center of the room. A small bronze ashtray and some playing-cards, +peculiarly arranged, were on the table. Two heavy folding-chairs were +pushed away from the table. + +"What's the trouble, Wes?" asked Ellery sharply. + +"Why, that--that table wasn't there last night!" stammered Weaver. "I +was in here looking for my pipe just before I left, and I'm sure...." + +"Not really!" murmured Ellery. "You mean the table was folded up, put +away, out of sight?" + +"Of course! The room was cleaned up yesterday morning by the charwoman. +And those cigarets in the ashtray.... Ellery, some one was in here +after I left last night!" + +"Obviously. And in the bathroom, too, if we're to believe the story +of the missing razor-blade. The important thing is--why was some one +in here? Just a moment." He went swiftly to the table and looked down +curiously at the cards. + +On both sides of the table were two small piles of cards--one stack +with the faces up, the other closed. In the center of the baize were +two rows of four stacks, open, with the pasteboards in descending +order, as Ellery verified by investigating carefully. Between the two +rows were three smaller piles. + +"Banque," muttered Ellery. "Peculiar!" He looked at Weaver. "You know +the game, of course?" + +"No, I don't," said Weaver. "I recognized the layout of the cards as +that of banque, because I've seen it played at the French house. But I +don't understand the game very well; it gives me a headache. But then +most card-games do. I never was much good at it." + +"So I remember," laughed Ellery, "especially that night at Bloombury's +when I had to sit in for you to recoup a hundred dollar I.O.U. at +stud.... You say you've seen the game played at French's--and that's +most interesting. Calls for questions, I do believe. Not many people +know how to play Russian banque." + +Weaver regarded Ellery strangely. His eyes went furtively to the stubs +of four cigarets lying in the ashtray. He looked back at once. "Just +two people in the French household," he said in a strangled voice, +"played banque." + +"And they are--or were, if I must follow your past tense?" asked Ellery +in a cool voice. + +"Mrs. French and--Bernice." + +"Oho!" Ellery whistled softly. "The elusive Bernice.... Nobody else +play?" + +"The Old Man abhors all forms of gambling," said Weaver, worrying his +lips with a forefinger. "Won't play cards for anything. Doesn't know an +ace from a deuce. Marion plays bridge, but only because it's something +of a social necessity. She dislikes cards, and I never heard of banque +before I entered French's employ.... But Mrs. French and Bernice were +violently addicted to it. Whenever they had the opportunity they played +it. None of us could quite understand it. A form of the glamorous +gambling fever, I don't doubt." + +"And the friends of the family?" + +"Well," said Weaver slowly, "the Old Man has never been so narrow as to +forbid card-playing altogether in his home. That's why this apartment, +by the way, is fitted out with a cardroom. It's for the convenience of +the directors--sometimes they play here between sessions. But in the +house itself I have had plenty of opportunity to observe visitors and +friends. I've never seen any one play banque except Mrs. French and +Bernice." + +"Beautiful--beautiful," said Ellery. "So symmetrically conclusive! +That's the way I like things...." But his brow was wrinkled with +thought. "And the cigarets, old boy--tell me why you've been trying for +five minutes not to look at the cigarets in the ashtray?" + +Weaver flushed guiltily. "Oh!" He was silent. "I hate to say it, +Ellery--I'm in the most hellish position imaginable...." + +"The cigarets, of course, are Bernice's brand.... You may as well come +out with it," said Ellery wearily. + +"How did you know?" cried Weaver. "But--I suppose it was clear enough +to an alert.... Yes, they're Bernice's. Her own brand. She has--had +them made up for her especially." + +Ellery picked up one of the stubs. It was silver-tipped, and just +below the tip was printed in script the brand-name: _La Duchesse_. +Ellery poked his finger among the remaining litter of stubs. His look +sharpened as he noted that all, without exception, had been smoked to +approximately the same length--to about a half-inch of the tip. + +"Pretty thoroughly smoked out, all of them," he commented. He sniffed +at the cigaret between his fingers, looked at Weaver inquiringly. + +"Yes, scented. Violet, I think," Weaver said promptly. "The +manufacturer provides the scent according to the specifications of his +customers. I remember hearing Bernice place an order not long ago when +I was over at the French's--placed it over the telephone." + +"And _La Duchesse_ is rare enough to have weight in an inquiry.... Good +fortune, was it?" He talked to himself rather than to his friend. + +"What do you mean?" + +"No matter.... And, of course, Mrs. French did not smoke?" + +"Why--how did you know?" demanded Weaver in surprise. + +"How nicely things fit together," murmured Ellery. "So very, very +nicely. And Marion--does she smoke?" + +"Thank God--no!" + +Ellery regarded him quizzically. "Well!" he said all at once. "Let's +see what's behind this door." + +He crossed the room to the wall opposite the window. A small plain door +opened into a little, simply furnished bedroom. Beyond it was a tiny +bathroom. + +"A servant's room," explained Weaver. "Originally planned for a valet, +but it's never been used to my knowledge. The Old Man isn't fussy and +he'd rather have his man at the Fifth Avenue house." + +Ellery made a swift examination of the two little rooms. He emerged in +a moment, shrugging his shoulders. + +"Nothing there, and there wouldn't be...." He paused, twirling his +pince-nez in the air. "We have a rather remarkable situation here, Wes. +Consider: We are now in possession of three direct indications of Miss +Bernice Carmody's presence in this apartment last night. Or rather two +direct indications, and one--the first--of a circumstantial nature. +That is--the lipstick marked _C_ from Mrs. French's handbag. This is +the least damaging of the three, of course, since it does not _prove_ +presence and might have been brought here by Mrs. French. But it must +be kept in mind. Second, the game of banque, which any number of +reputable witnesses, I gather, would testify, as strongly as you, was +indulged in by Mrs. French and Bernice practically to the exclusion of +the rest of the family and friends of the family. You noticed, didn't +you, that the game has the appearance of having been interrupted at +a critical stage? The way the cards are lying there--they give the +distinct impression that just when the game became hotly competitive, +it was stopped.... And third, the most critical indication of the +three--the _La Duchesse_ cigarets. These are so obviously Bernice's +that they would be acceptable in court as admissible evidence, I'm +sure, if supported by strong circumstantial evidence of a confirmatory +nature." + +"But what? I don't see--" cried Weaver. + +"The suspicious fact that Miss Bernice Carmody has vanished," replied +Ellery gravely. "Flight?" He flung the word at Weaver. + +"I can't--I won't believe it," said Weaver weakly, but there was a +curious relief in his voice. + +"Matricide is an unnatural crime, to be sure," Ellery mused, "but is +not unknown.... Is it possible--" His reflections were disturbed by a +rapid knock at the apartment door. It was surprisingly loud, coming +as it did through the three walls of the cardroom, the library, the +anteroom. + +Weaver looked startled. Ellery straightened with a jerk, swiftly looked +around once more, then motioned to Weaver to precede him from the room. +He closed the brass-studded door with gentle fingers. + +"That must be your good hussif, Hortense Underhill, and the maid," said +Ellery almost gayly. "I wonder if they can be the harbingers of--more +evidence against Bernice!" + + + + + 16 + + AT THE APARTMENT: _Again the Bedroom_ + + +Weaver flung open the outer door to admit two women. Sergeant Thomas +Velie loomed solidly behind them. + +"Did you send for these ladies, Mr. Queen?" demanded Velie, his broad +frame filling the door. "One of the boys downstairs caught 'em trying +to get past the man guarding the elevator--said you sent for them. Is +it all right?" + +His eyes roved dourly about the apartment--as much of it as he could +see from his position at the corridor door. Ellery smiled. + +"It's all right, Velie," he drawled. "They'll be safe with me.... And +how is the dear Commissioner progressing with the Inspector?" + +"Got his hooks into the scarf," growled Velie, and shot a keen look at +Weaver's instantly clenched fists. + +"Follow up the lead I gave you over the telephone?" asked Ellery +serenely. + +"Yes. She's among the missing. Got two men on it already." The +Sergeant's stern face cracked in a fleeting smile. "How much longer +will you need the Inspector's--coöperation downstairs, Mr. Queen?" + +"I'll buzz you, Velie. Fly away now, like a good little chap." Velie +grinned, but his face was frozen into its customary immobility as he +wheeled and made for the elevator. + +Ellery turned to the two women, who were standing close together eying +him apprehensively. He addressed the taller and elder of the two--a +stiff, slab-figured woman in her early fifties, marble-haired and +viciously blue-eyed. + +"You're Miss Hortense Underhill, I take it?" he asked severely. + +"That's right--Mr. French's housekeeper." Her voice was not unlike her +person--thin, sharp, steely. + +"And this is Miss Bernice Carmody's maid?" + +The other woman, a timid little creature with faded brown hair and +a plain face, started convulsively at being directly addressed and +crouched closer to Hortense Underhill. + +"Yes," answered the French housekeeper. "This is Miss Doris Keaton, +Bernice's maid." + +"Very good." Ellery smiled, stood aside with a deferential little bow. +"If you'll follow me, please--?" He led the way through the red-leather +door leading into the large bedroom. Weaver marched obediently behind. + +Ellery indicated the two bedroom chairs. "Sit down, please." The +two women sat down. Doris Keaton kept her big vapid eyes on Ellery, +surreptitiously hitching her chair closer to the housekeeper's. + +"Miss Underhill," began Ellery, pince-nez in hand, "have you ever been +in this room before?" + +"I have." The housekeeper seemed determined to out-stare Ellery. Her +cold blue eyes flashed colder fire. + +"Oh, you have?" Ellery paused politely without removing his gaze. +"When, may I ask, and on what occasion?" + +The housekeeper was undaunted by his coolness. "A peck of times. That +is, so to speak. I never came, though, except at Mrs. French's request. +Each time it was clothes." + +"It was clothes?" Ellery seemed puzzled. + +She nodded stonily. "Why, of course. They were far apart, those times, +but whenever Mrs. French intended to stay here overnight, she would ask +me to bring a next day's change for her. So that is how--" + +"Just a moment, Miss Underhill." There was a pleasant glitter in +Ellery's eyes as he reflected. "This was her usual custom?" + +"So far as I know." + +"When"--Ellery leaned forward--"when was the last time Mrs. French +asked you to do this?" + +The housekeeper did not reply at once. "I should say about two months +ago," she answered finally. + +"As far back as that?" + +"I said two months ago." + +Ellery sighed, straightened. "One of these closets, then, belonged to +Mrs. French?" he asked, indicating the two modern doors set in the +wall. + +"Yes--that one there," she replied promptly, pointing to the concealed +door nearest the lavatory. "But not only for Mrs. French's clothes--the +other girls sometimes kept things in there, too." + +Ellery's eyebrows shot up. "Not really, Miss Underhill!" he ejaculated. +His hand caressed his jaw tenderly. "I may infer, then, that both Miss +Marion and Miss Bernice sometimes used Mr. French's apartment?" + +The housekeeper regarded him levelly. "Sometimes. Not very often. Only +when Mrs. French was not using it, and they brought a girl friend along +to spend the night--on a sort of lark, you might call it." + +"I see. Have they slept here with a--a 'girl friend,' I believe you +said?--recently?" + +"Not that I know. Not for five or six months at least." + +"Very good!" Ellery flipped his pince-nez into the air with a certain +briskness. "Now, Miss Underhill, I want you to tell me quite exactly +when you saw Miss Carmody last, and under what circumstances." + +The two women exchanged meaningful glances; the maid bit her lip and +looked guiltily away. But the housekeeper retained her poise. "I _knew_ +that was coming," she announced in a calm voice. "But you needn't think +either of my poor lambs had anything to do with this, whoever you are. +They didn't and you can take that for gospel. _I_ don't know where +Bernice is, but be sure there's foul play been done her...." + +"Miss Underhill," said Ellery gently, "I'm sure this is all quite +interesting, but we are in something of a hurry. If you'll answer my +question--?" + +"All right, if you must have it." She set her lips, folded her hands +in her lap, looked at Weaver indifferently, and began. "It was +yesterday.--I'd better begin right with when they woke up; it'll make +easier telling.--Well, both Mrs. French and Bernice woke up at about +ten o'clock yesterday morning, and the hair-dresser attended each in +their rooms. They got dressed and had a bite of something. Marion had +already had lunch. I served them myself...." + +"Pardon me, Miss Underhill," interrupted Ellery, "but did you hear what +they talked about over the luncheon table?" + +"I don't listen to what isn't my affair," retorted the housekeeper +tartly, "so all I can tell about _that_ is that they talked about +a new gown being made for Bernice. And Mrs. French seemed a little +absent-minded, too. She actually got her sleeve into her coffee--the +poor thing! But then she was always a little funny--maybe she had a +premonition of what was to come, you know?--God rest her troubled +soul!... Well, after lunch they remained in the music-room until about +two o'clock, talking and things. Don't know about what, either! But +they seemed as if they wanted to be let alone. Anyway, when they came +out I heard Mrs. French tell Bernice to go upstairs and dress--they +were going to take a ride through the Park. Bernice went upstairs, +and Mrs. French held back to tell _me_ to tell _Edward Young_, the +chauffeur, to get the car out. Then Mrs. French went upstairs herself +to dress. But in about five minutes I saw Bernice coming down the +stairs, all dressed for the street, and when she saw me she told _me_ +to tell her _mother_--whispered, she did--that she'd changed her mind +about taking a ride in the Park and was going out to do some shopping. +And she fair ran out of the house!" + +Ellery seemed poignantly concerned. "Clearly if somewhat volubly told, +Miss Underhill. And what would you say was the state of Miss Carmody's +nerves all day?" + +"Poor," replied the housekeeper. "But then Bernice has always been a +high-spirited and sensitive girl. Yesterday she seemed a little more +nervous than usual, though, now that I come to think of it. She was +all pale and fidgety when she slipped out of the house...." + +Weaver moved sharply. Ellery cautioned him with a glance and motioned +the housekeeper to continue. + +"Well, not long after, Mrs. French came down dressed for her drive. She +asked for Bernice, and I told her about Bernice's going off that way, +and I gave her Bernice's message. I thought for a minute that she was +going to faint--poor thing!--she got so pale and sick-looking, which +wasn't like her at all, and then she took hold of herself and she said: +'All right, Hortense. Tell Young to put the car back in the garage. I +shan't be going out, either....' and she marched right back upstairs +again. Oh, yes! She did tell me, though, before she went up, to let +her know the _instant_ Bernice got back home.... Well, sir, that's the +last I saw of Bernice, and practically the last of Mrs. French. For +the poor soul stayed in her room all afternoon, came down for dinner +with Marion, and then went back up to her room again. She seemed more +anxious than ever about Bernice, and twice she made as if to go to the +telephone, but she seemed to change her mind. Anyway, about a quarter +after eleven at night she came down with her hat and coat on--yes, +sir, I know you'll ask me: the brown toque and the fox-trimmed cloth +coat--and she said she was going out. And go out she did. And that's +the last I saw of poor Mrs. French." + +"She didn't order the car?" + +"No." + +Ellery took a turn about the room. "And where was Miss Marion French +all day?" he asked suddenly. Weaver glanced at Ellery in shocked +surprise. + +"Oh! Miss Marion was up bright and early--always is an early riser, the +dear child--and she left the house right after luncheon, saying she had +a shopping appointment with one of her friends. I think she also went +to the Carnegie Hall for the afternoon, because only the day before +she showed me the tickets for a piano-playing thing by some foreigner. +She does love music so, that child! She didn't get back home until +about half-past five. She and Mrs. French had dinner together, and she +was surprised that Bernice was absent. Anyway, right after dinner she +dressed over and went out again." + +"At what hour did Miss Marion French return?" + +"That I can't say. I went to bed myself at eleven-thirty, after +releasing the house staff for the night. Didn't see anybody come in. +Mrs. French had told me not to wait up, besides." + +"Not a particularly well-regulated household," murmured Ellery. "Miss +Underhill, please tell me how Miss Carmody was attired when she left +the house--it was about two-thirty, I presume?" + +Hortense Underhill shifted restlessly in her chair. The maid still +regarded Ellery with stupid, frightened eyes. + +"Just about," said the housekeeper. "Well, Bernice was wearing--let me +see now--her blue felt hat with the brilliant fancy, her grey chiffon +dress, her grey fur-trimmed coat, and a pair of black leather pumps +with rhinestone buckles. Is that what you wanted to know?" + +"Precisely," said Ellery with a charming smile. He took Weaver to one +side. "Wes, do you know why I've called these two worthy ladies into +consultation?" he demanded in an undertone. + +Weaver shook his head. "Except for the fact that you wanted to know +about Bernice.... Oh, I say, Ellery, it wasn't that you're looking for +further indications of Bernice's presence here, is it?" he asked aghast. + +Ellery nodded gloomily. "We have three apparent indications of the +young lady's alleged visit to the apartment, to be journalistic.... +Something told me there were more. Indications that I might not be +able to descry. The housekeeper, though--the maid, Bernice's maid--" +He broke off, shook his head with impatience at his own thoughts. He +turned to the waiting women. "Miss Doris Keaton." The maid jumped, +stark terror in her eyes. "Don't be afraid, Miss Keaton," said Ellery +mildly, "I shan't bite you.... Did you help Miss Bernice dress +yesterday afternoon, after luncheon?" + +The girl whispered: "Yes, sir." + +"Would you recognize the articles of clothing, for example, that she +wore yesterday, if you saw them here and now?" + +"I--I think so, sir." + +Ellery walked to the closet door nearest the lavatory, threw it +wide--disclosing a rack hung with multicolored gowns, a silken shoe-bag +tacked to the inner side of the door, and a top shelf on which lay +several hat-boxes--stepped back, and said: + +"There's your territory, Miss Keaton. See what you can find." He stood +directly behind the girl, watching her with quick sharp flashes of his +eyes. He was so absorbed in her movements that he did not even feel the +presence of Weaver at his side. The housekeeper sat, a thin stone, in +her chair, watching them. + +The maid's fingers trembled as she rummaged among the numerous gowns on +the rack. After going through the entire rack, she timidly turned to +Ellery and shook her head. He motioned her to proceed. + +She stood on tiptoe and lifted from the shelf the three hat-boxes. She +opened these one by one and scrutinized them briefly. The first two +boxes contained hats belonging to Mrs. French, she said hesitantly. +This was corroborated by a frigid nod from Hortense Underhill. + +The maid lifted the lid from the third box. She uttered a little choked +cry and reeled backward, touching Ellery. The contact seemed to burn +her skin. She jumped away, fumbled for a handkerchief. + +"Well?" asked Ellery softly. + +"That's--that's Miss Bernice's hat," she whispered, biting the +handkerchief nervously. "The one--she wore when she left the house +yesterday afternoon!" + +Ellery eyed the hat narrowly as it lay, brim to the bottom, in the +box. The soft blue felt crown, due to its position, had collapsed. A +glittering pin was fixed above the turned-down brim, just visible from +where he stood.... Ellery made a brief request and the maid lifted +the hat from the box and offered it to him. He turned it over in his +fingers, then silently handed the hat back to the girl, who as silently +took it, put her hand inside the crown, flipped the hat upside down, +and deftly returned it to the box in that position. Ellery, who had +been about to turn away, stiffened instantly. Nevertheless, he said +nothing, watching the girl replace the three hat-boxes on the shelf. + +"The shoes now, please," he said. + +Obediently the maid bent over the silk shoe-rack hanging on the inside +of the closet door. As she was about to remove a woman's pump, Ellery +stopped her with a tap on the shoulder and turned to the housekeeper. + +"Miss Underhill, will you please verify the fact that this is Miss +Carmody's hat?" + +He lifted a long arm, took down the box with the blue hat inside, +removed the hat, and handed it to Hortense Underhill. + +She examined it briefly. Unaccountably, Ellery had stepped away from +the closet to stand by the lavatory door. + +"It's hers," said the housekeeper, looking up belligerently. "But what +that has to do with anything, I don't know." + +"That's honest." Ellery smiled. "Will you please return it to the +shelf?" As he said this, he stepped slowly forward again. + +The woman, sniffing, put her hand inside the hat, inverted it, and +placed it in that position in the hat-box. She carefully lifted it to +the shelf and as carefully returned to her chair.... Weaver observed +Ellery's sudden grin with a lost bewilderment. + +Then Ellery did an amazing thing--a thing that brought an unbelieving +stare from each of the three people watching him. He reached up to the +shelf and took down the same hat-box! + +He opened it, whistling a tuneless little air and, removing the +much-handled blue hat, offered it to Weaver for inspection. + +"Here, Wes, let's have your masculine opinion," he said cheerfully. "Is +this Bernice Carmody's hat?" + +Weaver regarded his friend with astonishment, taking the hat +mechanically. Shrugging, he looked at the hat. "Looks familiar, Ellery, +but I can't be positive. I rarely notice women's clothes." + +"Hmm." Ellery chuckled. "Put the hat back, Wes old boy." Weaver sighed, +grasped the hat gingerly by the crown and dropped it, brim down, into +the box. He fumbled with the lid, affixed it, shoved the box back onto +the shelf--for the third time in less than five minutes. + +Ellery turned briskly to the maid. "Keaton, just how fastidious in her +habits is Miss Carmody?" he asked, feeling for his pince-nez. + +"I--I don't get you, sir." + +"Does she bother you much? Does she put her own things away generally? +Exactly what are your duties?" + +"Oh!" The maid's eyes sought the housekeeper once more for guidance. +Then she looked down at the carpet. "Well, sir, Miss Bernice was--is +always careful about her clothes and things. Most always puts her hats +and coats away herself when she gets in from being out. My work's more +doing personal things--fixing her hair, laying out her dresses, and +such." + +"A _very_ careful girl," put in Miss Underhill icily. "Rare and +unusual, I've always called it. And Marion's the same way." + +"Delighted to hear it," said Ellery with perfect gravity. "Delighted is +hardly the word for it.... Heigh-ho, Keaton, the shoon!" + +"Huh?" The girl was startled. + +"Shoes--shoes, I should say." + +There were at least a dozen pairs of shoes, of assorted styles and +colors, protruding from separate pockets in the rack. Without exception +each of the shoes lay in its compartment with the tip inside and the +heel showing, hooked over the lip of the pocket. + +The maid Keaton went to work. She looked over the shoes, lifting out +several to examine them closely. Suddenly she snatched at a pair of +black leather pumps, lying in adjacent compartments. Each pump sported +a large and heavy rhinestone buckle which glittered in a shaft of +sunlight as she held them up before Ellery. + +"These! These shoes!" she cried. "Miss Bernice wore them yesterday when +she went out!" + +Ellery took them from her shaking fingers. After a moment he turned to +Weaver. + +"Mud splashes," he said laconically. "And here's a spot of wet. Seems +indubitable!" He handed them back to the maid, who tremblingly replaced +them in their compartments.... Ellery's eyes narrowed at once. She had +put the shoes back with the heels _inside_, despite the fact that all +the other shoes in the rack had the heels showing. + +"Miss Underhill!" Ellery withdrew the black pumps from their pockets. +The housekeeper rose sulkily. + +"Miss Carmody's?" Ellery demanded, handing her the shoes. + +She eyed them briefly. "Yes." + +"Having reached complete agreement," drawled Ellery with a smiling +change of tone, "please be so good as to return these shoes to the +rack." + +Without a word she obeyed. And Ellery, watching closely, chuckled to +observe that she had duplicated the maid's action in putting the pumps +into the rack heels first, so that the tips and buckles protruded from +the pockets. + +"Westley!" he said at once. Weaver approached wearily. He had been +standing at a window, looking moodily down over Fifth Avenue.... And +when Weaver replaced the pumps in the rack, he grasped the heels and +stuck the shoes in tips first. + +"Why do you do that?" asked Ellery as the two women, now convinced of +his madness, moved uneasily away from the closet. + +"Do what?" demanded Weaver. + +Ellery smiled. "Easy, Hamlet.... Why do you put the shoes into the bag +so that the heels hang over the pocket?" + +Weaver stared at him. "Why, they're all that way," he said blankly. +"Why should I put them in the opposite way?" + +"_Alors_," said Ellery, "_on a raison_.... Miss Underhill, why did you +put the shoes back into the rack with the tips showing, when all the +others have the heels showing?" + +"Anybody would know that," snapped the housekeeper. "These black pumps +have big buckles. Didn't you see what happened when Mr. Weaver put them +back tips first? The buckles caught on the material of the bag!" + +"Wondrous woman!" muttered Ellery. "And the others haven't any buckles, +of course...." He read confirmation in the housekeeper's eyes. + +He left them standing before the closet and paced silently back and +forth the length of the bedroom. His lips puckered fiercely as he +mused. Suddenly he turned to Miss Underhill. + +"I want you to look this closet over very carefully, Miss Underhill, +and tell me, if you possibly can, whether anything is not there which +you know should be there...." He stepped back and waved his hand. + +She stirred into activity, rummaging efficiently through the gowns, the +hat-boxes, the shoes once more. Weaver, the maid, Ellery watched her in +silence. + +She paused in her work, looked undecidedly at the shoe-bag, then up at +the shelf, hesitated, turned to Ellery. + +"I can't be sure," she said thoughtfully, her cold eyes searching +Ellery's, "but it seems to me that, while all of Mrs. French's things +are here that should be here, two things of Bernice's are _not_ here +that should be here!" + +"No!" breathed Ellery. He did not seem unduly surprised. "A hat and +pair of shoes, no doubt?" + +She glanced at him quickly. "How did you know?... Yes, that's what I +thought. I remember several months ago when I was bringing down some +things of Mrs. French's, Bernice asked me to take her grey toque down, +too. And I did. And then there was her pair of low-heeled grey kid +shoes--two tones of grey, they were--I'm fair certain I brought _those_ +down with me once...." She turned sharply on Doris Keaton. "Are they in +Miss Bernice's wardrobes at home, Doris?" + +The maid shook her head with vigor. "No, Miss Underhill. I haven't seen +them for a long time." + +"Well, there you are. Grey felt toque, close-fitting, no trimming, and +a pair of grey kid walking-shoes. They're missing." + +"And that," said Ellery with a little bow that made Miss Underhill +stare, "is precisely that. Thank you so much.... Westley, will you +escort Miss Underhill and the timidacious Keaton to the door? Tell the +man outside to see that they're taken down to Sergeant Velie and kept +out of the way of Commissioner Welles at least until everybody troops +up here.... Undoubtedly, Miss Underhill, Marion French will be glad," +and he bowed again to the housekeeper, "of your maternal and warming +presence. _Good_ afternoon!" + +The instant the outer door had closed upon Weaver and the two women, +Ellery ran across the library to the door of the cardroom. He entered +with swift steps and stared down at the card-table with its neatly +heaped piles of pasteboards and its butt-strewn ashtray. He sat down +carefully in one of the chairs and examined the cards. Picking up the +heavy stack of closed cards before him, he spread them out without +disturbing their sequence. He frowned after a while, referred to eleven +piles of cards in the center of the table.... Finally he rose, puzzled, +defeated. He replaced all the stacks exactly as he had found them. + +He was staring gloomily at the cigaret-stubs when he heard the outer +door click shut and Weaver reënter the library. Ellery turned at once +and left the cardroom. The red-leather door swished softly to behind +him. + +"Ladies taken care of?" he inquired absently. Weaver nodded almost with +sulkiness. Ellery squared his shoulders, eyes twinkling. "Worrying +about Marion, I'll wager," he said. "Don't, Wes. You're acting like +a granny." He looked slowly about the library. His eyes came to rest +after a time on the desk before the dormer-window. "I think," he +announced dictatorially, sauntering toward the desk, "we'll take our +ease, in a manner of speaking, and see what we can see. Rest being the +sweet sauce of labor, as Plutarch so aptly says--sit, Wes!" + + + + + 17 + + AT THE APARTMENT: _The Library_ + + +They sat down, Ellery at the comfortable swivel-chair behind the desk, +Weaver in one of the leather-covered chairs at the conference table. + +Ellery relaxed, letting his glance shift from wall to wall of the +library, flicker over the table, the litter of business papers, the +pictures on the wall, the glass top of the desk before him.... His +glance fell idly on the slip of blue memorandum paper by the telephone. +With perfect unconcern he picked it up and read it. + +It was an official memorandum. On it was neatly typed a message. + +Ellery reread the memorandum earnestly. He looked up at the +disconsolate countenance of Weaver. + +"Is it conceivable ..." he began. He broke off suddenly. "Tell me, +Wes--when did you type this memorandum?" + +"Eh?" Weaver started at the sound of Ellery's voice. "Oh, that! That's +a memo I sent around to the Board of Directors. Typed it yesterday +afternoon, after the Old Man left for Great Neck." + +"How many copies did you make?" + +"There were seven all told--one for each director, one for myself, and +one for the files. This copy is the Old Man's." + +Ellery spoke quickly. "How is it that I find it here on the desk?" + +Weaver was surprised at the seeming inconsequentiality of Ellery's +question. "Oh, I say!" he protested. "Just a matter of form. I left it +here so that the Old Man could see in the morning that I'd taken care +of the matter." + +"And it was here--on the desk--when you left the apartment last night?" +persisted Ellery. + +[Illustration: INTER-OFFICE MEMORANDUM + + COPY + + To: Mr. French ✓ + Mr. Gray + Mr. Marchbanks + Mr. Trask + Mr. Zorn + Mr. Weaver + + Monday, May 23, 19-- + +A special meeting of the Board of Directors is hereby called for the +morning of Tuesday, May the twenty-fourth, at eleven o'clock, in the +Conference Room. _Do_ _not_ _fail_ _to_ _attend_. Details of the +Whitney-French negotiations will be discussed. It is hoped that a final +decision may be reached officially at that time. Your presence is +imperative. + +Mr. Weaver is to meet Mr. French in the Conference Room at nine a.m. +promptly to prepare the notes for final directorial discussion. + + [Signed] Cyrus French, + + [Per] Westley Weaver, + Sec'y. +] + +"Well, of course!" said Weaver. "Where should it be? Not only that, but +it was _still_ there when I got in this morning." He grinned feebly. + +But Ellery was serious. His eyes glittered. "You're sure of that?..." +He half-rose from the swivel-chair in a strange excitement. He sank +back. "Seems to fit with the rest of the jigsaw," he muttered. "How +beautifully it explains that one unexplained point!" + +Thoughtfully he stowed the blue paper, uncreased, in a capacious wallet +which he took from his breast-pocket. + +"You'll say nothing of this, of course," he said slowly.... Weaver +nodded and relapsed into apathy. Ellery bent forward, placed his +elbows on the glass top, his head in his hands. He stared before +him.... Something seemed to disturb his revery. His eyes, blank +and preoccupied, focused by degrees on the books between the onyx +book-ends, standing austerely on the desk in his direct line of vision. + +After a moment, as if to satisfy a mounting curiosity, he straightened +up and became entirely absorbed in the titles of the books. His long +arm swooped down on one of them, carried it back for closer observation. + +"By the wisdom of Bibliophilus!" he murmured at last, looking up at +Weaver. "What a queer collection of volumes! Does your employer make a +habit of reading such heavy stuff as _An Outline of Paleontology_, Wes? +Or is this a text-book hang-over from your undergraduate days? I can't +recall your having a particular flair for science. It's by old John +Morrison, too." + +"Oh, that!" Weaver was momentarily embarrassed. "No, that's the--the +Old Man's, I suppose, Ellery. His books entirely. Don't think +I've ever observed the titles, as a matter of fact. What did you +say--paleontology? Didn't know he went in for it." + +Ellery regarded him keenly for a brief moment, then replaced the book. +"And what's more--do you know," he said softly, "this _is_ fetching!" + +"What?" asked Weaver nervously. + +"Well, bend an ear to these titles: _Fourteenth Century Trade and +Commerce_, by Stani Wedjowski. There's a rare one for you, although +it is fitting that a department store magnate be interested in the +history of merchanting.... And this one--_A Child's History of +Music_, by Ramon Freyberg. A _child's_ history, mind you. And _New +Developments in Philately_, by Hugo Salisbury. A passion for stamps! +Queer, queer, I tell you.... And--good heavens!--_Nonsense Anthology_, +by that surpassing idiot, A. I. Throckmorton!" Ellery lifted his eyes +to Weaver's troubled ones. "Dear young Dane," he said slowly, "I can +understand a chronic bibliophile having this bizarre collection on his +desk, for some dark purpose of his own, but I'll be immortally damned +if I can make it jibe with my conception of Cyrus French, head of the +Anti-Vice League and merchant prince.... Your employer does not impress +me as having the intellectual potentialities of a paleontological +field worker, who is a stamp-collecting addict, who has a passion for +medieval commerce, who knows so little of music that he must read +a child's history of it, and finally who indulges in the sickening +horseplay of the year's best--or worst--vaudeville jokes!... Wes, old +boy, there is more here than meets the vacillating eye." + +"I'm quite at sea," said Weaver, shifting in his chair. + +"And you should be, you should be, my child," said Ellery as he rose +and walked over to the bookcase on the wall to his left. He lightly +hummed the thematic air of _Marche Slav_ as he scanned the titles of +the volumes behind the glass partitions. After a moment's scrutiny he +returned to the desk, where he sat down and again fingered the books +between the book-ends in an absent way. Weaver's eyes followed him +uneasily. + +"From the books in the case," resumed Ellery, "my suspicions seem to +be borne out. Nothing but works on social welfare and sets of Bret +Harte, O. Henry, and Richard Harding Davis, _et al._ All of which +compress nicely into the obvious intellectual stratum of your nice Old +Man. Yet on the desk...." He mused. "And they show no signs of use," +he complained, as if disturbed further by this heinous crime against +literature. "In two cases, where the volumes are bound that way, the +leaves are still uncut.... Westley, tell me truthfully, is French +interested in these subjects?" He flipped his finger at the books +before him. + +Weaver answered immediately. "Not to my knowledge." + +"Marion? Bernice? Mrs. French? The directors?" + +"I can answer positively in the case of the French family, Ellery," +replied Weaver, jumping from his chair and pacing up and down before +the desk. "None of them reads such stuff. As for the directors--well, +you've seen them." + +"Gray might be interested in this preposterous mélange," said Ellery +thoughtfully. "He's the type. But that child's history of music.... +Well!" + +He bestirred himself. On the fly-leaf of the little volume in his coat +pocket he made a careful memorandum of the titles and authors of the +desk volumes. With a sigh he dropped the pencil back into his vest +pocket and once more began to stare blankly at the books. His hand +played idly with one of the book-ends. + +"Mustn't forget to ask French about these books," he murmured, more to +himself than to Weaver, who still paced furiously up and down the room. +"--Sit down, Wes! You disturb my train of thought...." Weaver shrugged, +sat down quiescently. "Nice things, these," Ellery said in a casual +voice, indicating the book-ends. "That's a very curious bit of carving +on the onyx." + +"Must have cost Gray a pile of dollars," mumbled Weaver. + +"Oh, they were a gift to French?" + +"Gray gave them to him on his last birthday--in March. They were +imported, I know--I remember Lavery commenting on their rarity and +beauty a few weeks ago." + +"Did you say--March?" asked Ellery suddenly, bringing the black shining +book-end closer to his eyes. "That's only two months ago, and this--" +He quickly picked up the companion piece to the book-end in his hand. +He placed them side by side on the glass top of the desk, all at once +handling them with meticulous delicacy. He beckoned to Weaver. + +"Do you see any difference between these?" he asked in some excitement. + +Weaver leaned over, put out his hand to lift one of them.... + +"Don't touch it!" said Ellery sharply. "Well?" + +Weaver stood up straight. "No call to shout, Ellery," he said +reproachfully. "As far as I can see, the felt under this one seems +faded a little." + +"Don't mind my rude manners, old son," Ellery said. "I thought that +difference in shade wasn't wholly my imagination." + +"I can't understand why the green felts should vary in color," remarked +Weaver in a puzzled way, returning to his chair. "Those book-ends +are nearly new. They must have been all right when the Old Man got +them--they were, in fact. I'd have noticed the discoloration had there +been one." + +Ellery did not answer at once. He stared down at the two pieces of +carved onyx. They were both cylindrical in shape, with the carving on +the outer sides. On the under sides, where the book-ends were to be +placed against the desk, were pieces of fine green felt. In the strong +clear afternoon sun, streaming through the big window, one exhibited a +marked difference in the shade of green. + +"Here's a pretty mystery," muttered Ellery. "And what it means, if it +means anything at all, I can't see at the moment...." He looked up at +Weaver with a glint in his eye. "Have these book-ends ever been out of +this room since Gray presented them to French?" + +"No," replied Weaver. "Never. I'm here every day, and I would know if +they'd been moved." + +"Have they ever been broken, or repaired, even here?" + +"Why, of course not!" said Weaver, puzzled. "That seems sort of silly, +El." + +"And yet essential." Ellery sat down and began to twirl his pince-nez, +his eyes riveted on the book-ends before him. "Gray's an intimate of +French, I take it?" he asked suddenly. + +"His best friend. They've known each other for over thirty years. They +have good-natured quarrels periodically about the Old Man's obsession +in the matter of white slavery, prostitution and the like, but they've +always been unusually close." + +"Which is as it should be, I suppose." Ellery sank into deep and +concentrated thought. He did not take his eyes from the book-ends. "I +wonder, now...." His hand dipped into his coat pocket and emerged with +a small magnifying-glass. Weaver regarded his friend in astonishment, +then burst into laughter. + +"Ellery! Upon my word! Just like Sherlock Holmes!" His mirth was +unadulterated, inoffensive, like the man himself. + +Ellery grinned sheepishly. "It _does_ seem theatrical," he confessed. +"But I've found it a handy little tool at times." He bent lower, +applied the glass to the book-end with the darker green felt. + +"Looking for fingerprints?" chuckled Weaver. + +"You can never tell," said Ellery sententiously. "Although a glass +isn't infallible. You need fingerprint powder to make absolutely +sure...." He discarded the book-end and bent the glass on its mate. As +he scanned the lighter green of its felt, his hand shook convulsively. +Disregarding Weaver's cry of "What is it?" he fixed his attention +rigidly on a portion of the material where the felt met the onyx, at an +edge. A thin line, so thin that to the naked eye it was like a hair, +broadened slightly under the magnification of the lens. This line, +which extended all around the bottom of the book-end, was actually +composed of glue--the glue with which the felt was pasted to the onyx. +The second book-end also had the glue-line. + +"Here, take the glass, Wes, and focus it at the juncture of felt and +onyx," commanded Ellery, pointing to the under-side of the book-end. +"Tell me what you see--be careful you don't touch the surface of the +onyx!" + +Weaver bent over and eagerly looked through the glass. "Why, there's a +sort of dust stuck in the glue--it's dust, isn't it?" + +"Unorthodox-looking dust," said Ellery grimly, seizing the lens and +again examining the felt at that portion of the glue-line. In another +moment he had swept the eye of the glass over the other surfaces of the +book-end. He employed the same tactics with the second book-end. + +Weaver uttered a short exclamation. "I say, El, mightn't it be the same +stuff you found in Bernice's lipstick? Heroin, I think you called it!" + +"Smart guess, Westley," smiled Ellery, his eye fast to the lens. "But +I seriously doubt it.... This will require analysis, and immediately. +Something twitters a warning message in my subconscious." + +He dropped the magnifying-glass on the table, thoughtfully regarded the +two book-ends once more, then reached for the telephone. + +"Get Sergeant Velie--yes, detective-sergeant--on the wire for me +immediately." He spoke rapidly to Weaver while he waited, receiver to +ear. "If this stuff is what I am beginning to think it is, old boy, +the plot thickens like a purée. However, we'll see. Get me a good wad +of absorbent cotton from the bathroom-closet, will you, Wes? Hello, +hello--Velie?" he said into the telephone, as Weaver disappeared +through the brass-studded door, "this is Ellery Queen speaking. Yes, +from the apartment upstairs.... Velie, send me one of your best men at +once.... Who?... Yes, Piggott or Hesse will do. At once! And mum's the +word in the hearing of Welles.... No, you can't help--yet. Hold in, you +bloodhound!" He chuckled as he hung up. + +Weaver returned with a large carton filled with absorbent cotton. +Ellery took it from him. + +"Watch me, Wes," he announced with a laugh. "Watch carefully, because +it may be necessary for you in the not remote future to testify on the +witness stand as to precisely what I did here to-day.... Are you ready?" + +"I'm all eyes," grinned Weaver. + +"_Allay-oop!_" With a prestidigitator's flourish Ellery whipped out of +the large pocket of his sack-coat a curious metal packet. He pressed +a tiny button and the lid flew open, disclosing black leather pads of +thin tough texture, pierced for small bits of waxed thread, each of +which held a shining little instrument. + +"This," said Ellery, showing his even white teeth, "is one of my +most prized possessions. Given to me with the benediction of _Herr +Burgomeister_ of Berlin last year for the little aid I gave him in +snaring Don Dickey, the American gem-thief.... Cunnin', isn't it?" + +Weaver fell back weakly. "What on earth is it?" + +"One of the handiest contraptions ever conceived by the mind of man +for the use of the criminal investigator," replied Ellery, his fingers +busy with the thin leather mats. "This was created especially for +your humble servant through the gratitude of the Berlin mayor and +the co-operator of the German central detective bureau. At my own +specifications, incidentally--I knew what I wanted.... You'll observe +that an almost incredible number of articles are packed in this +amazingly small aluminum container--aluminum for its lightness, by the +way. Everything in it that a first-class detective might conceivably +need during a scientific investigation--on a lilliputian scale, but +strong, compact, and extraordinarily utilitarian." + +"Well, I'll be damned!" exclaimed Weaver. "I didn't know you went in +for this sort of thing so seriously, Ellery." + +"Let the contents of my work-chest convince you," smiled Ellery. +"Here we have two accessory lenses--Zeiss, by the way,--for my pocket +magnifier; stronger than usual, you see. Here's a tiny steel tape +measure with the automatic recoil, 96-inch length, reverse side in +centimeters. Red, blue, and black crayons. Undersize drawing-compass +and special pencil. One vial each of black and white fingerprint +powder, with camel's-hair brushes and stamping pad. Packet of glassine +envelopes. Small calipers and smaller tweezers. Collapsible probe, +adjustable to various lengths. Tempered steel pins and needles. Litmus +paper and two tiny test-tubes. Combination knife containing two blades, +corkscrew, screw-driver, awl, file, scraper. Specially designed +field-compass--and don't laugh. Not all investigations are conducted +in the heart of New York.... And that's not the last by any means. +Red, white and green twine of thread-like thinness, but very strong. +Sealing-wax. Small 'lighter'--made specially for me. Scissors. And, +naturally, a stop-watch made by one of the world's best watch-makers--a +Swiss in the employ of the German government.... How do you like my +traveling work-case, Wes?" + +Weaver looked incredulous. "Do you mean to tell me all those things are +in that ridiculously small aluminum container?" + +"Exactly. The entire contraption is some four inches wide by six +inches long, and weighs slightly less than two pounds. Thickness of a +fair-sized book. Oh, yes! I forgot to mention a crystal mirror embedded +in the wall of one of the aluminum sides.... But I'd better be getting +down to work. Keep your eyes open!" + +From one of the leather mats Ellery extracted the tweezers. Adjusting +one of the more powerful lenses in his pocket-glass, he carefully +placed the first book-end in a fixed position on the desk, held +the magnifier to his eye with his left hand, and with his right +painstakingly maneuvered the tweezers into the hardened glue which +contained the suspicious-looking particles. He instructed Weaver to +hold in readiness one of the glassine envelopes and, uprooting the +almost invisible grains, placed them carefully in the envelope. + +He laid down the glass and the tweezers, and sealed the envelope +instantly. + +"I think I've bagged them all," he said with satisfaction. "And the +ones I've missed Jimmy will get.... Come!" + +It was Detective Piggott. He closed the outer door softly and entered +the library with ill-concealed curiosity. + +"Sergeant said you wanted me, Mr. Queen," and his eyes were on Weaver. + +"Righto. Just a sec, Piggott, and I'll tell you what to do." Ellery +scribbled an inky note on the reverse side of the envelope. It read: + + "DEAR JIMMY: Analyze powder grains in envelope. Extract any + additional particles in glue-line of book-end marked _A_, also + analyze. Check on book-end marked _B_ for similar grains. After + analyzing the grains, _and not until then_, check both book-ends + for fingerprints other than my own. Could bring out a print myself, + but if you find any, have it 'shot' in the lab and a photoprint + immediately made. 'Phone all information to me, _personally_, + as soon as you've done. I'm at French apartment in French store. + Piggott will tell you. + + "E. Q." + +Marking the book-ends _A_ and _B_ with his red crayon, he swathed both +in absorbent cotton, wrapped them in some paper Weaver found for him in +the desk, and handed package and envelope to the detective. + +"Take these down to Jimmy at the headquarters laboratory as fast as +you can get there, Piggott," he said insistently. "Don't let anything +stop you. If Velie or my father corners you on the way out, say it's on +business for me. On no account let the Commissioner get wind of what +you're carrying off the premises. Now scoot!" + +Piggott left without a word. He was too well trained in the methods of +the Queens to ask questions. + +And as he slipped out of the door, he saw the shadow of a rising +elevator through the frosted glass wall. He turned and sped down the +emergency stairs just as the door slid open and Commissioner Welles, +Inspector Queen and a small cohort of detectives and policemen stepped +out. + + + + + 18 + + SCRAMBLED SIGNS + + +Within five minutes the private corridor outside French's sixth floor +apartment was crowded with a score of people. Two policemen stood guard +at the door. Another stood with his back to the elevator, his eyes on +the emergency staircase-door nearby. In the anteroom lounged several +detectives smoking cigarets. + +Ellery sat smiling behind French's desk in the library. Commissioner +Welles puffed about the room, shouting orders to detectives, opening +the doors leading off the library, peering like a myopic owl at things +strange to him. Inspector Queen talked with Velie and Crouther near +the dormer-window. Weaver stood miserably in a corner, unnoticed. His +eyes frequently sought the anteroom door, beyond which he knew was +Marion French.... + +"You say, Mr. Queen," grunted Welles, out of breath, "that the cigaret +stubs and the game of--blast it! what is it again?--banque are the only +signs of this Carmody girl's presence here?" + +"Not at all, Commissioner," said Ellery gravely. "You forget the +shoes and hat in the closet. I believe I recounted the housekeeper's +identification--?" + +"Yes, yes, of course!" grumbled Welles. He frowned. "Here, you +fingerprint men!" he shouted, "have you covered that little room +off the cardroom?" Without waiting for a reply, he bellowed an +unintelligible order to several photographers who were busy over the +table holding the cards and cigaret-stubs. Finally, mopping his brow, +he beckoned imperiously to Inspector Queen. + +"What do you think, Queen?" he demanded. "Looks like a pretty clear +case, eh?" + +The Inspector sent a sidewise glance at his son, and smiled +cryptically. "Hardly, Commissioner. We've got to find the girl first, +you know.... Work's barely scratched. We haven't had the time to +check a single alibi, for example. Despite these clues pointing to +Bernice Carmody, we're not at all satisfied that there isn't something +deeper...." He shook his head. "At any rate, Commissioner, there's a +heap of work waiting for us. Anybody you'd like to question? We have +'em all outside in the corridor waiting." + +The Commissioner looked fierce. "No! Can't say I do at this stage...." +He cleared his throat. "What's next on your list? I've got to get down +to City Hall for a conference with the Mayor and I can't give this +thing the personal attention it deserves. Well?" + +"I want to clear up a few moot points," replied Queen dryly. "Several +people out there will stand questioning. French himself--" + +"French. Yes, yes. Too bad. Feel sorry for the man. Quite a blow." +Welles looked around nervously and lowered his voice. "By the way, +Queen, while there is not to be the slightest deviation from the +highest considerations of duty, you understand, it might be--ah--wise +to allow French to get home to his physician's care.... As for this +stepdaughter business, I hope"--he paused uncomfortably--"I might say I +have the feeling that this girl has made a complete getaway. You're to +follow her up conscientiously, of course.... Too bad. I--Well! I must +be going." + +He turned unceremoniously on his heel, and with something like a +sigh of relief tramped toward the door, followed by his bodyguard of +detectives. He turned in the anteroom and shouted back, "I want a quick +solution, Queen--too many unsolved homicides this past month." And he +disappeared with a final quiver of his fat sides. + +There was silence for several seconds after the anteroom door closed. +Then the Inspector shrugged his shoulders lightly and crossed the +room to Ellery's side. Ellery dragged a chair over for his father +and they held a whispered conversation for many minutes. The words +"razor-blade," ... "book-ends," ... "books" ... and "Bernice" ... +recurred at intervals. The old man's face grew longer and longer as +Ellery talked. Finally, he shook his head in despair and rose. + +An altercation beyond the anteroom door brought up the heads of all the +men in the library. A woman's passionate voice and the gruff tones of a +man intermingled. Weaver's nostrils quivered and he dashed across the +room and flung open the door. + +Marion French was endeavoring frantically to push past the burly figure +of a detective in the anteroom. + +"But I must see Inspector Queen!" she cried. "My father--Please don't +touch me!" + +Weaver grasped the detective's arm and violently pushed him aside. + +"Get your hands off her!" he growled. "I'll teach you to handle a lady +that way...." + +He would have attacked the amused detective if Marion had not thrown +her arms around him. By this time the Inspector and Ellery had hurried +up. + +"Here! Ritter, stand aside!" said the Inspector. "What's the trouble, +Miss French?" he asked gently. + +"My--my father," she gasped. "Oh, it's cruel, inhuman.... Can't you see +he's ill, out of his mind? For God's sake, let us take him home! He's +just fainted!" + +They pushed into the hallway. A crowd of people were stooping over +Cyrus French, who had collapsed and lay, white-faced, still, on the +marble floor. The store physician, small and dark, bent over him in +distress. + +"Out?" asked the Inspector with some concern. + +The physician nodded. "Should be in his bed right now, sir. In a +dangerous state of collapse." + +Ellery whispered to his father. The old man clucked worriedly, shook +his head. "Can't take a chance, Ellery. The man is ill." He signed to +two detectives and Cyrus French, arms hanging limply, was carried into +the apartment and laid on one of the beds. He regained consciousness a +moment later, groaning. + +John Gray wriggled his way past a policeman and stormed into the +bedroom. + +"You can't get away with this sort of thing, Inspector or no +Inspector!" he cried in his high-pitched voice. "I demand that Mr. +French be sent home immediately!" + +"Keep your shirt on, Mr. Gray," admonished the Inspector mildly. "He's +going in a moment." + +"And I'm going with him," squeaked Gray. "He'll want me, he will. I'll +take this up with the Mayor, sir. I'll--" + +"Shut _up_, sir!" roared Queen, his face scarlet. He whirled on +Detective Ritter. "Get a cab." + +"Miss French." Marion looked up, startled. The Inspector irritably took +a pinch of snuff. "You may leave with your father and Mr. Gray. But +please remain at home until we call this afternoon. We will want to +look over the premises and perhaps question Mr. French, if he's in a +condition to see us. And--I'm sorry, my dear." + +The girl smiled through wet lashes. Weaver moved stealthily to her +side, drew her a little apart. + +"Marion dear--I'm awfully sorry I didn't lam that brute for you," he +stammered. "Did he hurt you?" + +Marion's eyes widened, softened. "Don't be silly, darling," she +whispered. "And don't be getting mixed up with the police. I'll help +Mr. Gray get father home, and stay there just as Inspector Queen +ordered me to.... You won't be--in any trouble, dear?" + +"Who? I?" Weaver laughed. "Now don't be worrying your pretty head about +me.--And as for the store, I'll keep an eye on everything. Tell your +father that when he can understand.... Do you love me?" + +There was no one looking. He bent swiftly and kissed her. Her eyes +glowed in answer. + +Five minutes later Cyrus French, Marion French and John Gray had left +the building under a police escort. + +Velie lumbered over. "Got two of the boys on the trail of this +Carmody girl," he reported. "Didn't want to tell you before with the +Commissioner around--busy and all that." + +Queen frowned, then chuckled. "All my boys are turning traitor to the +City," he said. "Thomas, I want you to send somebody out on the trail +of Mrs. French after she left her house last night. She walked out +about eleven-fifteen. Probably took a cab, because she got here at +eleven-forty-five, which would make it about right in the after-theater +traffic. Got it?" + +Velie nodded and disappeared. + +Ellery sat at the desk again, whistling softly to himself, a faraway +look in his eyes. + +The Inspector had MacKenzie, the store manager, brought to the library. + +"Have you checked the employees, Mr. MacKenzie?" + +"A report came through from my assistant a few moments ago." Ellery +listened avidly. "So far as we have been able to determine," continued +the Scotchman, referring to a paper in his hand, "all employees who +checked in both yesterday and to-day were at their posts. As for +to-day, everything seems perfectly regular in that connection. There +is, of course, a list of absentees, which I have here. If you would +like to follow up on these employees, here's the list." + +"We'll have a peep at it," said the Inspector, taking the list from +MacKenzie. He turned it over to a detective with a command. "Now, +MacKenzie, you may start the ball rolling again. Store's routine is +to go on as usual, but be careful that you say nothing at all of this +whole business in your publicity. Have that window on Fifth Avenue +kept closed and guarded until further orders. We'll have to seal it up +anyway for a time. That's all. You're free to go." + +"I'd like to ask the remaining directors a question, dad, if you +haven't anything to quiz them about," said Ellery, after MacKenzie had +left. + +"I haven't a thought in my head about them--that I could turn to +account," answered Queen. "Hesse, bring in Zorn, Marchbanks and Trask. +Let's have another try at 'em." + +The detective returned shortly with the three directors. They looked +peaked and ragged; Marchbanks was chewing savagely at a frayed cigar. +The Inspector waved his hand at Ellery and retreated a step. + +Ellery rose. "Just one question, gentlemen, and then I think Inspector +Queen will permit you to go about your business." + +"High time," muttered Trask, biting his lip. + +"Mr. Zorn," said Ellery, ignoring the attenuated and foppish Trask, "is +there a regular meeting-time for your Board of Directors?" + +Zorn juggled his heavy gold watch-chain nervously. "Yes--yes, of +course." + +"If I'm not too inquisitive, when is that meeting-time?" + +"Every other Friday afternoon." + +"This is routine, strictly adhered to?" + +"Yes--yes." + +"How is it that there was a meeting this morning--on a Tuesday?" + +"That was a special meeting. Mr. French calls them as the occasion +demands." + +"But the semi-monthly meetings are held regardless of special meetings?" + +"Yes." + +"I take it, then, that there was a meeting on Friday last?" + +"Yes." + +Ellery turned to Marchbanks and Trask. "Is Mr. Zorn's testimony +substantially correct, gentlemen?" + +Both nodded their heads sullenly. Ellery smiled, thanked them, and sat +down. The Inspector smiled, thanked them, and told them politely that +they were free to leave. He escorted them to the door and whispered to +the policeman on guard an inaudible instruction. Zorn, Marchbanks and +Trask left the private corridor immediately. + +"There's an interesting feller outside, El," remarked the Inspector. +"Vincent Carmody, Mrs. French's first husband. Think I'll tackle him +next.--Hesse, bring in Mr. Carmody in about two minutes." + +"Did you check up at all on the night freight-entrance on 39th Street +while you were downstairs?" asked Ellery. + +"Sure did." The Inspector took a pinch of snuff reflectively. "That's +a funny place, El. With the watchman and the truckman in the little +booth, it would have been pie for somebody to slip into the building, +especially at night. Went over it with particular thoroughness. It +certainly looks like the answer to how the murderer gained entry last +night." + +"It may answer the question of how the murderer got in," remarked +Ellery lazily, "but it doesn't answer the question of how he got out. +That exit was closed to him by eleven-thirty. If he left the building +by that door, then, he must have done so before eleven-thirty, eh?" + +"But Mrs. French didn't get here until eleven-forty-five, El," objected +the Inspector, "and according to Prouty she was killed about midnight. +So how could he have left by that door before eleven-thirty?" + +"The answer to that," said Ellery, "is that he couldn't, and therefore +didn't. Is there a door through which he could have slipped into the +main building from the freight room?" + +"Nothing to it," growled the Inspector. "There's a door 'way back in +the shadows of the room. It wasn't locked--never is--because these +fools took it for granted that if the outer door was locked, the inner +door didn't have to be. Anyway, it heads right onto a corridor which is +parallel with the corridor that runs past the night-watchman's office, +but further into the body of the main floor.[6] In the darkness, it +must have been ridiculously easy to slip through the door, sneak down +that corridor, turn the corner, and cover the thirty feet or so to the +elevator and stairs. That's probably the answer." + +[Footnote 6: See diagram at frontispiece.] + +"How about the master-key in that office downstairs?" asked Ellery. +"Did the day-man say anything about it?" + +"Nothing there," replied the Inspector disconsolately. "O'Shane is his +name, and he swears the key never left the locked drawer during his +shift." + +The door opened and Hesse escorted a preternaturally tall man with +penetrating eyes and a straggly grey beard into the room. He was +handsome in a sophisticated way, and striking. Ellery noted with +interest the triangular lean jaw. The man was dressed carelessly, but +in clothes of quality. He bowed stiffly to the Inspector and stood +waiting. His eyes shifted luminously from man to man in the room. + +"I had barely a chance of talking to you downstairs, Mr. Carmody," said +the Inspector pleasantly. "There are a few things I want to ask you. +Won't you sit down?" + +Carmody dropped into a chair. He nodded curtly to Weaver as he caught +the secretary's eye, but said nothing. + +"Now, Mr. Carmody," began the Inspector, striding up and down before +the desk at which Ellery sat quietly, "a few unimportant but necessary +questions. Hagstrom, you're ready?" He cocked an eye at the detective, +who nodded, notebook in hand. The Inspector resumed his march on the +rug. Suddenly he looked up. Carmody's eyes burned deeply into thin air. + +"Mr. Carmody," said the Inspector abruptly, "I understand that you are +the sole owner of the Holbein Studios, dealing in antiques?" + +"That is precisely correct," said Carmody. His voice was startling--low +and vibrant and deliberate. + +"You were married to Mrs. French, and divorced some seven years ago?" + +"That is also correct." There was a finality in his tones that impinged +unpleasantly on the ear. He emanated an aura of complete self-control. + +"Have you seen Mrs. French since your divorce?" + +"Yes. Many times." + +"Socially? There was no particular unpleasantness in your relations?" + +"None whatever. Yes, I met Mrs. French socially." + +The Inspector was slightly nettled. This witness answered exactly what +he was asked, and no more. + +"How often, Mr. Carmody?" + +"As often as twice a week during the social season." + +"And you last saw her--" + +"A week ago Monday evening, at a dinner given by Mrs. Standish Prince +at Mrs. Prince's home." + +"You spoke to her?" + +"Yes." Carmody stirred. "Mrs. French was very much interested in +antiques, an interest cultivated perhaps during our marriage." The man +seemed made of steel. He showed not the faintest trace of emotion. "We +conversed for a time about a Chippendale chair she was particularly +anxious to have." + +"Anything else, Mr. Carmody?" + +"Yes. About our daughter." + +"Ah!" The Inspector pursed his lips, pulled at his mustache. "Miss +Bernice Carmody was placed in the custody of your wife after your +divorce?" + +"Yes." + +"You have seen your daughter periodically, perhaps?" + +"Yes. Although Mrs. French secured custody of my daughter, our informal +arrangement at the time of our divorce was that I might see the child +at any time." A warm color floated into his voice. The Inspector +regarded him quickly, looked away. He plunged into a new line of +questioning. + +"Mr. Carmody, can you suggest any possible explanation to account for +this crime?" + +"No, I cannot." Carmody grew colder at once. For no apparent reason his +eyes shifted to Ellery, and held there intently for an instant. + +"Had Mrs. French any enemies, to your knowledge?" + +"No. She was singularly free from the profundity of character which so +often breeds animosity in others." Carmody might have been talking of +an utter stranger; his tone, his bearing were wholly impersonal. + +"Not even yourself, Mr. Carmody?" asked the Inspector softly. + +"Not even myself, Inspector," said Carmody in the same frozen tones. +"If it is any concern of yours, my love for my wife dwindled during our +wedded life and when it had entirely disappeared, I secured a divorce. +I felt no bitterness toward her then, nor do I now. You will, of +course," he added without a change in inflection, "have to take my word +for that." + +"Did Mrs. French seem nervous the last few times you saw her? Did +anything seem to be troubling her? Did she give you any clue to a +possible secret worry?" + +"Our conversations, Inspector, were hardly of so intimate a nature. I +noticed nothing unusual about her. Mrs. French was an extraordinarily +prosaic person. Not at all the worrying kind, I can assure you." + +The Inspector paused, Carmody sat quietly. Then he spoke, without +warning, without passion. He merely opened his mouth and began to +speak, but it was so unexpected that the Inspector started violently +and took a hasty pinch of snuff to conceal his agitation. + +"Inspector, you are evidently questioning me with the secret hope that +I may have something to do with the crime, or that I may be in the +possession of vital information. Inspector, you are wasting your time." +Carmody leaned forward, his eyes strangely blazing. "Believe me when +I say that I haven't the slightest interest either in the live Mrs. +French--or the dead Mrs. French. Or the whole damned French tribe put +together. My own concern is with my daughter. I understand that she +is missing. If she is, there has been foul play. If you have any idea +in your head that my daughter is a matricide, the more fool you.... +You will be perpetrating a crime against an innocent girl if you do +not immediately seek to discover Bernice's present whereabouts and the +reason for her disappearance. And in that connection, you are welcome +to my unstinting co-operation. If you do not look for her immediately, +I shall set private detectives on her trail. I think that is all." + +Carmody rose to his astonishing height and stood immovably waiting. + +The Inspector stirred. "I should advise a slight softening of tone in +the future, Mr. Carmody," he said dryly. "You may go." + +Without another word the antique-dealer turned and left the apartment. + +"Well, what do you think of Mr. Carmody?" asked Queen quizzically. + +"I've never known an antiquarian who wasn't queer in some way," laughed +Ellery. "Cool customer, however.... Dad, I should very much like to see +Monsieur Lavery again." + +The Frenchman was pale and nervous when he was conducted into the +library. He seemed excessively tired and sank into a chair at once, +stretching his long legs with a sigh. + +"You might have provided chairs outside in the corridor," he said +reproachfully to the Inspector. "My good fortune to be the last called! +_C'est la vie, hein?_" He shrugged his shoulders humorously. "May I +smoke, Inspector?" + +He lit a cigaret without waiting for a reply. + +Ellery rose and shook himself vigorously. He looked at Lavery, and +Lavery looked at him, and both smiled for no apparent reason. + +"I shall be brutally frank, Mr. Lavery," drawled Ellery. "You are a +man of the world. You will not be constrained by a false sense of +discretion.... Mr. Lavery, have you ever suspected during your stay +with the Frenches, that Bernice Carmody is a drug addict?" + +Lavery started, regarded Ellery with alert eyes. "You have discovered +that already? And without seeing the girl? My felicitations, Mr. +Queen.... To your question, let me reply without hesitation--yes." + +"Oh, I say!" protested Weaver suddenly, from his corner. "How could you +know, Lavery? On such a short acquaintance?" + +"I know the symptoms, Weaver," said Lavery mildly. "The sallow, +almost saffron complexion; the slightly protruding eyeballs; the bad +teeth; the unnatural nervousness and excitability; a certain air of +furtiveness constantly maintained; the sudden hysteria and the more +sudden recovery; the excessive thinness, growing more patent with every +passing day--no, it was not difficult to diagnose the young lady's +ailment." He turned to Ellery with a quick gesture of his thin fingers. +"Let me make it perfectly clear that my opinion is just an opinion, +little more. I have no definite evidence of any kind. But, short of +medical advices to the contrary, I should be ready as a layman to swear +that the girl is a drug fiend in an advanced stage!" + +Weaver groaned. "The Old Man--" + +"Of course, we're all terribly sorry about that," put in the Inspector +quickly. "You suspected her of being an addict at once, Mr. Lavery?" + +"From the moment I laid eyes on her," said the Frenchman emphatically. +"It was a source of constant astonishment to me that more people did +not observe what was so perfectly plain to me." + +"Perhaps they did--perhaps they did," muttered Ellery, brows drawn +taut. He brushed a vagrant thought away and addressed Lavery once more. + +"Have you ever been in this room before, Mr. Lavery?" he asked, à +propos of nothing. + +"In Mr. French's apartment?" cried Lavery. "Why, every day, sir. Mr. +French has been more than kind, and I have used this room incessantly +since my arrival in New York." + +"Then there is nothing more to be said," Ellery smiled. "You may now +retire to your lecture-room, if it isn't too late, and carry on the +grand work of continentalizing America. Good day, sir!" + +Lavery bowed, showed his white teeth all around, and left the apartment +with long strides. + +Ellery sat down at the desk and wrote earnestly on the fly-leaf of his +sadly abused little book. + + + + + 19 + + OPINIONS AND REPORTS + + +Inspector Queen stood Napoleonically in the center of the library, +staring vindictively at the anteroom door. He muttered to himself, +turning his head slowly from side to side like a terrier. + +He beckoned to Crouther, the head store detective, who was assisting +one of the photographers at the door of the cardroom. + +"Look here, Crouther, you ought to be in a good position to know about +this." The Inspector filled his nostrils with snuff. The burly store +detective scraped his jaw expectantly. "Seeing that door there reminded +me. What in heaven's name was French's idea in having a special spring +lock put on the corridor door? Seems to me that for an apartment only +occasionally used this is pretty well guarded." + +Crouther grinned deprecatingly. "Now don't go bothering your head about +that, Inspector. The old boy's just a bug on privacy, that's all. Hates +to be interrupted--that's a fact." + +"But a burglar-proof lock in a burglar-proof building!" + +"Well," said Crouther, "you either have to take him that way or go +nuts. Matter of fact, Inspector," he lowered his voice, "he's always +been a little queer on some subjects. I can remember like to-day the +morning I got a written order from the boss, with signatures and a +lot of that bunk, requisitioning a specially made lock. That was when +they were remodeling the apartment, about two years ago. Sol followed +my orders and had an expert locksmith manufacture the dingus on that +outside door. Boss liked it pretty much, too--was happy as an Irish +cop." + +"How about this business of setting a man at the door?" demanded the +Inspector. "Certainly that lock would keep out anybody who wasn't +wanted." + +"We-ell," said Crouther hesitantly, "the boss is such a bug on this +privacy business that he didn't even want knocks on the door. Guess +that's why he asked me for a man to stand guard every once in a while. +Always kept the boys in the corridor, too--they hate the job, the whole +crew of 'em. Couldn't even come into the anteroom and sit down." + +The Inspector scowled down at his regulation policeman's boots for a +moment and crooked his finger at Weaver. + +"Come here, my boy." Weaver trudged wearily across the rug. "Just +what's behind French's craze for privacy? From what Crouther tells me, +this place _is_ like a fortress most times. Who in heaven's name is +allowed in here besides his family?" + +"It's just an idiosyncrasy of the Old Man's, Inspector," said Weaver. +"Don't take it too seriously. He's a good deal of an eccentric. Very +few people see the inside of this apartment. Apart from myself, the +immediate family, the Board of Directors, and during the last month +Mr. Lavery, practically no one in the store organization is allowed +in here. No, that's not quite true. MacKenzie, the store manager, is +called in occasionally to get direct orders from the Old Man--was in +last week, in fact. But aside from MacKenzie, this place is a complete +mystery to the store forces." + +"You tell 'em, Mr. Weaver," put in Crouther jocularly. + +"And that's how it is, Inspector," continued Weaver. "Not even Crouther +has been here in the past few years." + +"Last time I saw this place before this morning," amended Crouther, +"was two years ago when they were redecorating and refurnishing it." He +grew red in the face at the thought of some secret injury. "That's a +heck of a way to treat a head store detective, believe me." + +"You ought to work for the City, Crouther," said the Inspector grimly. +"Shut up and be satisfied with a soft job!" + +"I should explain, if I haven't done so before," added Weaver, "that +the taboo is more or less limited to employees. A great many people +come here, but most of the visits are strictly by appointment with the +Old Man, and his visitors come on Anti-Vice League business. Clergymen, +most of them. A few politicians, not many." + +"That's a fact," put in Crouther. + +"Well!" The Inspector shot a keen glance toward the two men before him. +"It looks mighty bad for this Carmody girl, eh? What do you think?" + +Weaver looked pained and half-turned away. + +"Well, I don't know about that, Inspector," said Crouther with heavy +importance. "My own ideas about this case--" + +"Eh? Your own ideas?" The Inspector looked startled, then suppressed +a smile. "What _are_ your own ideas, Crouther? Might be of some +value--never can tell." + +Ellery, who had been sitting abstractedly at the desk, listening to the +conversation with half-cocked ears, jammed his little volume into his +pocket, rose, and sauntered idly over to the group. + +"What's this? A post-mortem?" he demanded, smiling. "And what do I +hear, Crouther, about an idea of yours on the case?" + +Crouther looked embarrassed for a moment and shuffled his feet. But +then he squared his thick shoulders and lashed out into speech, openly +enjoying his rôle of orator. + +"I think," he began-- + +"Ah!" said the Inspector. + +"I think," Crouther repeated, unabashed, "that Miss Carmody is a +victim. Yes, sir, victim of a frame-up!" + +"No!" murmured Ellery. + +"Go on," said the Inspector curiously. + +"It's as plain as the nose--beg pardon, Inspector--on your face. Who +ever heard of a girl bumping her own mother off? It ain't natural." + +"But the cards, Crouther--the shoes, the hat," said the Inspector +gently. + +"Just hooey, Inspector," said Crouther with confidence. "Hell! That's +no trick, to plant a pair o' shoes and a hat. No, sir, you can't tell +me Miss Carmody did the job. Don't believe it and won't believe it. I +go on common sense, and that's a fact. Girl shoot her own mother! No, +sir!" + +"Well, there's something in that," remarked the Inspector +sententiously. "What do you make of Miss Marion French's scarf, while +you're analyzing the crime, Crouther? Think she's mixed up in it +anywhere?" + +"Who? That little girl?" Crouther expanded, snorted. "Say, that's +another plant. Or else she left it here by mistake. Kind o' like the +plant idea, though, myself. Fact!" + +"You would say, then," interpolated Ellery, "while you're on the +Holmesian track, that this is a case of--what?" + +"Don't get you entirely, sir," said Crouther stoutly, "but it looks +darned near like a case of murder and kidnapping. Can't see any other +way to explain it." + +"Murder and kidnapping?" Ellery smiled. "Not a bad idea at that. Good +recitation, Crouther." + +The detective beamed. Weaver, who had resolutely refrained from +commenting, heaved a sigh of relief when a knock on the outer door +interrupted the conversation. + +The policeman stationed outside opened the door to admit a weazened +little man, completely bald, carrying a bulging brief-case. + +"Afternoon, Jimmy!" said the Inspector cheerfully. "Got anything for us +in that bag of yours?" + +"Sure have, Inspector," squeaked the little old man. "Got down here as +fast as I could.--Hello, Mr. Queen." + +"Glad to see you, Jimmy," said Ellery, and the expression on his face +was one of intense expectancy. At this moment the photographers and +fingerprint investigators trooped into the library, hats and coats on, +their apparatus stowed away. "Jimmy" greeted them all by name. + +"Through here, Inspector," announced one of the photographers. "Any +orders?" + +"Not at the moment." Queen turned to the fingerprint men. "Anybody find +anything?" + +"Got a lot of prints," reported one of them, "but practically all came +from this room. Not a one in the cardroom and none in the bedroom, +except for a few stray prints of Mr. Queen's, here." + +"Anything in the prints from this room?" + +"Hard to say. If the room's been used all morning by this Board of +Directors, chances are they're all legitimate. We'll have to get hold +of these people and check their prints. Okay, Inspector?" + +"Go ahead. But be nice about it, boys." He waved them toward the door. +"So long, Crouther. See you later." + +"Good enough," said Crouther cheerfully, and departed behind the police +workers. + +The Inspector, Weaver, the man called "Jimmy," and Ellery were left +standing in the center of the room. The detectives personally attached +to Queen lounged about in the anteroom, conversing in low tones. The +old man carefully closed the anteroom door and hurried back toward the +group, rubbing his hands briskly together. + +"Now, Mr. Weaver--" he began. + +"Perfectly all right, dad," said Ellery mildly. "No secrets from Wes. +Jimmy, if you've anything to tell, tell it rapidly, graphically, and +above all rapidly. Talk, James!" + +"Okay," responded "Jimmy," scratching his bald pate dubiously. "What +would you like to know?" His hand dived into the bag he carried and +reappeared with an article painstakingly wrapped in soft tissue paper. +He carefully unwrapped the package, and one of the onyx book-ends +emerged. The second book-end, similarly sheathed in tissue, he placed +by the side of the first on the glass top of French's desk. + +"The book-ends, eh?" muttered Queen, bending forward curiously to +examine the barely visible glue-lines where felt and stone met. + +"In the onyx itself," ventured Ellery. "Jimmy, what were those whitish +grains I sent you in the glassine envelope?" + +"Ordinary fingerprint powder," replied "Jimmy," at once. "The white +variety. And how it got there, maybe you can answer--I can't, Mr. +Queen." + +"Not at the moment," smiled Ellery. "Fingerprint powder, eh? Did you +find any more in the glue?" + +"You got nearly all of them," said the little bald-headed man. "Did +find a few, though. Found a bit of foreign matter, of course--some dust +chiefly. But the grains are what I've told you. There's not a print on +either of them, except your own, Mr. Queen." + +Inspector Queen stared from "Jimmy" to Weaver to Ellery, a strange +light dawning on his face. His hand fumbled nervously for his snuff-box. + +"Fingerprint powder!" he said in a stunned voice. "Is it possible +that--?" + +"No, I've checked on what you're thinking, dad," said Ellery soberly. +"This room was not entered by the police before I myself found the +grains in the glue. As a matter of fact, I suspected their identity at +once, but of course I wished to be certain.... No, if you're thinking +that one of your men sprinkled the powder on these book-ends, you're +mistaken. They couldn't have, possibly." + +"You realize what this means, of course?" The Inspector's voice grew +shrill with excitement. He took a short turn on the rug. "I have had +all sorts of experience," he said, "with criminals who use gloves. +That's one of the accepted habits of the law-breaking profession, +it seems--maybe it's an outgrowth of fiction and newspaper exposés. +Gloves, canvas, cheesecloth, felt--they're all used either to prevent +leaving fingerprints or to destroy what prints may be left. But +this--this is the work of a--" + +"A super-criminal?" suggested Weaver timidly. + +"Exactly. A super-criminal!" replied the old man. "Sounds +dime-novelish, does it, El? Coming from me, too--with comparative +butchers like Tony the Wop and Red McCloskey waiting for me down at the +Tombs. Most cops scoff at the mere suggestion of super-criminals. But +I've known them--rare and precious birds when they do crop out...." +He looked at his son defiantly. "Ellery, the man--or woman, for that +matter--who committed this crime is not the usual criminal. He--or +she--is so careful as to do the job and then, not satisfied with +possibly using gloves and letting it go at that, sprinkles the room +with the policeman's pet crime-detector, fingerprint powder, to bring +out his or her _own_ prints, in order to wipe them out of existence!... +There isn't the slightest doubt in my mind--we're dealing with a most +unusual character, a habitual criminal who's risen far above the +stupidity of his generally dull-witted kind." + +"Super-criminal...." Ellery thought for a moment, then shrugged his +shoulders lightly. "It does look that way, doesn't it?... Commits the +murder in this room, then goes about the enormously ticklish job of +cleaning up afterward. Has he left prints? Perhaps. Perhaps the work +he had to do was so delicate as to make it impossible for him to use +gloves--there's a thought, eh, dad?" He smiled. + +"Doesn't make sense, though--that last," muttered Queen. "Can't see +what he might possibly have to do that he couldn't do with gloves on." + +"I have a little idea about that," remarked Ellery. "But to go on. He +hasn't used gloves, let us say, at least for one small but important +operation, and he's certain that there are prints of his fingers left +on the book-ends--which of necessity, then, are connected with what +he had to do. Very well! Does he merely wipe the surface of the onyx +carefully, trusting that he's eradicated all the tell-tale marks? He +does not! He produces fingerprint powder, whisks it gently over all the +surfaces of the onyx, one at a time, and where he sees a convolvular +smudge, he immediately destroys it. In this way he's _sure_ there are +no fingerprints left. Smart! A little painstaking, of course--but he +was gambling with his life, remember, and he took no chances. No--" +Ellery said slowly, "he took--no chances." + +There was a little silence, broken only by the soft swish of "Jimmy's" +hand caressing his bald head. + +"At least," said the Inspector impatiently, at last, "there's no sense +in looking for prints anywhere about. The criminal who was clever +enough to go through a rigmarole like this would be mighty sure he +left none. So--let's forget it for the moment and get back to some +personalities. Jimmy, wrap those book-ends up again and take them back +to Headquarters with you. Better have one of the boys go along with +you--let's take no chances on your, well, let's say, losing 'em." + +"Right, Inspector." The police laboratory worker deftly rewrapped the +book-ends in the tissue paper, stowed them away in his bag, and with a +cheery, "So long!" disappeared from the room. + +"Now, Mr. Weaver," said the Inspector, settling himself comfortably +in a chair, "have a seat and let's hear some things about the various +people we've met in the course of this investigation. Sit down, Ellery, +you make me fidgety!" + +Ellery smiled and seated himself at the desk, for which he seemed +to have developed a curious passion. Weaver relaxed in one of the +leather-covered chairs, resignedly. + +"Anything you say, Inspector." He looked over at Ellery. Ellery was +gazing fixedly at the books on the desk-top. + +"Well, for an introduction," began the Inspector briskly, "tell us +something about that employer of yours. Mighty queer cuss, isn't he? +Anti-vice work made him daffy, perhaps?" + +"I think you've judged the Old Man a trifle inaccurately," said Weaver +tiredly. "He's the best and most generous soul in the world. If you can +conceive a strange combination of Arthurian purity of nature with a +definite narrowness of outlook, you'll hit close to understanding him. +He's not a broad-minded man, in the generally accepted sense of the +word. He has a little iron in him, too, or he wouldn't be crusading +against vice. He loathes it instinctively, I think, because certainly +there's never been the smallest element of scandal or criminality in +his family. That's why this thing has hit him so hard. He probably +foresees the ravenous way in which the newspapers will pick up the +choice morsel--wife of the Anti-Vice League head mysteriously murdered, +and all that. And then, too, I think he loved Mrs. French dearly. I +don't think she loved him--" he hesitated, but continued loyally, "but +she was always good to him in her cold, self-contained way. She was a +good bit younger than he, of course." + +The Inspector coughed gently. Ellery regarded Weaver with morose eyes, +but his thoughts seemed far away. Perhaps on the books, for his fingers +played idly with their covers. + +"Tell me, Mr. Weaver," said Queen, "have you noticed anything--well, +abnormal--in Mr. French's actions lately? Or better still, do you know +personally of anything that might have caused him secret worry in +recent months?" + +Weaver was silent for a long time. "Inspector," he said at last, +meeting Queen's eyes frankly, "the truth is that I know a great +many things about Mr. French and his family and friends. I'm not +a scandal-monger. You must understand that this is an extremely +embarrassing position for me. It's hard to betray confidences...." + +The Inspector looked pleased. "Spoken like a man, Mr. Weaver. Ellery, +answer your friend." + +Ellery regarded Weaver compassionately. "Wes, old boy," he said, "a +human being has been killed in cold blood. It is our business to punish +the murderer who took that life. I can't answer for you--it's difficult +for a straight-thinking man to spill a heap of family secrets--but if +I were you, I should talk. Because, Wes"--he paused--"you're not with +policemen. You're with friends." + +"Then I'll talk," said Weaver despairingly, "and hope for the best.--I +believe you asked about something abnormal in the Old Man's actions +recently, Inspector? You've hit a truth. Mr. French _is_ secretly +worried and upset. Because--" + +"Because--?" + +"Because," said Weaver in a spiritless voice, "a few months ago an +unfortunate friendship sprang up between Mrs. French and--Cornelius +Zorn." + +"Zorn, eh? Love-affair, Weaver?" asked Queen in a soothing voice. + +"I'm afraid so," replied Weaver uncomfortably. "Though what she saw in +_him_--But now I'm becoming gossipy! The fact is that they were seeing +each other much too often, so much so that even the Old Man, the most +unsuspicious soul that ever breathed, began to realize that something +was wrong." + +"Nothing definite, I suppose?" + +"I don't think there was anything radically wrong, Inspector. And +of course Mr. French never breathed a word of it to his wife. He +wouldn't dream of hurting her feelings. But I know it touched him +deeply, because once he let slip something in my presence that gave +all his transparent broodings away. I'm reasonably certain that he was +desperately hoping things would work out for the best." + +"I thought Zorn held aloof from French in that window," mused the +Inspector. + +"Undoubtedly. Zorn makes no bones about his feeling for Mrs. French. +She was not an unattractive woman, Inspector. And Zorn is pretty small +potatoes. He broke a lifelong friendship when he began to dally with +the Old Man's wife. It's that, I think, as much as anything, that made +the Old Man feel so badly." + +"Is Zorn married?" put in Ellery suddenly. + +"Why, yes, El," replied Weaver, facing his friend for the moment. +"Sophia Zorn's a queer woman, too. I think she hated Mrs. French--not +the slightest feminine sympathy in her make-up. Pretty objectionable +character, that woman." + +"Does she love Zorn?" + +"That's hard to answer. She has an abnormal streak of possessiveness, +and that may be why she was so jealous. She showed it at every +opportunity and made things quite uncomfortable for all of us at times." + +"I suppose," put in the Inspector with a grim smile, "it's common +knowledge. Those things always are." + +"Much too common," said Weaver bitterly. "It's been a hideous farce, +the whole business. My God, there have been times when I was tempted to +strangle Mrs. French myself for the ghastly wreck she was making out of +the Old Man!" + +"Well, don't make that statement when the Commissioner is around, +Weaver," smiled the Inspector. "What is French's feeling for his +immediate family?" + +"Of course he loved Mrs. French--was uncommonly thoughtful in the +little things for a man of his age," said Weaver. "As for Marion"--his +eyes brightened--"she's always been the apple of his eye. A perfect +love between father and daughter.... It's been a little unpleasant--for +me," he added in a lower tone. + +"So I gathered from the coldness with which you two kids habitually +greet each other," remarked the Inspector dryly. Weaver flushed +boyishly. "Now, how about Bernice?" + +"Bernice and Mr. French?" Weaver sighed. "About what you would expect +under the circumstances. If the Old Man's anything, he's fair. Almost +leans over backward in that respect. Of course, Bernice is not his +daughter--he couldn't love her as he loves Marion, for instance. But he +treats them exactly alike. They get equally as much of his attention, +the same allowance for pin-money and clothes--not the slightest +difference in their status as far as he is concerned. But--well, one is +his daughter, and the other is his stepdaughter." + +"And there," said Ellery with a little chuckle, "is a pointed epigram. +Tell us, Wes--how about Mrs. French and Carmody? You've heard what he +said--does it all fit?" + +"He told the exact truth," replied Weaver at once. "He's an enigma +of a man, is Carmody--cold-blooded as a fish except where Bernice is +concerned. I think he'd give his shirt for her. But he treated Mrs. +French after their divorce precisely as if she were an unavoidable +social necessity." + +"Why were they divorced, by the way?" asked the Inspector. + +"Infidelity on Carmody's part," said Weaver.--"Good night! I feel like +a tongue-slapping washerwoman.--Well, Carmody was so injudicious as +to be caught in a hotel-room with a lady of the chorus, and though +the affair was hushed up, the truth couldn't be kept from trickling +out. Mrs. French, who was something of a moral virago in those days, +immediately sued for divorce, and got it--and with it, custody of +Bernice." + +"Hardly a moral virago, Wes," remarked Ellery. "Not from the Zornian +implications. Say rather--she knew what side her bread was buttered +on and decided that there were more fish in the sea than a faithless +husband...." + +"A complicated figure of speech," said Weaver, with a smile. "But I see +what you mean." + +"I'm beginning to get little sidelights into Mrs. French's character," +murmured Ellery. "This Marchbanks fellow--her brother, I believe?" + +"And that's about all," said Weaver grimly. "Hated each other like +poison. I think Marchbanks had her number. He's no glistening lily +himself. Anyway, they never had much use for each other. It made it a +little embarrassing for the Old Man, because Marchbanks had been on the +Board for many years." + +"Drinks too much, that's plain," said the Inspector. "Marchbanks and +French get along all right?" + +"They have very little contact socially," said Weaver. "In business, +they seem to jibe nicely. But that's because the Old Man's so darned +sensible." + +"There's only one other member of the cast about whom I have any +curiosity at the moment," said the Inspector. "And that's the +dissipated-looking, fashionable gentleman of the Board named Trask. Has +he any contacts with the French family other than business?" + +"More 'other' than 'business,'" replied Weaver. "I may as well go the +whole hog while I'm tattling. I'll need a scrubbing-brush after I'm +through!--Mr. A. Melville Trask is on the Board purely as a result of +tradition. His father was the original member, and it was the elder +Trask's dying wish that his son succeed him. It meant loads of red +tape, but finally they succeeded in dragging him in, where he's been an +ornament ever since. Not a brain in his head. But shrewdness?--plenty! +Because Mr. Trask has ever since been gunning for Bernice for over a +year now--ever since he was elected to the Board, as a matter of fact." + +"Interesting," murmured Ellery. "What's the idea, Wes--the family +fortune?" + +"You've hit it exactly. Old Man Trask lost a lot in the stock market, +and his son has been plunging so heavily that the report is he's near +the end of his rope financially. So I guess he figured his best bet was +a fortuitous marriage. And that's where Bernice comes in. He's been +hounding her, courting her, taking her out, flattering her mother for +months now. He's wormed his way into the affections of Bernice--who +has few enough admirers, poor kid!--so much so that they're virtually +engaged. Nothing official, but that's the understanding." + +"Opposition?" demanded the Inspector. + +"Plenty," replied Weaver grimly. "Chiefly from the Old Man. He feels it +his duty to protect his stepdaughter from a man of Trask's stamp. Trask +is a cad and a rounder of the worst sort. The poor girl would lead a +dog's life with him." + +"Wes, what makes him so sure she'll come into money?" asked Ellery +suddenly. + +"Well"--Weaver hesitated--"you see, El, Mrs. French had a respectable +wad herself. And, of course, it's been an open secret that when she +died--" + +"It would go to Bernice," said the Inspector. + +"Interesting," said Ellery, rising to his full length and stretching +wearily. "And for no reason at all, I'm reminded that I haven't had a +bite to eat since this morning. Let's all go out for a sandwich and a +sip of java. Anything more, dad?" + +"Can't think of a thing," said the old man with a return to his +glumness. "We'll lock up and go. Hagstrom! Hesse! Get those cigaret +stubs and cards into my own bags--and the shoes and hat, too...." + +Ellery picked up the five books from the desk and handed them to +Hagstrom. + +"You might pack these, too, Hagstrom," he said. "You're taking these +things to Headquarters, dad?" + +"Why, of course!" + +"Then, on reconsideration, Hagstrom, I'll take these books myself." The +detective wrapped them carefully in a piece of brown paper he took from +one of the police kits and returned them to Ellery. Weaver retrieved +his hat and coat from one of the bedroom closets and the Inspector, +Ellery and Weaver, preceded by the detectives, walked out of the +apartment. + +Ellery was the last one out. As he stood in the corridor, one hand on +the knob of the outer door, he looked slowly from the apartment to the +brown-papered package in his hand. + +"Thus endeth," he said softly to himself, "the first lesson." His hand +dropped and the door snapped shut. + +Two minutes later only a lone bluecoat was left in the corridor, +propped up against the door in a nondescript chair he had appropriated +somewhere, reading a tabloid newspaper. + + + + + THE THIRD EPISODE + + + "_Manhunting is by all odds the most thrilling profession in the + world. Its thrills ... are in exact proportion to the temperament + of the manhunter. It reaches its completest fulfillment in the + investigator who ... observing microscopically the phenomena of a + crime and collating them precisely, exercises his God-given gift + of imagination and concocts a theory which embraces_ ALL _the + phenomena and omits none, not the tiniest crumb of a fact.... + Penetration, patience, and passion--these rarely combined qualities + make the genius of criminal investigation, just as they make + the genius of any profession, unless the extra-mundane arts be + excepted...._" + + --From THERE IS AN UNDER WORLD + _By_ James Redix (the Elder). + + + + + 20 + + TOBACCO + + +Cyrus French's house fronted the Hudson River, on lower Riverside +Drive. It was old and dusky, set well back from the Drive and +surrounded by primly kept shrubbery. A low iron fence ran around the +property. + +When Inspector Queen, Ellery Queen and Westley Weaver entered the +reception room, they found Sergeant Velie already there, engaged in +earnest conversation with another detective. This man left immediately +on the entrance of the small party, and Velie himself turned a +perturbed face to his superior. + +"We've struck oil, Inspector," he said in his calm bass. "Managed to +trace the cab that picked up Mrs. French last night almost at once. It +was a Yellow that patrols this neighborhood regularly. Got the driver +and he remembered his fare without any trouble." + +"And I suppose--" began the Inspector gloomily. + +Velie shrugged. "Nothing to brag about. He picked her up right in front +of the house here at about twenty after eleven last night. She told him +to take her down Fifth. He followed orders. At 39th Street she told him +to pull up, and then she got out. Paid him and he beat it. He did see +her cross the street toward the department store. That's all." + +"Not so much," murmured Ellery, "to be sure. Did he stop at all on the +trip downtown--did she communicate with any one on the way?" + +"I asked him that. Nothing doing, Mr. Queen. She didn't give him +another order until they reached 39th Street. Of course, he did say +there was heavy traffic, and he had to stop a number of times. It's +possible that somebody might have hopped in and out of the cab during a +traffic wait. But the driver says no, he didn't see anything wrong." + +"And if he's alert, he would have, naturally," said the Inspector, +sighing. + +A maid took their hats and coats, and immediately afterward Marion +French appeared. She squeezed Weaver's hand, smiled wanly at the +Queens, and placed herself at their disposal. + +"No, Miss French, there's nothing we can do with you now," said the +Inspector. "How is Mr. French?" + +"Loads better." She made a little _moué_ of apology. "I did act +frightfully at the apartment, Inspector Queen. I know you'll forgive +me--seeing father faint made me lose control of myself." + +"Nothing to forgive, Marion," growled Weaver, "if I do take the words +out of the Inspector's mouth. I don't think Inspector Queen quite +realized how ill your father really was." + +"Now, now, Mr. Weaver," said the Inspector mildly. "Miss French, do you +think Mr. French will be able to see us in a half-hour or so?" + +"Well.... If the doctor says so, Inspector. But goodness! Won't you sit +down? I've been so upset by all this--confusion...." A shadow darkened +her face. The men accepted chairs. "You see, Inspector," continued +Marion, "there's a nurse with daddy, and the doctor's still here. An +old friend. Mr. Gray, too. Shall I see?" + +"If you will, my dear. And would you mind having Miss Hortense +Underhill come in for a moment?" + +When Marion had left the room, Weaver excused himself and hurried after +her. Her startled "Why, Westley!" could just be heard from the main +hall a moment later. There was a sudden silence, then a suspiciously +soft sound, and finally retreating footfalls. + +"I think," said Ellery soberly, "that that was a luscious salute to the +Venerian goddess.... I wonder why old Cyrus frowns upon Westley as a +prospective son-in-law. Wants wealth and position, I suppose." + +"Does he?" asked the Inspector. + +"I gather so." + +"Well, that's neither here nor there." The Inspector delicately took +snuff. "Thomas," he said, "what have you done about Bernice Carmody? +Any traces?" + +Velie pulled a longer face than usual. "Just one, and it barely helps +us to a start. The Carmody girl was seen yesterday afternoon leaving +this house by a day watchman--special officer--who's privately employed +to patrol the neighborhood. He knows the girl by sight. He saw her walk +quickly down towards 72nd Street--straight down the Drive. She didn't +meet any one, apparently, and was headed for a definite place, because +she seemed in a hell of a hurry. He had no reason to give her more than +a casual glance or two, and so couldn't tell me just how far down the +Drive she went or whether she turned down a side street." + +"Worse and worse." The Inspector grew thoughtful. "That girl is +almighty important, Thomas," he sighed. "Put extra men on her trail if +you think it's necessary. We've got to find her. I suppose you've got a +complete description, clothes and all?" + +Velie nodded. "Yes, and four men on her already. If there's anything at +all, Inspector, we'll find it." + +Hortense Underhill clumped into the room. + +Ellery sprang to his feet. "Dad, this is Miss Underhill, the +housekeeper. This is Inspector Queen, Miss Underhill. The Inspector has +a few questions to ask you." + +"That's what I'm here for," said the housekeeper. + +"Um," said the Inspector, eyeing her keenly. "My son tells me, Miss +Underhill, that Miss Bernice Carmody left this house yesterday +afternoon against her mother's wishes--in fact, sneaked out behind her +back. Is that correct?" + +"That's correct," snapped the housekeeper, with a malevolent glance +toward Ellery, who was smiling. "Though what _that_ has to do with it, +_I_ can't see." + +"No doubt," said the old man. "Was that Miss Carmody's usual +procedure--to run away from her mother?" + +"I haven't the faintest notion of what you're driving at, Mr. +Inspector," said the housekeeper coldly. "But if you're aiming to +implicate that girl.... Well! Yes, she did that a few times a month. +Slipped out of the house without a word and was gone usually about +three hours. There was always a scene with Mrs. French when she +returned." + +"I don't suppose you know," asked Ellery slowly, "where she went at +such times? Or what Mrs. French said to her when she returned?" + +Hortense Underhill clicked her teeth disagreeably. "No. Neither did her +mother. That's why they had a scene. And Bernice would never tell. Just +sit calmly and let her mother rave.... Except, of course, last week. +Then they _did_ have a scene." + +"Oh, something extraordinary a week ago, eh?" said Ellery. "And I +gather that Mrs. French _did_ know then?" + +The housekeeper permitted an expression of surprise to flick across +her hard features. "Yes, I think she did," she said more quietly than +before. She favored Ellery with a suddenly interested glance. "But what +it was I don't know. I think she found out where Bernice was going, and +they quarreled about it." + +"Just when was this, Miss Underhill?" asked the Inspector. + +"A week ago Monday." + +Ellery whistled softly to himself. He and the Inspector exchanged +glances. + +The Inspector leaned forward. "Tell me, Miss Underhill--these days on +which Miss Carmody generally disappeared--do you recall whether they +were all the same, or different days?" + +Hortense Underhill looked from father to son, began to speak, thought +for an instant, looked up again. "Now that I think of it," she +said slowly, "they weren't always Mondays. I remember a Tuesday, a +Wednesday, and a Thursday.... I do believe she went every week on +consecutive days! Now, what could that mean?" + +"More, Miss Underhill," replied Ellery, frowning, "than you can +guess--or I, for that matter.... Have the bedrooms of Mrs. French and +Miss Carmody been disturbed since this morning?" + +"No. When I heard about the murder at the store I locked up both +bedrooms. I didn't know but that--" + +"That it might have been important, Miss Underhill?" said Ellery. "That +was clever of you.... Will you please lead the way upstairs?" + +The housekeeper rose without a word and walked out into the main hall +and up the broad central staircase, the three men following. She +stopped on the second floor and opened a door with a key from a bunch +in her black silk apron-pocket. + +"This is Bernice's room," she announced, and stepped aside. + +They entered a large green-and-ivory bedroom, ornately furnished with +period furniture. A huge canopied bed dominated the room. Despite +the mirrors and colors and exotic pieces, the room was unaccountably +depressing. It looked cold. The sunbeams that streamed in through the +three wide windows, far from lending warmth to the ensemble, in some +grotesque way only heightened the general effect of cheerlessness. + +Ellery's eyes, as he stepped into the room, were not concerned with its +eeriness. They focused immediately on a large, garishly carved table to +the side of the bed, on which was an ashtray filled to overflowing with +cigaret-stubs. He quickly crossed the room and picked up the tray. Then +he put it back on the table with a curious gleam in his eye. + +"Was this tray with its cigaret-stubs here this morning when you locked +up, Miss Underhill?" he asked sharply. + +"Yes. I didn't touch anything." + +"Then this room hasn't been tidied since Sunday?" + +The housekeeper flushed. "The room was attended to on Monday morning, +after Bernice awoke," she snarled. "I will _not_ hear any imputations +against my household, Mr. Queen! I--" + +"But why not Monday afternoon?" interposed Ellery, smiling. + +"Because Bernice chased the maid out of the room after the bed was +made, that's why!" snapped the housekeeper. "The girl didn't have time +to empty the ashtray. I hope that satisfies you!" + +"It does," murmured Ellery. "Dad--Velie--come here a moment." + +Ellery silently pointed down to the cigaret-stubs. There were at least +thirty on the tray. Without exception the cigarets, of a flat Turkish +variety, had been smoked only one-quarter of their length, and crushed +out against the tray. The Inspector picked one up, and peered at a word +of gilt lettering near the tip. + +"Well, what's surprising about that?" he demanded. "They're the same +brand as the ones on the card-table in the apartment. Girl must be +frightfully nervous, though." + +"But the length, dad, the length," said Ellery softly. "However, +no matter.... Miss Underhill, has Miss Carmody always smoked _La +Duchesse_?" + +"Yes, _sir_," said the housekeeper unpleasantly. "And too many for her +health, too. She gets them from some Greek person with an outlandish +name--Xanthos, I think it is--who makes them up on special order for +young ladies of the better classes. Perfumed, they are!" + +"A standing order, I suppose?" + +"You suppose correctly. When Bernice's supply ran out, she merely +repeated her order, which was for a box of five hundred always.... +That's one thing about Bernice, although you mustn't take it as +anything against the poor child, because too many young ladies have the +same pernicious habit--but she smokes altogether too much for propriety +and health, too. Her mother never smoked, nor do Marion and Mr. French." + +"Yes, yes, we are aware of those facts, Miss Underhill, thank you." +Ellery took a glassine envelope from his compact pocket-kit and calmly +poured into it the dusty contents of the ashtray. The envelope he +handed to Velie. + +"You had better keep this with whatever mementoes of the case will be +filed at Headquarters," he said in a sprightly tone. "I think it will +prove of interest in the final summation.... Now, Miss Underhill, if +you will please spare us just another slice of your precious time...." + + + + + 21 + + KEYS AGAIN + + +Ellery looked quickly about the garish room and strode over to a large +door on the side wall. He opened it and uttered a low exclamation +of satisfaction. It was a clothes-closet, packed with feminine +garments--gowns, coats, shoes, hats in profusion. + +He turned once more to Hortense Underhill, who was regarding him with +peculiar disquiet. Her lips compressed as she saw his hand absently +ruffle through the mass of gowns hanging from the racks. + +"Miss Underhill, I believe you said that Miss Carmody was at the +apartment some months ago, and hasn't been there since?" + +She nodded stiffly. + +"Do you recall what she wore when she was there last?" + +"Really, Mr. Queen," she said in frigid tones, "I haven't such a memory +as you evidently give me credit for. How _could_ I remember that?" + +Ellery grinned. "Very well. Where is Miss Carmody's apartment key?" + +"Oh!" The housekeeper was genuinely startled. "That's a funny thing, +now, Mr. Queen--I mean your asking that. Because only yesterday morning +Bernice told me that she thought she'd lost her key and asked me to get +one of the others' keys and duplicate it for her." + +"Lost, eh?" Ellery seemed disappointed. "Are you certain, Miss +Underhill?" + +"I've just told you." + +"Well, there's no harm in looking," said Ellery cheerfully. "Here, +Velie, lend a hand with these duds. You don't mind, dad?" And in a +moment he and the sergeant had attacked the closet with a furious +determination, to the accompaniment of the Inspector's chuckle and +Hortense Underhill's outraged gasp. + +"You see ..." said Ellery from clenched teeth, as he swiftly passed +his hands through coats and gowns, "people don't generally lose +things. They merely think they do. In this case, Miss Carmody perhaps +searched for it in a few obvious places and gave it up as hopeless.... +She probably didn't look in the right garments.... Ah, there, Velie! +Splendid!" + +The tall sergeant held up a heavy fur coat. In his left hand gleamed a +gold-disked key. + +"In an inside pocket, Mr. Queen. The fur coat would make it heavy +weather when Miss Carmody last used the key." + +"Fair and subtle enough," said Ellery, taking the key. It was an exact +duplicate of Weaver's key, which he now took from his pocket and +compared with the latest discovery--a twin except for the initials +_B.C._ engraved on the disk. + +"Why do you want all the keys, El?" demanded the Inspector. "I can't +see any good reason for it." + +"You have enormous powers of perspicacity," said Ellery gravely. "Now +how did you know I wanted _all_ the keys? But you're perfectly right--I +do, and I shall take up a collection very shortly. The reason is surely +as plain as the nose on your face, as Crouther would say.... Don't want +anybody getting into that apartment for a while, very simply." + +He deposited both keys in his pocket and turned to the unpleasant +housekeeper. + +"Did you carry out Miss Carmody's orders about duplicating this 'lost' +key?" he asked curtly. + +The housekeeper sniffed. "I did not," she said. "Because now that I +think of it, I don't really know whether or not Bernice was jesting +with me when she said she had lost the key. And something happened +yesterday afternoon that made me undecided about it, and I thought I'd +wait until I saw Bernice again to ask her." + +"And what was that, Miss Underhill?" inquired the Inspector, with a +slow gentleness. + +"Something queer, to tell the truth," she replied thoughtfully. Her +eyes flashed suddenly, and her expression became remarkably more human. +"I _do_ want to help," she said softly. "And I am beginning to think +more and more that what happened _will_ help...." + +"You have us simply petrified with excitement, Miss Underhill," +murmured Ellery, without changing expression. "Please proceed." + +"Yesterday afternoon, at about four o'clock--no, I think it must have +been closer to half-past three--I received a telephone call from +Bernice. That was after she had left the house so mysteriously--you +know." + +The three men stiffened into strained attention. Velie muttered an +indistinguishable curse beneath his breath, but quieted under a +flashing glance from the Inspector. Ellery leaned forward. + +"Yes, Miss Underhill?" he urged. + +"It was most puzzling," continued the housekeeper. "Bernice had spoken +to me casually about losing the key just before lunch. Yet when she +called in the afternoon, the first thing she said was that she wanted +her key to the apartment, and would send around for it by messenger at +once!" + +"Is it possible," muttered the Inspector, "that she thought you had +already had a duplicate key made for her?" + +"No, Inspector," said the housekeeper incisively. "It didn't sound as +if she thought that at all. In fact, it seemed as if she'd utterly +forgotten about having lost the key. So much so that I immediately +reminded her that she'd told me about losing the key, in the morning, +and having another made for her. She seemed quite distressed and said, +'Oh, yes, Hortense! Isn't it stupid of me to forget that way,' and +began to say something else, when she stopped suddenly and then said, +'Don't bother, Hortense, after all, it isn't particularly important. +I thought I might want to drop in at the apartment this evening.' +I reminded her that she could get the use of the master-key at the +night-watchman's desk if she wanted to go to the apartment so badly. +But she didn't seem interested and hung up immediately." + +There was a little silence. Then Ellery looked up with a great light of +interest in his eyes. + +"Can you remember, Miss Underhill," he asked, "just what it was that +Miss Carmody began to say in the middle of the conversation, and then +appeared to reconsider?" + +"It's hard to be exact about it, Mr. Queen," replied the housekeeper. +"But somehow I got the impression that Bernice was going to ask me to +get one of the other keys to the apartment for her. Perhaps I'm wrong." + +"Perhaps you are," said Ellery whimsically, "but I'd not give even the +most preposterous of odds that you aren't...." + +"You know," added Hortense Underhill, as an afterthought, "I also got +the impression, when she began to say that and stopped, that--" + +"_That somebody was talking to her, Miss Underhill?_" asked Ellery. + +"Exactly, Mr. Queen." + +The Inspector turned a startled face toward his son. Velie moved his +huge bulk lightly forward and whispered in the Inspector's ear. The old +man grinned. + +"Keen, keen, Thomas," he chuckled. "That's just what I was thinking, +too...." + +Ellery flicked his finger warningly. + +"Miss Underhill, I can't expect you to exhibit miracles of acuteness," +he said in a serious, admiring tone. "But I should like to ask--if +you're entirely certain that it was Miss Carmody talking to you over +the wire?" + +"That's it!" cried the Inspector. Velie smiled grimly. + +The housekeeper regarded the three men with strangely limpid eyes. +Something electric shot through all four. + +"I don't--believe--it--was," she whispered.... + +After a while they left the missing girl's bedroom and entered an +adjoining room. It was severer in tone and immaculately clean. + +"This is Mrs. French's room," said the housekeeper in a low voice. +Her acid nature seemed sweetened by a sudden realization of complex +tragedy. Her eyes followed Ellery with grave respect. + +"Is everything in perfect order, Miss Underhill?" asked the Inspector. + +"Yes, sir." + +Ellery walked over to a wardrobe and scanned its neat racks +thoughtfully. + +"Miss Underhill, will you please look through this rack and tell us if +any of Miss Marion French's clothes are here?" + +The housekeeper went through the racks while the three men looked +on. She proceeded carefully, then shook her head in an unhesitating +negative. + +"Then Mrs. French was not in the habit of wearing Miss French's things?" + +"Oh, no, sir!" + +Ellery smiled with satisfaction and at once wrote a line of +hieroglyphics in his makeshift notebook. + + + + + 22 + + BOOKS AGAIN + + +The three men stood uncomfortably in old Cyrus French's bedroom. The +nurse fluttered about in the hall, a solid door separating her from +her charge. Marion and Weaver had been ordered downstairs to the +drawing-room. French's physician, Dr. Stuart, a large impressive man, +with a professional irascibility glared at the Queens from his post at +French's bedside. + +"Five minutes--no longer," he snapped. "Mr. French is hardly in a +conversational condition!" + +The Inspector clucked placatingly, and stared at the sick man. French +lay lumpily in his great bed, nervous eyes darting from one to another +of his inquisitors. One flabby white hand plucked at the silk coverlet. +His face was entirely drained of color, pasty, shockingly unwholesome +in appearance. His grey hair straggled over a furrowed forehead. + +The Inspector stepped nearer to the bed. He bent forward and said in a +low voice, "This is Inspector Queen of the police, Mr. French. Can you +hear me? Do you think you are strong enough to answer a few perfunctory +questions about Mrs. French's--accident?" + +The quicksilver eyes ceased rolling and concentrated on the gentle grey +face of the Inspector. They blinked suddenly with intelligence. + +"Yes ... yes ..." French whispered, moistening his thin pale lips +with a bright tongue. "Anything ... to clear up this ... ghastly +business...." + +"Thank you, Mr. French." The Inspector leaned closer. "Is there any +explanation in your mind that might account for the death of Mrs. +French?" + +The liquid eyes blinked, closed. When they opened, there was an +expression of utter bewilderment within their reddish depths. + +"No ... none," French breathed painfully. "None ... whatsoever.... +She--she had ... so many friends ... no enemies.... I--it is ... +unbelievable that any one ... should be so ... fiendish as to ... +murder her." + +"I see." The Inspector tugged at his mustache with nimble fingers. +"Then you know of no one who might have had a _motive_ for killing her, +Mr. French?" + +"No...." The hoarse feeble voice gathered strength suddenly. "The +shame--the notoriety.... It will be the death of me.... With all my ... +unsparing efforts to put an end to vice ... that this should happen to +me!... Hideous, hideous!" + +His voice grew more and more violent. The Inspector motioned in alarm +to Dr. Stuart, who leaned quickly over the sick man and felt his pulse. +Then, in an extraordinarily gentle voice, the physician soothed his +patient until the throaty rumblings faded off and the hand on the +coverlet unflexed and lay still. + +"Have you much more?" asked the doctor in a gruff undertone. "You must +be quick, Inspector!" + +"Mr. French," said Queen quietly, "is your personal key to the store +apartment always in your possession?" + +The eyes rolled sleepily. "Eh? Key? Yes ... yes, always." + +"It has certainly not left your person in the past fortnight or so?" + +"No ... positively not...." + +"Where is it, Mr. French?" continued the Inspector in an urgent soft +voice. "Surely you will not mind letting us have it for a few days, +will you, sir? In the interests of justice, of course.... Where? Oh, +yes! Dr. Stuart, Mr. French asks that you get the key from the key-ring +in his trousers' hip-pocket. In the wardrobe, sir, the wardrobe!" + +In silence the burly physician went to a wardrobe, rummaged about in +the first pair of trousers that met his eye, and returned in a moment +with a leather key-case. The Inspector examined the gold-disked key +marked _C.F._, unhooked it, and returned the case to the doctor, who +promptly replaced it in the trousers. French lay quietly, eyes veiled +by puffy lids. + +The Inspector handed Cyrus French's key to Ellery, who deposited it +with the other keys in his pocket. Then Ellery stepped forward and +leaned over the sick man. + +"Easy, Mr. French," he murmured in a soothing tone. "We have just two +or three more questions, and then you will be left to your much-needed +privacy.... Mr. French, do you recall what books are on your desk in +the library of your apartment?" + +The old man's eyes flew open. Dr. Stuart growled angrily beneath his +breath something about "arrant nonsense ... silly sleuthing." Ellery's +body remained in its deferential attitude, his head close to French's +slack mouth. + +"Books?" + +"Yes, Mr. French. The books on your apartment desk. Do you recall their +titles?" he urged gently. + +"Books." French screwed his mouth up in a desperate effort to +concentrate. "Yes, yes.... Of course. My favorites ... Jack London's +_Adventure_ ... _The Return of Sherlock Holmes_, by Doyle ... +McCutcheon's _Graustark_ ... _Cardigan_, by Robert W. Chambers, and ... +let me think ... there was one other ... yes! _Soldiers of Fortune_, by +Richard Harding Davis.... That's it--Davis.... Knew Davis.... Wild, but +a ... a great fellow...." + +Ellery and the Inspector exchanged glances. The Inspector's face grew +crimson with suppressed emotion. He muttered, "What the deuce!" + +"You're certain, Mr. French?" persisted Ellery, leaning over the bed +once more. + +"Yes ... yes. My books ... I should know ..." whispered the old man, +annoyance sounding weakly in his voice. + +"Of course! We were merely making sure.... Now, sir, have +you ever been interested in such subjects as, let us say, +paleontology--philately--medieval commerce--folk lore--elementary +music?" + +The tired eyes widened with puzzled amazement. The head wagged twice +from side to side. + +"No ... I can't say that I am.... My serious reading is restricted to +works on sociology ... my work for the Anti-Vice Society ... you know +my position...." + +"You are positive that your five books by Davis, Chambers, Doyle and +the others are on your apartment desk now, Mr. French?" + +"I--suppose so," mumbled French. "Been there ... for ages.... Ought to +be.... Never noticed anything wrong...." + +"Very well. That is quite excellent, sir. Thank you." Ellery glanced +swiftly at Dr. Stuart, who was exhibiting marked signs of impatience. +"One question, Mr. French, and we shall leave you. Has Mr. Lavery been +in your apartment recently?" + +"Lavery? Yes, of course. Every day. My guest." + +"Then that will be all." Ellery stepped back and made a hasty note +on the fly-leaf of his now overscribbled little volume. French's +eyes closed, and he shifted his body slightly, with an unmistakable +relaxation that signified complete fatigue. + +"Please leave quietly," grunted Dr. Stuart. "You've retarded his +recovery sufficiently for one day." + +He turned his back truculently upon them. + +The three men tiptoed from the room. + +But on the staircase leading to the main foyer, the Inspector muttered, +"Where in time do those books come in?" + +"Ask me not in mournful numbers," said Ellery ruefully. "I wish I knew." + +Thenceforth they descended in silence. + + + + + 23 + + CONFIRMATION + + +They found Marion and Weaver sitting glumly in the drawing-room, +hands clasped, and suspiciously silent. The Inspector coughed, Ellery +thoughtfully scrubbed away at his pince-nez, Velie screwed up his eyes +and blinked at a Renoir on the wall. + +The boy and the girl sprang to their feet. + +"How--how is daddy?" asked Marion hurriedly, one slim hand to a +crimson-dappled cheek. + +"Resting quietly now, Miss French," replied the Inspector in some +embarrassment. "Ah--a question or two, young lady, and then we will be +on our way.... Ellery!" + +Ellery came directly to the point. + +"Your key to your father's apartment, Miss French--" he demanded--"is +it always in your possession?" + +"Why, certainly, Mr. Queen. You don't think--" + +"A categorical question, Miss French," said Ellery blandly. "Your key +has not left your possession in, let us say, four weeks?" + +"Certainly not, Mr. Queen. It's my own, and every one else who might +have occasion to go into the apartment has a key of his or her own, as +well." + +"Lucidly said. May I borrow yours temporarily?" + +Marion half-turned toward Weaver with hesitation written in her eyes. +Weaver pressed her arm reassuringly. + +"Do whatever Ellery asks, Marion," he said. + +Without a word Marion rang for a maid, and in a few moments turned over +to Ellery another key whose only distinguishing characteristic from the +keys already on his person was the neatly engraved _M.F._ on the bright +disc. Ellery stowed it away with the others and murmured his thanks, +retreating a step. + +The Inspector promptly stepped forward. + +"I must ask you what may prove an awkward question, Miss French," he +said. + +"I--we seem to be completely in your hands, Inspector Queen," said the +girl, smiling faintly. + +The Inspector stroked his mustache. "Just what has been the +relationship between yourself, let us say, and your stepmother and +stepsister? Amicable? Strained? Openly antagonistic?" + +Marion did not answer at once. Weaver shuffled his feet and turned +away. Then the girl's magnificent eyes met the old man's honestly. + +"I think 'strained' expresses it exactly," she said in her clear +sweet voice. "There has never been much love lost on any side of the +triangle. Winifred has always preferred Bernice above me--which is of +course natural--and as for Bernice, we didn't agree from the beginning. +And as time went on, and--and things began to happen, the rift simply +widened...." + +"'Things'?" prompted the Inspector suggestively. + +Marion bit her lip, flushed. "Well--just little things, you know," she +said evasively. She hurried on. "All of us tried very hard to conceal +our dislike for each other--for dad's sake. I'm afraid we weren't +always successful. Dad is keener than people think." + +"I see." The Inspector tchk-ed with concern. He straightened with +a peculiarly swift movement of his body. "Miss French, do you know +anything that might give us a hint to the murderer of your stepmother?" + +Weaver gasped, whitened. He seemed about to voice a bitter protest. But +Ellery laid a restraining hand on his arm. The girl grew still, but she +did not flinch. She passed her fingers wearily across her forehead. + +"I--no." It was a bare whisper. + +The Inspector made a deprecating little gesture. + +"Oh, please don't ask me anything more about--about _her_," she cried +suddenly in an agonized voice. "I can't go on this way, talking about +her, trying to tell the truth, because ..." she spoke more quietly, +"... because it would be in the poorest taste to calumniate that +poor--dead--thing." She shuddered. Weaver boldly put his arm about her +shoulders. She turned to him with a little sigh of relief and buried +her face against his breast. + +"Miss French." Ellery's tone was gentleness itself. "You can help us on +one point.... Your stepsister--what brand of cigaret does she smoke?" + +Marion's astonishment at the seemingly irrelevant question brought her +head up with a start. + +"Why--_La Duchesse_." + +"Exactly. And she smoked _La Duchesse_ exclusively?" + +"Yes. At least, for as long as I know her." + +"Has she"--Ellery was casual--"has she any peculiarity in her method of +smoking, Miss French? Any perhaps slightly unusual habit?" + +The pretty brows drew closer together in a little frown. "If you mean +by habit"--she hesitated--"a distinct nervousness--yes." + +"Does this nervousness manifest itself in a noticeable way?" + +"She smokes incessantly, Mr. Queen. And she never takes more than five +or six puffs at a cigaret. She doesn't seem by nature able to smoke +calmly. A few puffs, and she grinds out the long stump of tobacco still +remaining almost with--viciousness. The cigarets she leaves are always +bent and twisted out of shape." + +"Thank you so much." Ellery's firm lips lifted in a smile of +satisfaction. + +"Miss French--" the Inspector took up the attack--"you left this house +last night after dinner. You did not return until midnight. _Where were +you during those four hours?_" + +Silence. A frightened silence so suddenly fraught with hidden +complications of emotion that it seemed almost of physical substance. +It was a tableau created for a single moment's duration: the slight +Inspector, alert, controlled, leaning forward; the straight body of +Ellery, muscles completely inanimate; the vague bulk of Velie, drawn +and powerful; a petrified agony on Weaver's mobile features--and the +utter misery of Marion French's slender, stricken figure. + +It passed in the drawing of a breath. Marion sighed, and the four men +relaxed stealthily. + +"I was ... walking in ... the Park," she said. + +"Oh!" The Inspector smiled, bowed, smoothed his mustache. "Then there +is nothing more to be said, Miss French. Good afternoon." + +It was simply said, and the Inspector, Ellery and Velie passed from the +room, into the reception hall, out of the house without another word +spoken. + +But it left Marion and Weaver in a dejection and apprehension so +profound that they stood in their places, exactly as they had been, +eyes turned away from each other, long after the outer door had snicked +cleanly shut. + + + + + 24 + + THE QUEENS TAKE STOCK + + +Dusk was descending on the city when Velie took leave of the Queens +outside the French mansion to manipulate the official machinery already +operating on the shadowy trail of the vanished Bernice Carmody. + +After Velie had gone, the Inspector looked at the quiet River, looked +at the darkening sky, looked at his son, who was energetically +polishing his pince-nez and staring down at the pavement. + +The Inspector sighed. "The air will do both of us a lot of good," he +said tiredly. "I need something to clear my addled brain, anyway.... +Ellery, let's walk home." + +Ellery nodded, and side by side they sauntered down the Drive toward +the corner. At the corner they turned east and settled down to a slow, +thoughtful pace. They walked another block before the silence was +broken. + +"This is really the first chance," remarked Ellery at last, grasping +his father's arm encouragingly at the elbow, "that I've had to mull +over the multitude of factors that have arisen so far. Significant +factors. Telling factors, dad! There are so many they give me _mal à la +tête_." + +"Really?" The Inspector was depressed, morose. His shoulders sagged. + +Ellery regarded him keenly. He tightened his grip on the old man's arm. +"Come, dad! Buck up. I know you're at sea, but it's because of the +trouble and worry you've had on your mind recently. My brain has been +more than usually free from occupation lately. It's been clear enough +to grasp the amazing fundamentals this case has spewed up to-day. Let +me think aloud." + +"Go ahead, son." + +"One of the two most valuable clues this affair has given us is the +fact that the corpse was found in the Fifth Avenue exhibition-window." + +The Inspector snorted. "I suppose you'll tell me now that you already +know who did the job." + +"Yes." + +The Inspector was so taken aback that he stopped in his tracks and +stared at Ellery with an expression of complete dismay and unbelief. + +"Ellery! You're joking. How _could_ you?" he finally managed to +splutter. + +Ellery smiled gravely. "Don't misunderstand me. I say I know who +murdered Mrs. French. I should qualify that by saying that certain +indications point with incredible consistency at one individual. I have +no proof. I don't grasp one-tenth of the implications. I am entirely +ignorant of the motive, the undoubtedly sordid story behind the +crime.... Consequently, I shall not tell you whom I have in mind." + +"You wouldn't," growled the Inspector, as they walked on. + +"Now, dad!" Ellery laughed a little. He tightened his hold on the small +package of books from French's library table, which he had carried +stubbornly from the moment they had left the department store. "I have +a good reason. In the first place, it's quite conceivable that I'm +being misled by a series of coincidences. In that case, I should merely +be making an ass of myself if I accused some one and then had to eat +crow.... When I have _proof_--you'll know, dad, the very first one.... +There are so many unexplained, seemingly inexplicable things. These +books, for example.... Well!" + +He said no more for a few moments as they strode through the streets. + +"I began," he said at last, "with the suspicious fact that Mrs. +French's body was found in the exhibition-window. And it _was_ +suspicious, to say the least. For all the reasons that we went +over before--the lack of blood, the missing key, the lipstick +and the half-painted lips, the lack of illumination, the general +preposterousness of the window as the scene of the crime. + +"It was quite plain that Mrs. French had not been murdered in that +window. Where had she been murdered, then? The watchman's report +that she had signified the apartment as her destination; the missing +apartment key _which she had_ when O'Flaherty saw her go toward the +elevator--these suggested that the apartment should be examined at +once. Which I immediately proceeded to do." + +"Go on--I know all that," said Queen grumpily. + +"Patience, Diogenes!" chuckled Ellery. "The apartment told the story +quite graphically. Mrs. French's presence seemed indubitable. The +cards, the book-ends and the story they told...." + +"I don't know what story they told," grunted the Inspector. "You mean +that powder?" + +"Not in this instance. Very well, let's forget the book-ends for +the moment and go to--the lipstick which I found on the bedroom +dressing-table. That belonged to Mrs. French. Its color matched the +color on her half-painted lips. Women don't stop fixing their lips +unless something of a tremendously serious nature intervenes. The +murder? Possibly. Certainly the events leading to the murder.... So, +for this reason and that, all of which you will know in greater detail +to-morrow, I hope, I came to the conclusion that Mrs. French had been +murdered in that apartment." + +"I shan't argue with you, because it's probably true, although your +reasons are ludicrous right now. But go ahead--get down to more +concrete things," said the Inspector. + +"You must grant me some premises," laughed Ellery. "I'll prove that +apartment business, never fear. At this time, grant me that the +apartment is the scene of the crime." + +"It's granted--for the time." + +"Very well. If the apartment was the scene of the crime, and the window +was not, then very simply the body was removed from the apartment to +the window and crammed into that wall-bed." + +"In that case, yes." + +"But why? I asked myself. _Why_ was the body removed to the window? Why +wasn't it left in the apartment?" + +"To make it appear that the apartment wasn't the scene of the murder? +But that doesn't make sense, because--" + +"Yes, because no pains were taken to remove traces of Mrs. French's +presence, like the game of banque, the lipstick--although I'm inclined +to think that leaving the lipstick was an oversight. It is evident, +then, that the reason the body was removed was _not_ to make it appear +that the apartment was not the scene of the crime, _but to delay the +discovery of the body_." + +"I see what you mean," muttered the Inspector. + +"The time-element, of course," said Ellery. "The murderer must have +known that at 12 o'clock sharp, every day, that window was exhibited, +_and that the window was locked and unused before 12 o'clock_. I was +looking for a reason to explain the removal of the body. The fact that +it would not be discovered until after the noon hour gave the answer in +a flash. For some reason the murderer wanted to delay the discovery of +the crime." + +"I can't see why...." + +"Not definitely, of course, but we can make a generalization that will +serve the immediate purpose. If the murderer arranged it so that the +body would not be found before noon, it meant that he had something +to do during the morning which the discovery of the body _would have +prevented him from doing_. Is that clear?" + +"It follows," conceded the Inspector. + +"_Allons--continuer!_" said Ellery. "At first glance, that business +about having to do something which the discovery of the crime would +make impossible of accomplishment, is something of a poser. However, +we know certain facts. For example, no matter how the murderer entered +the store, _he must have stayed all night_. There were two ways of +getting in unnoticed but no way of getting out unnoticed after the +murder. He could have remained hidden somewhere in the store until +after closing-hours, and then stolen up to the apartment; or he +could have slipped through that open freight-door on 39th Street. He +certainly couldn't get out through the Employees' Entrance, because +O'Flaherty was there all night, in a perfect position to see somebody +leave that way. And O'Flaherty saw no one. He couldn't have got out +through the freight-door, because that door was locked for the night at +eleven-thirty, and Mrs. French didn't arrive until eleven-forty-five. +If he had slipped out via the freight-door, he couldn't have committed +the murder. Obviously! The freight-door was closed to him at least a +half-hour before the woman was killed at all. So--he must have had to +remain in the store all night. + +"Now, that being the case, he could not escape until at least nine +o'clock the next morning, when the doors were opened to the public and +any one could walk out as if he were an early customer." + +"Well then, why all that rigmarole about stowing the body in the window +in order to prevent its discovery before noon? What for?" demanded the +Inspector. "If he could get out at nine o'clock and he had something +to do, why couldn't he have done it then? In that case he wouldn't +care when the body was found, because he could do what was necessary +immediately after nine." + +"Precisely." Ellery's voice sharpened with a certain zest. "_If he were +free to walk out at nine and stay out_, he would have no reason for +delaying the discovery of the body." + +"But, Ellery," objected the Inspector, "he _did_ delay the discovery of +the body! Unless--" A light dawned on his face. + +"That's it exactly," Ellery said soberly. "If our murderer was in +some way connected with the store, his absence would be noted or at +least would be in danger of notice after a murder was discovered. By +secreting the body in a place where he knew it would not be found until +noon, he had all morning to watch for an opportunity to slip away and +do what he had to do.... + +"Of course, there's something else. It's an open question whether +the murderer planned in advance to secrete the body in the window +after killing Mrs. French in the apartment. I rather think the switch +of locale was not planned on much before the crime. For this reason. +Ordinarily the apartment is not entered until about ten o'clock in the +morning. Weaver has his own office, and French doesn't get down until +that hour. So that the murderer must have figured, in his original +plan, on committing the crime in the apartment and leaving the body +there. He would have ample time to get out of the building after nine +and return before ten, let us say. So long as the body was found +_after_ he attended to his nefarious morning business, he was safe. + +"But when he entered that apartment, or perhaps after he committed the +crime, he saw something which made it absolutely essential for him to +remove the body to the window." Ellery paused. "On the desk was a blue +official memorandum. It was there all afternoon on Monday, and Weaver +swears he left it there on the desk when he quit Monday evening. And it +was in exactly the same position on Tuesday morning. So it was there +for the murderer to see. And it said that Weaver would be there at nine +o'clock! It was an innocent little memo calling a board meeting, but it +must have put the murderer into something of a panic. If somebody was +coming to the apartment at nine, he wouldn't have a chance to do what +evidently was of desperate necessity, although we still don't know what +it is. Therefore the removal of the body to the window and the rest of +it. Follow?" + +"Seems holeproof," grunted the Inspector, but there was a light of +absorbing interest in his eye. + +"There's one vital thing to be done almost immediately," added Ellery +thoughtfully. "Unquestionably whoever committed the crime did not hide +in the store yesterday afternoon and wait for closing hour. I'll tell +you why. The complete time-sheet is a check-up on everybody connected +with this investigation. The time-sheet gives the checking-out time +of everybody. _All_ the people we're interested in are reported as +having left the building at five-thirty or before, with the exception +of Weaver and this man Springer, the head of the book department. And +since they were definitely seen leaving, they couldn't obviously have +_stayed_ for the crime. You remember the names? Although people like +Zorn, Marchbanks, Lavery and the rest do not check out, their name and +time are noted when they leave the building, as was the case yesterday. +Since everybody did leave, then the murderer must have got into the +building by the only way left--the freight-door on 39th Street. It +would be the more logical thing for the murderer to do anyway, because +he could establish an alibi for the evening, and still have time to +get into the store through that freight-entrance between eleven and +eleven-thirty." + +"We'll have to double-check everybody's movements last night," said the +Inspector dolefully. "More work." + +"And probably unproductive. But I agree that it's necessary. We should +do that as soon as possible." + +"Now." Ellery's lips twisted into a rueful smile. "There are so many +ramifications to this case," he said apologetically, interrupting his +line of thought. "For example--why did Winifred come to the store +at all? There's a question for you! And was she lying when she told +O'Flaherty that she was going to the apartment upstairs? Of course, the +watchman did see her take the elevator, and it is a fair assumption +that she went to the sixth floor rooms, especially since we have +definite evidence of her presence there. Besides, where else could she +go? The window? Preposterous! No, I think we may assume that she went +directly to the private apartment." + +"Perhaps Marion French's scarf was already in the window and for +some obscure reason Mrs. French wished to retrieve it," suggested the +Inspector, grinning wryly. + +"Yes, you _don't_ think," retorted Ellery. "That business of Marion's +scarf has a perfectly simple explanation, I'm positive, whatever +else may be mysterious about the girl.... But here's a point. Did +Winifred French have an appointment with a particular person, in +the store, in the apartment? Granted the whole affair is cloaked in +mystery--a clandestine meeting in a deserted department store and all +that--yet the hypothesis that the murdered woman came for a definite +purpose to meet a definite person seems too inevitable to discard. In +that case, then, did she know about the strange manner in which her +fellow-conspirator, and as it turned out her murderer, entered the +store? Or did she expect him to walk in as she did, through the regular +night-entrance? Evidently not, because she made no mention of another +person to O'Flaherty, which she might have done had she nothing to +conceal, but gave him the distinct impression that she had dropped in +for something. Then she _was_ involved in some shady business, _did_ +know that her companion would take mysterious precautions against +discovery--openly and submissively. + +"Was that companion Bernice or Marion? We have reason to believe, from +the mere look of things, that it might have been Bernice. The banque +game, Bernice's cigarets, Bernice's hat and shoes--very significant and +alarming, those last two items. On the other hand, let us examine some +sidelights on the question of Bernice. + +"We are fairly agreed that the murderer of Mrs. French took away Mrs. +French's apartment key. This might point to Bernice on first thought, +because we know she did not have her own key that afternoon--in fact, +she couldn't have had her own key, since we actually found it in her +closet at home to-day. Yes, it appears that if Bernice had been in +that store last night, she would have taken her mother's key away. _But +was she in the store?_ + +"The time has come, I do believe," said Ellery quizzically, "to lay +that particular ghost. Bernice was _not_ in the French department store +last night. Perhaps I had better say at this point that Bernice is not +a matricide. In the first place, despite the presence of the game of +banque, which is known by many people to be a passion of both women, +the presence of the cigarets betrays the frame-up. Bernice, who is a +drug addict, has been indicated beyond a doubt as _always_ smoking only +one-quarter of the length of her _La Duchesse_ cigarets, and crushing +out the long stub. Yet the stubs we found were _without exception_ +smoked carefully down almost to the tip. This is so unnatural as to +be conclusive. One or two cigarets might conceivably be found so +consumed; but to find a dozen! It's no go, dad. Bernice did not smoke +those cigarets we found on the card-table. And, of course, if she did +not, then some once else prepared them with the obvious intention of +throwing suspicion on the missing girl. Then there's the matter of the +'phone call to Hortense Underhill, presumably from Bernice. Fishy, +dad--exceedingly piscine! No, Bernice didn't forget about her key so +foolishly. _Somebody wanted her key badly enough to risk a call and a +messenger._" + +"The shoes--the hat," murmured the Inspector suddenly, looking up at +Ellery in a startled way. + +"Exactly," said Ellery somberly, "very significant and alarming, as I +said before. If Bernice was framed, and we find on the scene of the +crime the shoes and hat she wore the day of the murder--then it simply +means that Bernice has met with violence herself! She must be a victim, +dad. Whether she is already dead or not I don't know. It depends +on the masked story behind the crime. But certainly this deduction +links the disappearance of Bernice and the murder of her mother very +closely. Now why should the girl be done away with also? Perhaps, +dad, if she were left at large, she might be a dangerous source of +information--dangerous as far as the criminal is concerned." + +"Ellery!" exclaimed the Inspector. He was trembling with excitement. +"Mrs. French's murder--Bernice's kidnapping--_and she was a drug +fiend_...." + +"I'm not particularly surprised, dad," said Ellery warmly. "You have +always been quick on the scent.... Yes, it looks that way to me, +too. Remember that Bernice walked out of her stepfather's house not +only willingly, but eagerly. Is it too much to suppose that she was +going--_to replenish a waning supply of drugs?_ + +"If that is so, and it seems a good sound possibility, then this +whole case is shrouded and complicated by the manipulations--of drug +distributors. I'm very much afraid we've fallen into just such a +prosaic business as that." + +"Prosaic your left eyebrow!" cried Inspector Queen. "Ellery, it gets +clearer and clearer. And with all this rumpus about the increase in +drug distribution--if we should uncover the ring that's been operating +so hugely--if we should actually _nab_ the ringleaders--Ellery, it will +be a remarkable achievement! How I'd like to see Fiorelli's face, when +I tell him what's behind this!" + +"Well, don't be over-sanguine, dad," said Ellery pessimistically. "It +may be a _tour de force_. At any rate it's sheer conjecture at this +stage of the game, and we shouldn't be too uplifted by hope. + +"We have another angle that helps us localize the geography of the +crime even more precisely." + +"The book-ends?" Inspector Queen's voice was uncertain. + +"Of course. This too is based on pure reasoning, but I'll wager any +one anything that in the end we find it's true. Conclusions that +fit a series of circumstances so snugly have an overwhelmingly high +percentage of probability in their favor.... + +"Westley Weaver avers positively that the onyx book-ends have neither +been repaired nor removed from the apartment library since they were +presented to French by John Gray. In examining the book-ends we find a +noticeable difference in the color of the green felt, or baize, pasted +on the bases, the under surfaces. Weaver offers the suggestion that +something is wrong. Why? Because this is the first time he has noticed +the differing shades of green. He has seen those book-ends for months. +He is certain that when the book-ends were new the felts were alike in +color, that they must have been alike all along. + +"As a matter of fact, while there is no evidential method whereby +we may tell when exactly that lighter felt appeared, there is one +corroboration." Ellery stared thoughtfully at the pavement. "The +book-end with the lighter felt was newly glued. That I would take my +oath on. The glue, while powerful in action and already quite hard, +retained a viscidity and suspicious stickiness that told the story at +once. And the powder grains stuck in the glue-line--no, the evidence is +there. The book-ends were handled last night by the criminal. We might +suspect Mrs. French, perhaps, if not for the fact that the fingerprint +powder was used. That's the work of your 'super-criminal,' dad, not of +an elderly society lady." He smiled. + +"Let's try to link book-ends and crime more closely." He squinted ahead +in a little tempest of silence. The old man trudged by his side, eyes +on the changing street vista. "We enter the scene of the crime. We +find many things of a peculiar nature there. The cards, the lipsticks, +the cigarets, the shoes, the hat, the book-ends--all out of tune with +normality. We have linked every element except the book-ends directly +with the crime. Why, in the face of the possibilities--why not the +book-ends too? I can furnish excellent hypotheses commensurate with +known facts. The fingerprint powder grains, for one thing. Accessories +of crime. And a crime was committed. We find the grains stuck in a +newly glued felt, which is also suspiciously different in shade from +its fellow. Certainly it is against all reason to say that the felts +might have been differently colored from the beginning. Not with such +an expensive and unique pair of book-ends. And the difference was +never noticed before.... No, the human probabilities all point to the +conclusion that last night some one removed the original felt from the +first book-end, pasted on a new piece of felt, sprinkled fingerprint +powder to bring out any prints that might be on the book-end, removed +the fingerprints, and inadvertently left some minute grains in the +fresh glue-line of the piece." + +"You've proved it to my satisfaction," said the Inspector. "Go on." + +"_Alors!_ I examine the book-ends. They are of solid onyx. Furthermore, +the only change in their composition is the removal of the original +felt from one of them. I conclude therefore that the book-end was _not_ +repaired in order to hide something inside or because something was +extracted from its interior. There is no interior. Everything is on the +surface. + +"With this in mind, I ask myself: What other reason could have caused +the repair of the onyx piece, if it was not to hide traces of a +secretion or a removal? Well, there's the crime itself. Can we tie the +crime and the fixing of the book-ends into one knot? + +"Yes, we can! Why should a felt be removed and another substituted? +_Because something happened to that felt which, if the felt were left +as it was, would have betrayed traces of a crime._ Remember that the +murderer's most pressing need was to keep knowledge of the murder +from every one until he had delivered the all-important message during +the morning. And he knew that that library would be tenanted at nine +o'clock in the morning, that if anything were wrong with the book-end +it would be noticed in all probability." + +"Blood!" exclaimed the Inspector. + +"You've hit on it," replied Ellery. "It could scarcely be anything +else but blood-stains. It would have to be something of a directly +suspicious nature, or the murderer would not have taken all the trouble +he did. The cards, the other things--these in themselves would never +suggest a murder before the body was found or foul play even suspected. +But blood! That's the water-mark of violence. + +"So I reasoned that in some way blood soaked the felt, and the murderer +was compelled to change the felt and dispose of the tell-tale bloody +one." + +They walked on in silence for a long time. The Inspector was buried in +thought. Then Ellery spoke once more. + +"You see," he said, "I was progressing with commendable rapidity in the +reconstruction of the physical elements of the crime. And, when I had +reached the conclusion about the blood-soaked felt, immediately another +isolated fact leaped into my mind.... You remember Prouty's suspicions +in connection with the lack of blood on the corpse? And our instant +deduction that the murder must have been committed somewhere else? Here +was the missing link." + +"Good, good," murmured the Inspector, reaching excitedly for his +snuff-box. + +"The book-ends," went on Ellery rapidly, "were obviously of no +importance in the crime _until_ they became blood-soaked. After +that, of course, the whole chain of incident was a logical +outgrowth--changing the felt, handling the book-ends, and then +applying the powder to efface prints made necessary by the handling.... + +"Then, I reasoned, the staining of the book-end was an accident. It was +standing innocently on the glass-topped desk. How could the blood have +got on it? There are two possibilities. The first is that the book-end +was used as a weapon. But this is indefensible, because the wounds were +the result of revolver-shots, and there are no signs of a _striking_ +blow with such a bludgeon as the book-end might have made. Then the +only remaining possibility is that the blood got on it inadvertently. +How might this have occurred? + +"Easily. The book-end is on the glass-topped desk. The only way blood +could get on the bottom of the book-end, where the blood would show +ineffaceably, would be by its _trickling across the glass_ and soaking +into the material. But you see what this gives us." + +"Mrs. French was sitting at the desk when she was shot," announced the +old man gloomily. "She was shot below the heart. She fell into the +chair and got another in the heart itself. The blood from the first +wound gushed out before she fell. The blood from the second wound +trickled out as she lay across the table--and soaked into the felt." + +"And that," said Ellery, smiling, "is a perfect recitation. Remember +that Prouty is sure that the _precordial_ type of wound particularly +would bleed profusely. That's probably what happened.... Now we can +further reconstruct the crime. If Mrs. French sat at the desk and was +shot in the heart, then her murderer was in front of her and shot +across the desk. It must have been at a distance of several feet, +because there are no powder marks on the woman's clothes. We can +perhaps compute the approximate height of the murderer by determining +the angle at which the bullets entered the body. But I have little +faith in this, because there is no exact way of judging just how far +the bullets traveled, or in other words how far from Mrs. French the +murderer stood when he fired. And an error of inches would throw off +all our calculations as to his height, considerably. You might get your +firearms expert, Kenneth Knowles, on the job, but I don't think much +will come of it." + +"Neither do I," sighed the Inspector. "Nevertheless, it's comforting +to be able to place the crime so precisely. It all hangs together, +Ellery--a nice bit of reasoning. I'll get Knowles to work immediately. +Is there anything else, son?" + +Ellery said nothing for an appreciable moment. They turned into West +87th Street. Half-way up the block stood the brownstone old house in +which they lived. They quickened their steps. + +"There's a heap more, dad, that I haven't gone into, because of this +and that," Ellery said absently. "The signs were all there, for the +world to see. They needed intelligent assembly, however. You're +probably the only one on the scene who has the mental potentiality for +piecing them together. The others.... And you're exceptionally dulled +by care." He smiled as they reached the brownstone steps of their +dwelling. + +"Dad," he said, one foot on the lowest step, "on one phase of this +investigation I am entirely at sea. And that--" he tapped the package +under his arm, "is the five books I plucked from old French's desk. +It seems silly to suppose that they can have anything to do with the +murder, and yet--I have the queerest feeling that they can explain so +much if we worm out their secret." + +"You've gone slightly daffy with concentration," growled the Inspector, +laboriously ascending the stairs. + +"Nevertheless," remarked Ellery, inserting a key into the lock of the +big carved old-fashioned door, "this night is dedicated to a sedulous +analysis of the books." + + + + + THE FOURTH EPISODE + + + "_Oriental police set far smaller store by the criminal alibi + than do Occidentals.... We know only too well what warped cunning + is capable of ... and prefer to probe emotions and instincts + rather than crack down highly glazed stories. This is undoubtedly + explained by the difference in psychology of the two racial + strains.... The Oriental is notoriously more suspicious than the + Occidental, dealing with fundamentals rather than superficials.... + Where the Western world is inclined to shout a lusty_ BANZAI! + _in acclamation of its more successful rogues, we cut off their + ears, or put them in stocks for milder crimes, or behead them + for major ones--but always pointing out by example (with true + Japanese subtlety, perhaps?) the over-whelming ignominy of the + punishment...._" + + --From the Preface to the English edition of A THOUSAND LEAVES, + _By_ Tamaka Hiero. + + + + + 25 + + ELLERIUS BIBLIOPHILUS + + +The hearth of the Queen domicile was housed in one of the West 87th +Street's lingering brownstones. That the Queens chose to live among the +unvarnished woods of a generation dead and gone was a commentary upon +the powerful influence of son upon father. For Ellery, whose collection +of well-used books, whose dilettante's knowledge of antiquities, whose +love for the best of the past, over-whelmed his natural leaning toward +the comforts of the modern age, stood firmly against the Inspector's +groaning indictment of "dustiness and mustiness." + +You might expect, therefore, that the Queens lived on the top floor +of this sprawling old mansion, and that the door was of time-softened +oak (on which appeared their only concession to expediency--a placard +labeled "The Queens"), and that when you were admitted by gypsy-blooded +Djuna, an odor redolent of old leather and masculinity would assail the +nostrils. + +There was an anteroom hung with a vast tapestry (the gift of the Duke +of ---- in return for the Inspector's services in a matter preserved +in silence). The anteroom was opulently Gothic, and it was Ellery's +will again which prevented the Inspector from consigning it, period +furniture and all, to the auction rooms. + +And there was the living-room and library. Dotted with books, massed +with books. Oak-ribbed ceiling--huge natural fireplace with a broad oak +mantel and curious old ironwork--the Nuremberg swords crossed martially +above--old lamps, brasswork, massive furniture. Chairs, divans, +footstools, leather cushions, ashstands--a veritable fairyland of easy +bachelordom. + +Off the living-room was the bedroom, a chaste and comfortable +rest-place. + +The whole was presided over by small, volatile Djuna, the orphan boy +adopted by Inspector Queen during his lonely years when Ellery was +attending the University. Djuna's world was limited to his beloved +patron and their common dwelling-place. Valet, cook, housekeeper and on +occasion confidant.... + +At nine o'clock of the morning of Wednesday, the twenty-fifth of +May--the day after the discovery of Mrs. Winifred French's lifeless +body in the French establishment--Djuna was setting the table in the +living-room for a late breakfast. Ellery was conspicuous by his absence +from the room. The Inspector sat grumpily in his favorite armchair, +staring at Djuna's twinkling brown hands. + +The telephone bell rang. Djuna grasped the instrument. + +"For you, Dad Queen," he announced pompously. "It's the District +Attorney." + +The old man plodded across the room to the telephone. + +"Hello! Hello, Henry.... We-e-ell, a little progress. Something tells +me Ellery is on the scent. In fact, he told me so himself.... What?... +Yes, as far as I'm concerned it's a devil's brew. Can't make head +or tail of it.... Oh, go on with your blarney, Henry! I'm talking +straight.... The situation is briefly this." + +The Inspector spoke for a long time in a voice fluctuating between +despair and excitement. District Attorney Henry Sampson listened +carefully. + +"And that," concluded the Inspector, "is where it stands at this +moment. Something tells me Ellery is up to one of his familiar tricks. +He was up half the night poring over those infernal books.... Yes, +certainly, I'll keep you posted. May need you soon at that, Henry. +Ellery performs miracles at times, although I'd wager my next year's +pay that--Oh, go on back to your work, you ferret!" + +He hung up the receiver in time to greet a prodigiously yawning Ellery +who fumbled with his necktie and endeavored to keep the folds of his +dressing-gown together simultaneously. + +"So!" growled the Inspector, plumping into his chair. "What time did +you get to bed, young man?" + +Ellery finished the delicately dual operation and reached for a chair, +digging Djuna surreptitiously in the ribs. + +"No scolding now," he said, reaching for a piece of toast. "Have +breakfast yet? No? Waiting for the sluggard? Regale yourself with this +Olympian coffee--we can talk as we eat." + +"What time?" repeated the Inspector inexorably, sitting down at the +table. + +"To be temporal," said Ellery, his mouth full of coffee, "it was +three-twenty A.M." + +The old man's eyes softened. "Shouldn't do that," he mumbled, reaching +for the percolator. "It'll fag you." + +"Essential." Ellery drained his cup. "There are things to do, Sire.... +Have you heard anything this morning?" + +"Plenty that means nothing," said the Inspector. "I've been at that +'phone since seven.... Got a preliminary autopsy report from Sam +Prouty. Nothing to add to what he said yesterday except that there +are absolutely no signs of drug poisoning or addiction. The woman was +certainly not a 'dope.'" + +"Interesting, and not necessarily uninformative," smiled Ellery. "What +else?" + +"Knowles, the firearms man, was vague enough to make it unexciting. He +claims that he couldn't place the distance the bullets traveled before +they entered the body, exactly to the foot. The angles are easily +determined, but from his calculations the murderer might be anywhere +from five to six feet in height. Not very illuminating, eh?" + +"Hardly. We'll never convict anybody on that kind of evidence. But I +can scarcely blame Knowles. These things are rarely absolute. How about +the absentees from the store yesterday?" + +The Inspector scowled. "Had one of the boys checking up with MacKenzie +all yesterday evening. Just had MacKenzie on the wire. Everybody +accounted for, not a thing suspicious or unexplained. And as for this +Carmody girl, poor Thomas had his strings out all night. Combed the +neighborhood. Contacted the Missing Persons Bureau. I tipped him off on +the drug business, and the Narcotic Squad's been busy checking up on +known dives. Nothing doing. Not a trace of her." + +"Just dropped out of existence...." Ellery frowned, poured himself +another cup of coffee. "I'll confess the girl has me worried. As I said +yesterday, all signs point to her having been done away with. If not +done away with, then certainly held very securely in a remote hide-out. +If I were the murderer, I think I'd add her to my list of victims.... +There's just a bare chance that she may be alive, dad. Velie must +redouble his efforts." + +"Don't worry about Thomas," said the Inspector grimly. "If she's alive, +he'll find her in time. If she's dead--Well! He's doing all he can." + +The telephone bell rang again. The Inspector answered. + +"Yes, this is Inspector Queen talking...." His tone changed magically. +It dripped formality. "Good morning, Commissioner. What can I do for +you?... Well, sir, we're getting along very nicely. We've gathered +together a heap of threads, and it's not twenty-four hours since we +found the body.... Oh, no! Mr. French has been a bit upset about the +whole affair. We've gone quite easy on him--nothing to worry about +there, sir.... Yes, I know. We're making it as comfortable for him +as we can under the circumstances.... No, Commissioner. Lavery has an +absolutely unimpeachable reputation. A foreigner, of course.... What's +that? Absolutely no!... We have a perfectly natural explanation for +that scarf of Miss Marion French's, sir. Well, I'm relieved too, to +tell the truth, Commissioner.... Quick solution? Commissioner, it will +be quicker than that!... Yes, sir, I know.... Thank you, Commissioner. +I'll keep you posted." + +"And that," said the Inspector in a deadly voice, as he hung up the +receiver carefully and turned a livid face toward Ellery, "is a sample +of the blank-dangest, extra-soft-boiled, unmitigated blatherskite of a +mud-hen of a police commissioner that this or any city ever had!" + +Ellery laughed aloud. "You'll be frothing at the mouth if you don't +control yourself. Every time I hear you rave about Welles I'm reminded +of that sage Germanic dictum: 'Who fills an office must learn to bear +reproach and blame.'" + +"On the contrary, I'm getting soft words from Welles," said the +Inspector, in a calmer tone. "He's frightened out of his wits about +this French affair. French wields a lot of power for a harmless old +reformer, and Welles doesn't like the possibilities. Did you hear the +absolute nonsense I salved him with over the phone? Sometimes I think +I've lost my self-respect." + +But Ellery was suddenly plunged in thought. His eyes had spied the five +books from French's desk, which now lay on an end-table nearby. With an +indistinct murmur of sympathy, he rose and sauntered over to the table, +fingering the books affectionately. The old man's eyes narrowed. + +"Out with it!" he said. "You've discovered something in those books!" +He hopped out of his chair suspiciously. + +"Yes, I think I have," replied Ellery slowly. He picked up the five +books and carried them to the breakfast-table. "Sit down, dad. My work +last night wasn't entirely wasted." + +They sat down. The Inspector's eyes were bright and curious as he chose +one of the books at random and riffled its pages aimlessly. Ellery +watched him. + +"Suppose, dad," said Ellery, "you take up these five books and go +through them. Here's the situation. You have five volumes, the only +fact to go on being that they're queer books for a certain person to +possess. You're looking for a reason to explain why those five books +are where they are. Go to it." + +He lit a cigaret thoughtfully and leaned back in his chair, blowing +smoke at the paneled ceiling. The Inspector seized on the volumes and +attacked them singly. When he had finished with one, he took up the +next, and so on until he had examined all five. The wrinkles on his +forehead deepened. He looked up at Ellery out of very puzzled eyes. + +"Danged if I can see anything remarkable in these books, Ellery. There +doesn't seem to be a point of similarity among them." + +Ellery smiled, drew his body forward abruptly. He tapped the books +with a long forefinger for emphasis. "That's exactly why they _are_ +remarkable," he said. "There doesn't seem to be a point of similarity. +And in fact, except for one little link, they _haven't_ any points of +similarity." + +"You're talking Greek," said the Inspector. "Elucidate." + +For answer Ellery rose and disappeared into the bedroom. He reappeared +in a moment with a long slip of paper on which were copiously inscribed +in a weird series of scrawled characters a body of notes. + +"This," he announced, reseating himself at the table, "is the +result of last night's séance with the ghosts of five authors' +brain-children.... Lend ear, Father Queen. + +"The books, by title and author, are as follows--just to make the +analysis entirely clear: _New Developments in Philately_, by Hugo +Salisbury. _Fourteenth Century Trade and Commerce_, by Stani Wedjowski. +_A Child's History of Music_, by Ramon Freyberg. _An Outline of +Paleontology_, by John Morrison. And finally, _Nonsense Anthology_, by +A. I. Throckmorton. + +"Let's analyze these five books. + +"Number one. The titles have not the slightest connection with each +other. Because of this fact, we can discard any thought that the +_subject matter_ of the books is relevant to our investigation. + +"Number two. The dissimilarity is further heightened by a number of +small points. For example, all the covers are of different colors. +True, there are two blues, but they are of distinct hues. The sizes are +different: three of the books are oversize, and all of these oversizes +have differing dimensions: one of the books is a pocket edition; the +last book is of average size. The bindings are different: three of +them are of cloth, but of different grain; one of them is a de luxe +leather binding; one of them is bound in linen. The inner format is +different. In two cases the paper is light India in shade; in the other +three white is used. Of the white different weights are apparent. The +type-style, on examination, although I know little enough about such +technical matters, is in each instance different. The number of pages +differs also--and their actual enumeration elicits no intelligible +message. They mean nothing.... Even in price they show dissimilarity. +The leather-covered is three-fifty, and the pocket edition is a dollar +and a half. The publishers are different. The dates of issue and number +of editions are different...." + +"But Ellery--of course--they're more or less obvious ..." objected the +Inspector. "Where does this lead you?" + +"In an analysis," returned Ellery, "nothing is too trivial to be +overlooked. They may mean nothing and they may mean a heap. In any +case, they are definite facts about these five books. And if they point +to nothing else, they certainly indicate that physically the books +differ in practically every respect. + +"Number three--and this is the first exciting development--the +right-hand top corner of the back inside leaf--let me repeat that: the +right-hand top corner of the back inside leaf--has the notation in hard +pencil of a date!" + +"A date?" The Inspector snatched one of the books from the table and +turned to the back inside leaf. There, in the upper right-hand corner, +was a tiny penciled date. He examined the other four books and they +exhibited in exactly the same places similar penciled dates. + +"If," continued Ellery calmly, "you arrange these dates arbitrarily in +their chronological order this is the result: + + 4/13/19-- + 4/21/19-- + 4/29/19-- + 5/7 /19-- + 5/16/19-- + +"By consulting the calendar I discovered that these dates represent, +progressively as I have given them: Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, +Saturday, and Monday." + +"That's interesting," muttered the Inspector. "Why is Sunday omitted?" + +"A valuable little point," said Ellery. "In four cases we have +consecutive days of the week, one week apart. In one case a +day--Sunday--is skipped. That this is an oversight on the part of the +dater is not likely; that a book is missing is impossible, because the +number of days between the first four dates is eight, and the fifth +is increased only to nine. Plainly, then, Sunday was omitted for the +reason that Sunday is generally omitted--it is a non-working day. +What the work is I haven't at the moment an answer for. But we may +take the irregularity in the case of the Sunday omission as a logical +irregularity which you will find in any part of the business world." + +"Follows," commented the Inspector. + +"Very well. We now come to point number four. And this is of +considerable interest. Dad, take up the five books and read the titles +in the chronological order of their dates." + +The old man obeyed. "_Fourteenth Century Trade and Commerce_, by Stani +Wedjowski. The--" + +"One moment," interrupted Ellery. "What's the date on the back inside +leaf?" + +"April thirteenth." + +"What day is April thirteenth?" + +"Wednesday." + +Ellery's face lit up triumphantly. "Well?" he cried. "Don't you see the +connection?" + +The Inspector looked slightly nettled. "Darned if I do.... The second +one is _Nonsense Anthology_, by A. I. Throckmorton." + +"Date and day?" + +"Thursday, April twenty-first.... The next is _A Child's History of +Music_, by Ramon Freyberg--Friday, April twenty--By jinks, Ellery! +Friday, April twenty-ninth!" + +"Yes, go on," said Ellery approvingly. + +The Inspector concluded rapidly. "_New Developments in Philately_, by +Hugo Salisbury--and that's _Saturday_, May seventh.... And the last +one is _An Outline of Paleontology_, by John Morrison--_Monday_, of +course.... Ellery, this is really amazing! In every case the _day_ +coincides with the first two letters of the author's last name!" + +"And that's one of the major results of my all-night session," +smiled Ellery. "Pretty, isn't it? _We_djowski--Wednesday. +_Th_rockmorton--Thursday. _Fr_eyberg--Friday. _Sa_lisbury--Saturday. +And _Mo_rrison--Monday, with Sunday obligingly omitted. Coincidence? +Hardly, hardly, dad!" + +"There's dirty work at the crossroads, all right, my son," said the +Inspector with a sudden grin. "This doesn't make any impression on +me as far as the murder is concerned, but it's mighty interesting +nevertheless. Code, by George!" + +"If the murder is worrying you," retorted Ellery, "harken to my point +number five.... We have five dates so far. April thirteenth, April +twenty-first, April twenty-ninth, May seventh, and May sixteenth. Let +us suppose, for the sake of blessed argument, that there is a sixth +book somewhere in limbo. Then, by all the laws of probability, that +sixth book, if it exists, should bear a date eight days from Monday the +sixteenth of May, which is--" + +The Inspector leaped to his feet. "Why, this is extraordinary, Ellery," +he cried. "Tuesday, May twenty-fourth--the day of...." His voice fell +flatly in a curious disappointment. "No, that's not the day of the +murder; it's the day _after_ the murder." + +"Now, dad," laughed Ellery, "don't go moping so soon because of a +little thing like that. It _is_ extraordinary, as you say. If a sixth +book is extant, then it bears the date of May twenty-fourth. If we can +do nothing else at this time, we can certainly suppose the existence of +that sixth book. The continuity is too compelling. Things don't merely +happen that way.... This problematical sixth book gives us our first +definite link between the books and the crime.... Dad, has it occurred +to you that our criminal had to _do_ something on Tuesday morning, the +twenty-fourth of May?" + +The Inspector stared at him. "You think the book--" + +"Oh, I think so many things," said Ellery ruefully, rising and +stretching his lean figure. "But it does seem to me that we have every +reason to believe in the existence of a sixth book. And there is only +one possible clue to that sixth book...." + +"It's author's name begins with _Tu_," said the Inspector quickly. + +"Exactly." Ellery gathered up the tell-tale volumes and stowed them +carefully away in a drawer of a large desk. He returned to the table +and looked thoughtfully down at his father's grey head with its tiny +pink bald spot. + +"All night," he said, "I have felt that one person alone can furnish +me--willingly--with the missing information.... Dad, there is a story +behind these codified books, and the story is undoubtedly tied up with +the crime. I am so positive of that that I'll bet you a dinner at +Pietro's." + +"I don't bet," growled the Inspector, twinkling, "at least with you, +you dunderhead. And who's this know-it-all?" + +"Westley Weaver," replied Ellery. "And he doesn't know it all. I +believe that he is withholding some information which to him is +meaningless, but which to us may mean a solution of the mystery. I +believe that if for any reason he is deliberately withholding this +information, that reason concerns Marion French. Poor Wes thinks +Marion is up to her knees in the muck of this thing. And perhaps he's +right--who knows? At any rate, if there's one person in this whole +investigation whom I trust implicitly it's Westley. He's a little dense +at times, but he's the real thing.... I do believe I'll have a little +chat with Westley. It may do us all good to have him down here for a +round-table discussion." + +He took up the telephone and gave the number of the French store. The +Inspector watched him dubiously as he waited. + +"Wes? This is Ellery Queen.... Can you jump into a cab, Westley, and +come down to my place for a half-hour or so? It's quite important.... +Yes, drop everything and come over." + + + + + 26 + + THE TRAIL TO BERNICE + + +The Inspector prowled about the apartment in a fever of restlessness. +Ellery completed his toilet in the bedroom and listened calmly to his +father's occasional outbursts of invective against fate, crime and +police commissioners. Djuna, silent as ever, removed the breakfast +things from the living-room table and retired to his kitchenette. + +"Of course," said the Inspector in a more lucid moment, "Prouty did say +that he and Knowles were pretty sure Mrs. French was sitting down when +the second shot was fired. That corroborates part of your analysis, +anyway." + +"It helps," said Ellery, struggling with his shoes. "Expert testimony +never hurt any trial, especially when the experts are men like Prouty +and Knowles." + +Queen snorted. "You haven't seen as many trials as I have.... But +what gets me is that revolver. Knowles says the bullets are from one +of those black .38 Colts that you can buy for a dime a dozen from any +'fence.' Of course, if Knowles could get hold of the gun, he could +absolutely establish that the bullets were shot from it, because +they still retain enough barrel marks of a unique character to make +identification positive. Incidentally, they're both from the same gun. +But how on earth can we get hold of it?" + +"You're riddling," said Ellery. "_I_ don't know." + +"And without the gun we're terribly short of vital evidence. It isn't +in the French store--the boys have searched from cellar to roof. Then +the murderer took it away with him. Too much to expect that we'll ever +get our hands on it." + +"Well," remarked Ellery, putting on a smoking-jacket, "I shouldn't be +so positive. Criminals do stupid things, dad, as you know better than +I. Although I will admit that--" + +The doorbell rang imperiously and Ellery started in astonishment. "Why, +that can't be Westley so soon!" + +The Inspector and Ellery went into the library and found a very +dignified little Djuna ushering William Crouther, the French store +detective, into the room. Crouther was flushed and excited; he began to +speak at once. + +"Morning, gentlemen, morning!" he cried genially. "Resting up after a +hard day, eh, Inspector? Well, I think I've got something you'll be +interested in--yes, sir, that's a fact." + +"Glad to see you, Crouther," lied the Inspector, while Ellery's eyes +narrowed as if in anticipation of the news Crouther had to transmit. +"Sit down, man, and tell us all about it." + +"Thank you, thank you, Inspector," said Crouther, sinking into the +Inspector's sacred armchair with an explosive sigh. "I haven't been +exactly sleeping myself," he announced as a preliminary, chuckling. +"Did considerable flat-footing last night and I've been on the go since +six this morning." + +"Honest toil requireth no reward before heaven," murmured Ellery. + +"Eh?" Crouther seemed puzzled, but a grin spread over his florid face +as he fumbled in his breast-pocket and produced two oily cigars. +"Little joke, eh, Mr. Queen? Smoke, Inspector? You, Mr. Queen?... Don't +mind if I do myself." He lit the cigar and flicked the burnt match +carelessly into the fireplace. A pained spasm passed over the face of +Djuna, who was removing the last traces of the breakfast meal from the +table. Djuna was tyrannical when his household was upset. He cast a +venomous glance at Crouther's broad back and stumped away into the +kitchenette. + +"Well, Crouther, what is it?" demanded the Inspector with a crackle of +impatience in his voice. "Spill it, spill it!" + +"Right you are, Inspector." Crouther lowered his voice mysteriously, +leaning forward toward the two men and emphasizing his forthcoming +remarks with the butt of his fuming cigar. "What do you think I've been +doing?" + +"We haven't the slightest idea," said Ellery, with interest. + +"I've--been--on--the--trail--of--Bernice Carmody!" whispered Crouther +in a vibrant bass voice. + +"Oh!" The Inspector was patently disappointed. He regarded Crouther +morosely. "Is that all? I've got a squad of my best men on the same +job, Crouther." + +"Well," said Crouther, leaning back and flicking ashes on the +carpet, "I didn't exactly expect you to kiss me at that statement, +Inspector--that's a fact.... But," his voice lowered cunningly again, +"I'll bet your men didn't get what I got!" + +"Oh, you got something, did you?" asked the Inspector quickly. "Now, +that _is_ news, Crouther. Sorry I was so hasty.... Just what is it +you've dug up?" + +Crouther leered triumphantly. "The trail of the girl out of the city!" + +Ellery's eyes flickered with sincere surprise. "You got that far, did +you?" He turned to his father with a smile. "That seems to be one on +Velie, dad." + +The Inspector looked disgruntled and curious at the same time. "I'll be +hanged for a rascal!" he muttered. "How did you do it and what's the +dope exactly, Crouther?" + +"It was this way," said Crouther promptly, crossing his legs and +puffing smoke into the air. He seemed to be enjoying himself hugely. +"I've worked all along--with due respect to you and your boys, +Inspector--on the idea that this Bernice Carmody was done away with. +Kidnapped, murdered--I don't know--but somethin' like that. I felt that +she didn't do the job, although the signs do point to her, and that's a +fact.... So I took the liberty of snoopin' around the French house last +night and seeing what I could see about how the girl got out of the +place. Saw this housekeeper up there and she told me what she told you, +I guess. Don't mind, Inspector?... Anyway, I found out too about that +'special' who saw her walkin' down the Drive toward 72nd Street. That +set me going, and before I got stuck I'd traced her a long way. I found +a cruising cab-driver who said he picked up a woman of her description +on West End Avenue and 72nd. Private cab, it is; and I guess I was just +lucky, that's all. This whole business of trailing is part luck and +part perspiration--fact, ain't it, Inspector?" + +"Ummh," said the Inspector sourly. "You've certainly put one over on +Tom Velie. What then? Get any more?" + +"Sure did!" Crouther relit his cigar. "Driver took the girl to the +Hotel Astor. She told him to wait for her. She went into the lobby and +in about two minutes came out again with a tall blond man dressed kind +of swell, and carrying a suitcase. They piled into the cab. Driver +said the girl seemed kind of scared, but she didn't say anything, and +the tall man told him to take 'em for a drive through Central Park. +In the Park, just about the middle, man tapped on the window and told +the driver to stop--they were goin' to get out. That was what made the +driver kind of leery, anyway--couldn't ever remember anybody payin' +off in the middle of the Park. But he didn't say anything, and the +blond gent paid the fare and told him to drive off. He did, but not +before he'd caught a look at the girl's face. She was pale and sort +of half-shot--looked drunk, he said. So he just moved off slow and +careless, and kept his eyes open. And sure enough, he saw the pair of +'em go over to a parked car not fifty feet away, get in, and right away +the car shot out of the Park goin' uptown!" + +"Well," said the Inspector in a hushed voice, "that's quite a +story. We'll have to look over this cab-driver.... Did he catch the +license-number of the car?" + +"Too far away," said Crouther, scowling for an instant. Then his face +cleared. "But he wasn't too far away to spot the fact that it had a +Massachusetts license-plate." + +"Excellent, Crouther, excellent!" cried Ellery suddenly, springing to +his feet. "Thank goodness some one has kept his head about him! What +kind of car was it--did your man see?" + +"Yep," grinned Crouther, expanding under the praise. "Closed +car--sedan--dark blue--and a Buick. How's that?" + +"Mighty nice work," said the Inspector grudgingly. "How did the girl +act on the trip over to the other automobile?" + +"Well, the driver couldn't see so well," said Crouther, "but he did +tell me that the girl sort of stumbled and the tall man grabbed her arm +and sort of forced her." + +"Slick, slick!" muttered the Inspector. "Did he catch a glimpse of the +driver in the closed car?" + +"Nope. But there must have been some one in the Buick, because our man +says the couple climbed into the back, and then the car streaked it +right out of the Park." + +"How about this tall blond man, Crouther?" asked Ellery, puffing +furiously at his cigaret. "We should be able to get a fairly complete +description of him from the taxicab driver." + +Crouther scratched his head. "Never thought of askin' the guy," he +confessed. "Here, Inspector--how about your boys taking it up from +where I've left off? I got plenty of work at the store, now that things +are shot to pieces down there.... Want this driver's name and address?" + +"Certainly." The Inspector wrestled inwardly with a spiritual problem +as Crouther wrote out the name and address. When the store detective +handed it to him it was evident that virtue had won, for he smiled +weakly and stretched out his hand. "Let me congratulate you, Crouther. +That was a good night's work!" + +Crouther pumped the Inspector's hand up and down heartily, grinning. +"Glad to help, Inspector--that's a fact. Just goes to prove that us +boys on the outside _do_ know a thing or two, eh? I always say--" + +The doorbell trilled, relieving the Inspector of the embarrassment of +having his hand held. Ellery and the old man looked at each other for a +fleeting instant. Then Ellery sprang toward the door. + +"Expecting company, Inspector?" asked Crouther broadly. "Don't want to +butt in. I guess I'd better--" + +"No, no, Crouther, stay right where you are! I have an idea you may +come in handy," called Ellery rapidly, as he made for the door in the +anteroom. + +Crouther beamed and sat down again. + +Ellery threw open the door. Westley Weaver, his hair rumpled, a worried +look on his face, walked hurriedly into the apartment. + + + + + 27 + + THE SIXTH BOOK + + +Weaver shook hands all round, expressed surprise at the presence of +Crouther--who shuffled his feet awkwardly and grinned--rubbed his +face with one nervous hand, and then sat down, waiting. He eyed the +Inspector apprehensively. + +Ellery, noting this, smiled. "No cause for neurosis, Wes," he said +gently. "This isn't quite a third degree. Have a cigaret, make +yourself comfortable, and listen for a moment." + +They drew chairs around the table. Ellery looked at his fingernails +thoughtfully. + +"We've been muddling over those books I picked up on the desk in +French's apartment," he began. "And we've discovered some interesting +things there." + +"Books?" exclaimed Crouther in a bewildered way. + +"Books?" echoed Weaver, but his tone was flat and unconvincing. + +"Yes," repeated Ellery, "books. The five volumes that you saw me +puzzling over. Westley," and he looked full into the young man's eyes, +"I have an idea that somewhere at the back of your mind is a lump +of information that we can use. Information about these volumes. To +be perfectly frank, I noticed a queer hesitancy on your part when I +first got my hooks into them. Just what are your scruples--if you have +any--about this story I've laid to you--if there is a story?" + +Weaver flushed violently, began to stammer. "Why, Ellery, I never--" + +"Look here, Wes." Ellery leaned forward. "There's something on your +mind. If it's Marion, let me tell you here and now that none of us has +the slightest suspicion of the girl. There may be something behind her +nervous attitude, but whatever it is, it isn't criminal, and probably +has little to do directly with the murder of Mrs. French.... Does that +sweep away any scruples in your mind?" + +Weaver stared at his friend for a long time. The Inspector and Crouther +sat quietly. Then the young man spoke--in a different voice this time, +a voice colored with a new confidence. "Yes, it does," he said slowly. +"Marion _has_ been on my mind, and her possible connection with the +affair has made me not quite so frank as I might have been. And I do +know something about those books." + +Ellery smiled with satisfaction. They waited in silence for Weaver to +collect his thoughts. + +"You've had occasion," said Weaver at last, lapsing into a clear +narrative tone, "to mention a man by the name of Springer. I believe +his name arose when you were looking over the night-watchman's chart, +Inspector. You remember that on Monday evening Springer didn't leave +the building until seven o'clock, and that I followed him out directly +after. These facts were recorded on O'Flaherty's chart." + +"Springer?" Ellery frowned. The Inspector nodded. + +Weaver looked hesitantly at Crouther and then turned to the Inspector. +"Is it all right--?" he began in some embarrassment. + +Ellery replied at once for his father. "Perfectly, Wes. Crouther has +been in on the case from the beginning, and I imagine he may be of help +in the future as well. Go ahead." + +"Very well, then," said Weaver. Crouther sank back into his chair +complacently. "About two months ago--I forget the exact date--the +Accounting Department brought to the attention of Mr. French certain +suspicious irregularities in the Book Department. Springer, of course, +is head of the department. The irregularities were of a financial +nature, and it was thought that receipts were not commensurate with +the volume of business. It was a confidential matter, and the Old Man +was quite upset about it. There was nothing definite in the Accounting +Department's suspicions, and because the whole business was vague, the +accountants were ordered to forget all about it temporarily, and the +Old Man asked me to conduct a little private investigation of my own." + +"Springer, hey?" scowled Crouther. "Funny I didn't hear about it, Mr. +Weaver." + +"Mr. French didn't believe," explained Weaver, "that too many people +should know about it. The suspicions were just nebulous enough to call +for secrecy. And because I handle most of the matters connected with +the Old Man personally, he turned to me rather than to any one else.... +I couldn't, of course," continued Weaver wearily, "do any scouting +around during the working day. Springer himself was always there. So I +was compelled to do my investigating after hours. I had been checking +up sales slips and records for about three or four days in the Book +Department, after everybody had left the building, as I thought, when +one evening I got wind of something queer. I might say that my few +nights' snooping hadn't got me anywhere--everything seemed all right." + +The Queens and Crouther were listening now with strained attention. + +"The night I've referred to," went on Weaver, "I was about to enter the +Book Department when I noticed an unusual brightness--a number of lamps +were lit up. My first thought was that somebody was working overtime, +and when I looked in cautiously the thought seemed corroborated. It +was Springer, alone, pottering about in the aisles of the Department. +I don't know exactly what made me keep out of sight--perhaps it was +the fact that I was already suspicious of him--but I did, and watched +curiously to see what he was doing. + +"I saw him go over to one of the wall-shelves, after looking around +with a furtive air, and swiftly take down a book. He took a long patent +pencil from his pocket and, opening the book somewhere at the back, he +made a rapid notation with the pencil. He snapped the book shut, made +some sort of mark on the back-board, and immediately placed the book on +a different shelf. I noted that he seemed quite anxious about _how_ he +placed the book; he fussed with it for several moments before he seemed +satisfied. And that was all. He entered his private office in the rear +and reappeared shortly after wearing his hat and coat. He then walked +out of the Department, almost brushing by me as I stood huddled in a +little alcove in the shadow. A few moments later the lights, except for +one or two bulbs kept lit all night, snapped out. I found out later +that he had checked out the regular way, informing the night-watchman +that he was through for the night, and that O'Flaherty should have the +switch for the book section turned off." + +"That doesn't seem so flukey to me," said Crouther. "Probably just part +of his job." + +"When you're looking for suspicious activity," said the Inspector +vaguely, "you can generally find it." + +"I had something of the same thought," replied Weaver. "It was a trifle +peculiar to find Springer working overtime in the first place--the +practice is rather discouraged by Mr. French. But then the incident +itself might be perfectly innocent. I did go over to that shelf after +Springer had gone and inquisitively I took down the book he had just +placed there. I turned to the back and on an inside leaf I found in +pencil a date and a street-and-number address." + +"An address?" Both Ellery and the Inspector exclaimed simultaneously. +"What was it?" demanded the Inspector. + +"I forget just now," said Weaver, "but I have a note of it in my +pocket. Would you like--?" + +"Never mind the address at the moment," said Ellery with a curious +calm. "I'm not quite clear on this matter of the five books I took from +French's desk. Are they the actual books Springer marked?" + +"No, they're not," replied Weaver. "But perhaps I had better give +you my story in something like a sequence of incidents. It's rather +complicated.... After noticing the date and address, which I couldn't +figure out at all as far as a possible meaning was concerned, I +examined the back-board on which I had seen Springer write something. +I found it was merely a light pencil-line under the name of the author." + +"That back-board fascinated me from the moment you mentioned it," mused +Ellery. "Are you sure, Westley, that the mark was under the _entire_ +name? Wasn't it perhaps under _the first two letters_?" + +Weaver stared. "Why, so it was," he cried. "But how on earth could you +know, Ellery?" + +"Guess-work," said Ellery negligently. "But it follows. No wonder," he +said, turning to his father, "I couldn't get more out of these books, +dad. They aren't the originals.... Go on, Wes." + +"I had no reason then," continued Weaver, "to take decisive action +about that book. I merely noted the address and date and, after +slipping the book back into the exact place in which Springer had +originally set it, I went about my business of checking up on +Springer's records. As a matter of fact, I forgot about the whole +thing. It wasn't until the following week--nine days, to be exact--that +the incident was recalled to my mind." + +"Springer did the same thing, I'll bet!" cried Crouther. + +"Bravo, Crouther," murmured Ellery. + +Weaver smiled fleetingly and went on. "Yes, under the same +circumstances Springer did the same thing, and because I had gone down +into the Book Department on my regular nightly check-up, I caught +him at it again. This time I was puzzled to note that he repeated +his performance of the week before in every detail. And the business +still didn't register any meaning in my mind. I merely jotted down +the address and date once more--they were different from the previous +week's, incidentally--and went about my business. It wasn't until the +third week--after eight days had passed--that my suspicions began to +function a little more actively." + +"Then," said Ellery, "you took a duplicate of the book, and the book +was _Fourteenth Century Trade and Commerce_, by a gentleman named Stani +Wedjowski." + +"Correct," said Weaver. "On that third occasion, it came to me that the +addresses were of vital importance. What that importance was I had no +idea. But I realized that the books were there for some purpose, and I +decided to try a little experiment. In the case of the Wedjowski book, +after Springer had gone I got another copy of the book, marked the date +in the back for reference, made a private note of the new address, and +took the duplicate book back upstairs with me to study. Perhaps, I +thought, there's something _about_ this book that will enlighten me. I +left the original exactly where Springer had placed it, naturally. + +"I studied that book until I was blue in the face. I couldn't +make a thing of it. And I repeated my tactics for the next four +weeks--Springer did his mysterious little job every eight days, I +noticed--and studied my duplicate books very assiduously. They didn't +make sense, and I was getting desperate. I might add that all this +time I had been keeping tabs on Springer's records, and I was just +beginning to see light. Springer was taking advantage of the one +flaw in the departmental system, and was falsifying his accounts in +a devilishly clever manner. And then I knew that the books must have +some significance--whether connected with my own investigation or not +I didn't know. But I had no doubt now that they signified something +crooked. + +"At any rate, by the sixth week I was quite desperate. This was Monday +evening--the night of the murder, although I had no idea of what was +going to happen within a few hours. I watched Springer as usual, saw +him go through the customary ritual, and leave. But this time I meant +to do a daring thing. _I took the original book._" + +"Good for you!" cried Ellery. He lit a cigaret with unsteady fingers. +"Brilliant, in fact. Go on, Wes; this is tremendously exciting." The +Inspector said nothing; Crouther regarded Weaver with a new respect. + +"I duplicated the markings in another book exactly and placed it where +Springer had left the original, which I took away with me. I had to +do these things in a hurry, because I meant to follow Springer that +night to see if I could get any clue from his movements. I was in luck, +because he had stopped to chat with O'Flaherty. As I dashed out of the +building, Springer's latest book under my arm, I was just in time to +see him turn the corner on Fifth Avenue." + +"Regular detective," remarked Crouther admiringly. + +"Well, hardly," laughed Weaver. "At any rate I followed Springer's +wandering trail all evening. He had dinner alone in a Broadway +restaurant and then went to a movie. I stuck to his trail like the fool +I am, I suppose, because he did nothing at all suspicious, telephoned +no one, spoke to no one, all evening. Finally, about midnight, he got +home--he lives in the Bronx in an apartment house. I watched that house +for an hour--even pussyfooted up to the floor on which his apartment +is. But Springer stayed in. And so I finally went home, still carrying +Springer's book, but no wiser when I left him than when I'd begun to +follow." + +"Nevertheless," said the Inspector, "you showed good judgment in +sticking to him." + +"What's the title of that sixth book and where is it? How does it +happen that I didn't find it among the five others in French's +apartment? You put the five books there, of course?" asked Ellery +rapidly. + +"One at a time," pleaded Weaver, smiling. "The book is _Modern Trends +in Interior Decoration_, by Lucian Tucker...." Ellery and the Inspector +exchanged glances at Weaver's mention of the author's name. "You didn't +find it among the other five because I didn't leave it there. I took it +home with me. You see, I felt all along that the duplicates weren't +important. It was evidently the originals that counted. Perhaps I was +wrong, but I certainly figured that the sixth, being an original, was +more precious than the other five. So I put it in a safe place Monday +night when I got home--my own bedroom. As for the five, the reason I +kept them at the store was that I was studying them at odd moments and +wanted them handy. I didn't want to bother the Old Man about them and +the whole business, because he was having his hands full negotiating +this merger with Whitney, and he always leaves details to me, anyway. +So I merely slipped each book, as I got it, between the book-ends on +the Old Man's desk. I also took away one of the Old Man's books to keep +the count similar, and merely hid them in the bookcase, behind odd +volumes there. In this way, by the end of five weeks the Old Man's five +books had entirely disappeared into the bookcase, and the duplicates of +Springer's books were between the book-ends. I meant to explain if the +Old Man noticed the new volumes on his desk, but he didn't, so I didn't +bother. Those 'favorites' of his are mere atmosphere, anyhow; he'd got +so accustomed to seeing them there on his desk that he sort of took it +for granted they were still there, even though he was up and about that +desk every day for weeks. It often happens that way.... As for Springer +noticing the strange books on the desk, that was impossible. Springer +never had occasion to come to Mr. French's apartment." + +"Then I take it," demanded Ellery, with a creeping light of animation +in his eyes, "that you put the five books between the book-ends week +for week? In other words, that the first book, the Wedjowski thing, was +on that desk six weeks ago?" + +"Exactly." + +"That's _most_ interesting," said Ellery, and subsided in his chair. + +The Inspector stirred into action. "Here, Weaver, let's have a look at +those addresses. You have them on you, I think you said?" + +For answer, Weaver took a small notebook from his breast-pocket and +extracted a slip of paper. The Inspector, Ellery and Crouther bent +curiously over to read the seven addresses. + +"Well, I'll be--" The Inspector's voice was hushed, quietly throbbing. +"Ellery, do you know what these are? Here are _two_ addresses that +Fiorelli's boys have had under suspicion for weeks as depots for the +distribution of dope!" + +Ellery dropped back thoughtfully, while Crouther and Weaver stared at +each other. "I'm not particularly surprised," said Ellery. "Two, eh? +That means all seven are probably dope-distributing headquarters ... +changed from week to week ... clever, no doubt about it!" Suddenly he +started forward. "Wes!" he almost shouted, "the sixth address! Where is +it? Quickly!" + +Weaver hastily produced another memorandum. The address was a number on +East 98th Street. + +"Dad," said Ellery at once, "this is remarkable luck. Do you realize +what we've in our hands? _Yesterday's dope depot!_ The date--May +twenty-fourth--Tuesday--the trail is so hot it sparks!" + +"By the lord Harry," muttered the Inspector, "you're right. If that +98th Street place should still be tenanted--I can't see why not--" He +sprang to his feet and reached for the telephone. He gave the number +of Police Headquarters and in a moment was speaking to Sergeant Velie. +He spoke rapidly, had his call switched to the office of the Narcotic +Squad. He spoke tersely to Fiorelli, head of the Squad, and hung up. + +"I've just tipped off Fiorelli and they're going to raid that 98th +Street address immediately," he said briskly, taking a pinch of +snuff with practiced fingers. "They're taking Thomas with them, and +they'll stop here to pick us up. I want to be in on this one!" His jaw +stiffened grimly. + +"Raid, hey?" Crouther rose and tightened his muscles. "Mind if I go +along, Inspector? Be a picnic for me--that's a fact!" + +"No objection at all, Crouther," said the Inspector absently. "You +deserve a bit of the show, anyway.... Fiorelli has raided those two +addresses I recognized, but in each case the birds had shut up shop and +disappeared. Let's hope they haven't had time in this case!" + +Ellery opened his mouth as if to speak, then clamped his lips together +very firmly. He became thoughtful at once. + +Weaver seemed confounded by the bombshell he had caused to explode. He +subsided limply in his chair. + + + + + 28 + + UNRAVELING THREADS + + +They all looked at Ellery in sudden disquiet. Crouther, his mouth +half-open, shut it and began to scratch his head. Weaver and the +Inspector shifted heavily in their chairs at the same instant. + +Ellery without a word stepped into the kitchenette. His low voice was +heard murmuring to Djuna. Ellery reappeared, fumbled for his pince-nez +and began to twirl it idly. "The uneasy thought just struck me--and +yet," his face brightened, "it isn't so bad at that!" + +He replaced his glasses on his thin nose and rose to his feet, pacing +leisurely up and down before the table. Djuna slipped out of the +kitchenette and left the apartment. + +"While we're waiting for the squad wagon," Ellery said, "we may as well +go over some of the ground, in the light of these newest disclosures of +Westley's. + +"Does anybody doubt now that French's is being used as an important +medium for drug distribution?" + +He challenged them lightly with his eyes. An angry glare lit up +Crouther's heavy features. + +"Say, Mr. Queen, that's pretty rough on me," he barked. "I'm not +denying this Springer guy is a crook--don't see how it could be +otherwise--but how do you figure out a dope ring's been operating right +under our noses at the store?" + +"Keep your shirt on, Crouther," said Ellery mildly. "They've merely +put one over on the French establishment. What an opportunity," he +went on, in the tone of one who finds much to admire, "for a drug +ring! Using a no doubt simple code, which is already fairly clarified +in my mind, transmitting it through innocent books, and setting the +whole business in the respectable domain of the head of the Anti-Vice +League himself! That's a stroke of genius, that is.... Look here. There +can't be an alternative. We find at intervals of eight days--the only +exception being one of nine, and this is plausibly accounted for by +the intervention of Sunday--the head of the Book Department marking an +address in--and this is one of the beautiful elements of the scheme--in +little-used, stodgy books.... Did you notice that the date in each book +was _not_ the date when Springer prepared it? No, in every case it was +for the day _following_. The book marked Wednesday, by the author whose +name began with WE, was placed on the _same_ shelf ... it was the same +shelf every week, wasn't it, Wes?" + +"Yes." + +"The book marked for Wednesday, then, was placed on the same shelf +as all the others on Tuesday evening. The Thursday book on Wednesday +evening the week following, and soon. What could this possibly mean? +Obviously, that Springer didn't allow too much time to elapse between +the evening he prepared the book with the address and _the time it was +to be picked up_!" + +"Picked up?" demanded the Inspector. + +"Of course. Everything points to a well-constructed plan of +operation in which Springer's main job was to inform some one of an +address through the medium of a book. If Springer could inform that +problematical person or persons by word of mouth, why the complicated +book-code system? No. The probability is that Springer knows the people +who come in to pick up his doctored volumes, but that they, being mere +pawns, don't know him. But this is really beside the point. The crux of +the matter is that Springer would not allow the prepared book to linger +on the shelf too long. It might be purchased; the address in it might +inadvertently be noticed by a stranger. Dad, if you were in Springer's +place, how would you arrange _the time_ when the book should be picked +up?" + +"Seems clear. If Springer prepared it at night, then he would have it +picked up in the morning." + +Ellery smiled. "Exactly. What risk then does he run? He writes the +address in the book after hours, when the book cannot be removed that +night in a legitimate way by an outsider; and the very next morning +the appointed messenger takes it from its place on the shelf--a place +of course set definitely when the plan was originally concocted. The +chances are, in fact, that the messenger arrives as early as possible +the next morning--perhaps as soon as the store opens, at nine o'clock. +He browses around, goes over to the shelf finally, picks up the book he +knows about in advance through a sign which I'll explain in a moment, +pays for it in the regular way and walks out with his information under +his arm--safe, clean and ridiculously easy. + +"Now! There are a few inferences to be drawn. We must suppose that +when the messenger arrives in the morning he has no contact with +Springer--really, everything points to this complete alienation +between Springer and the messenger, with one or both ignorant of the +other's identity. Then the only clue the messenger has to the book +fixed the night before is a code, or system, arranged beforehand. +That's just common sense. But what could the code be? And that is the +beautiful part of the plan. + +"Why, I asked myself, was it necessary to the plan to have the +author's name--at least its first two letters--coincide with the first +two letters of the day on which the book was to be picked up by the +messenger? The question is answered if we suppose complete ignorance +of detail on the part of the messenger. If, when he got his job, +his first instructions, he was told the following, then the whole +procedure becomes clear: 'Every week you are to call at the French Book +Department for a book which will contain an address. The book will be +on the top shelf of the fourth tier of book-racks situated in such +and such a place in the Department. The book will always be on that +shelf.... Now. Every week you are to call on a different day. Eight +days apart, to be exact. Except when Sunday intervenes, and then it +will be nine days--from the preceding Saturday to the following Monday. +Let us say the morning you are due to call for the book is a Wednesday. +Then the book you should pick up will be by an author whose last name +begins with a _WE_, to correspond to the _WE_ of Wednesday. To make +identification absolutely positive, and to get you out of the Book +Department as quickly as possible, so that you will not be compelled +to rummage through every book on that shelf, a light pencil-mark will +appear on the first two letters of the author's name, positively +identifying the proper volume. You pick up the book, look at the back +inner leaf to make sure the address is there, then buy the book and +walk out of the store.'... Does that sound plausible?" + +There was a vehement chorus of assents from the three men. + +"It's a devilishly ingenious scheme," said Ellery thoughtfully, "if a +little complicated. Really, though, the complications iron themselves +away with the passage of time. The beauty of the plan is that the +messenger needs his instructions _only once_, the first time, and he +can carry on indefinitely, for months, without a slip-up.... The next +Thursday he has to look for a pencil-mark on a book whose author's +last name begins with _TH_; the Friday following, an _FR_; and so on. +What the messenger does with the book when he gets it is debatable. +From the look of things, this is a highly centralized society of drug +distributors, with the pawns in the game knowing as little as possible +about the business at hand, probably being kept in complete ignorance +of the ringleader or leaders. The question naturally arises--" + +"But why," asked Weaver, "that period of _eight_ days? Why not merely +every week on the same day?" + +"A good question, and it has, I think, a simple answer," replied +Ellery. "These people were taking not the slightest chance of a +slip-up. If a certain person came into the Book Department at nine +o'clock _every Monday_, he might after a time be noticed and remarked +on. But coming in on a Monday, then a Tuesday, then a Wednesday, all +a week and a day apart, there was little likelihood that he would be +remembered." + +"My God, what a racket!" muttered Crouther. "No wonder we never got +wind of it!" + +"Clever's no name for it," sighed the Inspector. "Then you think, +Ellery, that the addresses are all local 'joints' for the selling of +the dope?" + +"No question about it," said Ellery, lighting another cigaret. "And +while we're remarking about cleverness, how does this strike you? +The ring never uses the same address twice! That's patent from the +different address each week. And it's apparent, too, that their system +of distribution makes it a methodical weekly affair. Your Narcotic +Squad has a chance to ferret out a drug depot if it's used week after +week; people notice suspicious activity, perhaps; the address and the +word go around through the grapevine of the underworld. But how can +your Squad ever get on the track of a gang which uses a _different_ +depot every week? Why, the scheme is amazing. As it is, Fiorelli did +get wind of two of the addresses through informers or stool-pigeons; +the fact that he didn't get any other shows how holeproof the plot +really is. And of course, when he raided the places, he found the ring +gone--cleared out. They probably have an afternoon _soirée_ week after +week and dismantle the place immediately after the last customer's gone. + +"Now consider how safe the ring really is. They must have a regular +channel of communication with their customers--and I suspect it's a +limited list. Too many would be dangerous by their very numbers. That +means, then, that the customers are wealthy, probably society people, +who get a weekly tipoff by telephone, we'll say--just an address. They +know the rest. And what can the customer do? What does he _want_ to do? +We all know the desperate, uncontrollable craving of the addict for his +drug. Here he has a safe source of supply, and what's more important, a +regular source of supply. No--the customers aren't blabbing. What could +be sweeter?" + +"It staggers the imagination," muttered the Inspector. "What a plan! +But if we clean them up this time--!" + +"I need only refer to the well-known cup and the better-known lip," +laughed Ellery. "However, we'll see. + +"Some questions arise, as I began to say a few moments ago, more +directly applicable to the murder. We may certainly presume that +Bernice is--or was--one of the ring's customers. And I do believe +that shady, mysterious motive of which we haven't been able to grasp +the merest shadow, is beginning to emerge into daylight. Winifred +French was not an addict. She carried in her bag a lipstick belonging +to Bernice and filled with heroin.... And carried it to her death. +A strong line of incident, dad! Very, very strong.... Interesting, +isn't it, especially since we haven't been able to discover any other +motive for the crime? But motive won't mean much in the unraveling +of this case, I'm afraid; the big job is to corral the murderer and +also to round up the drug ring. A dual task which presents to my +deduction-weary mind a suggestion of difficulty.... + +"Another question. Is Springer pawn or king in this drug game? My guess +is--he's on the inside, knows all the facts, but is not top man. And +the question naturally arises, too--did Mr. Springer fire the lethal +weapon aimed at Mrs. French's heart? I'd rather not go into that at the +moment. + +"And finally, doesn't this business of the drug ring indicate that +Winifred's murder--and Bernice's disappearance--are integral parts of +the same crime, rather than two unrelated crimes? I think it does, but +I cannot see how we shall ever get to the truth of the matter unless--a +certain eventuality occurs. Deponent being temporarily out of wind, +deponent will sit down and think of the case _in toto_." + +And Ellery, without another word, seated himself and worried his +pince-nez in a thoroughly absent manner. + +The Inspector, Weaver and Crouther sighed all at once. + +They were sitting that way, silently, looking at each other, when +a short siren blast from the street below announced the arrival of +Fiorelli, Velie and the raiding party. + + + + + 29 + + RAID! + + +The police van, crammed with detectives and officers, rushed through +the West Side, headed uptown. Traffic opened magically before +its wailing siren. Hundreds of eyes followed its reckless course +wonderingly. + +The Inspector shouted to a grim and chagrined Velie, above the roar +of the exhaust, Crouther's story of the lone taxicab driver and the +mysterious automobile with the Massachusetts license-plate. The +Sergeant gloomily promised an immediate check-up on the chauffeur's +story and dissemination of the new information to all his operatives +on the trail of the vanished girl. Crouther sat chuckling by his side +as Velie took from the Inspector's hand the name and address of the +cab-driver. + +Weaver had been excused, and with the arrival of the van had left to +return to the French store. + +Fiorelli sat quietly chewing his fingernails. His face was haggard and +feverish as he pulled the Inspector to one side. + +"Had a bunch of boys beat it up to the 98th Street address beforehand +to surround the house," he boomed hoarsely. "Not taking any chances on +their doing a fade-away. The boys are keeping under cover, but they +won't let a rat slip through the net!" + +Ellery sat calmly in the van, watching the crowds jump into view and +disappear. His fingers thrummed a rhythmic tattoo on the iron mesh +obscuring the view. + +The powerful truck turned into 98th Street and dashed eastward. The +neighborhood thickened, grew squalid. As the van plunged further toward +the East River the on-rushing scene became one of ramshackle buildings +and ramshackle humanity.... + +At last the police car ground to a stop. A man in plain clothes had +stepped suddenly from a doorway into the middle of the street, +pointing meaningly toward a low, two-story building of rotten wood and +peeled paint, leaning crazily over the sidewalk as if the slightest +convulsion of nature would topple it, a brittle wreck, into the gutter. +The front door was closed. The windows were heavily shaded. The house +looked tenantless, lifeless. + +With the first grinding of the van's brakes, a dozen men in plain +clothes ran into view from odd corners and doorways. Several in the +dilapidated backyard of the house drew guns and advanced on the rear of +the building. An avalanche of policemen and detectives poured out of +the truck, headed by Fiorelli, Velie and the Inspector, Crouther close +behind, and ran up the crumbling wooden steps to the front door. + +Fiorelli pounded fiercely on the cracked panels. There was not a +whisper of audible response. At a sign from Inspector, Queen Velie +and Fiorelli put their formidable shoulders to the door and shoved. +The wood splintered and the door cracked back, revealing a dim, musty +interior, a broken old chandelier, and a flight of uncarpeted steps +leading up to a second floor. + +The police streamed into the building, investing both floors +simultaneously, opening doors, pushing into corners, guns ready. + +And Ellery, sauntering leisurely behind, openly amused at the +psychology of the gaping mob which had miraculously gathered outside +the house, kept back by the clubs of several bluecoats, saw at once +that the raid was a failure. + +The house was empty, without the least sign of occupancy. + + + + + 30 + + REQUIEM + + +They stood about in one of the dusty, deserted rooms--an old-fashioned +parlor, with the battered remains of a Victorian fireplace mutely +proclaiming its fall upon evil days--and talked quietly. Fiorelli was +beside himself with impotent rage. His dark beefy face was the color of +slate; he kicked a charred piece of wood across the room. Velie looked +glummer than usual. The Inspector took the unsuccessful termination of +the raid more philosophically. He inhaled snuff and sent one of the +detectives in search of a caretaker, or superintendent, if there was +one to be found in the neighborhood. + +Ellery said nothing. + +The detective returned shortly with a strapping, livid Negro. + +"Do you take care of this house?" asked the Inspector brusquely of the +Negro. + +The Negro removed his rusty derby and shuffled his feet. "'Spects so, +yassuh!" + +"What are you--janitor, superintendent?" + +"Kinda, suh. Ah takes care of a whole passel o' houses on dis block. +Rents 'em fo' de ownahs when a tenant comes 'long." + +"I see. Was this house occupied yesterday?" + +The Negro bobbed his head vigorously. "Yassuh! 'Bout fo'-five days ago +party comes 'long an' rents de whole house. Da's wha' de agent says +when he brung 'm down. Paid de agent cash money fo' a month. Saw it wiv +mah own eyes." + +"What sort of man was the tenant?" + +"Kinda shortish an' had a long black mustache, suh." + +"When did he move in?" + +"De nex' day--Sunday, Ah don' doubt. Van come moseyin' down wiv some +fu'niture." + +"Did you see the name of the van company on the truck?" + +"Nosuh, sho' didn't. Dey weren't none. One o' dese open trucks wiv de +sides covuhed wiv black ta'paulin. No name on de truck a-tall." + +"Did you see the man with the black mustache around much?" + +The Negro scratched his short woolly thatch. "Nosuh, kain't say Ah did. +Don't believe Ah seed him a-tall till yestiddy mo'nin'." + +"How was that?" + +"Dat's when he moved out agin, suh. Didn't say nuffin' to me, but jes' +about eleven o'clock in de mo'nin' de same truck she rolls up to de do' +and de two drivuhs dey goes into de house an' purty soon dey stahts +pilin' de fu'niture out o' de house an' into de truck. Didn't take 'em +long--dey wan't much fu'niture, an' den Ah sees de boss-man come out o' +de house, say sumpin' to de drivuhs, an' walk away. De truck went away, +too. Yassuh, an' de boss-man jes' flung dat key de agent gave'm right +out deah on de stoop o' de house befo' he walked off. Yassuh." + +The Inspector spoke in a low voice to Velie for a moment, then turned +back to the Negro. + +"Did you see anybody go into the house during the four days?" asked the +Inspector. "Especially Tuesday afternoon--yesterday?" + +"Why--yassuh, yestiddy, but not befo'. Mah old 'ooman, she sets out +yonduh gen'ally all day, an' she told me las' night dat dey was a +whole raft o' white folks comin' up to dat empty house all yestiddy +aftuhnoon. Dey was all kinda put out when dey saw de house was closed. +Oh, 'bout a dozen of 'em. Dey all went away quick." + +"That'll do," said the Inspector slowly. "Give your name and address +and the name of the realty company you're working for to that man over +there, and keep your mouth tight about all this. Remember!" + +The Negro stiffened, mumbled, stammered the required information to a +detective of the Narcotic Squad, and shuffled rapidly from the room. + +"Well, that settles it," said Inspector Queen to Velie, Fiorelli, +Ellery and Crouther, who were grouped together. "They got wind and beat +it. Something made 'em suspicious and they had to clear out--didn't +even have time to distribute the dope to their customers. There must be +a dozen mighty sick addicts in the city to-day." + +Fiorelli made a disgusted gesture. "Aw, let's fade," he growled. "They +got a jinx on me, that gang." + +"Tough luck," said Crouther. "That must have been fast work." + +"I'm going to trace that truck, if I can," said Velie. "Want to help, +Crouther?" He smiled sardonically. + +"Hey, lay off," said Crouther good-naturedly. + +"Don't quarrel, now," sighed the Inspector. "You might try, Thomas, but +I have a notion that's a privately owned truck that operates only on +the ring's jobs. And I suppose that now the gang is scared off, we'll +not pick up their trail again in a hurry. Eh, Ellery?" + +"I suggest," said Ellery, speaking for the first time since the raid, +"that we go home. We've met our Waterloo for--" he smiled sadly--"to +put it mildly, the nonce." + +Fiorelli and Velie mustered the squad of officers and took the police +van back to Headquarters, leaving a bluecoat on guard outside the 98th +Street shack. Crouther, poking Velie slyly in the ribs as the burly +Sergeant swung into the truck, departed early for the French store. + +"They'll be sendin' out an alarm for me," he grinned. "After all, I got +a job." + +He hailed a cruising taxicab which headed west and south. The Queens +followed suit in another cab. + +Ellery took out his thin silver watch in the car and stared at its dial +with amused eyes. The Inspector regarded him in a puzzled way. + +"I can't see why you want to go home," he grumbled. "I'm a long time +overdue at my office now. There must be a pile of work on my desk. I've +missed the morning line-up for the first time in months, and I suppose +Welles has called again, and--" + +Ellery stared fixedly at his watch, a faint smile on his lips. The +Inspector subsided, muttering. + +Ellery paid the cab-driver when the taxi drew up before their +brownstone on 87th Street, herded his father gently upstairs, and did +not speak until Djuna had closed the door behind them. + +"Ten minutes," he announced with satisfaction, snapping the watchcase +shut and returning the watch to his vest-pocket. "That's average time, +I should say, from 98th Street and the River to 87th Street on the +other side." He grinned and threw off his light coat. + +"Have you gone fay?" gasped the Inspector. + +"Like a fox," said Ellery. He took up the telephone and called +a number. "French's? Connect me with Mr. Springer in the Book +Department.... Hello, Book Department? Mr. Springer, please.... What? +Who is this speaking?... Oh, I see.... No, it's quite all right. Thank +you!" + +He hung up. + +The Inspector was twisting his mustache in an agony of apprehension. He +glared at Ellery. "Do you mean to say that Springer's--" he began in a +thunderous voice. + +Ellery seemed not perturbed. "I'm so glad," he said with sly +simplicity. "Mr. Springer, according to his young lady assistant, was +taken suddenly ill not five minutes ago and left in something of a +hurry, saying he would not return to-day." + +The old man sank into his chair worriedly. "How under heaven could I +have anticipated this?" he said. "I surely thought he'd keep until +later in the day. Return, he said, did he? We'll never set eyes on him +again!" + +"Oh, but you shall," said Ellery gently. + +And quoth Ellery: "'Preparation is half the battle, and nothing is lost +by being on one's guard.' The good Spanish don uttered a homely truth +there, padre!" + + + + + 31 + + ALIBIS: MARION-ZORN + + +Muttering imprecations upon the elusive head of James Springer, +the Inspector departed for a flying visit to Headquarters, leaving +Ellery hunched comfortably before the open dormer-window, smoking and +thinking. Djuna, in his uncanny simian way, sat motionless on the floor +at his feet, unblinking in the soft glare of sunlight streaming into +the room.... When the Inspector returned two hours later Ellery, still +smoking, was seated at the desk reading over a batch of notes. + +"Still at it?" asked Queen with quick concern, hurling his hat and coat +toward a chair. Djuna noiselessly picked them up and hung them in a +closet. + +"Still at it," rejoined Ellery. But there was a deep wrinkle between +his brows. He rose, looked reflectively at his notes, then with a sigh +replaced them in the desk and shrugged his shoulders. The wrinkle +disappeared, dissolved smoothly into small fine lines of humor as he +caught sight of his father's worried mustache and high color. + +"Nothing new downtown?" he asked sympathetically. He sat down at the +window again. + +Queen paced nervously up and down the rug. "Little enough. Thomas has +looked up that cab-driver of Crouther's--and we've driven up another +blind alley, it seems. The man gave us a pretty clear description of +this tall blond abductor, and of course we've flashed wires through +the entire East. Particularly Massachusetts. With a description of the +car and Bernice Carmody. Now I suppose we'll have to wait...." + +"Umm." Ellery flicked the ashes from his cigaret. "Waiting won't bring +Bernice Carmody back from the grave," he said in sudden earnestness. +"And there's still a chance she may be alive.... I shouldn't confine my +search to the northeast, dad. This gang is clever. They may have pulled +the old license-plate trick. They may actually have headed south, +changed cars--any one of a dozen things. In fact, if you found Bernice +Carmody, dead or alive, right here in New York City, it wouldn't +surprise me in the least. After all, the trail ended in Central +Park...." + +"Thomas has his eyes open and his beaters out," said the Inspector +disconsolately. "And he's up to the tricks as well as you, my son. If +there's the faintest spoor, he'll follow it--and get not only the girl +but the man too." + +"_Cherchez la femme_," said Ellery lightly.... He sat musing. The +Inspector placed his hands behind his small back and strode up and +down, eying Ellery in a puzzled manner meanwhile. + +"Marion French called me at Headquarters," he stated suddenly. + +Ellery's head lifted slowly. "Yes?" + +The old man chuckled. "I thought that would get you!... Yes, the girl +called several times this morning while I was here, and when I finally +got to the office she seemed quite feverish with--well, not excitement +exactly, but anticipation. So, being thoughtful of you, my son--which +is more than you can say about yourself, incidentally--I asked her to +meet me here." + +Ellery merely smiled. + +"I suppose Weaver's been talking to her," continued the Inspector +grumpily. + +"Dad!" Ellery laughed outright. "Occasionally you positively startle me +with your insight...." + +The doorbell rang, and Djuna ran to answer it. Marion French, dressed +in a severe black suit and a pert little black hat, her chin set at a +charmingly defiant angle, stood outside. + +Ellery sprang to his feet, his fingers straying to his tie. The +Inspector stepped forward quickly and opened wide the anteroom door. + +"Come in, come in, Miss French!" He was all smiles and fatherliness. +Marion smiled bewilderingly at Djuna and greeted the Inspector in a +grave undertone as she walked into the living-room. She blushed at +Ellery's warm words of welcome. And sat down in the Inspector's own +armchair at his magnanimous command, perched on the edge of the leather +seat, hands tightly clasped, chiseled lips firm. + +Ellery stood by the window. The Inspector drew up a chair and sat close +to the girl, facing her. + +"Now, what is it you wanted to talk to me about, my dear?" he asked in +a conversational tone. + +Marion's glance flew timidly to Ellery and returned. "I--It's about--" + +"About your visit to Mr. Zorn's place Monday evening, Miss French?" +inquired Ellery, smiling. + +She gasped. "Why--why, you knew!" + +Ellery made a deprecatory gesture. "It is hardly knowledge. Some call +it guessing." + +The Inspector's eyes bored into hers. But his voice was gentle now. +"Has Mr. Zorn a hold over you--or is it a matter more directly +concerned with your father, my dear?" + +She stared from one to the other as if she could not believe her ears. +"To think--" She laughed a trifle hysterically. "And I thought all +the while that it was a deep, dark secret...." A shadow seemed to +lift from her face all at once. "I suppose you want a coherent story. +You have heard, Westley tells me--" she bit her lip and crimsoned--"I +shouldn't have said that--he told me _particularly_ not to say we'd +discussed this...." Both the Inspector and Ellery laughed aloud at her +_naïveté_. "At any rate," she went on, smiling faintly, "I gather that +you've heard about--about my stepmother and Mr. Zorn.... Really, it was +more gossip than anything else!" she cried. She calmed immediately. +"But I wasn't sure. And we all tried--so hard--to keep the nasty rumors +from father. I'm afraid we weren't entirely successful." Fear suddenly +flamed in her eyes. She stopped short and looked down at the floor. + +Ellery and the Inspector exchanged glances. "Go on, Miss French," said +the Inspector in the same soothing tone. + +"Then"--she spoke more rapidly now--"I overheard, quite by accident, +something that confirmed part of the rumors. Nothing--it hadn't gone +far, their affair, but it was getting dangerous. Even I could see +that.... That's the way things were on Monday." + +"You told your father?" asked Queen. + +She shivered. "Oh, no! But I had to save daddy's health, his +reputation, his--his peace of mind. I didn't even take Westley into my +confidence. He would have forbidden me to do--what I did. I called on +Mr. Zorn--and his wife." + +"Go on." + +"I went to their apartment. I was frankly desperate. It was just after +dinner and I knew they'd both be at home. And I wanted Mrs. Zorn to be +there, because she knew--and she was as jealous as a witch. She'd even +threatened--" + +"Threatened, Miss French?" demanded the Inspector. + +"Oh, it was nothing, Inspector," said Marion hurriedly, "but it told +me that she knew what was going on. And it was as much her fault +that Mr. Zorn fell in love with--with Winifred as anything. Mrs. +Zorn is--oh, quite awful...." She smiled wanly. "You'll think me a +scandalous gossip.... But before both of them I accused Mr. Zorn, +and--and told him it must stop. Mrs. Zorn flew into a terrible rage and +began to swear. All her spite turned against Winifred. She threatened +dire things. Mr. Zorn tried to argue with me, but--I suppose the +weight of two women railing at him just sapped his strength. He left +his apartment in a huff--left me with that awful woman. She looked +almost insane...." Marion shuddered. "So I became a little frightened +and--well, I suppose it _was_ a good deal like running. I could hear +her screaming even in the corridor.... And--and that's all, Inspector +Queen, that's all," she faltered. "When I left the Zorns' apartment it +was a little after ten. I felt weak and sick. I really did walk in the +Park, as I told you yesterday at the store. I walked and walked until +I thought I'd drop from exhaustion, and then I went home. It was just +about midnight." + +There was a little silence. Ellery, watching the girl impassively, +turned his head away. The Inspector cleared his throat. + +"You went directly to bed, Miss French?" he asked. + +The girl stared at him. "Why, what do you mean?... I--" Fright gleamed +again in her eyes. But she said courageously, "Yes, Inspector, I did." + +"Did any one see you come into the house?" + +"No--no." + +"You saw no one, spoke to no one?" + +"No." + +The Inspector frowned. "Well! At any rate, Miss French, you did the +right thing--the only thing--in telling us about it." + +"I didn't want to," she said in a small voice. "But Westley, when I +told him to-day, said I must. And so--" + +"Why didn't you want to?" asked Ellery. It was the first time he had +spoken since Marion had begun her story. + +The girl did not speak for a long moment. Finally, with a determined +expression, she said: "I'd rather not answer that, Mr. Queen," and rose. + +The Inspector was on his feet instantly. He escorted her to the door in +an animate silence. + +When he returned, Ellery was chuckling. "As transparent as any angel," +he said. "Don't frown so, dad. Have you checked up on our good friend +Cyrus French?" + +"Oh, that!" The Inspector looked unhappy. "Yes, I had Johnson working +on it last night. Got his report this morning. He was at Whitney's +in Great Neck, all right. I understand he had a slight attack of +indigestion about nine o'clock Monday night. Retired immediately." + +"Coincidence?" Ellery grinned. + +"Eh?" Queen scowled. "At any rate, that accounts for him." + +"Oh, yes?" Ellery sat down and crossed his long legs. "Purely as an +intellectual exercise," he said mischievously, "it does nothing of the +kind. You see, old Cyrus retires at nine. Let us assume that he wishes +to return to New York without the knowledge of his host. Suddenly. That +night. He slips out of the house and goes trudging down the road.... +Hold! Did any one see him leave so early in the morning in Whitney's +car?" + +The Inspector stared. "The chauffeur, of course--man who drove him into +the city. Johnson told me French left long before any one else was up. +But the chauffeur!" + +Ellery chuckled. "Better and better," he said. "Chauffeurs can be +hushed. It has been done.... Our worthy anti-vicious magnate, then, +slips out of the house; perhaps his accomplice, the chauffeur, even +drives him down to the station secretly. There's a train about that +hour. I know, because I took one three weeks ago Monday night when +I returned from Boomer's. And it's only a half-hour or so into Penn +Station. In time to slip through the freight-door...." + +"But he'd have to stay all night!" groaned the Inspector. + +"Granted. But then there's a sagacious chauffeur to alibi one.... You +see how simple it is?" + +"Oh, tosh!" exploded the Inspector. + +"I didn't say it wasn't," said Ellery, eyes twinkling. "But it's +something to bear in mind." + +"Fairy-tales!" growled the Inspector, and then they laughed together. +"I've arranged to get those alibis, by the way. I called Zorn from the +office and told him to come down here. I want to see how his story +checks up with Marion French's. And what he did after ten last night." + +Ellery lost his bantering air. He looked dissatisfied, rubbed his +forehead wearily. "It might be wise," he said, "to get all those alibis +clear, at that. Mightn't be a bad idea to get Mrs. Zorn down here, too. +And I'll emulate the Stoics meanwhile." + +The Inspector made a number of telephone calls, while Djuna went +rapidly through telephone directories, and Ellery slumped into an +easy-chair and closed his eyes.... + +A half-hour later Mr. and Mrs. Zorn sat in the Queen living-room side +by side, facing Inspector Queen. Ellery was far off in a corner, almost +hidden by a jutting bookcase. + +Mrs. Zorn was a large-boned woman, well fleshed and rosy. Her +too-golden hair was cut in a severe, startling bob. She had cold green +eyes and a large mouth. She looked, at first glance, under thirty; on +closer observation, faint crinkles around her chin and eyes added ten +years to her appearance. She was dressed in the height of fashion and +carried herself with an air of arrogance. + +Despite Marion's story, Mr. and Mrs. Zorn seemed on the most amicable +of terms. Mrs. Zorn acknowledged her husband's introduction of the +Inspector with regal graciousness; she punctuated each remark to Zorn +with a sweet "My dear...." + +The Inspector examined her shrewdly with his eyes, and decided not to +mince words. + +He turned first to Zorn. "I have called you, as a logical step in this +inquiry, to explain your movements on the night of Monday past, Mr. +Zorn." + +The director's hand strayed to his bald pate. "Monday night? The +night--of the murder, Inspector?" + +"Exactly." + +"Are you insinuating--" Rage leaped into his eyes behind their heavy +gold-rimmed spectacles. Mrs. Zorn made the least gesture with a finger. +Zorn calmed magically. "I had dinner," he said, as if nothing had +happened, "at our apartment with Mrs. Zorn. We stayed in all evening. +At ten o'clock or so I left the apartment and went directly to the +Penny Club on Fifth Avenue and 32nd Street. I met Gray there and +we discussed the Whitney merger for a half-hour or so. I developed +a headache and told Gray I thought I'd try to walk it off. We said +good-night and I left the Club. I did take a long walk up the Avenue +and, in fact, walked all the way home to 74th Street." + +"And what time was that, Mr. Zorn?" asked the Inspector. + +"I should say about a quarter to twelve." + +"Was Mrs. Zorn up--did she see you?" + +The large rosy woman chose to reply for her husband. "No, Inspector, +no indeed! I had dismissed the servants for the night a little after +Mr. Zorn left the apartment, and I'd gone to bed myself. I fell +asleep almost immediately, and didn't hear him come in." She smiled, +exhibiting huge white teeth. + +"I'm afraid I don't quite understand how--" began the Inspector +courteously. + +"Mr. Zorn and I have separate sleeping apartments, Inspector Queen," +she said, dimpling. + +"Umm." The Inspector turned once more to Zorn, who had sat perfectly +still during this colloquy. "Did you meet any one you knew during your +walk, Mr. Zorn?" + +"Why--no." + +"When you entered your apartment house, did any of the house personnel +see you?" + +Zorn fumbled with his massive red mustache. "I'm afraid not. There's +only a night-man at the switchboard after eleven, and when I came in he +was absent from his post." + +"The elevator, I suppose, is of the self-service type?" asked Queen +dryly. + +"Yes--that's correct." + +The Inspector turned to Mrs. Zorn. "At what time did you see your +husband in the morning--Tuesday morning?" + +She raised her blond brows archly. "Tuesday morning--let me see.... Oh, +yes! It was ten o'clock." + +"Fully dressed, Mrs. Zorn?" + +"Yes. He was reading his morning paper when I came into our +living-room." + +The Inspector smiled, quite wearily, and rose to take a short turn +about the room. Finally he stopped before Zorn and fixed him with a +stern eye. "Why haven't you told me about Miss French's visit to your +apartment Monday evening?" + +Zorn grew very still. The effect of Marion's name on Mrs. Zorn was +startling. The color drained from her face and her pupils dilated +tigerishly. It was she who spoke. + +"That----!" she said in a low passionate voice. But her body was tense +with anger. The mask of politeness fell from her face and revealed an +older woman--shrewish, cruel. + +The Inspector seemed not to hear. "Mr. Zorn?" he said. + +Zorn moistened his lips with a nervous tongue. "That's true--true +enough. I didn't see that it had anything to do.... Yes, Miss French +visited us. She left about ten o'clock." + +The Inspector made an impatient movement. "You talked about your +relations with Mrs. French, Mr. Zorn?" he asked. + +"Yes, yes. That's it." The words tumbled out, gratefully. + +"Mrs. Zorn flew into a rage?" + +The woman's eyes darted cold green fire. Zorn mumbled, "Yes." + +"Mrs. Zorn." The eyes became veiled. "You went to bed shortly after +ten Monday night and did not leave your chamber until ten o'clock the +following morning?" + +"Right, Inspector Queen." + +"In that case," concluded the Inspector, "there is nothing more to be +said--now." + +When the Zorns had departed, the Inspector saw that Ellery was sitting +in his forgotten corner laughing silently to himself. + +"I fail to see the joke," said the old man ruefully. + +"Oh, dad--the mess and mire of it!" cried Ellery. "_La vie c'est +confusée!_ How beautifully events belie each other.... What do you make +of your late interview?" + +"I don't know what you're talking about," growled the Inspector, "but +I know one thing. _Any one_ who can't be accounted for by the visual +evidence of witnesses between eleven-thirty o'clock Monday night and a +little after nine on Tuesday morning might have done this job. Let's +take a hypothetical case. Suppose X is a possibility as the murderer. X +is not seen after eleven-thirty Monday night. He says he went home and +went to sleep. There is no witness. Suppose he didn't go home. Suppose +he slipped into the French store through that freight-entrance. And got +out the next morning at nine. Returned home, sneaked into his apartment +without any one seeing him, and then reappeared about ten-thirty or +so, letting lots of people see him. The presumption is that he slept +home all night and therefore couldn't have committed the crime. Yet +physically it was possible...." + +"Too true, too true," murmured Ellery. "Well, evoke the next victim." + +"He should be here any moment now," said the Inspector, and went into +the bathroom to bathe his perspiring face. + + + + + 32 + + ALIBIS: MARCHBANKS + + +Marchbanks glowered. He bore himself with the sullenness of a man who +nurses a grudge. He snapped at the Inspector and ignored Ellery. He +deposited his stick and hat on the table with a bang, rudely refusing +to allow Djuna to take them from him. He sat down uninvited and drummed +nastily on the arm of the chair. + +"Well, sir," thought the Inspector, "we'll have at _you_." He took +a pinch of snuff with deliberation, regarding Marchbanks curiously. +"Marchbanks," he said in curt tones, "where were you Monday evening and +night?" + +The dead woman's brother scowled. "What's this--a third degree?" + +"If you choose to make it so," retorted the Inspector, in his most +unpleasant voice. "I repeat--where were you Monday night?" + +"If you must know," said Marchbanks bitingly, "I was out on Long +Island." + +"Oh, Long _Island_!" The Inspector seemed duly impressed. "When did you +go, where did you go, and how long did you stay?" + +"You people always insist on a 'story,'" wheezed Marchbanks, setting +his feet solidly on the rug. "Very well. I left town at about seven +o'clock Monday evening. In my car...." + +"You drove yourself?" + +"Yes. I--" + +"Anybody with you?" + +"NO!" shouted Marchbanks. "Do you want my story or don't you? I--" + +"Continue," said the Inspector judicially. + +Marchbanks glared. "As I began to say--I left town Monday evening at +seven in my car. I was bound for Little Neck--" + +"Little Neck, eh?" interpolated the Inspector exasperatingly. + +"Yes, Little Neck," stormed Marchbanks. "What's wrong in that? I had +been invited to a small party at the house of a friend of mine there--" + +"His name?" + +"Patrick Malone," replied Marchbanks resignedly. "When I got there, I +found no one at home except Malone's man. He explained that at the last +moment Malone had been called away on business and had had to call off +the party...." + +"Did you know that such an eventuality might occur?" + +"If you mean did I know that Malone was going to be called away--yes, +in a way. He'd mentioned the possibility of it over the 'phone to me +earlier in the day. At any rate, I saw no use in staying, so I left +at once and proceeded off the main road to my own shack, a few miles +farther on. I keep it for occasional jaunts into the Island. I--" + +"Have you any servants there?" + +"No. It's a small place and I prefer solitude when I'm out that way. So +I slept there overnight and returned to the City in the morning by car." + +The Inspector smiled sardonically. "I suppose you met no one all night +or in the morning who might verify your statements?" + +"I don't know what you mean. What are you driving at--?" + +"Yes or no?" + +"... No." + +"What time did you get to the City?" + +"About ten-thirty. I rose rather late." + +"And what time was it Monday evening when you reached your friend +Malone's place and spoke to his valet?" + +"Oh, I should say about eight or eight-thirty. I don't recall exactly." + +The Inspector sent a mutely humorous glance across the room to Ellery. +Then he shrugged his shoulders. Marchbanks' florid face darkened and he +rose abruptly. + +"If you have nothing more to ask me, Inspector Queen, I must be going." +He picked up his hat and stick. + +"Ah! Just one other thing. Sit down, Marchbanks." Marchbanks +reluctantly reseated himself. "How do you account for the murder of +your sister?" + +Marchbanks sniggered. "I thought you'd ask that. Up a tree, eh? Well, +I'm not surprised. The police of this city are--" + +"Answer my question, please." + +"I don't account for it, and I can't account for it!" cried Marchbanks +suddenly. "That's your business! All I know is that my sister has been +shot to death, and I want her murderer sizzling in the Chair." He +stopped, out of breath. + +"Yes, yes, I realize your natural desire for revenge," said the +Inspector tiredly. "You may go, Mr. Marchbanks, but keep in town." + + + + + 33 + + ALIBIS: CARMODY + + +Vincent Carmody was the next caller. His reticence was as marked as +usual. He folded his astonishing length and sat down quite noiseless in +the inquisitorial chair. And sat waiting. + +"Ah--Mr. Carmody," began the Inspector uneasily. The antique-dealer +disdained to reply to what was obviously a question of fact. "Ah--Mr. +Carmody, I've called you in for a little consultation. We are checking +up on the movements of everybody connected directly or indirectly with +Mrs. French. Purely as a matter of form, you understand...." + +"Ummm," said Carmody, his fingers in his straggly beard. + +The Inspector dipped hastily into his old brown snuff-box. "Now, I +should be happy, sir, to hear an account of your movements on Monday +night--the night of the murder." + +"The murder." Carmody said it negligently. "Not interested in that, +Inspector. What about my daughter?" + +The Inspector stared with growing irritation at Carmody's +expressionless lean face. "Your daughter's search is being conducted +by the proper authorities. We haven't found her yet, but we have new +information which is likely to produce results. Please answer my +question." + +"Results!" Carmody said it with surprising bitterness. "I know what +that word means in the police vocabulary. You're stumped and you know +it. I'll put my own detective on the case." + +"Will you _please_ answer my question?" grated the Inspector. + +"Keep cool," said Carmody. "Don't see what my movements on Monday night +have to do with the case. I certainly didn't kidnap my own daughter. +But if you must have it, here it is. + +"Late Monday I received a telegram from one of my scouts. He reported +the discovery of practically a house full of early American pieces +in the wilds of Connecticut. I invariably investigate finds of that +nature personally. I took the train at Grand Central--the 9:14. Changed +at Stamford and didn't get to my destination until nearly midnight. +It's far off the beaten path. Had the address and immediately called +on the people who owned the furniture. Nobody home, and I still don't +know what went wrong. Had no place to stay--no hotel there--and had to +return to the city. Couldn't make a decent connection and didn't get +back to my apartment until four in the morning. That's all." + +"Not quite, Mr. Carmody." The Inspector mused. "Did any one see you +when you returned to the city--at your apartment, perhaps?" + +"No. It was too late. Nobody up. And I live alone. I had my breakfast +at the apartment dining-room at ten o'clock. The head-waiter will +identify me." + +"No doubt," said the Inspector disagreeably. "Meet any one on your trip +who might remember you?" + +"No. Unless the conductor of the train." + +"Well!" Queen slammed his hands behind his back and regarded Carmody +with open distaste. "Please make a note of all your movements and mail +it to me at Headquarters. One question more. Do you know that your +daughter Bernice is a drug addict?" + +Carmody leaped out of his chair snarling. In an instant he had been +transformed from bored reticence to contorted fury. Ellery half-rose +from his chair in the corner; it appeared for a moment as if the +antique-dealer might strike the Inspector. But the old man stood very +still, examining Carmody coolly. Carmody, fists clenched, subsided in +his chair. + +"How did you find that out?" he muttered in a strangled voice. The +muscles rippled under the skin of his dark triangular jaw. "I didn't +think any one knew--except Winifred and me." + +"Ah, so Mrs. French knew it too?" queried the Inspector instantly. "Had +she known it long?" + +"So it's out," growled Carmody. "Good God!" He raised a haggard face +to Queen. "I've known it for about a year. Winifred--" his face +hardened--"Winifred didn't know it at all. Eyes of the mother, and all +that," he added bitterly. "Rot! She thought chiefly of herself.... So +I told her--two weeks ago. She didn't believe it. We quarreled. But +at the end she knew--I saw it in her eyes. I had talked to Bernice +countless times about it. She was shameless. She would not divulge +the source of her drug supply. In desperation I turned to Winifred. +I thought Winifred might succeed where I had failed. I don't know +any more...." His voice dropped to a whisper. "I was going to take +Bernice away--somewhere--anywhere--cure her.... And then Winifred was +murdered and Bernice--gone...." His voice died away. Huge welts stood +out under his eyes. The man was suffering--how deeply, by what perverse +psychology only Ellery, sitting quietly in his corner, realized. + +And then, without another sound, without so much as a word of +explanation, Carmody sprang to his feet, snatched his hat, and dashed +from the Queen apartment. The Inspector, at the window, saw him running +wildly down the street, hat still clutched in his hand. + + + + + 34 + + ALIBIS: TRASK + + +Trask was a half-hour late for his appointment at the Queen apartment. +He appeared indolently, indolently greeted the two Queens, indolently +sank into the chair, indolently applied a match to his cigaret, which +was stuck rakishly in a long jade holder, and indolently awaited the +Inspector's questions. + +Where was he Monday night? Oh, about town--vaguely, with an idle +gesture of his arm. He tweaked the points of his mustache. + +Where "about town"? Well, really--can't remember. Some night-club or +other at first. + +At what time? Must have started about eleven-thirty. + +Where was he before eleven-thirty? Oh, he'd been disappointed by some +friends, and had dropped into a Broadway theater at the last moment. + +What was the name of the night-club? Really, don't recall it. + +What did he mean by "not recalling it"? Well--to tell the truth, he +had some bootleg liquor and it must have contained dynamite--ha, ha! +Put him out like a light. Got awfully drunk. Didn't remember anything +except dashing cold water on his face at ten o'clock Tuesday morning +in the lavatory of the Pennsylvania Station. All mussed up, too. Must +have had an awful night of it. Probably kicked out of the night-club in +the morning. And all that. Just had time to dash home and get into some +fresh clothes. Then the directors' meeting at the French store. + +"Beautiful!" muttered the Inspector, eying Trask as if he were an +obnoxious little animal. Trask flicked the ashes from his cigaret in +the general direction of a tray. + +"Trask!" The whip in Queen's voice brought the tall, dissipated +director's body up with a start. "Are you sure you can't remember what +night-club you were in?" + +"I say now," drawled Trask, sinking back, "you scared me that time, +Inspector. I've told you no. Went completely out of my head. Don't +recall a thing." + +"Well, that's just too bad," grunted the Inspector. "If I'm not +disturbing you, Trask--do you know that Bernice Carmody was a habitual +drug-user?" + +"Not really!" Trask sat up straight. "Then I _was_ right!" + +"Oh, you suspected it?" + +"A number of times. Bernice was queer quite frequently. Showed all the +symptoms. I've seen plenty of 'em." He brushed a speck of ash from his +gardenia with languid distaste. + +The Inspector smiled. "Which didn't daunt you from going ahead with +your contemplated engagement to Miss Carmody?" + +Trask looked virtuous. "Oh, no--really! I'd intended to cure her after +we were married. Without her family's knowledge, and all that. Too +bad--too bad," he sighed. He sighed again. + +"What has your relationship been with Cyrus French?" demanded the +Inspector impatiently. + +"Oh, that!" Trask brightened. "Absolutely of the best, Inspector. +You--er--you would rather expect a chap to get along with his future +father-in-law. Haw-haw!" + +"Get out of here," said the Inspector distinctly. + + + + + 35 + + ALIBIS: GRAY + + +John Gray folded his gloves neatly, deposited them in his rich black +derby, and handed them with a cheerful smile to Djuna. Then he shook +hands decorously with the Inspector, nodded to Ellery with just +the proper note of heartiness, and obediently seated himself at the +Inspector's request. + +"Well!" he chuckled, smoothing his white mustache. "Very charming +household, I see. Very! And how is the investigation proceeding, +Inspector? Tchk, tchk!" He chattered like a spry old parrot, his +twinkling eyes never still. + +The Inspector cleared his throat. "A little matter of check-up, Mr. +Gray. Routine. I haven't inconvenienced you by this summons?" + +"Not at all, not at all," said Gray amiably. "I've just come from a +visit to Cyrus--Cyrus French, I should say--and he's much better, by +the way, much better." + +"That's nice," said the Inspector. "Now, Mr. Gray, just to make it +legal--can you account for your movements on Monday night?" + +Gray looked blank. Then he smiled slowly. Then he burst into an +infectious chuckle. "I see, I see! Clever, Inspector, quite clever. You +want to be sure of everything. Very interesting! I suppose every one is +coming in for a similar quiz?" + +"Oh, yes!" said the Inspector reassuringly. "We've had a number of +your colleagues on the carpet to-day already." They both laughed. Gray +became politely serious. + +"Monday night? Let me see." He plucked his mustache thoughtfully. +"Of course! Monday night I spent the entire evening at my Club. The +Penny Club, you know. Had dinner there with some of my cronies, played +billiards--the usual thing. At about ten o'clock, I believe, or perhaps +a little after ten, Zorn--you remember Zorn, of course, one of my +fellow-directors--Zorn dropped in for a chat. We discussed the coming +merger, the details of which we were to work out in conference the next +morning with French and the rest, and about a half-hour later Zorn +left, complaining of headache." + +"Well, that tallies nicely," said Queen, with a grin. "Because Mr. Zorn +was here not long ago and told us about your meeting at the Penny Club." + +"Really?" Gray smiled. "Then I gather there is little left to be said, +Inspector." + +"Not quite, Mr. Gray." The Inspector clucked cheerfully. "You see, just +to keep the record straight--how did you spend the rest of the evening?" + +"Oh! In a commonplace manner, sir. I left the Club at about eleven and +walked home--I live not far from there, on Madison Avenue. Simply went +home and to bed." + +"You live alone, Mr. Gray?" + +Gray grimaced. "Unfortunately, being a misogynist, I have no family, +Inspector. An old servant keeps house for me--I live in an apartment +hotel, you know." + +"Then your housekeeper was up when you returned from the Club, Mr. +Gray?" + +Gray spread his hands briefly. "No. Hilda had left on Saturday evening +to visit a sick brother in Jersey City, and did not get back until +Tuesday afternoon." + +"I see." The Inspector took snuff. "But surely _some one_ saw you get +home, Mr. Gray?" + +Gray looked startled, then he smiled again one of his twinkling smiles. +"Oh, you want me to establish my--alibi, is it, Inspector?" + +"That's what it's called, sir." + +"Then there's nothing more to be said," replied Gray happily. "Because +Jackson, the night-clerk, saw me when I entered the building. I asked +for mail and stood chatting with him for several minutes. Then I took +the elevator to my suite." + +The Inspector's face brightened. "Then really," he said, "there +_is_ nothing more to be said. Except--" his face lengthened +momentarily--"what time was it when you stopped talking with this +night-clerk and went upstairs?" + +"Just eleven-forty. I remember glancing at the clock above Jackson's +desk to compare it with my own watch." + +"And where is your hotel, Mr. Gray?" + +"Madison and 37th, Inspector. The _Burton_." + +"Then I think--Unless, Ellery, you would like to ask Mr. Gray a +question or two?" + +The aged little director turned quickly, in open surprise. He had +forgotten the presence of Ellery, who was sitting quietly in his corner +listening to the conversation. Gray looked expectant as Ellery smiled. + +"Thank you, dad--I _have_ something to ask Mr. Gray, if we're not +keeping him too long?" He looked questioningly at their visitor. + +Gray expostulated. "Not at all, Mr. Queen. Anything I can do to help +you--" + +"Very well, then." Ellery hoisted his lean length from the chair and +stretched his muscles. "Mr. Gray, I'm going to ask you a peculiar +question. I rely upon your discretion to preserve silence, for one +thing, and upon your undoubted loyalty to Mr. French and your concern +in his bereavement to answer frankly." + +"I'm entirely at your service." + +"Let me present a hypothetical case," continued Ellery rapidly. "Let us +suppose that Bernice Carmody was a drug addict...." + +Gray frowned. "A drug addict?" + +"Exactly. And let us suppose further that neither her mother nor her +stepfather suspected her malady and condition. Then let us suppose that +Mrs. French suddenly discovered the truth...." + +"I see, I see," murmured Gray. + +"The hypothetical question arising from this hypothetical case is: +What do you think Mrs. French would do?" Ellery lit a cigaret. + +Gray grew thoughtful. Then he looked into Ellery's eyes. "The first +thing that occurs to me, Mr. Queen," he said simply, "is that Mrs. +French would _not_ confide in Cyrus." + +"That's interesting. You know them both so well...." + +"Yes." Gray set his small wrinkled jaw. "Cyrus has been a lifelong +friend. I know--or knew--Mrs. French perhaps as well as any one +acquainted with the French family. And I am certain, familiar as I am +with Cyrus's character and Mrs. French's knowledge of his character, +that she would not dare to tell him such a thing. She would keep it +strictly to herself. She might possibly inform Carmody, her first +husband...." + +"We needn't go into that, Mr. Gray," said Ellery. "But why would she +keep it a secret from French?" + +"Because," said Gray frankly, "Cyrus is hypersensitive on the subject +of vice, particularly drug addiction. You must remember that most of +his latter years have been devoted to wiping out as much of this sort +of vice in the City as possible. To find it in his own family would, I +firmly believe, unbalance him.... But, of course," he added quickly, +"he doesn't know; I'm positive Mrs. French would keep a thing like that +to herself. She might try to cure the girl secretly, perhaps...." + +Ellery said clearly: "One of the major reasons for Mrs. French's +silence in a case like this would be, I suppose, that she was aiming to +secure for her daughter a generous slice of her husband's fortune?" + +Gray started uncomfortably. "Well.... I don't.... Yes, if you must +have the truth, I think that is so. Mrs. French was a calculating--not +necessarily unscrupulous, mind you--but a calculating and very +practical woman. I believe that, motherlike, she was determined that +Bernice come in for a good share of Cyrus's estate when Cyrus should +pass on.... Is there anything else, Mr. Queen?" + +"That is," said Ellery, smiling, "quite sufficient. Thank you +immeasurably, Mr. Gray." + +"Then," said the Inspector, "that will be all." + +Gray looked relieved, accepted his coat, hat and gloves from Djuna, +murmured polite adieux, and left. + +The Inspector and Ellery heard his light quick step on the staircase as +he descended to the street. + + + + + 36 + + "THE TIME HAS COME ..." + + +The Queens had dinner in silence. Djuna served in silence, and in +silence cleared the table afterward. The Inspector dipped into the +browned interior of his snuff-box and Ellery held communion with first +a cigaret, then a pipe, then a cigaret again. In all this time no word +was spoken. It was a silence of sympathy, not infrequent in the Queen +household. + +Finally Ellery sighed and stared into the fireplace. But it was the +Inspector who spoke first. + +"As far as I am concerned," he said with a grim disappointment, "this +day has been entirely wasted." + +Ellery raised his eyebrows. "Dad, dad, you grow more irascible with +every passing day.... If I didn't know how upset and overworked you've +been of late, I'd be annoyed with you." + +"At my obtuseness?" demanded the Inspector, twinkling. + +"No, at the lapse of your usual mental vigor." Ellery twisted his head +and grinned at his father. "Do you mean to say that to-day's incidents +have meant nothing to you?" + +"The raid flat, Springer skipped, nothing tangible from the alibis of +these people--I can't see any cause for celebration," retorted the +Inspector. + +"Well, well!" Ellery frowned. "Perhaps I'm over-sanguine.... But the +whole thing is so clear!" + +He sprang to his feet and began to rummage in his desk. He produced his +voluminous sheets of notes and thumbed rapidly through them under the +Inspector's wearied and bewildered eyes. Then he slapped them back into +their receptacle. + +"It's all over," he announced, "all over but the shouting and--the +proof. I have all the threads--or rather, all the threads which lead +inexorably to the murderer of Mrs. French. They don't make solid proof, +such as is demanded by our venerable courts of law and our prosecuting +system. What would you do in a case like that, dad?" + +The Inspector wrinkled his nose in self-disgust. "I take it that what's +been a hopeless maze to me has been a clear thoroughfare to you. That +rankles, son! I have raised up a Frankenstein to haunt my old age ..." +Then he chuckled and laid a slightly infirm hand on Ellery's knee. + +"Good lad," he said. "I don't know _what_ I'd do without you." + +"Shucks." Ellery blushed. "You've gone sentimental, too, dad ..." Their +fingers met covertly. "Now, look here, Inspector! You've got to help me +to a decision!" + +"Yes, yes ..." Queen dropped back, embarrassed. "You've got a case, an +explanation and no proof. What to do.... Bluff, my son. Bluff as if +you'd raised the pot before the draw on a pair of fours and then found +real opposition staring at you. Raise again!" + +Ellery looked thoughtful. "I've been tottering on the edge.... +Christmas!" His eyes brightened with a sudden thought. "How stupid I've +been!" he cried at once. "I've a beautiful card up my sleeve and I've +forgotten all about it! Bluff? We'll just about sweep our slippery +friend off our slippery friend's feet!" + +He yanked the telephone toward him, hesitated, then turned it over to +the Inspector, who was regarding him with gloomy fondness. + +"Here's a list," he said, scribbling on a piece of paper, "of some +people of importance. Will you blow the conch, dad, while I begin a +memorization of these pesky notes?" + +"The time is--" asked the Inspector submissively. + +"To-morrow morning at nine-thirty," replied Ellery. "And you might call +the D.A. and tell him to close in on our friend Springer." + +"Springer!" cried the Inspector. + +"Springer," replied Ellery. And thereafter there was silence, broken +periodically by the voice of the Inspector on the telephone. + + + PARENTHESIS AND CHALLENGE + + I have often found it a stimulating exercise in my own reading of + murder fiction to pause at that point in the story immediately + preceding the solution, and to try by a logical analysis to + determine for myself the identity of the criminal.... Because + I believe that numerous gourmets of this species of fictional + delicacy are as interested in the reasoning as in the reading, + I submit in the proper spirit of sportsmanship an amiable + challenge to the reader.... Without reading the concluding pages, + Reader--Who killed Mrs. French?... There is a great tendency among + detective-story lovers to endeavor to "guess" the criminal by + submitting to the play of a blind instinct. A certain amount of + this is inevitable, I will admit, but the application of logic and + common sense is the important thing, the source of the greater + enjoyment.... Whereupon I state without reservation that the reader + is at this stage in the recounting of _The French Powder Mystery_ + fully cognizant of all the facts pertinent to the discovery of the + criminal; and that a sufficiently diligent study of what has gone + before should educe a clear understanding of what is to come. _A + rivederci!_ + + E. Q. + + + + + THE LAST EPISODE + + + "_Forty years in the service of the_ SÛRETÉ, _one might hazard, + would dull the edge of one's zest for the hunt. Thank the good + Lord, this is not so! at least in my own case, which has been + as full of interest, I dare say, as the next.... There was the + admirable Henri Tencqueville, who cut his throat before my very + eyes when we cornered him in his Montmartre hideaway ... and Petit + Charlot, who shot two of my faithful lads to death and bit off a + piece of the good Sergeant Mousson's nose in the_ mêlée _before he + was subdued.... Ah, well! I grow tender in reminiscence, but ... I + would make the point that even to-day, old and enfeebled as I am, + I would not give up the thrill of that final_ coup de main, _that + last stage of the chase when the quarry, panting and desperate, has + his back to the wall--no, not for all the everlasting delights of + the Turkish heaven!..._" + + --From THE MEMOIRS OF A PREFECT, + _By_ Auguste Brillon. + + + + + 37 + + MAKE READY! + + +They came in one by one--furtive, curious, impassive, bored, reluctant, +openly nervous. Quietly they came in, conscious of the tight police +cordon, of a quivering strain in the atmosphere, of shrewd eyes that +noted and calculated their least movement--conscious most of all of +grim over-hanging disaster, to whom and with what dire effects they did +not know and could only guess. + +It was nine-thirty of the fateful Thursday morning. The door through +which they shuffled in silence was the door marked PRIVATE: CYRUS +FRENCH.... They passed inside through the bare lofty anteroom, +into the heavy quiet of the library, sat down in incredible camp-chairs +set up martially facing the dormer-windows. + +They crowded the room. In the front row sat old Cyrus French himself, +a white and trembling figure. His fingers were desperately entwined +in the fingers of Marion French by his side. Westley Weaver, harried +face gaunted by sleeplessness, occupied the seat next to Marion's. To +French's left was Dr. Stuart, the old man's physician, watching his +patient with a professional pantherishness. By Stuart's side sat John +Gray, dapper and bird-like, occasionally leaning over the doctor's +bulky abdomen to talk into the sick man's ear. + +In the row behind were Hortense Underhill, the housekeeper, and Doris +Keaton, the maid. Both sat rigidly, whispering to each other out of the +corners of their mouths, peering about with frightened eyes. + +In serried ranks.... Wheezing Marchbanks; the portly Zorn fingering his +watch-chain; a befurred and aromatic Mrs. Zorn dispensing smiles to +the grave Frenchman, Paul Lavery, who stroked his short beard; Trask, +a flower in his lapel, but utterly pale, with enormous leaden rings +under his eyes; the antique-dealer Vincent Carmody, a saturnine figure, +uncompromising, somber, even in his chair towering above the heads of +the company; mild-mannered Arnold MacKenzie, the general manager of the +store; Diana Johnson, the Negress who had discovered Mrs. French's dead +body; the four watchmen--O'Flaherty, Bloom, Ralska, Powers.... + +There was little conversation. Each time the anteroom door opened +people twisted about in their seats, craned, jerked their eyes back to +the window again with guilty side-glances toward each other. + +The conference table had been pushed against the wall. In a row +of chairs before the table sat Sergeant Thomas Velie and William +Crouther, chief of the store's detective force, talking in undertones; +scowling Salvatore Fiorelli, of the Narcotic Squad, bright black +eyes snapping at some inexpressible thought, his scar pulsing slowly +beneath the swarthy skin; "Jimmy," the little bald-headed operative of +the Headquarters fingerprint department. At the anteroom door stood +Patrolman Bush, relegated to the important post of guardian of the +door. A cloud of detectives, among them Inspector Queen's favorite +operatives--Hagstrom, Flint, Ritter, Johnson, and Piggott--massed along +the wall directly opposite the conference table. At each corner of the +room stood a silent officer in blue, cap in hand. + +Neither Inspector Queen nor Ellery Queen had yet put in his appearance. +People whispered this information to each other. They looked sidelong +at the anteroom door, against which Bush's broad back was set. + +Gradually, tangibly, another silence came over the scene. +Whispers trembled, wavered, ceased. Glances became more furtive, +chair-twistings more frequent. Cyrus French coughed violently; +he doubled up in agony. Dr. Stuart's eyes flickered with a vague +anxiety. Weaver bent far to the side when the old man's paroxysm had +passed; Marion looked startled; soon their heads were close together, +touching.... + +Crouther scraped his hand over his face. "What the hell is holdin' up +the works, Sergeant?" Velie shook his head gloomily. "What's it all +about?" + +"Got me." + +Crouther shrugged. + +The silence thickened. Every one grew still as stone.... The silence +grew more embarrassing with each passing moment--a silence that +swelled, breathed, became alive.... + +Then Sergeant Velie did a strange thing. His spatulate forefinger, +resting on his knee, tapped three distinct times, in rhythm. Not even +Crouther caught the signal, and Crouther was at Velie's side. But +the officer on guard, who had been watching the Sergeant's hand for +minutes, immediately sprang into motion. All eyes flashed instantly +upon him, grasping at this sign of life, of happening with a pitiful +eagerness.... The policeman went to the desk, which was shrouded by a +light tarpaulin, and bending far over carefully removed the covering. +He stepped back, folded the tarpaulin neatly, retreated to his +corner.... + +But he was already forgotten. As if the sheer rays of a searchlight +had been trained upon the desk, every one in the room eyed the objects +revealed with a fascination drawn from the deepest crevices of his +being. + +They were many, and heterogeneous. Ranged in orderly rows along the +glass top, each with a small labeled card before it, were the gold +lipstick marked _W.M.F._, which Ellery had found on the bedroom +dressing-table; the silver-chased lipstick with the _C_ monogram from +the dead woman's bag in the exhibition-window; six keys with gold +discs--the keys to the apartment, five of which bore the initials +of Cyrus French, Winifred Marchbanks French, Marion French, Bernice +Carmody, Westley Weaver, and the sixth the word Master; the two +carved onyx book-ends, lying with a small jar of white powder and a +camel's-hair brush between them; the five strange volumes which Ellery +had found on French's desk; the shaving-set from the lavatory cabinet; +two ashtrays filled with cigaret-stubs--one set much shorter in length +than the other; the gauzy scarf initialed _M.F._, taken from the neck +of the victim; a board on which were tacked the cards from the cardroom +table, laid out exactly as they had first appeared to the police; the +slip of blue memorandum paper which was checked off at Cyrus French's +typewritten name; the blue hat and the walking shoes from the bedroom +closet which Hortense Underhill and Doris Keaton had identified as +having been worn by Bernice Carmody the day she disappeared; and a +black .38 Colt revolver, with the two now rusty-looking splatters of +metal which had been the lethal bullets lying near the muzzle. + +Quite by itself, prominently in view of the audience, lay a pair of +dull, steely manacles--a symbol and a portent of what was to come.... + +And there they reposed, the silent clues garnered during the +investigation frankly open to the gaze of the uneasy guests of Ellery +Queen. Again they stared, whispered. + +But this time they had not long to wait. A slight commotion in the +corridor outside became plainly audible in the library. Sergeant Velie +lumbered to his feet and went quickly to the anteroom door, motioning +Patrolman Bush aside. He disappeared, the door swinging shut behind him. + +Now the door became the focal point of those half-angry, bewildered +eyes--that door behind which the deep murmur of several voices kept up +a short mysterious litany.... And as if it had been cut cleanly by a +knife, the voices broke off and an instant of silence fell before the +knob of the door was rattled, the door was pushed inward, and eight men +stepped into the room. + + + + + 38 + + THE END OF ALL THINGS + + +It had been Ellery Queen's hand on the knob--a subtly changed young man +with drawn features and a sharpened glance that swept the room once and +then returned to the anteroom. + +"Before me, Commissioner," he murmured, holding the door wide. +Commissioner Scott Welles grunted, pushed his heavy body into view. +Three tight-lipped men in plain clothes--his bodyguard--flanked him as +he crossed the room toward the desk. + +Next to appear in full sight of the assembled company was a strangely +altered Inspector Richard Queen, holding himself rigidly erect. He was +pale. He followed the police commissioner in silence. + +After Queen came District Attorney Henry Sampson and his assistant, the +red-haired Timothy Cronin. They were whispering to each other, paying +no attention to the occupants of the room. + +Velie, making up the rear, carefully closed the anteroom door, flipped +Bush back to his post with a curt finger, and dropped into his chair +beside Crouther. The store detective looked up at him inquiringly; +Velie said nothing and settled his big body. Both men turned to watch +the newcomers. + +There was a little flurry of conversation as Ellery Queen and his +companions stood near the desk at the head of the room. Inspector Queen +indicated one of the leather-padded conference chairs immediately to +the right and a little behind the desk, as the seat to be occupied by +the Commissioner. Welles seemed a sadder and wiser man--he sat down +without a word, his eyes on Ellery's quiet figure before the desk. + +The three guards disposed themselves with the other detectives at the +side of the room. + +Inspector Queen himself sat down in a big chair to the left of the +desk, with Cronin at his side. The District Attorney dropped into a +chair next to the Commissioner. Desk in the center, its varied articles +beckoning attention. On either side two chairs with official occupants. +And dominating the scene.... + +The stage was set. + +Ellery Queen, cynically examining the room and its occupants once +more, expressed himself as satisfied at the Commissioner's brusque +question. Ellery stepped behind the desk and stood with his back to +the dormer-windows. His head was lowered, his eyes on the desk-top. +His hand strayed to the glass, hovered over the book-ends, played with +the jar of white powder.... He smiled, straightened, raised his head, +removed his pince-nez glasses, looked calmly at his hushed audience, +waited.... Not until there was absolute silence did he speak. + +"Ladies and gentleman." Prosy beginning! Yet something vaguely eerie +shivered through the air; it was a simultaneous sigh from many breasts. + +"Ladies and gentlemen. Sixty hours ago Mrs. Winifred French was shot to +death in this building. Forty-eight hours ago her body was found. This +morning we have assembled at a private Waterloo to name her murderer." +Ellery had spoken quietly; now he paused for the slightest instant.... + +But after that sigh _en masse_ even breaths seemed to be drawn with +care. No one spoke; no one whispered. They merely sat and waited. + +A cutting edge slipped into the tone of Ellery's voice. "Very well! +A few preliminary explanations are required. Commissioner Welles--" +he turned slightly toward Welles, "it is with your permission that I +conduct this unofficial inquest?" + +Welles nodded, once. + +"Then let me explain," continued Ellery, turning back to his auditors, +"that I am merely taking the place of Inspector Queen, who is unable +to take charge because of a minor throat ailment which makes long +speaking difficult and painful. Correct, sir?" He bowed very solemnly +in the direction of his father. The Inspector grew even paler than +before, nodded wordlessly. "Further," Ellery went on, "if I shall at +any time use the personal 'I' in my discourse this morning, you are to +understand that it is merely for convenience--that in reality I shall +be describing the investigatory processes of Inspector Queen himself." + +He halted abruptly, threw a challenging glance about the room, met +nothing but wide eyes and ears, and plunged at once into an analysis of +the French murder case. + +"I shall take you through our investigation of this crime, ladies and +gentlemen," he began in a sharp decisive tone, "step by step, deduction +by deduction, observation by observation, until I arrive at what is an +inevitable conclusion. Hagstrom, you are taking this down?" + +Eyes followed the direction of Ellery's glance. At the side of the room +where the detectives were congregated, Detective Hagstrom was seated, +pencil poised above a stenographic notebook. Hagstrom bobbed his head. + +"What transpires here this morning," explained Ellery pleasantly, "will +become part of the official dossier of the case. Enough of asides!" He +cleared his throat. + +"Mrs. Winifred Marchbanks French was discovered dead--killed by two +bullets, one in the heart and one in the _precordial_ region below the +heart--on Tuesday at fifteen minutes or so past noon. When Inspector +Queen arrived upon the scene he noted several facts which led him to +believe that"--he paused--"the exhibition-window on the main floor was +_not_ in effect the place where the crime was committed." + +The room was deathly still. Fascination, fear, aversion, grief--the +gamut of emotions played upon those intent white faces. Ellery Queen +went on, rapidly. + +"There were five component elements in this initial investigation," he +said, "that pointed to the conclusion that the murder was not committed +in the window. + +"The first was the fact that, while on Monday night Mrs. French had in +her possession her personal key to this apartment, the key was missing +from her person and effects Tuesday morning, on the discovery of her +dead body. O'Flaherty, the head night-watchman, testified that she +had the key at eleven-fifty Monday night when she left his cubbyhole +to take the elevator upstairs. Yet it was gone. Search of the store +and premises left the key still unfound. What was the inference? That +the key and the crime were in some way connected. How? Well, the key +appertained to the apartment. If it was missing, wasn't there an +indication that the apartment also entered into the crime somewhere? At +least there was enough suspicion to be gleaned from the missing key to +warrant a belief that the apartment _might have been_ the scene of the +crime." + +Ellery paused; his lips twitched with fleeting amusement at the +frowning faces before him. + +"Captious reasoning? I see the disbelief on your faces. Yet bear it in +mind. The fact of the key's being missing meant nothing of itself--but +when it was added to the four other facts of which I shall speak, it +took on significance indeed." + +He swung back into his main narrative. + +"The second element was a grotesque and even amusing one--you will +see, incidentally, that the detection of crime is not built upon +weighty salient factors, but upon just such incongruities as I shall +have occasion to mention this morning.... I refer to the fact that the +crime must have been committed a short time after midnight. This was +simply calculated from Dr. Prouty's report--Dr. Prouty is the Assistant +Medical Examiner--that Mrs. French had been dead some twelve hours when +she was found. + +"If Mrs. French had been shot to death in the window-room at a little +past midnight, ladies and gentlemen," continued Ellery, with a twinkle +in his eye, "her murderer must have committed his crime either in +total darkness or by the feeble illumination of a pocket-torch! For +there were no lighting fixtures that worked in the room--in fact, no +bulbs--and the room was not even wired. Yet we were forced to suppose +that the murderer met his victim, talked with her, perhaps quarreled +with her, then shot her unerringly in two vital spots, disposed of her +body in the wall-bed, cleaned up the blood-stains and what not--all in +a room at best illuminated by a flashlight! No, it was not reasonable. +Wherefore Inspector Queen, quite logically, I believe, concluded that +the crime was not committed in the exhibition-window." + +There was a little rustle of excitement. Ellery smiled, continued. + +"This, however, was not the only reason for his belief. There was +a third point. And that was the lipstick--the long, silver-chased +lipstick--monogrammed _C_, found in Mrs. French's handbag by her body. +That this lipstick obviously was not Mrs. French's I shall not discuss +at this point. The pertinent factor was that it contained lip-rouge of +a decidedly darker shade of red than the lip-rouge on the dead woman's +lips. But this meant that Mrs. French's own lipstick--with which she +daubed the lighter rouge on her lips--should be somewhere about. But +it was not! Where could it be? Perhaps the murderer took it? That +sounded rather nonsensical. The most plausible explanation seemed to be +that the missing lipstick was somewhere else in the building.... Why +somewhere else in the building?--why not at Mrs. French's home, or at +least outside the store? + +"For this very good reason. That Mrs. French's lips--her dead mute +lips--which were painted with the lighter shade of red, indicated that +she had not completed her application of the rouge! There were two dabs +on either side of her upper lip, and another small dab in the center +of her lower lip. The rouge had not been smeared--it had patently been +applied with a finger and left that way..." Ellery turned toward Marion +French. He said gently, "How do you apply your lip-rouge, Miss French?" + +The girl whispered: "Just as you described, Mr. Queen. Three pats, one +on each side of the upper lip and one in the center of the lower lip." + +"Thank you." Ellery smiled. "We had, then, visible evidence of a +case where a woman began to paint her lips and did not complete the +operation. But this was unnatural, remarkable. There are very few +things that will keep a woman from finishing this delicate task. Very, +very few! One of them might be a violent interruption of some kind. +A violent interruption? But there was murder committed! Was that the +interruption?" + +He changed his tone, forged ahead. "It seemed likely. But in any +case, those lips had not been painted in the window-room. Where was +the lipstick? That we found it later in the apartment was merely +confirmation.... + +"Point number four was physiological. Dr. Prouty was puzzled by the +fact that there was so little blood on the corpse. Both wounds--one +particularly--should have bled considerably. The _precordial_ region +contains many blood-vessels and muscles which would have been badly +torn by the passage of the bullet, which left a ragged wound. Where +was the blood? Had the murderer cleaned it up? But in the dark, or +semi-darkness, he could not possibly have removed all traces of the +copious blood-flow from those wounds. Whereupon we were compelled +once more to conclude that that blood had flowed--_somewhere else_. +Which meant that Mrs. French had been shot somewhere else than in the +window-room. + +"And the fifth point was a psychological one which I fear"--he smiled +sadly--"would not carry much weight in a court of law. Nevertheless to +me it was quite over-whelming in its indication. For the mind rebelled +at the thought that the window-room was the scene of the crime. It was +preposterous, dangerous, asinine from the point of view of a potential +murderer. A meeting and a murder connote secrecy, privacy--any number +of exact requirements. The window-room afforded none of these. The +room is not fifty feet away from the head night-watchman's office. +That area is well-patrolled at periodic intervals. Revolver-shots had +to be fired--and none was heard. No! Both Inspector Queen and myself +felt--for the five reasons I have given you, no single one of which was +conclusive, but which were collectively significant--that the crime was +not committed in the window-room." + +Ellery paused. His audience was following the story with eager, panting +concentration. Commissioner Welles regarded Ellery with a new light in +his small eyes. The Inspector was sunk deeply in thought. + +"If not the window," continued Ellery, "where then? The key pointed +to the apartment--the required privacy, illumination, a logical +place for the use of lipstick--certainly the apartment seemed the +best possibility. So Inspector Queen, relying upon my discretion and +discernment, since he himself could not leave the window-room where +the preliminary investigation was still going on, asked me to go to +the apartment and see what I could see. Which I did, with interesting +results.... + +"The first thing I found in the apartment was Mrs. French's own +lipstick, lying on the bedroom dressing-table." Ellery picked up +the gold lipstick from the desk and held it up for a moment. "This +lipstick proved at once, of course, that Mrs. French had been in the +apartment on Monday night. The fact that it was lying under the curved +edge of a mother-of-pearl tray on the dressing-table and was quite +hidden, showed that it had probably been overlooked by the murderer. +In fact, the murderer had no reason even to look for it, because he +did not apparently observe that the lipstick in Mrs. French's bag and +the coloring on her lips were not identical." Ellery replaced the +glittering metal case on the desk. + +"Now, I found the lipstick on the dressing-table. What did this mean? +It seemed rather plain that Mrs. French had been using the stick at +that dressing-table inside when she was interrupted. But the fact that +the lipstick was still there on the table when I found it pointed, it +seemed to me, to the fact that Mrs. French was not shot in the bedroom. +What was the interruption, then? Obviously, either a knock on the outer +door or the noise of the murderer entering the apartment. It was not +the latter, for the murderer had no key to the apartment, as I shall +soon prove. Then it must have been a knock at the door. Then, too, Mrs. +French must have been expecting it, for it so disturbed her, or it +was so important to her, that she immediately put down her lipstick, +neglecting to complete the daubing of her lips, and hurried through +the library and into the anteroom to admit her nocturnal visitor. +Presumably she opened the door, the visitor entered, and they went into +the library where Mrs. French stood behind the desk and the visitor +stood to the right, facing her--that is, Mrs. French stood where I am +standing now and the murderer stood about where Detective Hagstrom is +sitting at this moment. + +"How do I know this?" went on Ellery rapidly. "Very simply. On +examining the library, I discovered that these book-ends, which lay on +the desk"--he lifted the two onyx book-ends carefully and exhibited +them--"had been tampered with. The green felt sheathing of one of +them was lighter in shade than its mate. Mr. Weaver volunteered the +information that the book-ends were only two months old, having been +presented to Mr. French by Mr. Gray on the occasion of Mr. French's +last birthday, and that he had observed them at that time in perfect +condition, with the felts exactly alike in color. Furthermore, the +book-ends had never left the room, or in fact the desk itself. +Apparently, then, the change of felt had occurred the night before. And +that was proved when, on examining the felt under a powerful glass, I +noted some scattered grains of a white powder stuck in the glue-line +where felt and onyx met! + +"The glue was still a trifle viscid," said Ellery, "showing that it +had been very recently applied. The grains, on examination, by myself +cursorily and on analysis by the official fingerprint expert, proved +to be ordinary fingerprint powder, such as is used by the police. +But the use of fingerprint powder predicated a crime. There were no +fingerprints on the onyx. That meant the fingerprints had been removed. +Why the powder, then? Obviously, first to sprinkle the surface in order +to bring out what fingerprints might be there, and second to remove the +ones found. So much was evident. + +"But the larger question arose--why were these book-ends handled at +all?" Ellery smiled. "It was an important question, and its answer +told an important story. Well, we now knew that they were handled in +order to change the felt on one of them. _But why had that felt been +changed?_" + +His eyes challenged them mischievously. "There was only one logical +answer. _To hide or remove a trace of the crime._ But what could such +a trace be--one that would necessitate carefully ripping off a whole +felt, running down to some department in the store which stocks felts +and baizes (with what risk you may imagine!), bringing back the felt +and some glue, and finally pasting the new protector on the book-end? +It must be a damaging trace indeed. The most damaging trace of a crime +which I can conceive is--blood. And that was the answer. + +"For Dr. Prouty had stated positively that much blood had flowed. +Then I had found the exact spot where Mrs. French's heart-blood had +poured out of her body! I proceeded to reconstruct that incident. The +book-ends were on the far edge of the desk, opposite the place where +I am now standing. The blood must have come, then, from a position +similar to mine at this moment. If we suppose that Mrs. French had been +shot as she stood here, the first bullet striking above the abdomen in +the _precordial_ region, then the blood spurted out directly on the +glass top of the desk and trickled across to the book-end, soaking +it in gore. Whereupon she must have collapsed in the chair, falling +forward just as the second bullet, fired from the same spot, hit her +directly in the heart. This also bled a little. Only one book-end was +affected--the one nearer the center of the table. It was so bloody that +the murderer was compelled to remove the felt altogether and substitute +a new one. Why he felt compelled to hide this trace of the crime I +shall go into later. As for the different shade of the new felt--it is +an optical fact that colors are more difficult to distinguish truly +by artificial light than by daylight. At night, no doubt, the two +shades of green seemed identical. With the aid of the sun I immediately +detected the difference.... + +"You see now how we concluded exactly where Mrs. French was when she +was murdered. As for the position of her assailant, it was determined +from the angle of the wounds themselves, which were pointing to the +left and quite ragged, indicating that the murderer stood rather +sharply to the right." + +Ellery paused, patting his lips with a handkerchief. "I have strayed +a little from the main line of my exposition," he said, "because it +was necessary to convince you that I now had genuine proof that the +murder had been committed in the apartment. Until the discovery of the +tampered book-ends I could not be sure, despite the fact that I found +these cards and cigaret-stubs"--he displayed them briefly--"in the +cardroom next door." + +He put down the board on which the cards were tacked. "We found the +cards lying on the table there arranged in such a manner as to indicate +immediately that a game of Russian banque had been interrupted. Mr. +Weaver testified that the cardroom had been tidy the evening before, +that the cards had not been there. That meant, of course, that some one +had used them during the night. Mr. Weaver further attested to the fact +that of all the French family and their friends and acquaintances, Mrs. +French and her daughter Bernice Carmody were the only ones addicted to +the game of banque--that in fact it was well known in many quarters how +passionately devoted to it they were. + +"The cigaret-stubs in the ashtray on the table bore the brand-name _La +Duchesse_--again identified by Mr. Weaver as Miss Carmody's brand. It +was scented with her favorite _odour_, violet. + +"It seemed, then, that Mrs. French and Miss Carmody had both been in +the apartment Monday night, that Miss Carmody had smoked her unusual +cigarets, and that they had played a game of their beloved banque. + +"In the bedroom closet we found a hat and a pair of shoes identified by +Miss Underhill, the French housekeeper, and Miss Keaton, a maid in the +French employ, as having been worn by Miss Carmody on Monday, the day +of the murder, when she left the house and was not seen again. Another +hat and another pair of shoes were missing from the closet, seeming to +indicate that the girl had changed the damp ones she was wearing for +the dry ones that were missing. + +"So much for that." Ellery paused and looked about him, eyes glittering +strangely. There was not the slightest sound from his audience. They +seemed mesmerized, intent only on watching the slowly rising structure +of damning evidence. + +"To make an all-important point.... Now that I knew that the apartment +was the scene of the crime, the question inevitably arose: _Why was the +body removed to the window downstairs?_ What purpose did it serve? For +it must have served some purpose--we saw too many signs of cunning, +coördinated scheming to believe that the murderer was an arrant +lunatic, doing things for no reason at all. + +"The first alternative was that the body was removed to make it appear +that the apartment was not the scene of the murder. But this did not +follow from the facts, for if the murderer wished to remove all traces +of the crime from the apartment, why did he not also remove the banque +game, the cigaret-stubs, the shoes and the hat? True, if the body +were not discovered or the murder not suspected, the finding of these +articles would indicate no crime. But the murderer could not hope to +conceal the body forever. Some day, somehow, it would be found, the +apartment gone over, and the cards, cigarets and other things would +point to the apartment as the place where the murder was committed. + +"So, it was evident that the body was removed for another reason +entirely. What could that be? The answer came after thought--_to +delay the discovery of the body_. How was this arrived at? Simple +mental arithmetic. The exhibition was held every single day at noon +sharp. This was an unvarying rule. The window was not entered until +noon. These facts were common knowledge. If the body were hidden in +that wall-bed the murderer had absolute assurance that it would not be +discovered before twelve-fifteen. There was the good sharp reason ready +made for us--the only gleam of light in the whole muddle, which was +complicated by such questions as why the window was used at all when it +had so many obvious disadvantages, and so on. So we had no doubt that +the murderer took the trouble of carrying the body down six flights of +stairs and into the exhibition-room because he knew that the body would +not be found all the next morning. + +"Logically, then, the question followed: Why did the murderer desire to +delay the discovery of the body? Think it over and you will see that +there can be only one convincing reason--because he had to do something +on Tuesday morning which the discovery of the body would have rendered +dangerous or even impossible!" + +They were hanging on his words now breathlessly. + +"How could this be?" asked Ellery, his eyes sparkling. "Let's shift to +a new tack for the moment.... No matter how the murderer entered the +store, he must have stayed all night. He had three ways to enter, but +no way to get out unobserved. He could have hidden in the store during +the day; he could have come in after hours by the Employees' Entrance; +or he could have slipped into the building by the freight-door at +eleven o'clock at night while the commissary truck was unloading the +food supplies for the next day. The chances were that this last was +the method used, for O'Flaherty had seen no one enter by his door, and +coming in at eleven at night was better for the murderer's purpose +than having to stay in the store from five-thirty until midnight. + +"But how to get out? O'Flaherty reports no one left by his door; all +other exits were locked and bolted; and the freight-door on 39th Street +was closed at eleven-thirty, fifteen minutes before Mrs. French even +arrived at the store and a half-hour before she was murdered. So the +criminal had no recourse but to stay in the store all night. Then he +could not escape until nine the next morning, when the doors were +opened to the public. At that time he could walk out of the store as if +he were an early customer. + +"But here another factor entered. If he could walk out of the store at +nine, a free man, why couldn't he also attend to whatever business he +had without the rigmarole of taking the body to the window in order to +secure a delay? The point is that he _did_ transfer the body. Then he +_couldn't_ walk out of the store at nine, a free man. He _needed_ that +delay. He had _to stay in the store even after nine_!" + +Simultaneously there came a short gasp from different quarters of the +room. Ellery looked around quickly, as if anxious to determine exactly +who had been shocked into astonishment and perhaps fear. + +"I see that several of you catch the inference on the wing," he said, +smiling. "There could be only one reason to explain why our murderer +had to stay in the store even after nine--and that is that _he was +connected with the store_!" + +This time incredulity, suspicion, dread were written on all those +plastic faces. Every one drew unconsciously away from his neighbor, as +if suddenly aware of the many persons which this last indictment might +implicate. + +"Yes, that is where we arrived finally," continued Ellery in an +unemotional voice. "If our mysterious criminal were an employee of the +store or connected with the store in some official or even unofficial +capacity, his absence on the discovery of a murder would certainly be +noted. He could not afford to have his absence, which was evidently +of paramount importance, noted. He was in a difficult position. The +memorandum note"--he exhibited the blue slip on the desk before +him--"left on this desk by Mr. Weaver overnight told the murderer +that both Mr. Weaver and Mr. French would be in the apartment at nine +o'clock the next morning. If he left the body in the apartment, the +murder would be discovered at nine, the hue and cry raised, and he +would never get his chance to slip out of the store and attend to his +secret business. And even telephone calls might be watched. So he had +to make sure the body was not discovered until he had time to slip +away, or even telephone (for this would be untraceable if there was +no reason to check calls). The only method which he knew would surely +delay the discovery of the body was to hide it in the window-room. +Which he did, and quite successfully. + +"By this time we were able to clear up finally that minor point of how +the murderer entered the building. We had the Monday time-chart. Our +murderer must be, we said, an employee of the store or in some way +connected with it. Yet the time-chart showed that every one had checked +out regularly before or at five-thirty. Then the murderer must have +entered the building by the freight-door, as the only means left. + +"One other point, while we are on the subject of the murderer's desire +to delay the discovery of the body.... It occurred to me, as no doubt +it has occurred to you, that our mysterious criminal ran uncommon +risks and embarked on numerous voyages of complication when he began +to clean up the mess after his crime. For example--that he carried +the body downstairs. But that is explained by the fact that he had to +have time in the morning to attend to this vague business, an item, +incidentally, which we have not as yet explained. Also--why did he go +to the trouble of securing a new felt, carefully mopping up the blood, +and so on? Again this is answered by the need for time in the morning, +and the fact that if a bloody book-end were found by Mr. Weaver, +let us say, at nine o'clock a crime would be suspected at once, and +undoubtedly the criminal's chance of getting his business done would +be seriously jeopardized. Evidently then, what he had to do was of the +most pressing importance--so pressing that he could not run the risk +of the crime's even being suspected before that business was attended +to...." + +Ellery paused and referred to a sheaf of paper which he took from +his breast-pocket. "We must leave for the moment our general +conclusion that the person we are seeking is connected officially or +semi-officially with this establishment," he said at last. "Please +bear that statement in mind while I veer off into another lane of +speculation entirely.... + +"I brought to your attention a few moments ago four concrete evidences +of the presence of Miss Bernice Carmody in this apartment on Monday +night. These were, in the order in which we found them, the game of +banque exclusively indulged in by Miss Carmody and her mother; the _La +Duchesse_ cigarets, violet-scented, known to be Miss Carmody's special +brand; Miss Carmody's hat, which she was observed wearing on Monday +afternoon when she disappeared from sight; and her shoes, which fit the +same description. + +"Now I shall show you that, far from proving that Miss Carmody was +present here on Monday night, they prove exactly the contrary," +continued Ellery briskly. "The banque game contributes nothing to our +little refutation; the cards lay there in a legitimate array, and we +must leave them for the present. + +"The cigarets, however, present a more illuminating view of +my contention. These"--he held up one of the ashtrays on the +exhibit-table--"these cigaret-stubs were found on the table in the +cardroom." He lifted one of the stubs from the tray and held it high. +"As you can see, this cigaret has been almost entirely consumed--in +fact, only the small strip which bears the brand imprint is left. +Without exception, each of the ten or twelve cigarets in this ashtray +have been uniformly smoked to the same tiny stub. + +"On the other hand, in Miss Carmody's bedroom at the French house we +found these stubs." He exhibited the second ashtray, picking out one of +the cigarets from its cluttered, dusty depths to show to his audience. +"You will observe that in the case of this stub, the cigaret, also +a _La Duchesse_ of course, has been little more than one-quarter +consumed--Miss Carmody evidently having taken only five or six puffs +before crushing the remainder in the tray. Every stub in this tray from +Miss Carmody's bedroom has been similarly treated. + +"In other words," he said with a bare smile, "we find the amusing +phenomenon of two sets of cigarets, both presumably smoked by the +same person, exhibiting distinctly opposite physical remains. On +investigating, we discovered that Miss Carmody, for reasons soon to be +clarified, is extremely nervous--so much so that none of those persons +who know her best can recall any occasion on which she has not smoked +her favorite cigarets in exactly this wasteful, convulsive manner. + +"What is the inference?" A perceptible pause. "Merely that Miss +Carmody did _not_ smoke the cigarets we found on the cardroom table; +that they were smoked or prepared by some one else who did not know +Miss Carmody's unvarying method of throwing away cigarets one-quarter +consumed.... + +"Now, as for the shoes and hat," Ellery said without allowing his +auditors time in which to digest this latest pronouncement, "we found +further signs of a tampering hand. The appearance of things is that +Miss Carmody was here Monday night, having been wet by the rain of +the afternoon and evening, and that before leaving the apartment +she changed her soaked hat and shoes, putting on others from the +small stock of her clothing already in the bedroom closet. _But_ we +discovered that the hat had been inserted in a hat-box with its brim to +the bottom. And that the shoes had been stuck into the shoe-bag with +their heels projecting from the pocket. + +"In testing the habituary nature of such a procedure, we considered +that an over-whelming percentage of women put their hats away in +hat-boxes with the crowns _to the bottom_ and the brims to the top; +also that when shoes have large buckles, as this pair has, they are put +away with the heels inside, so that the buckles will not catch on the +material of the bag. Yet both articles denoted this peculiar ignorance +of feminine custom. Here the inference is also obvious--Miss Carmody +did not put away those shoes and the hat; _a man did_. For it is the +masculine custom to put hats away with the brim downward; and a man +would not grasp the significance of the buckle. All the shoes in the +rack had the heels showing, because none happened to have buckles; +whoever put Miss Carmody's shoes in the rack automatically followed +suit, which a woman would not have done. + +"Now these points, taken by and of themselves, are, I will confess, +rather weak and inconclusive. But when you put the three together, the +evidence is too strong to be overlooked--it was not Miss Carmody who +smoked the cigarets and put away shoes and hat, but some one else--a +man." + +Ellery cleared away a huskiness in his throat. His tone was barbed +with earnestness, despite a growing hoarseness. "There is another +item of considerable interest in this last connection," he continued. +"In examining the lavatory inside, Mr. Weaver and I ran across an +intriguing theft. A safety-razor blade of Mr. Weaver's, which he had +used after five-thirty Monday afternoon and had cleaned and restored +to the case because it was his last blade and he knew he would have +to shave in the morning--this blade, I say, was missing on Tuesday +morning. Mr. Weaver, who was busy Monday night and consequently forgot +to put in a new supply of blades, came to the apartment Tuesday +morning early--at eight-thirty, in fact, because he had to clear up +some business and reports before the arrival of Mr. French at nine. He +intended to shave in the apartment. The blade, which he had put away +only the late afternoon before, was gone. Mr. French, let me explain, +does not keep a razor, never shaving himself. + +"Now why was the blade gone? Of course, it was plain that the blade +must have been used Monday night or early Tuesday morning before Mr. +Weaver arrived here. Who could have used it? One of two people--Mrs. +French or her murderer. Mrs. French could have used it as a cutting +instrument of some sort; or her murderer could have used it. + +"Of the two alternatives, surely the second is more tenable. Remember +that the criminal was constrained by circumstances to pass the night +in the store. Where could he stay with most safety? Certainly in the +apartment itself! He could not roam about the dark floors, or even hide +among them with as great a margin of safety as in the apartment--not +with the watchman prowling about all night! Now--we find a blade +used. It suggests normally the process of shaving. Well, why not? We +know that the murderer had to make an appearance in the morning as an +employee or official of the store. Why shouldn't he shave while he was +temporarily occupying the apartment? It predicates a cold-blooded +personality, but that is an argument for rather than an argument +against it. Why is the blade missing? Evidently something happened +to it. What could have happened to it? Did it break? Why not! The +blade had been used a few times; it was brittle. A little extra force +in screwing the parts of the razor together, and the blade might +easily have snapped. Let us suppose that this happened. Why didn't +the murderer merely leave the broken blade? Because the murderer is +a canny scoundrel and in his own way an excellent psychologist. If a +broken blade remains it is more likely to be recalled that it was _not_ +broken at a former date than to take it for granted that the blade +_was_ broken at that former date. If the blade is missing there is no +incentive to suspicion or memory. An altered object is a more vigorous +mental stimulant than a missing one. At least, that is what I should +have thought if I had been in the murderer's place; and in effect I +believe the person who planned this affair did the correct thing in +taking away the blade--correct according to his lights. The proof is +that Mr. Weaver thought little or nothing of the missing blade until +I probed it out of him; and then it was only because I brought to the +investigation an unprejudiced, impersonal observation." + +Ellery grinned a little. "I have been working on presumptions and more +or less feeble deductions, as you can see; yet if you put together +all the scattered, flimsy facts which I have outlined in the past ten +minutes, I think you will see that common sense simply cries out that +the blade was used for shaving, that it was broken, and that it was +taken away. We find no evidence that the blade might have been used +for anything but its legitimate purpose; and this only strengthens +the contention. Let me leave this line of thought temporarily and go +to another, altogether different, and in its way one of the most +significant in the entire investigation." + +There was a surreptitious rustling of bodies in hard chairs, a quick +intake of breaths. The eyes on Ellery did not waver. + +"It may have come to you," he said in a quiet, merciless voice, "that +more than one person could have been implicated in this affair; +that, perhaps, if Miss Carmody did not put away her shoes and +hat--disregarding the damning evidence of the cigarets--she still might +have been present; for another--a man--could have disposed of the shoes +and hat while she stood by or did something else. I shall disprove that +with the most gratifying expedition." + +He put his palms flat on the desk, leaned slightly forward. "Who, +ladies and gentlemen, had rightful access to this apartment? Answer: +The five possessors of the keys. That is--Mr. French, Mrs. French, +Miss Carmody, Miss Marion French, and Mr. Weaver. The master-key in +O'Flaherty's desk was closely guarded, and no one could have got it +without either his knowledge or the knowledge of the day-man, O'Shane. +And no such knowledge exists, which makes it plain that the master key +in no way enters our calculations. + +"Of the six keys _in esse_, as it were, we are now able to account for +five. Mrs. French's is missing. All the others are absolutely accounted +for as having been exclusively in the possession of their owners. +Mrs. French's key has been sought for by the combined cunning of the +detective force. It is still missing. In other words, it is not on +these premises, despite the fact that O'Flaherty positively avers that +Mrs. French had it in her possession when she entered the store Monday +night. + +"I told you at the beginning of this impromptu demonstration that the +murderer probably took that key. Now I tell you not only that he took +it, but that _he had to take it_. + +"We have one confirmation in fact that the criminal _wanted_ a key. On +Monday afternoon, some time after Miss Carmody left the French house +furtively, Miss Underhill, the housekeeper, received a telephone call. +The caller claimed to be Miss Carmody. The caller asked Miss Underhill +to have Miss Carmody's key to the apartment ready, that a messenger +would be sent for it at once. Yet only the very same morning, Miss +Carmody had told Miss Underhill that she had lost her key, she thought, +and asked Miss Underhill to secure one of the other keys and make a +duplicate for her! + +"Miss Underhill doubts that the caller was Miss Carmody. She is ready +to swear that some one stood by the telephone at the other end and +prompted the caller's reply when Miss Underhill reminded the caller +about the lost key and the morning's instructions. The caller then hung +up in some confusion.... + +"What is the inference? Surely that the caller was not Miss Carmody, +but a hireling or accomplice of the murderer, who prompted the call in +order to secure a key to the apartment!" + +Ellery drew a long breath. "I leave you for the moment to your own +cogitations on the interesting inflections this incident raises.... Now +let me conduct you through a logical maze to another conclusion--the +one with which I began this branch of my thesis. + +"Why did the murderer want a key? Obviously, to secure a means of +access to the apartment. He could not get in except through the agency +of a second person who possessed a key, if he had not one himself. +Presumably he expected to be admitted to the apartment by Mrs. French, +but in the careful planning of the crime the possession of a key for +himself might conceivably be important, and this explains the call and +the projected 'messenger.' But to the case in point! + +"The criminal killed Mrs. French in the apartment. Now that he had a +corpse and knew that he must take it down into the window-room, for +the various reasons I have given, he pulled up with a sudden thought. +He knew that the door to the apartment had a spring lock that snapped +shut. He had no key, having failed in his effort to get hold of Bernice +Carmody's. He must carry the body out of the apartment. Yet he had much +to do in the apartment afterward--clean up the evidences of blood, +'plant' the shoes and hat, the banque game and cigarets. As a matter of +fact, even if he cleaned up the room and 'planted' the false evidence +before he took the body down, he still needed means of reëntry into +the apartment. He had to pussyfoot through the store for the felt, +the glue, and other paraphernalia needed to fix the book-ends. How +was he to get back into the apartment? He also meant to sleep in the +apartment, apparently--again, how was he to get back? You see, whether +he took the body downstairs before or after he cleaned up, he still +needed a means of reëntry to the apartment.... + +"His first thought must have been to insert something between the +door and the floor to keep the springed door from clicking shut. But +what about the watchmen? He must have thought: 'The watchmen make +rounds through this corridor by the hour. They will be sure to notice +a partly open door and investigate.' No, the door had to be closed. +But--a thought! Mrs. French had a key, her own key--the one by which +she herself entered the apartment. He would use that. We can picture +him opening her bag while she lay, bleeding and dead, across the desk, +finding the key, putting it into his own pocket, picking up the corpse +and leaving the apartment, now certain of a means of reëntering it +when he was through with his grisly task. + +"_But_"--and Ellery smiled grimly--"he had to bring the key back +upstairs with him, obviously, to get into the apartment again. +Therefore we didn't find it on the body. True, he might have gone +upstairs, done his cleaning up, and then taken the key downstairs +again. But--of course that's inane--how would he get back again? +Besides, the danger he would encounter--taking still another chance +of being detected on the main floor getting into the window.... It +was dangerous enough the first time, but that was inescapable. No, he +probably figured that the best thing he could do would be to pocket the +key and dispose of it when he left the building in the morning. True, +he might have left it in the apartment, on the card-table for example. +But the fact that it isn't in the apartment shows that he took it away +with him--he had two alternatives and chose one of them. + +"We find then--" Ellery paused for the merest instant--"that our +criminal committed the murder _without accomplices_. + +"I see doubt on some faces. But surely it is quite clear. If he had an +accomplice, he wouldn't have been forced to take the key at all!... +He would have carried the body downstairs, and his accomplice would +have remained in the apartment to open the door for him when he was +finished downstairs. Don't you see? The very fact that he had to take +the key shows that it was a one-man job. I might be confronted with +the objection: 'Well, it could have been two people at that, because +both might have carried the body downstairs.' To that I reply with +certainty, 'No!' because it would have involved a double risk--two +people would have been easier to detect by a watchman than one. This +crime is well thought out--the author of it would never have taken +this unnecessary chance of discovery." + +Ellery stopped abruptly and stared down at his notes. No one moved. +When he looked up there was a tightness about his lips that revealed an +inward strain whose cause no one there could guess. + +"I have now reached the point, ladies and gentlemen," he announced in +a calm flat voice, "where I can go to some length in describing our +elusive criminal. Would you care to hear my description?" + +He looked about the room, challenging them with his eyes. Bodies rigid +through excitement sagged in reaction. Every one averted his head. +There was no sound from them. + +"I take it that you would," said Ellery in the same flat voice, which +contained a note of amused menace. "Very well, then!" + +He leaned forward, eyes glittering. "Our murderer is a man. The tactics +employed in putting the shoes and hat into the closet plus the evidence +of the missing blade point to this masculinity. The physical energy +required in disposing of the body and the rest; the mental agility, +with its recurrent traces of hard common sense; the cold-bloodedness, +the unscrupulosity--all these point unerringly to a masculine figure +with, if you will, a fairly heavy beard which requires daily shaving." + +They followed the movements of his lips with bated breaths. + +"Our man worked alone, without accomplices. The deductions from the +missing key, which I have gone into at great length, point to this." + +There was not a tremor of movement in the room. + +"Our lone man is connected with the store. The removal of the body to +the window downstairs and all its attendant complications, which I +have also expounded at some length, prove this." + +Ellery relaxed slightly. Again he looked about the room with a little +smile. He applied his handkerchief to his lips, glanced slyly at +Commissioner Welles, who sat perspiring and alert in his chair; at his +father, who was slumped in an attitude of weariness, one fragile hand +shielding his eyes; at the motionless detectives to his left; at Velie, +Crouther, "Jimmy," and Fiorelli to his right. Then he began once more. + +"On one point," he said dryly, "we have as yet reached no definite +conclusion. I refer to the nature of the business which the murderer +considered so imperative as to require special attention Tuesday +morning.... + +"Which brings me to the most absorbing subject of the five books which +we discovered on this desk--that interesting mélange of paleontology, +elementary music, commerce of the _moyen age_, philately, and bad +vaudeville jokes." + +Ellery launched into a short, graphic description of the five strange +volumes, the markings, Weaver's story of Springer's duplicity, the +revelation that the addresses were drug-distributing depots, and +finally the unsuccessful raid on the house at the 98th Street address, +taken from the sixth book in Weaver's possession. + +"When Springer prepared the sixth book," continued Ellery, to his +ever-tensing audience, "we can assume that he had no suspicion that +the book-code was being tampered with or known to an outsider. If he +had, he would not have prepared the book and left it for Mr. Weaver's +investigating fingers. So that, when Springer left the store on Monday +night, followed by Mr. Weaver, he did not know that this sixth book, +_Modern Trends in Interior Decoration_, by Lucian Tucker, was in our +young amateur detective's possession. And since Springer met and spoke +to no one all evening, even when he arrived at his Bronx apartment +(for we have checked up through the telephone company and found that +he did not make any telephone calls when he got home), he could not +therefore have known that the book-system had been tampered with until, +at the very earliest, the next morning, Tuesday, when he returned +to work. In other words, after the murder. If we presume that not +Springer, but some one else, would have been apprised by an outsider +of the discovery of the code-system, we must not forget that the only +method by which any one could have communicated with another about +the matter from the store would be by telephoning, since he could not +leave the store during the night. And we discovered that the telephone +service at this store is cut off at night, with the exception of +one trunk line leading to O'Flaherty's desk; and this was not used, +according to O'Flaherty's own testimony. + +"Then we are forced to conclude that it was impossible for any one in +the store Monday night and early Tuesday morning to have communicated +with Springer or any one else about the missing sixth book, which +Weaver took away with him." + +Ellery forged ahead rapidly. "The fact that the system of dope +distribution was disorganized the next morning, Tuesday--as it was, for +the sudden abandonment of the 98th Street house on Tuesday afternoon +is clear evidence--could have been due only to some one of the drug +ring discovering during the night that the system was being tampered +with. I repeat here the fact that Springer went ahead on Monday evening +with his regular task of codifying the sixth book, showing that up to +that time the ring considered their system safe. Yet by next morning +they had become alarmed and fled the 98th Street rendezvous, even +before catering to their addict-customers. Again, then, the logical +explanation is that it was during the previous night that some one +discovered something wrong. + +"This discovery could have been caused only by, first, noticing the +absence of the sixth book from its accustomed shelf in the Book +Department Monday night after Weaver left--the last one to check out +of the store; second, finding the five duplicate books on Mr. French's +desk Monday night; or third, both. We must conclude therefore that, +since the disorganization did take place the morning after the crime, +it could have only been ordered by some one who made one or both of +these discoveries Monday night. Some one--to amplify--who must have +been in the store after Springer and Weaver left, and who therefore +could not get out of the store or communicate with any one until at +least nine o'clock Tuesday morning." + +Dawning comprehension shone from several faces before him. Ellery +smiled. "I see that some of you are anticipating the inevitable +conclusion.... Who in the store that night was in a position to make +one or both of these bibliographical discoveries? The answer is: the +murderer, the man who killed Mrs. French in the room in which the five +books were prominently in sight. Is there anything about the murderer's +subsequent actions which proves that he _did_ make the discovery of the +five books in the apartment? Yes, there is. The fact that the murderer +removed the body to the window-room in order to give himself time next +morning to attend to his 'business'--which until this point has been +obscure.... + +"The deductive chain, ladies and gentlemen," said Ellery in a curiously +triumphant voice, "is too strong and perfectly welded to be anything +but truth. _The murderer warned the drug ring Tuesday morning._ + +"In other words, to add an element to our growing description--our +murderer is a man, who worked alone, who is connected with the store, +and who belongs to a large, well-organized drug ring." + +He paused, fingered the five books on the desk with sensitive fingers. +"Furthermore, we are now in a position to add another qualifying item +to the growing description of the murderer. + +"For had our drug-distributing murderer been present in the French +apartment _before_ the night of the murder--and by 'before' I mean at +any time within five weeks prior to the fatal night--he would have +seen the books on the table, would have become suspicious, would have +at once ordered the cessation of the book-code operations in the +Book Department. And since up to the very night of the murder the +book system was still in effect, it follows most gracefully that the +murderer had not been in the French library for between one and five +weeks before Monday night last.... We have confirmation that it was +the murderer again who saw those books on the desk. For in examining +and later fixing the damaged book-ends, he could scarcely have missed +seeing--and understanding to his horror the significance of--the five +volumes.... + +"As a matter of fact," continued Ellery swiftly, "there is no +difficulty in deducing that the murderer, upon seeing the incriminating +books on this desk, immediately stole downstairs to the Book Department +with a flashlight to determine whether the sixth book had been +tampered with also. And of course he would have found it gone--the +climax-capping discovery which would make it imperative for him to +get word to his confederates that the game was up. This is a decently +reasonable conjecture which very soon, I am happy to announce, we shall +be able to check more positively!" + +And with this he stopped short, mopped his forehead with his +handkerchief, and polished the lenses of his pince-nez with absent +fingers. This time a ripple of conversation disturbed the quiet +atmosphere, beginning in a minor cadence that swelled to excited +proportions, only to cease abruptly when Ellery lifted a hand for +silence. + +"To make the analysis complete," he resumed, restoring his glasses +to his nose, "I shall now become perhaps objectionably personal. For +I mean to take up, one by one, each of you and measure you by the +yardstick I have constructed in this analysis!" + +Instantly the room was a babel of exclamations, expressions of anger, +resentment, bewilderment, uncomfortable self-interest. Ellery shrugged +his shoulders, turned toward Commissioner Welles. The Commissioner said +"Yes!" in a decisive tone and glared at the people assembled before +him. They subsided, muttering. + +Ellery turned back to his audience with a half-smile. "Really," he +said, "I have not sprung my greatest surprise by any means. So there is +little cause for protest on the part of any one here--or should I say +nearly any one? At any rate, let's begin this fascinating little game +of elimination. + +"From the first unit on my yardstick--the fact that the murderer is +a man--" he said, "we may at once absolve, even as an intellectual +exercise, Miss Marion French, Miss Bernice Carmody, and Mrs. Cornelius +Zorn. + +"The second unit--that this man worked alone--is irrelevant and useless +to determine identity, so we will proceed to the third unit, which is +that the murderer, a man, is connected with this establishment. And to +the fourth, which is that the murderer has not been in this apartment +within the past five weeks. + +"There is, first, Mr. Cyrus French." Ellery bowed insouciantly to the +feeble old millionaire. "Mr. French is certainly connected with this +establishment. Mr. French, further, could have committed the crime, if +you judge physical possibility a factor. I demonstrated privately not +long ago that, had Mr. French bribed the chauffeur of his host, Mr. +Whitney, to take him into the City from Great Neck on Monday night and +forget about it, he could have arrived at this apartment in sufficient +time to slip through the freight-entrance and into the apartment. He +was not seen again, except by the chauffeur, after he retired to his +room in the Whitney house at nine o'clock Monday night complaining of a +slight indisposition. + +"However--" Ellery smiled at the purpling face of French--"Mr. French +has certainly been in this room within the past five weeks--every day, +in fact, for years. And if this seems inconclusive, Mr. French, rest +easy. For there is another reason, that thus far I have purposely +neglected to mention, which makes your culpability a psychological +impossibility." + +French relaxed, a vague smile lifting the corners of his tremulous old +mouth. Marion squeezed his hand. "Now," said Ellery busily, "Mr. John +Gray, donor of the entangled book-ends and close friend to the French +family. You, Mr. Gray," he said gravely, directly addressing the spruce +old director, "are eliminated on a number of counts. Although you are +connected with the store in a very important capacity, and although +your absence on Tuesday morning would have been seriously noticed, +you too have been a frequent visitor to these rooms during the past +five weeks; in fact, you attended a meeting here on Friday, I believe. +And you had an alibi for Monday night which we checked up and found +stronger than even you believe. For not only does the night-man at your +hotel desk confirm your statement that you were talking with him at +eleven-forty Monday night, making it impossible for you to have entered +the store, but another person, unknown to you--a fellow-resident at the +same apartment hotel--saw you enter your suite at eleven-forty-five.... +Even without this we could not seriously have entertained a thought +of your guilt, for we had no reason to believe that your friend the +night-clerk is anything but an honest man. No more reason, in fact, +than that Mr. Whitney's chauffeur, in the case of Mr. French, is +dishonest. In Mr. French's case I merely mentioned the bribe as an +eventuality, improbable but certainly within the realm of possibility." + +Gray sank back with a curious sigh, dug his small hands into the +pockets of his coat. Ellery turned to red-faced, nervous Cornelius +Zorn, who was fumbling with his watch-chain. "Mr. Zorn, your alibi was +weak, and you could have, with perjured testimony on the part of Mrs. +Zorn, committed the murder. But although you are a prominent official +of the store, you too have been in this room at least once weekly for +many months. And you, too, as well as Mr. French and Mr. Gray, are +further absolved by this psychological inadmissibility of which I spoke +before. + +"Mr. Marchbanks," continued Ellery, turning to the heavy-set, lowering +brother of the dead woman, "your story about the automobile trip to +Long Island and staying overnight at your house in Little Neck, unseen +by any one who might vouch for your presence, also made it physically +possible for you to have returned to the city in time to get into +the store and commit the murder. But you needn't have been so irate +yesterday--you are absolved too by this secret point of mine, besides +being eliminated, as a regular attendant here at the directorial +conferences, on the same account as Mr. Zorn. + +"And Mr. Trask--" Ellery's tone hardened slightly--"although you were +drunk and rolling about the streets--" Trask's jaw dropped in vapid +astonishment--"on Monday night and Tuesday morning, you, too, are set +free by my yardstick, as well as by my as yet undivulged item." + +Ellery paused, looked contemplatively at the stony, dark features +of Vincent Carmody. "Mr. Carmody. In many respects you deserve our +apologies and genuine commiserations. You were entirely eliminated from +our speculations by the fact that you are in no way connected with the +store. Had you committed the murder, despite your story of the night +trip to Connecticut, which was unsubstantiated and might have been +false, there would have been no necessity for taking the body of Mrs. +French downstairs to the window-room. Because you could have walked +out of the store at nine o'clock unrestrained by any fear that your +absence might be noticed. You did not belong in the store at all. You, +too, incidentally, are eliminated further by my charming and mysterious +little point. + +"And now," continued Ellery, turning to the disturbed Gallic features +of Paul Lavery, "we come to you. Don't be afraid!" he smiled--"you +didn't commit the crime! I was so certain that I did not even bother +to ask you for a statement of your movements on Monday night. You +have been in this apartment daily for weeks. Besides, you came here +directly from France only a short time ago--it was quite beyond the +area of probability to suspect you, therefore, of being embroiled in +a gang of drug-peddlers operating with intense organization in this +city and country. And you, too, cannot very well be our murderer, since +you do not logically measure up to my last point, still withheld. And, +if I were to be minutely psychiatric, I might add that a man of your +refined and Continental intelligence would never have committed the +regrettable mistakes which got our esteemed mysterioso into trouble. +For I do believe that, out of all of us, you alone would have been +man-of-the-world enough to know how a woman puts her hat into a +hat-box, and how she stores buckled shoes in a shoe-bag.... + +"We have now," continued Ellery pleasantly, but there was a feverish +glitter in his eye, "narrowed the field of inquiry considerably. We +might discuss, of course, Mr. MacKenzie, the general manager, who +is an employee of the store. No, no! Mr. MacKenzie, don't rise to +protest--we've eliminated you already. Because of this last point of +ours, which is almost ready for exposition, and because you have +been in this apartment within five weeks. But any of the hundreds +of employees of the store who have _never_ been in this apartment +and whose movements Monday night are unaccounted for, might be the +murderer. We'll come to that in a moment. At this time, ladies and +gentlemen--" Ellery made a sharp sign to Patrolman Bush at the anteroom +door, who immediately bobbed his head and went out, leaving the door +open behind him--"at this time I wish to present to you a gentleman +who until now has been more or less of an unknown quantity; no less +a personage than--" there was a flurry at the outer door; it opened +and Bush entered, followed by a detective who held a white-faced man, +manacled, tightly by the elbow--"Mr. James Springer!" + +Ellery retreated slightly, a grim smile on his face. The detective +escorted his prisoner to the front of the room, where two chairs were +immediately set by one of the attendant policemen. The two men sat +down, Springer holding his manacled hands limply in his lap, staring +steadfastly at the floor. He was a middle-aged man with sharp features +and grey hair; a livid bruise on his right cheek was mute evidence of a +recent scuffle. + +Everybody in the room stared at him wordlessly. Old French was +speechless with rage at the sight of the employee who had betrayed him. +Weaver and Marion both laid restraining hands on his shaking arm. But +there were no words in that audience--only hot eager glances, and in +one case a frozen steady immutability.... + +"Mr. Springer," said Ellery quietly--yet his voice exploded like a +shell in the strained atmosphere of the room--"Mr. Springer has been +kind enough to turn State's evidence. Mr. Springer, who ran away with +the deluded thought that he might successfully evade the police, was +caught the very day he attempted to escape because we were prepared for +it. Mr. Springer's capture has been kept very quiet. Mr. Springer has +cleared up many little items of procedure which we could not possibly +have deduced. + +"For example, that the murderer is his chief in the drug ring, which +even now is being scattered and pursued throughout the country. That +the murderer is the right-hand man of the eloquently termed 'master +mind' of the drug ring in this city. That Miss Bernice Carmody, who we +discovered by investigation was probably a drug addict in an advanced +stage, had come under the influence of the heroin habit, had met by +devious ways the 'master mind,' had been introduced to the code-system, +had become so dependent upon the drug that she willingly solicited +new customers from her social circle, becoming in a way therefore +almost a member of the ring. That Miss Carmody's pernicious addiction +was unsuspected by her family until, as we know, her father, Mr. +Carmody, began to suspect and told his former wife, Mrs. French, what +he suspected; and Mrs. French, observing, saw that it was true. That +Mrs. French, in her assertive way, directly accused her daughter of +addiction and finally broke down the girl's weakened will until she +confessed everything--including the name of the man connected with +the French store who was supplying her directly with her own drugs. +That Mrs. French, who we may suppose did not inform her husband of the +true state of affairs because of his violent aversion to this form +of vice, on Monday took away from Miss Carmody the newly replenished +supply of drugs which she kept in the false bottom of her specially +made lipstick. That Mrs. French further forced her daughter to make +an appointment for her with this man, this employee in her husband's +store, for Monday night at midnight, secretly, to plead with him for +her daughter--to force him, by threats of disclosing to the police +what she now knew about the drug organization, to loose his grip on +her daughter and allow the girl to be cured secretly by her mother. +That this appointment was made on Sunday through Miss Carmody. That +this man immediately reported the alarming state of affairs to his +chief, the ubiquitous 'master mind,' who in his customary cold-blooded +fashion commanded him to kill Mrs. French, who by now, in turn, was in +possession of too much vital information to be allowed to live; and +also to do away with Miss Carmody, who had proved a weak cog in the +machine and must also be disposed of. That this man, under threat of +being killed himself, laid his plans and made his appointment. That +he entered secretly through the freight-door, which as an employee +of the store he knew was open at that exact half-hour each night. +That he waited until midnight in a store lavatory and then made his +way stealthily to the apartment on the sixth floor, knocked, and was +admitted by Mrs. French, who had arrived a few minutes before. That +she stood by the desk, as we deduced, and they argued; that he was +not aware of the heroin-filled lipstick in her bag, or he would have +taken it; that without hesitation he shot and killed Mrs. French, +who bled profusely, the blood staining the book-end; that on bending +over the desk he saw the five books, and realized that some one had +been tampering with the code-system; that he saw the blue memorandum +announcing the arrival next morning at nine of Mr. Weaver and Mr. +French; that he realized he could not communicate with any one of the +ring about this latest unforeseen development, because he was unable +to get out before the next morning and could not telephone; that he +therefore decided to hide the body in the exhibition-window, which +would give him ample time next morning to slip away and warn his gang, +for if the body were left in the apartment and discovered at nine, he +would be unable for precautionary reasons to leave the building; and +finally that he disposed of the body where we found it. Also that on +his way back he stopped at the Book Department on the main floor and +confirmed his suspicion that the sixth book was also missing. That +he took Mrs. French's key back with him, having been unsuccessful in +his attempt to get Bernice Carmody's that afternoon by the ruse of +the telephone call. Finally, that he cleaned up the apartment, fixed +the book-end, 'planted' the evidence against Miss Carmody, stayed +overnight, shaved in the morning, broke the blade and took it away +with him; and slipped out shortly after nine, emerging with the early +shoppers only to reënter the building at once through the regular +Employees' Entrance, in order to be checked in officially. And that +he managed soon after to sneak off and warn his gang leader of the +discovery of the book-system...." + +Ellery cleared his throat, went on relentlessly. "Mr. Springer was also +kind enough to clear up the matter of Miss Carmody's abduction. With +the action of Mrs. French on Sunday of taking away her store of the +drug, the girl became desperate and got in touch with the murderer. +This fitted in with his plans--he told her to come to a rendezvous +in the lower part of the city for a new supply. She went on Monday +afternoon and was promptly abducted, being taken by confederates to +a Brooklyn hideaway and murdered. Her clothes were confiscated and +brought back to our murderer, who had as yet committed no capital +crime. These clothes the murderer brought with him to the apartment +Monday night--the hat and shoes, tied up innocently in a small parcel, +but wet a trifle with rain to make the deception perfect. + +"There is only one thing more to explain before proceeding to the +much-wished-for _dénouement_.... And that is the reason for 'planting' +the banque game, cigarets, shoes and hat to make it appear as if +Bernice herself had been implicated in the crime. And this, too, was +outlined--under protest--by Mr. Springer, who has been just a cog--an +important cog, perhaps--in the vicious wheel.... + +"The murderer left evidences of Miss Carmody's presence because she +had necessarily vanished. Since she had been murdered and would be +missing, there was a logical reason for connecting the two events--the +disappearance of the girl and the murder of her mother. It would seem +perhaps as if the girl had committed the crime. Since this was untrue, +the murderer felt that it might confuse the police and put them off +the real track. The murderer did not really hope that the deception +would be successful for long--it was merely another red herring drawn +across the trail, and anything which would lead the scent away from him +in another direction he felt was desirable. And the actual 'framing' +required little enough trouble and work. The cigarets he secured from +Xanthos', Miss Carmody's tobacconist, since she had once told him where +she secured her private supply. The banque he knew about from Miss +Carmody, also. The rest was child's play...." + +They were sitting on the edge of the hard camp-chairs now, straining +forward to catch every syllable. Occasionally they looked at each other +in a puzzled manner, as if unable to see clearly to the end of the +analysis. Ellery brought them back to attention with his next words. + +"Springer!" The name cracked out sharply. The prisoner started, +paled, looked up furtively. His eyes fell at once to the carpet he +had been studiously observing. "Springer, have I given your story +faithfully--and completely?" + +The man's eyes fluttered in a sudden agony, rolled in their sockets, +wildly seeking a face in the swaying crowd before him. When he spoke, +it was in a husky monotone, barely audible to those avid ears. + +"Yes." + +"Very well, then!" exclaimed Ellery, leaning forward, his tone keenly +triumphant. "I have still to expatiate upon that unspoken point which I +termed mysterious a few moments ago.... + +"You will recall that I spoke of the book-ends and the few grains of +powder stuck in the glue between the onyx and the new felt. That powder +was ordinary fingerprint powder. + +"From the moment that I was certain of the nature of the powder, the +veils dissipated before my eyes and I sensed the truth. We thought +at first, ladies and gentlemen," he continued, "that the use of +fingerprint powder by the criminal indicated a very superior sort of +murderer--a super-criminal, in fact. One who would use the implements +of the police's own trade--it was a natural thought.... + +"But"--and the word lashed into them with deadly emphasis--"there was +another inference to be drawn--an inference which in a fell swoop +eliminated all suspects but one...." His eyes flashed fire; the +hoarseness disappeared from his voice. He leaned forward carefully, +over the desk with its litter of clues, holding them with the magnetism +of his personality. "All suspects--but one...." he repeated slowly. + +After a pregnant moment he said: "That one is the man who was employed +by this store; who had not been in this room for at least five +weeks; who attempted to put us off the track of himself by getting +an accomplice without a record to give false information about the +'movements' of Bernice Carmody, who was already dead, in fact; who at +the same time was clever enough to say, when he saw that we believed +Miss Carmody to have been 'framed,' that he thought so, too, despite +the fact that he himself had done the framing; who was present--the +only suspect to be present, by the way--when the full story of the +codified books and the culpability of Springer was told, and who took +the very first opportunity of warning Springer to flee, realizing +that, with Springer caught, he himself was in serious danger; _who, +most important of all, was the only personality connected with this +investigation to whom the use of fingerprint powder was natural and +thoroughly logical_...." + +He stopped abruptly, eyes fixed with interest, expectancy, the +eagerness of the chase, upon one corner of the room. + +"_Watch him, Velie!_" he cried suddenly, in a piercing voice. + +Before they could turn, before they could grasp the significance of +the scene enacted before them so swiftly and vitally, there came the +sounds of a short violent struggle, a bull-like bellow of rage, the +hoarse panting of breaths, and finally one sharp stupendous deafening +report.... + +Ellery stood limply, wearily in his fixed position at the desk. He did +not move while they rushed concertedly from all sides of the room to +the quiet spot where the body of a man lay, already stiff in death, in +a pool of blood. + +It was Inspector Queen who reached that contorted body first, by a +lightning leap; who knelt quickly on the carpet, motioning aside the +red-faced, heaving figure of Sergeant Velie; who turned the convulsed +corpse of the suicide over; who muttered in words inaudible even to the +nearest spectator: + +"No legal evidence--and the bluff worked!... Thank God for a son...." + +The face was the face of the head store detective, Thomas Crouther. + + + THE END + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78823 *** diff --git a/78823-h/78823-h.htm b/78823-h/78823-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..85d8d3c --- /dev/null +++ b/78823-h/78823-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,12185 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <title> + The French Powder Mystery | Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .51em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .49em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: 33.5%; + margin-right: 33.5%; + clear: both; +} + +hr.tb {width: 45%; margin-left: 27.5%; margin-right: 27.5%;} +hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} +@media print { hr.chap {display: none; visibility: hidden;} } +hr.full {width: 95%; margin-left: 2.5%; margin-right: 2.5%;} +div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} +h2.nobreak {page-break-before: avoid;} + +x-ebookmaker-drop {display: none;} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.right {text-align: right;} + +.smcap { font-variant:small-caps; } + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; + page-break-inside: avoid; + max-width: 100%; +} + +.caption p +{ + text-align: center; + text-indent: 0; + margin: 0.25em 0; + font-weight: bold; +} + +div.titlepage { + text-align: center; + page-break-before: always; + page-break-after: always; +} + +div.titlepage p { + text-align: center; + text-indent: 0em; + font-weight: bold; + line-height: 1.5; + margin-top: 3em; +} + +/* Footnotes */ +.footnotes {border: 1px dashed;} + +.footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + +.footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + +.fnanchor { + vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: + none; +} + +/* Poetry */ +uncomment the next line for centered poetry +/* .poetry-container {display: flex; justify-content: center;} */ +.poetry-container {text-align: center;} +.poetry {text-align: left; margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%;} +.poetry .stanza {margin: 1em auto;} +.poetry .verse {text-indent: -3em; padding-left: 3em;} +.poetry .indent0 {text-indent: -3em;} +.poetry .indent4 {text-indent: -1em;} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +table.autotable { border-collapse: collapse; } +table.autotable td, +table.autotable th { padding: 4px; } + +.tdl {text-align: left;} +.tdr {text-align: right;} +.tdc {text-align: center;} + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.ph1 { text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; } +.ph1 { font-size: x-large; margin: .83em auto; } + +.ph2 { text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; } +.ph2 { font-size: medium; margin: .83em auto; } + +.ph3 { text-align: right; text-indent: 0em; } +.ph3 { font-size: medium; margin: .83em auto; } + + </style> +</head> + +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78823 ***</div> + + +<div class="titlepage"> + +<h1>THE FRENCH POWDER MYSTERY</h1> + +<p><i>A Problem in Deduction</i></p> + +<p class="ph1">By ELLERY QUEEN</p> + +<p><i>Author of "The Roman Hat Mystery"</i></p> + +<p>FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY<br> +NEW YORK<br> +MCMXXX</p> + +<p>COPYRIGHT, 1930, BY FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY</p> + +<p><i>All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced<br> +without the written permission of the publishers.</i></p> + +<p><i>Printed in the United States of America</i></p> + + +</div> + +<hr class="chap"> + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<table> +<tr><td class="tdr"></td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#FOREWORD">FOREWORD</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr"></td><td class="tdc"></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr"></td> <td class="tdc"><a href="#THE_FIRST_EPISODE">THE FIRST EPISODE</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">1.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#1">"<span class="smcap">The Queens Were in the Parlor</span>"</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">2.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#2">"<span class="smcap">The Kings Were in the Counting-House</span>"</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">3.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#3">"<span class="smcap">Humpty-Dumpty Had a Great Fall</span>"</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">4.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#4">"<span class="smcap">All the King's Horses</span>"</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">5.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#5">"<span class="smcap">And All the King's Men</span>"</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">6.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#6"><span class="smcap">Testimony</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">7.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#7"><span class="smcap">The Corpse</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">8.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#8"><span class="smcap">The Watcher</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">9.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#9"><span class="smcap">The Watchers</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">10.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#10"><span class="smcap">Marion</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">11.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#11"><span class="smcap">Loose Ends</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">12.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#12"><span class="smcap">Out the Window</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr"></td><td class="tdc"></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr"></td> <td class="tdc"><a href="#THE_SECOND_EPISODE">THE SECOND EPISODE</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">13.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#13"><span class="smcap">At the Apartment</span>: <i>The Bedroom</i></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">14.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#14"><span class="smcap">At the Apartment</span>: <i>The Lavatory</i></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">15.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#15"><span class="smcap">At the Apartment</span>: <i>The Cardroom</i></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">16.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#16"><span class="smcap">At the Apartment</span>: <i>Again the Bedroom</i></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">17.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#17"><span class="smcap">At the Apartment</span>: <i>The Library</i></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">18.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#18"><span class="smcap">Scrambled Signs</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">19.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#19"><span class="smcap">Opinions and Reports</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr"></td><td class="tdc"></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr"></td> <td class="tdc"><a href="#THE_THIRD_EPISODE">THE THIRD EPISODE</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">20.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#20"><span class="smcap">Tobacco</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">21.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#21"><span class="smcap">Keys Again</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">22.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#22"><span class="smcap">Books Again</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">23.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#23"><span class="smcap">Confirmation</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">24.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#24"><span class="smcap">The Queens Take Stock</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr"></td><td class="tdc"></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr"></td> <td class="tdc"><a href="#THE_FOURTH_EPISODE">THE FOURTH EPISODE</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">25.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#25"><span class="smcap">Ellerius Bibliophilus</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">26.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#26"><span class="smcap">The Trail to Bernice</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">27.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#27"><span class="smcap">The Sixth Book</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">28.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#28"><span class="smcap">Unraveling Threads</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">29.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#29"><span class="smcap">Raid!</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">30.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#30"><span class="smcap">Requiem</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">31.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#31"><span class="smcap">Alibis: Marion-Zorn</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">32.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#32"><span class="smcap">Alibis: Marchbanks</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">33.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#33"><span class="smcap">Alibis: Carmody</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">34.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#34"><span class="smcap">Alibis: Trask</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">35.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#35"><span class="smcap">Alibis: Gray</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">36.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#36">"<span class="smcap">The Time Has Come</span>...."</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr"></td><td class="tdc"></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr"></td> <td class="tdc"><a href="#THE_LAST_EPISODE">THE LAST EPISODE</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">37.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#37"><span class="smcap">Make Ready!</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">38.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#38"><span class="smcap">The End of all Things</span></a></td></tr> +</table> + +<hr class="chap"> + +<h2>SOME PERSONS OF IMPORTANCE ENCOUNTERED IN THE COURSE OF THE FRENCH +INVESTIGATION<a id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></h2> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p><span class="smcap">Note</span>: A list of the personalities involved in <i>The French +Powder Mystery</i> is here set at the disposition of the reader. He +is urged indeed to con the list painstakingly before attacking the +story proper, so that each name will be vigorously impressed upon +his consciousness; moreover, to refer often to this page during his +perusal of the story.... Bear in mind that the most piercing enjoyment +deriving from indulgence in detectival fiction arises from the battle +of wits between author and reader. Scrupulous attention to the cast of +characters is frequently a means to this eminently desirable end.</p> + +<p class="ph3"><span class="smcap">Ellery Queen.</span></p> +</div> + + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p><span class="smcap">Winifred Marchbanks French</span>, <i>Requiescat in pace</i>. What +cesspool of evil lies beneath her murder?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Bernice Carmody</span>, a child of ill-fortune.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Cyrus French</span>, a common American avatar—merchant prince and +Puritan.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Marion French</span>, a silken Cinderella?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Westley Weaver</span>, amanuensis and lover—and friend to the +author.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Vincent Carmody</span>, <i>l'homme sombre et malheureux</i>. A dealer in +antiquities.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">John Gray</span>, director. A donor of book-ends.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Hubert Marchbanks</span>, director. Ursine brother to the late Mrs. +French.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">A. Melville Trask</span>, director. Sycophantic blot on a fair +'scutcheon.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Cornelius Zorn</span>, director. An Antwerpian nabob, potbelly, +inhibitions and all.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Cornelius Zorn</span>, Zorn's Medusa-wife.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Paul Lavery</span>, the impeccable <i>français</i>. Pioneer in modern +art-decoration. Author of technical studies in the field of fine arts, +notably <i>L'Art de Faïence, publi par Monserat, Paris, 1913</i>.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Arnold MacKenzie</span>, General Manager of French's, a Scot.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">William Crouther</span>, chief guardian of the law employed by +French's.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Diana Johnson</span>, a study in normal ebon.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">James Springer</span>, Manager of the Book Department; a mysterioso.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Peter O'Flaherty</span>, lead head night-watchman of the French +establishment.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Hermann Ralska</span>, <span class="smcap">George Powers</span>, <span class="smcap">Bert Bloom</span>, +nightwatchmen.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Hortense Underhill</span>, genus <i>housekeeper tyranna</i>.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Doris Keaton</span>, a maidenly minion.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Hon. Scott Welles</span>, just a Commissioner of Police.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dr. Samuel Prouty</span>, Assistant Medical Examiner of New York +County.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Henry Sampson</span>, District Attorney of New York County.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Timothy Cronin</span>, Assistant District Attorney of New York +County.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Thomas Velie</span>, Detective-Sergeant under the wing of Inspector +Queen.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Hagstrom</span>, <span class="smcap">Hesse</span>, <span class="smcap">Flint</span>, <span class="smcap">Ritter</span>, +<span class="smcap">Johnson</span>, <span class="smcap">Piggott</span>, sleuths attached to the command of +Inspector Queen.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Salvatore Fiorelli</span>, Head of the Narcotic Squad.</p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">Jimmy</span>," Headquarters fingerprint expert who has ever +remained last-nameless.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Djuna</span>, The Queens' beloved scull, who appears far too little.</p> + +<p>Detectives, policemen, clerks, a physician, a nurse, a Negro +caretaker, a freight watchman, etc., etc., etc., etc.</p> + +<p>and</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Inspector Richard Queen</span> who, being not himself, is sorely beset in this adventure</p> + +<p><i>and</i></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Ellery Queen</span> who is so fortunate as to resolve it.</p> + +</div> + + +<hr class="chap"> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/illus1.jpg" alt=""> + <div class="caption"> + <p>A—Elevator shaft; B—Stairway shaft; C, D, E, F, G—French apartment; +C—Lavatory; F—Anteroom; D—Bedroom; G—Cardroom; E—Library; +H—Ground floor door to elevator, facing 39th Street corridor; +I—Ground floor door to stairway, facing Fifth Avenue corridor; +J—Window containing Lavery Exhibition; +K—Door to murder-window; L—O'Flaherty's office, with view of 39th Street entrance; +M—Door from freight room</p> + </div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="FOREWORD">FOREWORD</h2> +</div> + + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p><span class="smcap">Editor's Note</span>: It will be recalled by the readers of Mr. +Queen's last detective novel<a id="FNanchor_2" href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> that a foreword appeared therein +written by a gentleman designating himself as <i>J. J. McC.</i> The +publishers did not then, nor do they now, know the identity of this +friend of the two Queens. In deference to the author's wish, however, +Mr. McC. has been kind enough to pen once more a prefatory note to his +friend's new novel, and this note appears below.</p> +</div> + +<p>I have followed the fortunes of the Queens, father and son, with more +than casual interest for many years. Longer perhaps than any other +of their legion friends. Which places me, or so Ellery avers, in the +unfortunate position of Chorus, that quaint herald of the olden drama +who craves the auditor's sympathetic ear and receives at best his +willful impatience.</p> + +<p>It is with pleasure nevertheless that I once more enact my rôle of +prologue-master in a modern tale of murder and detection. This pleasure +derives from two causes: the warm reception accorded Mr. Queen's first +novel, for the publication of which I was more or less responsible, +under his <i>nom de plume</i>; and the long and sometimes arduous friendship +I have enjoyed with the Queens.</p> + +<p>I say "arduous" because the task of a mere mortal in attempting to +keep step with the busy life of a New York detective Inspector and +the intellectual activity of a book-worm and logician can adequately +be described only by that word. Richard Queen, whom I knew intimately +long before he retired, a veteran of thirty-two years' service in the +New York police department, was a dynamic little gray man, a bundle of +energy and industry. He knew his crime, he knew his criminals, and he +knew his law. He brought to these not uncommon attributes, however, +a daring of method that put him far above the average Detective +Inspector. A firm advocate of the more inspirational methods of his +son, he nevertheless was the practical policeman to his fingertips. +Under his long régime the Detective Bureau, except for those stormy +times when his official superiors took it upon themselves by +overhauling the department to satisfy a theory or a press opinion, +garnered a record of solved capital crimes which to this day is unique +in the police history of New York City.</p> + +<p>Ellery Queen, as may be imagined, deplored the more unimaginative +aspects of his father's profession. He was the pure logician, with a +generous dash of dreamer and artist thrown in—a lethal combination +to those felons who were so unfortunate as to be dissected by the +keen instruments of his mind, always under those questing pince-nez +eyeglasses. His "life work" before his father's retirement was hardly +visible to the eye, unless his casual custom of writing a detective +story when the spirit moved him may be termed a life work.<a id="FNanchor_3" href="#Footnote_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> He +occupied himself chiefly in a student's pursuit of culture and +knowledge, and since he had an independent income from a maternal uncle +which removed him from the class of social parasite, he lived what he +characteristically termed the "ideal intellectual life." It was natural +for him to evince intense interest in crime, due to his environment, +which from childhood had been saturated with tales of murder and +law-breaking; but the artistic element in his nature made him useless +for routine police investigation.</p> + +<p>I recall vividly a conversation between father and son one day many +years ago which brought out their wholly opposed viewpoints on the +subject of crime-detection. I relate the conversation here because it +will crystallize the difference between the two men so clearly—a point +quite essential to complete understanding of the Queens.</p> + +<p>The Inspector was expounding on his profession for my benefit, while +Ellery lounged in his chair between us.</p> + +<p>"Ordinary crime-detection," said the old man, "is almost wholly a +mechanical matter. Most crimes are committed by 'criminals'—that is to +say, by individuals habituated by environment and repetitious conduct +to the pursuit of law-breaking. Such persons in ninety-nine out of a +hundred cases have police records.</p> + +<p>"The detective in these ninety-nine hypothetical cases has much to go +on. Bertillon measurements—fingerprint records, intimate photographs, +a complete dossier. Moreover, he has a little file of the criminal's +idiosyncrasies. We have not developed this phase of detective science +so well as the London, Vienna and Berlin police, but we have at least +laid a foundation....</p> + +<p>"A burglar who habitually makes use of a certain method of prying +open doors and windows, or blowing safes, for example; a hold-up +man who always wears a crude, home-made mask; a gunman who smokes +and drops a certain brand of cigaret, purely from habit; a gangster +with an inordinate fondness for women; a second-story man who always +works alone, or one who invariably employs a 'look-out'.... These +idiosyncrasies of method are sometimes as definite clues to the +identity of a criminal as his fingerprints.</p> + +<p>"It seems peculiar to the layman," went on Inspector Queen, when +he had inhaled deeply from his old snuff-box—a habit inseparable +from the man—"that a criminal should constantly use the same <i>modus +operandi</i>—always drop the same cigaret smoked the same way; always +wear the same kind of mask; always indulge in a wild orgy with women +after a 'job.' But they forget that crime is the criminal's business, +and that every business leaves its indelible mark of habit on the +business man."</p> + +<p>"Your psychological policeman, by the way," grinned Ellery, "doesn't +scorn the aid of informers, either, McC. Something like the little +tick-bird that sits on the rhino's back and warns of approaching +danger...."</p> + +<p>"I was coming to that," retorted his father equably. "As I said +in the beginning, we have plenty to go on in the case of the +hardened criminal. But most of all, despite my son's jeering +attitude, we have come to depend upon the underworld's 'squealers,' +'stool-pigeons'—they're called less polite names, too—for the +solution of routine crimes. It is an open secret that without the +stool-pigeon a huge percentage of felonies would remain unsolved. They +are as essential to the big city's police as a knowledge of the proper +source-book is to the lawyer. It stands to reason—the underworld by +its amazing grapevine inevitably knows who has pulled a big 'job.' Our +problem is to find a 'stoolie' who will part with the tip for a fair +consideration. It isn't always easy even then, by the way...."</p> + +<p>"Child's play," said Ellery in a provocative tone. And he grinned.</p> + +<p>"I firmly believe," went on the old Inspector imperturbably, "that +every police department in the world would collapse in six months if +the institution of underworld informing were to come to an end."</p> + +<p>Ellery lazily took up the cudgels. "Most of what you say, Sire, is +only too true. Which is why ninety per cent of your investigations hold +not a vestige of glamour for me. But the last ten per cent!</p> + +<p>"Where the police detective woefully falls down, J.J.," he said +smiling, turning to me, "is in the case of the crime whose perpetrator +is <i>not</i> a habitual criminal, who has therefore left <i>no</i> handy +fingerprints which will correspond with another set in your files, +about whose idiosyncrasies <i>nothing</i> is known for the ludicrously +simple reason that he has never been a criminal before. Such a person, +generally speaking, is not of the underworld, and you can therefore +pump your stool-pigeon to your heart's delight without eliciting the +slightest morsel of useful information.</p> + +<p>"You have nothing to go on, I am happy to say," he continued, +twirling his pince-nez, "except the crime itself, and such clues and +pertinences as that crime reveals upon observation and investigation. +Obviously—and I say this with proper respect for my father's ancient +profession—obviously to nab the criminal in such a case is the more +difficult job by many headaches. Which explains two things—the +hideously high percentage of unsolved crimes in this country, and my +own absorbing avocation."</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p><i>The French Powder Mystery</i> is one of the older cases from the Queens' +files—an actual case, as I have said, and one in which Ellery +exhibited scintillating proofs of his unique talents. He kept notes of +this case during the French investigation—one of his few practical +habits. Subsequently, with the unmasking of the murderer, he wrote a +book around the real-life plot, developing and embroidering the facts +to fit a literary pattern.</p> + +<p>I induced him to polish up the manuscript and have it published as +the second novel under his pen-name—and this at a time when I was +under his sacred roof in the Queens' Italian villa. For it will be +recalled that Ellery, having renounced his old profession utterly, now +that he is married and domesticated, has hidden his old cases in the +depths of a filing-cabinet and nothing less than the detonation of a +presumptuous friend's exhortations has been able to make him consent to +a revivication of the mellowed manuscripts.</p> + +<p>It should be borne in mind, in all fairness to Inspector Queen, that +the old sleuth's comparatively small rôle in the French case was due +to the enormous press of official business during that hectic season, +and in no small degree to the heckling he was subjected to by the newly +appointed civilian, Scott Welles, to the post of Commissioner of Police.</p> + +<p>In closing, it might be pleasant to point out that the Queens are at +this writing still in their tiny mountain-home in Italy; that Ellery's +son has learned to toddle and say with innocent gravity, "gramps"; +that Djuna is in perfect health and has recently undergone the stress +of a cosmic love-affair with a little witch of a country girl; that +the Inspector is still writing monographs for German magazines and +making occasional tours of inspection through the Continental police +departments; that Mrs. Ellery Queen has happily recovered from her +recent illness; and finally that Ellery himself, after his visit last +fall to New York, has returned to that "gem-encrusted" Roman scenery +with gratitude in his heart and, he says, (but I doubt it), no regrets +for the distractions of the West Side.</p> + +<p>Which leaves me little else to write but a most sincere hope that you +will enjoy the reading of <i>The French Powder Mystery</i> fully as much as +I did.</p> + +<p class="ph3"><span class="smcap">J. J. McC.</span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">New York</span><br> +<i>June, 1930</i></p> + + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_FIRST_EPISODE">THE FIRST EPISODE</h2> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>"<i>Parenthetically speaking ... in numerous cases the sole difference +between success and failure in the detection of crime is a sort of ... +osmotic reluctance (on the part of the detective's mental perceptions) +to seep through the cilia of</i> WHAT SEEMS TO BE <i>and reach the +vital stream of</i> WHAT ACTUALLY IS."</p> + +<p class="ph3">—From <span class="smcap">A Prescription for Crime</span>,<br> +<i>By</i> Dr. Luigi Pinna</p> + +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="1">1</h2> +</div> + +<h3>"THE QUEENS WERE IN THE PARLOR"</h3> + + +<p>They sat about the old walnut table in the Queen apartment—five oddly +assorted individuals. There was District Attorney Henry Sampson, +a slender man with bright eyes. Beside Sampson glowered Salvatore +Fiorelli, head of the Narcotic Squad, a burly Italian with a long +black scar on his right cheek. Red-haired Timothy Cronin, Sampson's +assistant, was there. And Inspector Richard Queen and Ellery Queen sat +shoulder to shoulder with vastly differing facial expressions. The old +man sulked, bit the end of his mustache. Ellery stared vacantly at +Fiorelli's cicatrix.</p> + +<p>The calendar on the desk nearby read Tuesday, May the twenty-fourth, +19—. A mild spring breeze fluttered the window draperies.</p> + +<p>The Inspector glared about the board. "What did Welles ever do? I'd +like to know, Henry!"</p> + +<p>"Come now, Q, Scott Welles isn't a bad scout."</p> + +<p>"Rides to hounds, shoots a 91 on the course, and that makes him +eligible for the police commissionership, doesn't it? Of course, of +course! And the unnecessary work he piles on us...."</p> + +<p>"It isn't so bad as that," said Sampson. "He's done some useful things, +in all fairness. Flood Relief Committee, social work.... A man who has +been so active in non-political fields can't be a total loss, Q."</p> + +<p>The Inspector snorted. "How long has he been in office? No, don't tell +me—let me guess. Two days.... Well, here's what he's done to us in two +days. Get your teeth into this.</p> + +<p>"Number one—reorganized the Missing Persons Bureau. And why poor +Parsons got the gate <i>I</i> don't know.... Number two—scrambled seven +precinct captains so thoroughly that they need road maps to get back +to familiar territory. Why? You tell me.... Number three—shifted the +make-up of Traffic B, C, and D. Number four—reduced a square two dozen +second-grade detectives to pounding beats. Any reason? Certainly! +Somebody whose grand-uncle's niece knows the Governor's fourth +secretary is out for blood.... Number five—raked over the Police +School and changed the rules. And I know he has his eagle eye on my pet +Homicide Squad...."</p> + +<p>"You'll burst a blood-vessel," said Cronin.</p> + +<p>"You haven't heard anything yet," said the Inspector grimly. "Every +first-grade detective must now make out a daily report—in line of +duty, mind you—a daily personal report direct to the Commissioner's +office!"</p> + +<p>"Well," grinned Cronin, "he's welcome to read 'em all. Half those +babies can't <i>spell</i> homicide."</p> + +<p>"Read them nothing, Tim. Do you think he'd waste <i>his</i> time? Not by +your Aunt Martha. No, sir! He sends them into <i>my</i> office by his shiny +little secretary, Theodore B. B. St. Johns, with a polite message: +'The Commissioner's respects to Inspector Richard Queen, and the +Commissioner would be obliged for an opinion within the hour on the +veracity of the attached reports.' And there I am, sweating marbles to +keep my head clear for this narcotic investigation—there I am putting +my mark on a flock of flatfoot reports." The Inspector dug viciously +into his snuff-box.</p> + +<p>"You ain't spilled half of it, Queen," growled Fiorelli. "What's +this wall-eyed walrus, this pussy-footing specimen of a 'civvie' do +but sneak in on my department, sniff around among the boys, hook +a can of opium on the sly, and send it down to Jimmy for—guess +what—fingerprints! Fingerprints, by God! As if Jimmy could find the +print of a dope-peddler after a dozen of the gang had had their paws on +the can. Besides, we had the prints already! But no, he didn't stop for +explanations. And then Stern searched high and low for the can and came +runnin' to me with some crazy story that the guy we're lookin' for'd +walked himself straight into Headquarters and snitched a pot of opium!" +Fiorelli spread his huge hands mutely, stuck a stunted black cheroot +into his mouth.</p> + +<p>It was at this moment that Ellery picked up a little volume with torn +covers from the table and began to read.</p> + +<p>Sampson's grin faded. "All joking aside, though, if we don't gain +ground soon on the drug ring we'll all be in a mess. Welles shouldn't +have forced our hand and stirred up the White test case now. Looks as +if this gang—" He shook his head dubiously.</p> + +<p>"That's what riles me," complained the Inspector. "Here I am, just +getting the feel of Pete Slavin's mob, and I have to spend a whole day +down in Court testifying."</p> + +<p>There was silence, broken after a moment by Cronin. "How did you come +out on O'Shaughnessy in the Kingsley Arms murder?" he asked curiously. +"Has he come clean?"</p> + +<p>"Last night," said the Inspector. "We had to sweat him a little, but he +saw we had the goods on him and came through." The harsh lines around +his mouth softened. "Nice piece of work Ellery did there. When you stop +to think that we were on the case a whole day without a glimmer of +proof that O'Shaughnessy killed Herrin, although we were sure he'd done +it—along comes my son, spends ten minutes on the scene, and comes out +with enough proof to burn the murderer."</p> + +<p>"Another miracle, eh?" chuckled Sampson. "What's the inside story, +Q?" They glanced toward Ellery, but he was hunched in his chair, +assiduously reading.</p> + +<p>"As simple as rolling off a log," said Queen proudly. "It generally is +when he explains it.—Djuna, more coffee, will you, son?"</p> + +<p>An agile little figure popped out of the kitchenette, grinned, bobbed +his dark head, and disappeared. Djuna was Inspector Queen's valet, +man-of-all-work, cook, chambermaid, and unofficially the mascot of the +Detective Bureau.<a id="FNanchor_4" href="#Footnote_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> He emerged with a percolator and refilled the cups +on the table. Ellery grasped his with a questioning hand and began to +sip, his eyes riveted on the book.</p> + +<p>"Simple's hardly the word," resumed the Inspector. "Jimmy had sprinkled +that whole room with fingerprint powder and found nothing but Herrin's +own prints—and Herrin was deader than a mackerel. The boys all took +a whack at suggesting different places to sprinkle—it was quite a +game while it lasted...." He slapped the table. "Then Ellery marched +in. I reviewed the case for him and showed him what we'd found. You +remember we spotted Herrin's footprints in the crumbled plaster on the +dining-room floor. We were mighty puzzled about that, because from the +circumstances of the crime it was impossible for Herrin to have been +in that dining-room. And that's where superior mentality, I suppose +you'd call it, turned the trick. Ellery said: 'Are you certain those +are Herrin's footprints?' I told him they were, beyond a doubt. When I +told him why, he agreed—yet it was impossible for Herrin to have been +in that room. And there lay the prints, giving us the lie. 'Very well,' +says this precious son o' mine, 'maybe he wasn't in the room, after +all.' 'But Ellery—the prints!' I objected. 'I have a notion,' he says, +and goes into the bedroom.</p> + +<p>"Well," sighed the Inspector, "he certainly did have a notion. In +the bedroom he looked over the shoes on Herrin's dead feet, took them +off, got some of the print powder from Jimmy, called for the copy of +O'Shaughnessy's fingerprints, sprinkled the shoes—and sure enough, +there was a beautiful thumb impression! He matched it with the file +print, and it proved to be O'Shaughnessy's.... You see, we'd looked in +every place in that apartment for fingerprints except the one place +where they were—on the dead body itself. Who'd ever think of looking +for the murderer's sign on his victim's shoes?"</p> + +<p>"Unlikely place," grunted the Italian. "How'd it figure?"</p> + +<p>"Ellery reasoned that if Herrin wasn't in that room and his shoes were, +it simply meant that somebody else wore or planted Herrin's shoes +there. Infantile, isn't it? But it had to be thought of." The old +man bore down on Ellery's bowed head with unconvincing irritability. +"Ellery, what on earth are you reading? You're hardly an attentive +host, son."</p> + +<p>"That's one time a layman's familiarity with fingerprints came in +handy," grinned Sampson.</p> + +<p>"Ellery!"</p> + +<p>Ellery looked up excitedly. He waved his book in triumph, and began to +recite to the amazed group at the table: "'If they went to sleep with +the sandals on, the thong worked into the feet and the sandals were +frozen fast to them. This was partly due to the fact that, since their +old sandals had failed, they wore untanned brogans made of newly flayed +ox-hides.'<a id="FNanchor_5" href="#Footnote_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> Do you know, dad, that gives me a splendid idea?" His +face beamed as he reached for a pencil.</p> + +<p>Inspector Queen swung to his feet, grumbling. "You can't get anything +out of him when he's in that mood.... Come along, Henry—you going, +Fiorelli?—let's get down to City Hall."</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="2">2</h2> +</div> + +<h3>"THE KINGS WERE IN THE COUNTING-HOUSE"</h3> + + +<p>It was eleven o'clock when Inspector Queen left his apartment on West +87th Street in the company of Sampson, Cronin and Fiorelli, bound for +the Criminal Courts Building.</p> + +<p>At precisely the same moment, some miles to the south, a man stood +quietly at the library dormer-window of a private apartment. The +apartment was situated on the sixth floor of French's, the Fifth +Avenue department store. The man at the window was Cyrus French, chief +stockholder of French's and president of its Board of Directors.</p> + +<p>French was watching the swirling traffic at the intersection of Fifth +Avenue and 39th Street with unseeing eyes. He was a dour-visaged man +of sixty-five, stocky, corpulent, iron-grey. He was dressed in a dark +business suit. A white flower gleamed on his lapel.</p> + +<p>He said: "I hope you made it clear that the meeting was for this +morning at eleven, Westley," and turned sharply to eye a man seated +beside a glass-topped desk before the window.</p> + +<p>Westley Weaver nodded. He was a fresh-faced young man, clean-shaven and +alert, in the early thirties.</p> + +<p>"Quite clear," he replied pleasantly. He looked up from a stenographic +notebook in which he had been writing. "As a matter of fact, here is a +carbon copy of the memorandum I typed yesterday afternoon. I left one +copy for each director, besides this one which you found on the desk +this morning." He indicated a slip of blue-tinted paper lying beside +the desk telephone. Except for five books standing between cylindrical +onyx book-ends at the extreme right of the desk, a telephone, and the +memorandum, the glass top was bare. "I followed up the memos to the +directors with telephone calls about a half-hour ago. They all promised +to be here on time."</p> + +<p>French grunted and turned again to look down upon the maze of morning +traffic. Hands clasped behind his back, he began to dictate store +business in his slightly grating voice.</p> + +<p>They were interrupted five minutes later by a knock on the outer door, +beyond an anteroom. French irritably called, "Come!" and there was the +sound of a hand fumbling with the invisible knob. French said, "Oh, +yes, the door's shut, of course; open it, Westley."</p> + +<p>Weaver went quickly through the anteroom and flung open the heavy door. +He admitted a weazened little old man who showed pale gums in a grin, +and with an amazing celerity for a man of his years tripped into the +room.</p> + +<p>"Never seem to remember that locked door of yours, Cyrus," he piped, +shaking hands with Westley and French. "Am I the first?"</p> + +<p>"That you are, John," said French with a vague smile. "The others +should be here any moment now."</p> + +<p>Weaver offered the old man a chair. "Won't you sit down, Mr. Gray?"</p> + +<p>Gray's seventy years sat lightly on his thin shoulders. He had +a bird-like head covered with thin white hair. His face was the +indeterminate color of parchment; it was constantly wreathed in smiles +which lifted his white mustache above thin red lips. He wore a wing +collar and an ascot tie.</p> + +<p>He accepted the chair and sat down with a preposterously lithe movement.</p> + +<p>"How was your trip, Cyrus?" he asked. "Did you find Whitney amenable?"</p> + +<p>"Quite, quite!" returned French, resuming his pacing. "In fact, I +should say that if we officially come to a complete agreement this +morning, we can consummate the merger in less than a month."</p> + +<p>"Fine! Good stroke of business!" John Gray rubbed his hands in a +curious gesture; they rasped together.</p> + +<p>There was a second knock at the door. Weaver again went into the +anteroom.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Trask and Mr. Marchbanks," he announced. "And if I'm not mistaken, +there comes Mr. Zorn from the elevator." Two men passed into the room, +and a moment later a third; whereupon Weaver hurried back to his chair +by the desk. The door swung shut with a click.</p> + +<p>The newcomers shook hands all around and dropped into chairs at a +long conference table in the middle of the room. They made a peculiar +group. Trask—A. Melville Trask in the Social Register—fell into a +habitually drooping attitude, sprawling in his chair and playing idly +with a pencil on the table before him. His associates paid little +attention to him. Hubert Marchbanks sat down heavily. He was a fleshy +man of forty-five, florid and clumsy-handed. At regular intervals his +loud voice broke in an asthmatic wheeze. Cornelius Zorn regarded his +fellow directors from behind old-fashioned gold-rimmed eyeglasses. His +head was bald and square, his fingers were thick, and he wore a reddish +mustache. His short figure completely filled the chair. He looked +startlingly like a prosperous butcher.</p> + +<p>French took a seat at the head of the table and regarded the others +solemnly.</p> + +<p>"Gentlemen—this is a meeting which will go down in the history of +department store merchandising." He paused, cleared his throat. +"Westley, will you see that a man is posted at the door so that we may +continue absolutely undisturbed?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir." Weaver picked up the telephone on the desk and said, +"Mr. Crouther's office, please." A moment later he said, "Crouther? +Who? Oh, yes.... Never mind looking for him; you can take care of +it. Send one of the store detectives up to the door of Mr. French's +private apartment. He is to see that no one disturbs Mr. French while +the Board meeting is going on.... He is not to interrupt us—merely +station himself at the door.... Whom will you send?... Oh! Jones? Good +enough. Tell Crouther about it when he comes in.... Oh, he's been in +since nine? Well, tell him for me when you see him; I'm very busy just +now." He hung up and returned quickly to a chair at French's right. He +snatched his pencil and poised it over his notebook.</p> + +<p>The five directors were poring over a sheaf of papers. French sat +staring at the blue May sky outside while they familiarized themselves +with the details of the documents, his heavy hands restless on the +table top.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he turned to Weaver and said in an undertone, "I'd almost +forgotten, Westley. Get the house on the wire. Let's see—it's +eleven-fifteen. They should be up by this time. Mrs. French may be +anxious about me—I haven't communicated with her since I left for +Great Neck yesterday."</p> + +<p>Weaver gave the number of the French house to the operator, and a +moment later spoke incisively into the mouthpiece.</p> + +<p>"Hortense? Is Mrs. French up yet?... Well, is Marion there, then? Or +Bernice?... Very well, let me speak with Marion...."</p> + +<p>He shifted his body away from French, who was talking in a low tone to +old John Gray. Weaver's eyes were bright and his face suddenly flushed.</p> + +<p>"Hello, hello! Marion?" he breathed into the telephone. "This is Wes. +I'm sorry—you know—I'm calling from the apartment—your father would +like to speak to you...."</p> + +<p>A woman's low voice answered. "Westley dear! I understand.... Oh, I'm +so sorry, darling, but if father's there we can't talk very long. You +love me? Say it!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, but I <i>can't</i>," whispered Weaver fiercely, his back rigid and +formal. But his face, turned away from French, was eloquent.</p> + +<p>"I know you can't, silly boy." The girl laughed. "I just said it to +make you wriggle. But you do, don't you?" She laughed again.</p> + +<p>"Yes. Yes. Oh, YES!"</p> + +<p>"Then let me talk to father, darling."</p> + +<p>Weaver cleared his throat hastily and turned to French.</p> + +<p>"Here's Marion at last, sir," he said, handing the instrument to the +old man. "Hortense Underhill says that neither Mrs. French nor Bernice +has come down yet."</p> + +<p>French hurriedly took the telephone from Weaver's hands. "Marion, this +is father. I've just arrived from Great Neck and I'm feeling fine. +Everything all right?... What's the matter? You seem a little tired.... +All right, dear. I merely wanted to let you know that I'm back safely. +You might tell Mother for me—I'll be too busy to call again this +morning. Good-by, dear."</p> + +<p>He returned to his chair, looked gravely around at the Board, and said, +"Now gentlemen, since you've had a few moments to become familiar +with the figures I thrashed out with Whitney, let's get to work." He +brandished a forefinger.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>At eleven forty-five the telephone bell jangled, interrupting a heated +discussion between French and Zorn. Weaver's hand leaped to the +instrument.</p> + +<p>"Hello, hello! Mr. French is very busy just now.... Is that you, +Hortense? What is it?... Just a moment." He turned to French. "Pardon +me, sir—Hortense Underhill is on the wire and she seems disturbed +about something. Will you talk to her or call back?"</p> + +<p>French glared at Zorn, who was fiercely dabbing away the perspiration +on his thick neck, and snatched the telephone from Weaver.</p> + +<p>"Well, what is it?"</p> + +<p>A quavering feminine voice answered. "Mr. French, something dreadful's +happened. I can't find Mrs. French or Miss Bernice!"</p> + +<p>"Eh? What's that you say? What's the matter? Where are they?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know, sir. They hadn't rung for the maids all morning, and I +went up to see if anything was wrong a few minutes ago. You'll—you'll +never believe it, sir—I can't understand—"</p> + +<p>"Well!"</p> + +<p>"Their beds aren't touched. I don't think they slept home last night."</p> + +<p>French's voice rose in anger. "You silly woman—is that why you're +interrupting my Board meeting? It was raining last night and they +probably stayed overnight somewhere with friends."</p> + +<p>"But Mr. French—they would have called, or—"</p> + +<p>"Please, Hortense! Go back to your housework. I'll look into this +later." He slammed the receiver on the hook.</p> + +<p>"Foolishness ..." he muttered. Then he shrugged his shoulders. He +turned to Zorn again, palms on the table. "Now what's that? Do you mean +to tell me that you'd stand in the way of this merger just because of a +paltry few thousands? Let me tell you something, Zorn...."</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="3">3</h2> +</div> + +<h3>"HUMPTY-DUMPTY HAD A GREAT FALL"</h3> + + +<p>French's occupied a square block in the heart of the mid-town section +of New York, on Fifth Avenue. On the borderline between the more +fashionable upper avenue and the office-building district farther +downtown, it catered to a mixed patronage of wealth and penury. At the +noon hour its broad aisles and six floors were crowded with shop girls +and stenographers; in mid-afternoon the tone of its clientele improved +perceptibly. It boasted at once therefore the lowest prices, the most +modern models, the widest assortment of saleable articles, in New York. +As a result of this compromise between attractive prices and exclusive +merchandise it was the most popular department store in the city. From +nine o'clock in the morning until five-thirty in the evening French's +was thronged with shoppers, the sidewalks surrounding the marble +structure and its many wings almost impassable.</p> + +<p>Cyrus French, pioneer department store owner, assisted by his associate +Board, exerted the full financial strength of his powerful organization +to make French's—an institution of two generations of French +ownership—the show place of the city. In those days, long before the +artistic movement had been communicated in the United States to the +more practical articles of use and wear, French's had already made +contact with its European representatives and held public exhibitions +of art objects, art furniture, and kindred modernistic ware. These +exhibits attracted huge crowds to the store. One of its main windows +fronting Fifth Avenue was devoted to exhibits of periodically imported +articles. This window became the focal point for the eyes of all New +York. Curious throngs constantly besieged its sheathing of plate glass.</p> + +<p>On the morning of Tuesday the twenty-fourth of May, at three minutes +of the noon hour, the heavy unpaneled door to this window opened and +a Negress in black dress, white apron and white cap entered. She +sauntered about the window, seemed to appraise its contents, and then +stood stiffly at attention, as if awaiting a predetermined moment to +begin her mysterious work.</p> + +<p>The contents of the window were arranged to illustrate a combination +living-room and bedroom, of an ultra-modern design created by Paul +Lavery, of Paris, according to a placard in a corner. This card +acknowledged Lavery's authorship of the articles on exhibition, and +called attention to "lectures on the fifth floor by M. Lavery." The +rear wall, into which the one door opened by which the Negress had +entered, was unrelieved by ornament and tinted a pastelle green. On +this wall hung a huge Venetian mirror, unframed, its edges cut in +an irregular design. Against the wall stood a long narrow table, +exhibiting an unpainted grain highly waxed. On the table stood a +squat prismatic lamp, made of a clouded glass procurable at that +period only from a unique modern art-objects factory in Austria. Odd +pieces—chairs, end-tables, bookcases, a divan, all of unorthodox +construction, peculiar and daring in conception—stood about the +gleaming floor of the window-room. The side walls served as background +for several pieces of miscellaneous utility.</p> + +<p>The lighting fixtures in the ceiling and on the side walls were all of +the "concealed" variety rapidly gaining vogue on the Continent.</p> + +<p>At the stroke of noon the Negress, who had remained motionless since +her entrance into the room, stirred into activity. By this time a +viscid mass of people had gathered outside the window on the sidewalk, +awaiting the Negress's demonstration with hungry eyes and restless +shoulders.</p> + +<p>Setting down a metal rack on which were hung a number of simply +lettered placards, the Negress picked up a long ivory wand and, +pointing to the legend on the first placard, proceeded solemnly to one +of the pieces on the east wall and began a pantomimic demonstration of +its construction and properties.</p> + +<p>The fifth placard—by this time the crowd had doubled in size and +overflowed from the sidewalk—bore the words:</p> + +<p class="ph2"><span class="smcap">Wall-Bed</span><br> +This Article of Furniture<br> +Is Concealed in the West<br> +Wall and Is Operated Electrically<br> +by a Push-Button.<br> +It is of Special Design,<br> +Created by M. Paul Lavery,<br> +and Is the Only One of Its<br> +Kind in This Country.</p> + + +<p>Pointing to the words once more, for emphasis, the Negress sedately +walked to the west wall, indicated with a flourish a small ivory button +set in a nacreous panel, and touched the button with one long black +finger.</p> + +<p>Before pressing it, she looked out once more on the jostling, expectant +crowd before the window. Necks craned eagerly to see the marvel about +to be revealed.</p> + +<p>What they saw was a marvel indeed—so unexpected, so horrible, so +grotesque that at the instant of its occurrence faces froze into +masks of stunned incredulity. It was like a moment snatched out of an +unbelievable nightmare.... For, as the Negress pushed the ivory button, +a section of the wall slid outward and downward with a swift noiseless +movement, two small wooden legs unfolded and shot out of the forepart +of the bedstead, the bed settled to a horizontal position—and the body +of a woman, pale-faced, crumpled, distorted, her clothes bloody in two +places, fell from the silken sheet to the floor at the Negress's feet.</p> + +<p>It was twelve-fifteen exactly.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="4">4</h2> +</div> + +<h3>"ALL THE KING'S HORSES"</h3> + + +<p>The Negress uttered one horrified shriek, so piercing that it was +distinctly audible through the heavy glass window, rolled her eyes +wildly, and fell fainting at the side of the body.</p> + +<p>The spectators outside still presented a tableau—they were stricken +into silence, petrified with fright. Then a woman on the sidewalk, +her face pressed immovably to the glass, screamed. Immobility became +frenzy, silence a dull unpunctuated roar. The crowd surged away from +the window, pushing madly backward, stampeding in terror. A child fell +and was trampled in the crush. A police whistle blew, and a bluecoat +ran shouting through the crowd, using his club freely. He seemed +bewildered by the uproar—he had not yet seen the two still figures in +the exhibition-window.</p> + +<p>Suddenly the door in the window burst open and a lean man wearing a +short pointed beard and a monocle ran into the room. His staring eyes +took in the two motionless figures on the shining floor, traveled +jerkily to the milling crowd outside and the policeman swinging his +club, and returned with dazed disbelief to the floor. With a soundless +oath he sprang forward, grasped a heavy silk cord in a corner near the +plate-glass window, and pulled. A translucent curtain fell immediately, +shutting off the view of the frantic people in the street.</p> + +<p>The bearded man knelt at the side of the Negress, felt her pulse, +hesitantly touched the skin of the other woman, rose and ran back to +the door. A growing crowd of sales-girls and shoppers was collecting on +the main floor of the department store, just outside the window. Three +men—floorwalkers—rushed through as if to enter.</p> + +<p>The man in the window spoke sharply: "You—get the head store detective +at once—no, never mind—here he comes—Mr. Crouther! <i>Mr. Crouther!</i> +This way! Here!"</p> + +<p>A heavy-set, broad-shouldered man with a mottled complexion shoved +his way, cursing, through the crowd. He had just reached the entrance +of the window when the policeman who had dispersed the crowd on the +sidewalk ran up and dashed after him into the window. The three men +disappeared, the bluecoat slamming the door shut behind them.</p> + +<p>The bearded man stood aside. "There's been a terrible accident, +Crouther.... Glad you're here, officer.... My God, what an affair!"</p> + +<p>The head store detective pounded across the room and glared down at the +two women. "What happened to the coon, Mr. Lav-ery?" he bellowed at the +bearded man.</p> + +<p>"Fainted, I suppose!"</p> + +<p>"Here, Crouther, let me take a look," said the policeman, +unceremoniously pushing Lavery aside. He bent over the body of the +woman who had tumbled from the bed.</p> + +<p>Crouther cleared his throat importantly. "Listen here, Bush. This is +no time to make an examination. We oughtn't to touch a thing until +Headquarters is notified. Mr. Lav-ery and me—we'll stand guard here +while you use the 'phone. Go ahead now, Bush, don't be an egg!"</p> + +<p>The policeman stood undecidedly for a moment, scratched his head, and +finally left the room with hurried steps.</p> + +<p>"This is one sweet mess," growled Crouther. "What happened here, Mr. +Lav-ery? Who in hell is <i>this</i> woman?"</p> + +<p>Lavery started nervously and plucked at his beard with long thin +fingers. "Why, don't you know? But of course not.... Good Heavens, +Crouther, what are we to do?"</p> + +<p>Crouther frowned. "Now don't go getting yourself all excited, Mr. +Lav-ery. This is a police job, pure and simple. Lucky I was on the +scene so quick. We gotta wait for the detail from Headquarters. Just +take it easy now—"</p> + +<p>Lavery regarded the store detective coldly. "I'm perfectly all right, +Mr. Crouther," he said. "I suggest—" he weighted the word with +authority—"that you immediately marshal your store forces to keep +order on the main floor. Make it appear as if nothing out of the way +has happened. Call Mr. MacKenzie. Send somebody to notify Mr. French +and the Board of Directors. I understand they're having a meeting +upstairs. This is—an affair of a grave nature—graver than you know. +Go now!"</p> + +<p>Crouther looked at Lavery rebelliously, shook his head, and made for +the door. As he opened it a small dark man with a physician's bag +stepped into the room. He glanced quickly around and without a word +crossed to the side of the two bodies.</p> + +<p>He favored the Negress with a scant glance and a feeling of the pulse. +He spoke without looking up.</p> + +<p>"Here—Mr. Lavery, is it?—you'll have to help—get one of the men +outside to give you a hand—the Negress has merely fainted—get her a +glass of water and put her on that divan there—send somebody for one +of the nurses from the infirmary...."</p> + +<p>Lavery nodded. He went to the door and looked out over the whispering +crowd on the floor.</p> + +<p>"Mr. MacKenzie! Here, please!"</p> + +<p>A middle-aged man with a pleasant Scotch face hurried up and into the +room. "Help me, please," said Lavery.</p> + +<p>The doctor busied himself over the body of the other woman. His +movements concealed her face. Lavery and MacKenzie picked up the +reviving form of the Negress and carried her to the divan. A +floorwalker outside was dispatched for a glass of water and reappeared +in a twinkling. The Negress gulped, groaned.</p> + +<p>The doctor looked up gravely. "This woman is dead," he announced. "Has +been for quite a while. What's more, she's been shot. Got it in the +heart. Looks like murder, Mr. Lavery!"</p> + +<p>"<i>Nom du chien!</i>" muttered Lavery. His face was sickly white.</p> + +<p>MacKenzie scurried across the room to look down at the huddled corpse. +He fell back with a cry.</p> + +<p>"Good God! <i>It's Mrs. French!</i>"</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="5">5</h2> +</div> + +<h3>"AND ALL THE KING'S MEN"</h3> + + +<p>The window-door opened quickly and two men stepped in. One, a tall +lank individual smoking a blackish cigar, stopped short, peered about +him, and then, catching sight of the body, immediately advanced to the +farther side of the wall-bed, on the floor by which lay the dead woman. +He favored the little physician with a keen glance, nodded and without +further ado dropped to his knees. After a moment he looked up.</p> + +<p>"The store doctor, are you?"</p> + +<p>The physician nodded nervously. "Yes. I've made a superficial +examination. She's dead. I—"</p> + +<p>"I can see that," said the newcomer. "I'm Prouty, Assistant Medical +Examiner. Stand by, doctor." Again he bent over the body, opening his +bag with one hand.</p> + +<p>The second of the two men who had arrived was an iron-jawed giant. He +had stopped at the door, softly prodding it shut behind him. Now his +eyes flickered over the frozen faces of Lavery, MacKenzie and the store +doctor. His own face was cold and harsh and expressionless.</p> + +<p>It was not until Dr. Prouty began his examination that this man +vitalized into action. He took a purposeful step forward toward +MacKenzie, but stopped suddenly as the door shivered under a violent +pounding.</p> + +<p>"Come in!" he said sharply, standing between the door and the bed, so +that the body was hidden from the newcomers.</p> + +<p>The door was flung aside. A small army of men surged forward. The tall +man blocked their path.</p> + +<p>"Just a moment," he said lowly. "We can't have so many people in here. +Who are you?"</p> + +<p>Cyrus French, flushed and choleric, snapped: "I am the owner of this +establishment, and these gentlemen all have a right to be here. They +are the Board of Directors—this is Mr. Crouther, our head store +detective—stand aside, please."</p> + +<p>The tall man did not move. "Mr. French, eh? Board of Directors?... +Hello, Crouther.... Who is this?" He pointed to Westley Weaver, who +hovered about the edge of the group, a trifle pale.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Weaver, my secretary," said French impatiently. "Who are you, sir? +What's happened here? Let me pass."</p> + +<p>"I see." The tall man reflected a moment, hesitated, then said firmly, +"I'm Sergeant Velie of the Homicide Squad. Sorry, Mr. French, but +you'll have to abide by my orders here. Come in, but don't touch +anything and let me give the orders." He stepped aside. He seemed to be +waiting for something with unwearying patience.</p> + +<p>Lavery ran forward, his eyes distended as he saw Cyrus French stride +toward the bed. He intercepted the old man, grasped his lapel.</p> + +<p>"Mr. French—please do not look—just now...."</p> + +<p>French petulantly brushed him aside. "Let me be, Lavery! What is +this—a conspiracy? Ordered about in my own store!" He proceeded to +the bed, and Lavery fell back, a resigned look on his mobile face. +Suddenly, as if struck by a thought, he took John Gray aside, speaking +in the director's ear. Gray paled, stood transfixed to the spot, then +with an indistinct cry he leaped to French's side.</p> + +<p>He was just in time. The store owner had bent curiously over Dr. +Prouty's shoulder, taken one look at the woman on the floor, and +collapsed without a sound. Gray caught him as he sank. Lavery sprang +forward and assisted in carrying the old man's limp body to a chair on +the other side of the room.</p> + +<p>A nurse in white cap and gown had slipped into the room and was +ministering to the hysterical Negress on the divan. She went quickly +over to French, slipped a vial under his nose, and instructed Lavery +to chafe his hands. Gray paced nervously up and down, muttering to +himself. The store doctor hurried over to help the nurse.</p> + +<p>The directors and the secretary, huddled together in a horror-struck +group, moved hesitantly toward the body. Weaver and Marchbanks cried +out together at seeing the woman's face. Zorn bit his lip and turned +away. Trask averted his face in horror. Then, in the same mechanical +motion, they moved slowly backward to a corner, glancing helplessly at +each other.</p> + +<p>Velie crooked a huge finger at Crouther. "What have you done?"</p> + +<p>The store detective grinned. "Taken care of all the details, don't you +worry. I've got all my men scrambled on the main floor and they've +scattered the mob. Got everything well in hand. Trust Bill Crouther for +that, Sergeant! Won't be much for you guys to do, that's a fact."</p> + +<p>Velie grunted. "Well, here's something for you to do while we're +waiting. Get a big stretch of the main floor roped off right around +this section, and keep everybody away. It's a little late now, I +suppose, to close the doors. Wouldn't do much good. Whoever did this +job is miles away from here by now. Get going, Crouther!"</p> + +<p>The store detective nodded, turned away, turned back. "Say, +Sergeant—know just who the woman on the floor is? Might help us right +now."</p> + +<p>"Yes?" Velie smiled frostily. "Can't see how. But it doesn't take much +to figure it out. It's French's wife. Blast it, this is a great place +for a murder!"</p> + +<p>"No!" Crouther's jaw dropped. "French's wife, hey? The big cheese +himself.... Well, well!" He stole a glance at the slack figure of +French and a moment later his voice resounded through the window as he +roared instructions outside.</p> + +<p>Silence in the window-room. The group in the corner had not moved. +The Negress and French had both been revived—the black woman's eyes +rolling wildly as she clung to the starched skirt of the nurse, +French's face a pasty white as he half-lay in the chair listening to +Gray's low-voiced words of sympathy. Gray himself seemed drained of his +queer vitality.</p> + +<p>Velie beckoned to MacKenzie, who hovered nervously at Prouty's shoulder.</p> + +<p>"You're MacKenzie, the store manager?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Sergeant."</p> + +<p>"It's time to get a move on, Mr. MacKenzie." Velie eyed him coldly. +"Get a hold on yourself. Somebody's got to keep his wits about him. +This is part of your job." The store manager squared his shoulders. +"Now listen. This is important and it's got to be done thoroughly." He +lowered his voice. "No employees to leave the building—item number +one, and I'm holding you responsible for its execution. Number two, +check up on all employees who are not at their posts. Number three, +make out a list of all employees absent from the store to-day, with the +reasons for their absence. Hop to it!"</p> + +<p>MacKenzie mumbled submissively, shuffled away.</p> + +<p>Velie took Lavery, who stood talking to Weaver, to one side.</p> + +<p>"You seem to have some authority here. May I ask who you are?"</p> + +<p>"My name is Paul Lavery, and I am exhibiting the modern furniture +on display upstairs on the fifth floor. This room is a sample of my +exhibition."</p> + +<p>"I see. Well, you've kept your head, Mr. Lavery. The dead woman is Mrs. +French?"</p> + +<p>Lavery averted his eyes. "Yes, Sergeant. It was quite a shock to all +of us, no doubt. How in God's name did she ever get—" He stopped +abruptly, worried his lip.</p> + +<p>"Did she ever get here, you meant to say?" finished Velie grimly. "Well +now, that's a question, isn't it? I—Just a moment, Mr. Lavery!"</p> + +<p>He turned on his heel and walked swiftly to the door to greet a group +of new arrivals.</p> + +<p>"Morning, Inspector. Morning, Mr. Queen! Glad you've come, sir. You'll +find things in a rotten mess." He stepped aside and waved a large hand +at the room and its assorted occupants. "Pretty, eh, sir? More like a +wake than the scene of a crime!" It was a long speech for Velie.</p> + +<p>Inspector Richard Queen—small, pert, like a white-thatched +bird—followed the circuit of Velie's hand with his eyes.</p> + +<p>"My goodness!" he exclaimed in annoyance. "How did so many people get +into this room? I'm surprised at you, Thomas."</p> + +<p>"Inspector." Queen paused at Velie's deep voice. "I thought it +might—" his voice became inaudible as he murmured a few words in the +Inspector's ear.</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, I see, Thomas." The Inspector patted his arm. "Tell me soon. +Let's have a peep at the body."</p> + +<p>He trotted across the room and slipped to the far side of the wall-bed. +Prouty, his hands busy on the corpse, nodded in greeting.</p> + +<p>"Murder," he said. "No sign of the revolver."</p> + +<p>The Inspector peered intently into the ghastly face of the dead woman, +ran his eye over the disarranged clothing.</p> + +<p>"Well, we'll have the boys look a little later. Keep going, Doc." He +sighed and returned to Velie at the other side of the room.</p> + +<p>"Now let's have it, Thomas. From the beginning." His little eyes roved +judiciously about the men in the room as Velie rapidly outlined in +an undertone the events of the past half-hour.... Outside a body of +plainclothes men and a scattering of uniformed policemen could be seen. +The patrolman, Bush, was among them.</p> + +<p>Ellery Queen shut the door and leaned against it. He was tall and +sparely built, with athletic hands, taper-fingered. He wore immaculate +grey tweeds and carried a stick and a light coat. On his thin nose +perched a pince-nez. Above it rose a forehead of wide proportions, +white and untroubled. His hair was smoothly black. From the pocket of +the coat protruded a small volume in faded covers.</p> + +<p>He looked curiously at each person in the room—curiously and slowly, +as if he enjoyed his scrutiny. The characteristics of each individual +as his eyes passed from one to another he seemed to store away in a +corner of his brain. His examination was almost visibly digestive. Yet +it was not entirely concentrated, for he listened intently to each +word of Velie's recital to the Inspector. Suddenly his eyes, in their +panoramic course, met those of Westley Weaver, who stood miserably in a +corner leaning against the wall.</p> + +<p>Into the eyes of each leaped instant recognition. They started forward +simultaneously, hands outstretched.</p> + +<p>"Ellery Queen. Thank God!"</p> + +<p>"By the Seven Virgins of Theophilus—Westley Weaver!" They wrung each +other's hands with undisguised pleasure. Inspector Queen glanced their +way, quizzically; then he turned back to hear the last of Velie's +rumbled comments.</p> + +<p>"It's awfully good seeing your classic features again, Ellery," +murmured Weaver. His face dropped back into strained lines. "Are +you—is that the Inspector?"</p> + +<p>"In the indefatigable flesh, Westley," said Ellery. "The pater +himself, with his nose to the scent.—But tell me things, boy. It's—O +Tempes!—isn't it five or six years since we last met?"</p> + +<p>"All of that, Ellery. I'm glad you're here, for more than one reason, +El. It's a little comforting," said Weaver in a low voice. "This—this +thing...."</p> + +<p>Ellery's smile faded. "The tragedy, eh, Westley? Tell me—how do you +figure in it? You didn't kill the lady, by any chance?" His tone was +jocular, but behind it was a certain anxiety which his father, ears +cocked, found a little strange.</p> + +<p>"Ellery!" Weaver's eyes met his straightforwardly. "That isn't even +funny." Then the look of misery crept in again. "It's awful, El. Just +awful. You haven't any idea how awful it is...."</p> + +<p>Ellery patted Weaver's arm lightly, removed his pince-nez with an +absent motion. "I'll get it all in a moment, Westley. I'll hold +<i>tête-à-tête</i> conversation with you later. Hang on, won't you? I see +my father signaling me frantically. Chin up, Wes!" He moved away, +again smiling. Weaver's eyes held a glimmer of hope as he dropped back +against the wall.</p> + +<p>The Inspector murmured to his son for a moment. Ellery made a +low-voiced reply. Then Ellery strode over to the farther side of the +bed and stood over Prouty, watching the medical examiner as he worked +swiftly over the body.</p> + +<p>The Inspector turned to the assembled crowd in the room. "A little +quiet now, please," he said.</p> + +<p>A thick curtain of silence dropped over the room.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="6">6</h2> +</div> + +<h3>TESTIMONY</h3> + + +<p>The Inspector stepped forward.</p> + +<p>"It will be necessary for every one to wait here," he began +sententiously, "while we make some elementary but essential +investigations. Let me say at once, to forestall any claims of special +privilege that may be made, that this is undoubtedly a case of murder. +In cases of murder, the most serious charge that can be brought +against an individual, the law is no respecter either of persons or +institutions. A woman is dead of violence. Somebody killed her. That +somebody may be miles away at this moment, or in this room now. You +can understand, gentlemen"—and his tired eyes considered the five +directors especially—"that the sooner we get down to business, the +better. Too much time has been lost already."</p> + +<p>He went abruptly to the door, opened it, and called in a penetrating +voice: "Piggott! Hesse! Hagstrom! Flint! Johnson! Ritter!"</p> + +<p>Six detectives strolled into the room. Ritter, a burly man, closed the +door behind him.</p> + +<p>"Hagstrom, your book." The detective whipped out a small notebook and a +pencil.</p> + +<p>"Piggott, Hesse, Flint—the room!" He added something in a low tone. +The three detectives grinned and dispersed to different portions of the +room. They began a slow, methodical search of furniture, floors, walls.</p> + +<p>"Johnson—the bed!" One of the two remaining men went directly to the +wall-bed and began to examine its contents.</p> + +<p>"Ritter—stand by." The Inspector slipped his hands into a coat pocket +and withdrew his brown old snuff-box. He filled his nostrils with +aromatic snuff, inhaled deeply and restored the box to his pocket.</p> + +<p>"Now!" he said, and glared about the room at his thoroughly cowed +audience. Ellery met his eye for an instant and smiled slightly. "Now! +You, there!" He pointed an accusing finger at the Negress, who was +staring at him with wide eyes, her skin greyish-violet with fright.</p> + +<p>"Yassuh," she quavered, tottering to her feet.</p> + +<p>"Your name?" snapped Queen.</p> + +<p>"Di—Diana Johnson, suh," she whispered, gazing at him in scared +fascination.</p> + +<p>"Diana Johnson, eh?" The Inspector took a step forward, leveled his +finger at her. "Why did you open this bed at twelve-fifteen to-day?"</p> + +<p>"Ah—Ah had to, suh," she faltered. "Dat was—"</p> + +<p>Lavery waved his arm hesitantly at the Inspector. "I can explain that—"</p> + +<p>"Sir!" Lavery colored, then smiled cynically. "Go on, Johnson."</p> + +<p>"Yassuh, yassuh! Dat was de reg'lar time fo' de exhibition, suh. Ah +always comes out into dis room at a couple o' minutes befo' twelve an' +gets ready fo' de exhibition, suh." The words tumbled out. "An' den, +when Ah'd just got through showin' dis contraption hyah"—she indicated +the divan, which seemed a combination of sofa, bed and bookcase—"Ah +goes to de wall, pushes de button, and den dat—dat dead 'ooman falls +out right at mah feet...." She shuddered and drew a deep breath, +glancing at the detective Hagstrom, who was busily taking down her +words in shorthand.</p> + +<p>"You had no idea the body was inside when you pressed the button, Miss +Johnson?" demanded the Inspector.</p> + +<p>The Negress's eyes flew wide open. "Nosuh! Ah wouldn't 'a' teched dat +bed fo' a thousan' dolluhs ef Ah'd know dat!" The uniformed nurse +giggled nervously. She sobered instantly as the Inspector stared in her +direction.</p> + +<p>"Very well. That's all." He turned to Hagstrom. "Got every word?" The +detective nodded, maintaining a severe silence as the old man winked +fleetingly at him. Inspector Queen turned back to the group. "Nurse, +take Diana Johnson to your hospital upstairs and keep her there until I +give the word!"</p> + +<p>The Negress stumbled in her eagerness to leave the window-room. The +nurse followed somewhat sulkily behind.</p> + +<p>The Inspector had Patrolman Bush summoned. The policeman saluted, +answered a few questions about what had occurred on the sidewalk at the +moment the body fell, and subsequently inside the window-room, and was +commissioned to go back to his post on Fifth Avenue.</p> + +<p>"Crouther!" The store detective was standing by the side of Ellery and +Dr. Prouty. He now slouched forward and stared boldly at Queen. "You're +the head store detective?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Inspector." He shuffled his feet and grinned, displaying +tobacco-stained teeth.</p> + +<p>"Sergeant Velie tells me that he instructed you to scatter your men +through the main floor soon after the body was discovered. Have you +attended to that?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. Got a squad of a half-dozen store detectives workin' +outside, and put every available 'spotter' on the job, too," replied +Crouther promptly. "But they haven't turned up anybody suspicious yet."</p> + +<p>"Could hardly expect it." The Inspector took another pinch of snuff. +"Tell me just what you found when you came in here."</p> + +<p>"Well, Inspector, the first I knew about the murder was when one of my +detectives 'phoned me upstairs in my office that something had happened +outside on the sidewalk—riot or something. I came down right away and +as I passed this window I heard Mr. Lavery yell for me. I ran in, saw +the body layin' here, and the darky fainting on the floor. Bush, the +officer on the beat, came in right after me. I told 'em nothing ought +to be touched until the Headquarters men got here, and then got right +after the mobs outside, and generally kept an eye on everything until +Sergeant Velie got here. I followed his orders after that, that's a +fact. I—"</p> + +<p>"Here, here, Crouther, that's plenty," said the Inspector. "Don't +leave, I may be able to use you later. Short-handed enough as it is, +the Lord knows. A department store!" He muttered under his breath and +turned to Dr. Prouty.</p> + +<p>"Doc! Ready for me yet?"</p> + +<p>The kneeling police doctor nodded. "Just about, Inspector. Want me to +shoot the works right here?" He seemed tacitly to question the wisdom +of imparting his information before a group of laymen.</p> + +<p>"Might as well," grunted Queen. "It can't be very enlightening."</p> + +<p>"Don't know about that." Prouty stood up with a groan, took a firmer +grip on the black cigar between his teeth.</p> + +<p>"Woman was killed by two bullets," he said deliberately, "both from a +Colt .38 revolver. Probably from the same gun—hard to tell exactly +without putting them under the microscope." He held up two encarmined +blobs of metal, blunted completely out of shape. The Inspector took +them, turned them over in his fingers, and in silence handed them to +Ellery, who immediately bent over them with a curious eagerness.</p> + +<p>Prouty stared dreamily down at the body, plunging his hands into his +pockets. "One bullet," he continued, "entered the body directly in +the center of the cardiac region. Nice jagged <i>pericardial</i> wound, +Inspector. Smashed the <i>sternum</i> bone, pierced the <i>pericardial +septum</i>, which is the membrane separating the <i>pericardium</i> from the +main body cavity, then took the logical course through—first the +fibrous layer of the <i>pericardium</i>, then the serous inner layer, and +finally the anterior tip of the heart, where the great vessels are. +Spilled quite a bit of the yellow <i>pericardial</i> fluid, too. Bullet +entered the body at an angle and it's left a fearful wound...."</p> + +<p>"Then death was instantaneous?" asked Ellery. "The second bullet was +unnecessary?"</p> + +<p>"Quite," said Prouty dryly. "Death would be instantaneous from either +wound. As a matter of fact, the second bullet—maybe it's not the +second, though, I can't tell of course which hit her first—bullet +number two made a better job of it than even bullet number one. Because +it penetrated the <i>precordia</i>, which is the region a little below the +heart and above the abdomen. This is also a ragged wound, and since +the <i>precordial</i> sector takes in muscles and blood-vessels of major +importance, it's as vital a spot as the heart itself...." Prouty +stopped suddenly. His eyes strayed almost with irritation to the dead +woman on the floor.</p> + +<p>"Was the revolver fired close to the body?" put in the Inspector.</p> + +<p>"No powder stains, Inspector," said Prouty, still regarding the corpse +with a frown.</p> + +<p>"Were both bullets fired from the same spot?" asked Ellery.</p> + +<p>"Hard to say. The lateral angles are similar, indicating that whoever +fired both bullets stood to the right of the woman. But the downward +course of the bullets disturbs me. They're too much alike."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" demanded Ellery, leaning forward.</p> + +<p>"Well," growled Prouty, biting on his cigar, "if the woman were in +exactly the same position when both shots were fired—assuming that +both shots were fired almost simultaneously, of course—there should +be a greater <i>downward</i> angle to the <i>precordial</i> wound than to the +<i>pericardial</i>. Because the <i>precordia</i> is located below the heart, and +the gun would have to be aimed lower.... Well, perhaps I shouldn't say +these things at all. There are any number of explanations, I suppose, +for that difference in angle. Ought to have Ken Knowles look over the +bullets and the wounds, though."</p> + +<p>"He'll get his chance," said the Inspector with a sigh. "Is that all, +Doc?"</p> + +<p>Ellery looked up from another scrutiny of the two bullets. "How long +has she been dead?"</p> + +<p>Prouty replied promptly: "About twelve hours, I should say. I'll be +able to fix the time of death more accurately after the autopsy. But +she certainly died no earlier than midnight and probably no later than +two in the morning."</p> + +<p>"Through now?" asked Inspector Queen patiently.</p> + +<p>"Yes. But there's one thing that has me a little...." Prouty set his +jaw. "There's something queer here, Inspector. From what I know of +<i>precordial</i> wounds I can't believe that this one should have bled so +little. You've noticed, I suppose, that the clothing above both wounds +is stiff with coagulated blood, but not so much of it as you might +expect. At least as a medical man might expect."</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"I've seen plenty of <i>precordial</i> wounds," said Prouty calmly, "and +they're messy, Inspector. Bleed like hell. In fact, especially in this +case, where the hole is blasted pretty large, due to the angle, there +should be pools and pools of it. The <i>pericardial</i> would bleed freely, +but not profusely. But the other—I say, there's something queer here, +and I thought I'd call it to your attention."</p> + +<p>Ellery shot his father a warning glance as the old man opened his +mouth to reply. The Inspector clamped his lips together and dismissed +Prouty with a nod. Ellery returned the two bullets to Prouty, who put +them carefully into his bag.</p> + +<p>The police doctor unhurriedly covered the body with a sheet from the +hanging bed and departed, his last words a promise to hurry the morgue +wagon.</p> + +<p>"Is the store physician here?" Queen asked.</p> + +<p>The small dark doctor stepped uncertainly forward from a corner. His +teeth gleamed as he said, "Yes, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Have you anything to add to Dr. Prouty's analysis, doctor?" questioned +Queen, with disarming gentleness.</p> + +<p>"Not a thing, not a thing, sir," said the store physician, looking +uneasily at Prouty's retreating figure. "A precise if somewhat sketchy +diagnosis. The bullets entered—"</p> + +<p>"Thank you, doctor." Inspector Queen turned his back on the little +physician and beckoned imperiously to the store detective.</p> + +<p>"Crouther," he asked in a low tone, "who's your head night-watchman?"</p> + +<p>"O'Flaherty—Pete O'Flaherty, Inspector."</p> + +<p>"How many watchmen are on duty here at night?"</p> + +<p>"Four. O'Flaherty tends the night-door on the 39th Street side, Ralska +and Powers do the rounds, and Bloom is on duty at the 39th Street night +freight-entrance."</p> + +<p>"Thanks." The Inspector turned to Detective Ritter. "Get hold of +this man MacKenzie, the store manager, find the home addresses of +O'Flaherty, Ralska, Powers and Bloom, and get 'em down here as fast as +a cab will carry them. Scoot!" Ritter lumbered away.</p> + +<p>Ellery suddenly straightened, adjusted his pince-nez more firmly on his +nose, and strode over to his father. They held a whispered colloquy for +a moment, whereupon Ellery quietly retreated to his vantage-point near +the bed and the Inspector crooked his finger at Westley Weaver.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Weaver," he asked, "I take it that you are Mr. French's +confidential secretary?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," responded Weaver warily.</p> + +<p>The Inspector glanced sidewise at Cyrus French, huddled exhausted +in the chair. John Gray's small white hand was solicitously patting +French's arm. "I'd rather not bother Mr. French at this time with +questions.—You were with him all morning?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"Mr. French was not aware of Mrs. French's presence in the store?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir!" The response was immediate and sharp. Weaver regarded Queen +with suspicious eyes.</p> + +<p>"Were you?"</p> + +<p>"I? No, sir!"</p> + +<p>"Hmmm!" The Inspector's chin sank on his chest, and he communed with +himself for an instant. Suddenly his finger shot toward the group of +directors on the other side of the room. "How about you gentlemen? Any +of you know that Mrs. French was here—this morning or last night?"</p> + +<p>There was a chorus of horrified noes. Cornelius Zorn's face grew red. +He began to protest angrily.</p> + +<p>"Please!" The Inspector's tone flung them back in silence. "Mr. Weaver. +How is it that all these gentlemen are present in the store this +morning? They're not here every day, are they?"</p> + +<p>Weaver's frank face lightened, as if from relief. "All of our directors +are active in the management of the store, Inspector. They're here +every day, if only for an hour or so. As for this morning, there was a +directors' meeting in Mr. French's private apartment upstairs."</p> + +<p>"Eh?" Queen seemed pleased as well as startled. "A private apartment +upstairs, you say? On what floor?"</p> + +<p>"The sixth—that's the top floor of the store."</p> + +<p>Ellery stirred into life. Again he crossed the floor, again he +whispered to his father, and again the old man nodded.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Weaver," continued the Inspector, a note of eagerness in his +voice, "how long were you and the Board in Mr. French's private +apartment this morning?"</p> + +<p>Weaver seemed surprised at the question. "Why, all morning, Inspector. +I arrived at about eight-thirty, Mr. French at about nine, and the +other directors at a little past eleven."</p> + +<p>"I see." The Inspector mused. "Did you leave the apartment at any time +during the morning?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir." The reply was snapped back at him.</p> + +<p>"And the others—Mr. French, the directors?" pressed the Inspector +patiently.</p> + +<p>"No, sir! We were all there until one of the store detectives notified +us that an accident had occurred here. And I must say, sir—"</p> + +<p>"Westley, Westley ..." murmured Ellery chidingly, and Weaver turned to +him with startled eyes. They fell before the meaning glance of Ellery, +and Weaver bit his lip nervously. He did not finish what he had begun +to say.</p> + +<p>"Now, sir." The Inspector seemed to be enjoying himself in a tired +way—utterly disregarding the bewildered eyes of the many people in the +room. "Now, sir! Be very careful. At what time did this notification +come?"</p> + +<p>"At twelve-twenty-five," replied Weaver in a calmer tone.</p> + +<p>"Very well.—Every one then left the apartment?" Weaver nodded. "Did +you lock the door?"</p> + +<p>"The door closed after us, Inspector."</p> + +<p>"And the apartment remained that way, unguarded?"</p> + +<p>"Not at all," said Weaver promptly. "At the beginning of the +conference this morning, at Mr. French's suggestion, I got one of the +store detectives to stand guard outside the apartment door. He is +probably still there, because his orders were specific. In fact, I +remember seeing him lounging about outside when we all rushed out to +see what was the matter down here."</p> + +<p>"<i>Very</i> good!" beamed the old man. "A store detective, you say? +Reliable?"</p> + +<p>"Absolutely, Inspector," said Crouther, from his corner. "Sergeant +Velie knows him, too. Jones is his name—an ex-policeman—used to be on +a beat with Velie." The Inspector looked at the Sergeant inquiringly; +he nodded in confirmation.</p> + +<p>"Thomas," said Queen with one hand digging into his side-pocket for a +pinch of snuff, "see to it, will you? See if this Jones fellow is still +there, if he's been there all the time, if he's seen anything, if any +one tried to get into the apartment since Mr. French, Mr. Weaver and +the other gentlemen left. And take one of the boys along to relieve +him—to relieve him, you understand?"</p> + +<p>Velie grunted stonily and tramped out of the window-room. As he left, +a policeman entered, saluted Inspector Queen and reported, "There's a +'phone call out there in the leather-goods department for a Mr. Westley +Weaver, Inspector."</p> + +<p>"What's that? Call?" The Inspector turned on Weaver, who stood +miserably in a corner.</p> + +<p>Weaver straightened. "Probably from Krafft of the Comptroller's +office," he said. "I was to give him a report this morning, and the +meeting and everything that happened afterward drove it out of my +mind.... May I leave?"</p> + +<p>Queen hesitated, his glance flickering toward Ellery, who was absently +fingering his pince-nez. Ellery gave a slight nod.</p> + +<p>"Go ahead," the Inspector growled to Weaver. "But come right back."</p> + +<p>Weaver followed the policeman to the leather-goods counter directly +facing the door of the window-room. A clerk eagerly handed the +telephone to him.</p> + +<p>"Hello—Krafft? This is Weaver speaking. I'm sorry about that +report—Who? Oh."</p> + +<p>A curious change came over his face as he heard Marion French's +voice over the wire. He lowered his voice immediately and bent over +the instrument. The policeman, lounging behind him, surreptitiously +shuffled closer, trying to catch the conversation.</p> + +<p>"Why, what's the matter, dear?" asked Marion, a note of anxiety in her +voice. "Is anything wrong? I tried to get you at the apartment, but +there was no answer. The operator had to search for you.... I thought +father had a directors' meeting this morning."</p> + +<p>"Marion!" Weaver's voice was insistent. "I really can't stop to explain +now. Something's happened, dearest—something so ..." He stopped, +seemed to be wrestling mentally with some problem. His lips tightened. +"Sweetheart, will you do something for me?"</p> + +<p>"But, Wes dear," came the girl's anxious voice, "whatever is the +matter? Has anything happened to father?"</p> + +<p>"No—no." Weaver hunched desperately over the telephone. "Be my own +honey and don't ask questions now.... Where are you now?"</p> + +<p>"Why, at home, dear. But, Wes, what <i>is</i> the trouble?" There was a +frightened catch in her voice. "Has it anything to do with Winifred or +Bernice? They're not at home, Wes—haven't been all night...." Then she +laughed a little. "But there! I shan't worry you, dearest. I'll take a +cab and be down in fifteen minutes."</p> + +<p>"I knew you would." Weaver almost sobbed in a tense relief. "Whatever +happens, sweet, I love you, I love you, do you understand?"</p> + +<p>"Westley! You silly boy—you've frightened me out of my wits. Good-by +now—I'll be downtown in a jiffy." There was a tender little sound +through the receiver—it might have been a kiss—and Weaver hung up +with a sigh.</p> + +<p>The policeman jumped back as Weaver turned—jumped back with a broad +grin. Weaver flushed furiously, started to speak, then shook his head.</p> + +<p>"There's a young lady coming down here, officer," he said swiftly. +"She'll be here in about a quarter of an hour. Won't you please let me +know the moment she gets here? She's Miss Marion French. I'll be in the +window."</p> + +<p>The bluecoat lost his grin. "Well now," he said slowly, scraping his +jaw, "I just don't know about that. Guess you'll have to tell the +Inspector about it. <i>I</i> haven't the authority."</p> + +<p>He marched Weaver back into the window-room against the young man's +protests at the heavy hand on his arm.</p> + +<p>"Inspector," he said respectfully, still grasping Weaver's arm, "this +feller wants me to let him know when a certain young lady by the name +of Miss Marion French gets here."</p> + +<p>Queen looked up in surprise, a surprise that deepened rapidly into +brusqueness. "Was that telephone call from your Mr. Krafft?" he asked +Weaver.</p> + +<p>Before Weaver could speak, the policeman interposed: "Not by a long +sight, sir. 'Twas a lady, and I think he called her 'Marion.'"</p> + +<p>"Look here, Inspector!" said Weaver hotly, shaking off the bluecoat's +hand. "This is asinine. I thought the call was from Mr. Krafft, but +it was Miss French—Mr. French's daughter. A—a semi-business call. +And I took the liberty of asking her to come down here immediately. +That's all. Is that a crime? As for letting me know when she arrives—I +naturally want to spare her the shock of walking into this place and +seeing her stepmother's dead body on the floor."</p> + +<p>The Inspector took a pinch of snuff, glancing mildly from Weaver to +Ellery. "I see. I see. I'm sorry, Mr. Weaver.... That's right, isn't +it, officer?" he snapped, whirling on the bluecoat.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir! Heard it all plain as day. He's telling the truth."</p> + +<p>"And mighty fortunate for him he is," grumbled the Inspector. "Stand +back, Mr. Weaver. We'll attend to the young lady when she arrives.... +Now then!" he cried, rubbing his hands, "Mr. French!"</p> + +<p>The old man looked up in bleary bewilderment, his eyes blank and +staring.</p> + +<p>"Mr. French, is there anything you would like to say that might clear +up some of this mystery?"</p> + +<p>"I—I—I—beg—your—pardon?" stammered French, raising his head with +an effort from the back-cushion of the chair. He seemed stricken by his +wife's death to the point of imbecility.</p> + +<p>Queen regarded him with pity, looked into the eyes of John Gray, +whose face was threatening, muttered, "Never mind," and squared his +shoulders. "Ellery, my son, how about a careful look-see at the body?" +He peered at Ellery from beneath overhung brows.</p> + +<p>Ellery stirred. "Lookers-on," he said clearly, "see more than players. +And if you think that quotation is inept, dad, you don't know your +son's favorite author, Anonymous. Play on!"</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="7">7</h2> +</div> + +<h3>THE CORPSE</h3> + + +<p>Inspector Queen moved over to the other side of the room, where +the body lay between the bed and the window. Waving aside the +detective Johnson, who was rummaging among the bedclothes, the old +man knelt on the floor beside the dead woman. He removed the white +sheet. Ellery bent over his father's shoulder, his gaze detached but +characteristically panoramic.</p> + +<p>The body lay in an oddly crumpled position, the left arm outstretched, +the right slightly crooked beneath the back. The head was in profile, +a brown toque-style hat pushed pathetically over one eye. Mrs. French +had been a small slender woman, with delicate hands and feet. The eyes +were fixed in a sort of bewildered glare, wide open. The mouth drooled; +a thin trickle of blood, now dark and dry, streaked the chin.</p> + +<p>The clothes were simple and severe, but rich in quality, as might be +expected from a woman of Mrs. French's age and position. There was a +light brown cloth coat, trimmed at the collar and cuffs with brown fox; +a dark tan dress of a jersey material, with a breast and waist design +of orange and brown; brown silk stockings and a pair of uncompromising +brown walking-shoes.</p> + +<p>The Inspector looked up.</p> + +<p>"Notice the mud on her shoes, El?" he asked <i>sotto voce</i>.</p> + +<p>Ellery nodded. "Doesn't take a heap of perspicacity," he remarked. "It +rained all day yesterday; remember the downpour last night? No wonder +the poor lady wet her patrician feet. As a matter of fact, you can see +traces of the wet even on the trimming of the toque.—Yes, dad, Mrs. +French was out in the rain yesterday. Not very important."</p> + +<p>"Why not?" the old man asked, his hands softly moving aside the collar +of the coat.</p> + +<p>"Because she probably wet her shoes and hat in crossing the sidewalk to +the store," retorted Ellery. "What of it?"</p> + +<p>The Inspector did not reply. His seeking hand plunged suddenly beneath +the coat-collar and reappeared with a filmy, color-clouded scarf.</p> + +<p>"Here's something," he said, turning the gauze-like material over in +his hands. "Must have slipped down inside the coat when she tumbled out +of the bed." An exclamation escaped him. On one corner of the scarf was +a silk-embroidered monogram. Ellery leaned farther forward over his +father's shoulder.</p> + +<p>"<i>M.F.</i>," he said. He straightened up, frowning, saying nothing.</p> + +<p>The Inspector turned his head toward the group of directors at the +other side of the room. They were huddled together, watching his every +gesture. At his movement they started guiltily and averted their heads.</p> + +<p>"What was Mrs. French's first name?" Queen questioned the group; and +as if each one had been addressed individually, there was an instant +chorus of "Winifred!"</p> + +<p>"Winifred, eh?" muttered the old man, letting his eyes return +fleetingly to the body. Then he fixed Weaver with his grey eyes.</p> + +<p>"Winifred, eh?" he repeated. Weaver bobbed his head mechanically. He +seemed horrified at the wisp of silk in the Inspector's hand. "Winifred +what? Any middle name or initials?"</p> + +<p>"Winifred—Winifred Marchbanks French," stammered the secretary.</p> + +<p>The Inspector nodded curtly. Rising, he strode over to Cyrus French, +who was watching him with dull, uncomprehending eyes.</p> + +<p>"Mr. French—" Queen shook the millionaire's shoulder gently—"Mr. +French, is this your wife's scarf?" He held the scarf up before +French's eyes. "Do you understand me, sir? Is this scarf Mrs. French's?"</p> + +<p>"Eh? I—Let me see it!" The old man snatched it in a sort of frenzy +from the Inspector's hand. He bent over it avidly, pulled it smooth, +examined the monogram with feverish fingers—and slumped back in his +chair.</p> + +<p>"Is it, Mr. French?" pursued the Inspector, taking the scarf from him.</p> + +<p>"No." It was a flat, colorless, indifferent negative.</p> + +<p>The Inspector turned toward the silent group. "Can any one here +identify this scarf?" He held it high. There was no answer. The +Inspector repeated his question, glaring at each one individually. Of +them all, only Westley Weaver averted his glance.</p> + +<p>"So! Weaver, eh? No nonsense, now, young man!" snapped Queen, grasping +the secretary by the arm. "What do the letters <i>M.F.</i> stand for—Marion +French?"</p> + +<p>The young man gulped, sent an agonized glance toward Ellery, who +returned the glance commiseratingly, looked at old Cyrus French, who +was mumbling to himself....</p> + +<p>"You can't believe she had anything to do—to do with it!" cried +Weaver, shaking his arm free. "It's absurd—crazy!... You <i>can't</i> +believe she had anything to do with this, Inspector. She's too fine, +too young, too—"</p> + +<p>"Marion French." The Inspector turned toward John Gray. "Mr. French's +daughter, I believe Mr. Weaver said before?"</p> + +<p>Gray nodded sullenly. Cyrus French suddenly attempted to leap from his +chair. He uttered a hoarse cry. "My God, no! Not Marion! Not Marion!" +His eyes blazed as Gray and Marchbanks, the directors nearest the old +man, jumped to support his quivering body. The spasm lasted for a brief +moment; he collapsed into his chair.</p> + +<p>Inspector Queen returned without a word to his examination of the dead +woman. Ellery had been a silent witness of the little drama, his sharp +eyes flitting from face to face as it unfolded. Now he sent a glance +of reassurance at Weaver, who was leaning abjectly against a table, +and then stooped to pick up an object from the floor which was almost +hidden by the dead woman's tumbled skirt.</p> + +<p>It was a small handbag of dark brown suède, monogrammed with the +initials <i>W.M.F.</i> Ellery sat down on the edge of the bed and turned +the bag over in his hands. Curiously he lifted the flap and began +to spread the contents of the bag on the mattress. He removed a +small change-purse, a gold vanity-case, a lace handkerchief, a gold +card-case, all monogrammed <i>W.M.F.</i>, and finally a silver-chased +lipstick.</p> + +<p>The Inspector looked up. "What's that you have there?" he asked sharply.</p> + +<p>"Bag of the deceased," murmured Ellery. "Would you care to examine it?"</p> + +<p>"Would I—" The Inspector glared at his son in mock heat. "Ellery, +sometimes you try me beyond patience!"</p> + +<p>Ellery handed it over with a smile. The old man examined the bag +minutely. He pawed over the articles on the bed and gave up in disgust.</p> + +<p>"Nothing there that I can see," he snorted. "And I'm—"</p> + +<p>"No?" Ellery's tone was provocative.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" asked his father with a change of tone, looking +back at the contents of the bag. "Purse, vanity, hanky, card-case, +lipstick—what's interesting there?"</p> + +<p>Ellery faced about squarely so that his back hid the articles on the +bed from the observation of the others. He picked up the lipstick with +care and offered it to his father. The old man took it cautiously, +suspiciously. Suddenly an exclamation escaped him.</p> + +<p>"Exactly—<i>C</i>," murmured Ellery. "What do you make of it?"</p> + +<p>The lipstick was large and deep. On the cap was a chastely engraved +initial, <i>C</i>. The Inspector peered at it in some astonishment and made +as if to question the men in the room. But Ellery halted him with a +warning gesture and took the lipstick from his father's fingers. He +unscrewed the initialed cap and twisted the body of the stick until a +half-inch of red paste was visible above the orifice. His eyes shifted +toward the dead woman's face. They brightened at what they saw.</p> + +<p>He knelt quickly by his father's side, their bodies still shielding +their movements from the eyes of the onlookers.</p> + +<p>"Have a peep at this, dad," he said in an undertone, offering the +lipstick. The old man looked at it in a puzzled way.</p> + +<p>"Poisoned?" he asked. "But that's impossible—how could you tell +without an analysis?"</p> + +<p>"No, no!" exclaimed Ellery in the same low tone. "The color, dad—the +color!"</p> + +<p>The Inspector's face lightened. He looked from the stick in Ellery's +hand to the dead woman's lips. The fact was self-evident—the coloring +on the lips had not come from the stick in Ellery's possession. The +lips were painted a light shade of red, almost pink, whereas the stick +itself was a dark carmine in shade.</p> + +<p>"Here, El—let me have that!" said the Inspector. He took the open +stick and swiftly made a red mark on the dead woman's face.</p> + +<p>"Different, all right," he muttered. He wiped off the smudge with a +corner of the sheet. "But I don't see—"</p> + +<p>"There really should be another lipstick, eh?" remarked Ellery lightly, +standing up.</p> + +<p>The old man snatched at the woman's handbag and went through it once +more, hurriedly. No, there was no sign of another lipstick. He motioned +to the detective Johnson.</p> + +<p>"Find anything in the bed or the closet here, Johnson?"</p> + +<p>"Not a thing, Chief."</p> + +<p>"Sure? No sign of a lipstick?"</p> + +<p>"Nope."</p> + +<p>"Piggott! Hesse! Flint!" The three detectives stopped short in their +search of the room and crossed to the Inspector's side. The old man +repeated his questions.... Nothing. The detectives had found no alien +articles in the room.</p> + +<p>"Is Crouther here? Crouther!" The store detective hurried over.</p> + +<p>"Been out seeing that things were moving in the store," he announced +unasked. "Everything's shipshape—boys've been hustling, that's a +fact.—What can I do for you, Inspector?"</p> + +<p>"Did you see a lipstick around here when you found the body?"</p> + +<p>"Lipstick? No, sir! Wouldn't have touched it if I'd seen it anyway. +Told everybody to leave things alone. I know that much, Inspector!"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Lavery!" The Frenchman sauntered up. No, he had seen no sign of a +lipstick. Perhaps the Negress—?</p> + +<p>"Hardly! Piggott, send some one up to the infirmary and find out if +this Johnson girl saw it."</p> + +<p>The Inspector turned back to Ellery with a frowning brow. "Now, that's +funny, isn't it, Ellery? Could some one here have appropriated the +darned thing?"</p> + +<p>Ellery smiled. "'Honest labor,' as old Tom Dekker had it, 'bears a +lovely face,' but I'm very much afraid, dad.... No, your efforts in the +direction of finding a lipstick thief are wasted. I could almost make a +nice conjecture...."</p> + +<p>"What <i>do</i> you mean, Ellery?" groaned the Inspector. "Where is it, +then, if no one took it?"</p> + +<p>"We'll come to that in the course of inexorable time," said Ellery +imperturbably. "But examine the face of our poor clay again, +dad—particularly the labial portion. See anything interesting aside +from the color of the lipstick?"</p> + +<p>"Eh?" The Inspector turned startled eyes to the corpse. He felt +for his snuff-box and nervously took a generous pinch. "No, I +can't say that I—By jiminy!" He muttered beneath his breath. "The +lips—unfinished...."</p> + +<p>"Precisely." Ellery twirled his pince-nez about his finger. "Observed +the phenomenon the moment I looked at the body. What amazing +juxtaposition of circumstances could have caused a handsome woman still +in her prime to leave her lips only half painted?" He pursed his mouth, +fell into deep thought. His eyes did not leave the dead woman's lips, +which showed the pinkish color of the lipstick on both the upper and +lower lip, on the upper two dabs of unsmeared color and on the lower +one a dab exactly in the center. Where the lipstick had not yet been +smeared, the lips were a sickly purple—the color of unadorned death.</p> + +<p>The Inspector passed his hand wearily across his brow just as Piggott +returned.</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"The colored girl fainted," reported the detective, "just as the body +fell out of the wall-bed. Never saw anything, much less a lipstick." +Inspector Queen draped the sheet over the body in baffled silence.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="8">8</h2> +</div> + +<h3>THE WATCHER</h3> + + +<p>The door opened and Sergeant Velie entered, accompanied by a +steady-eyed man dressed in black. This newcomer saluted the Inspector +respectfully and stood waiting.</p> + +<p>"This is Robert Jones, Inspector," said Velie in his deep clipped +tones. "Attached to the store force, and I'll vouch for him personally. +Jones was the man called by Mr. Weaver this morning to stand outside +the apartment door during the directors' meeting."</p> + +<p>"How about it, Jones?" asked Inspector Queen.</p> + +<p>"I was ordered to Mr. French's apartment this morning at eleven," +replied the store detective. "I was told to stand guard outside and see +that no one disturbed the meeting. According to my instructions...."</p> + +<p>"And where did your instructions come from?"</p> + +<p>"I understood that Mr. Weaver had 'phoned, sir," replied Jones. The +Inspector looked at Weaver, who nodded, and then motioned the man to +continue.</p> + +<p>"According to my instructions," said Jones, "I strolled about outside +the apartment without interrupting the meeting. I was in the sixth +floor corridor near the apartment until about twelve-fifteen. At that +time the door opened and Mr. French, the other directors and Mr. Weaver +ran out and took the elevator, going downstairs. They all seemed +excited...."</p> + +<p>"Did you know why Mr. French, Mr. Weaver and the others ran out of the +apartment that way?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir. As I said, they seemed excited and paid no attention to me. I +didn't hear about Mrs. French being dead until one of the boys dropped +by about a half-hour later with the news."</p> + +<p>"Did the directors close the door when they left the apartment?"</p> + +<p>"The door closed by itself—swung shut."</p> + +<p>"So you didn't enter the apartment?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir!"</p> + +<p>"Did any one come up to the apartment while you stood guard this +morning?"</p> + +<p>"Not a soul, Inspector. And after the directors left, there was no one +except the chap I told you about, who merely spilled his story and +went right down again. I've been on duty until five minutes ago, when +Sergeant Velie had two of his own men relieve me."</p> + +<p>The Inspector mused. "And you're certain no one went into the +apartment, Jones? It may be quite important."</p> + +<p>"Dead certain, Inspector," replied Jones clearly. "The reason I stayed +on after the directors left was because I didn't know exactly what to +do under the circumstances, and I've always found it a safe bet to +stand pat when something unusual happens."</p> + +<p>"Good enough, Jones!" said the Inspector. "That's all."</p> + +<p>Jones saluted, went up to Crouther and asked what he was to do. The +head store detective, his chest held high, detailed him to help handle +the crowds in the store. And Jones departed.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="9">9</h2> +</div> + +<h3>THE WATCHERS</h3> + + +<p>The Inspector went quickly to the door and peered over the heads of the +seething crowds on the main floor.</p> + +<p>"MacKenzie! Is MacKenzie there?" he shouted.</p> + +<p>"Right here!" came the faint bellow of the store manager's voice. +"Coming!"</p> + +<p>Queen trotted back into the room, fumbling for his snuff-box. He eyed +the directors almost roguishly; his good humor seemed for the moment +to have returned. The occupants of the room, with the exception of +Cyrus French, who was still plunged in a deep lethargy of grief and +indifference to what was going on, had by this time shaken off some +of their horror and were growing restless. Zorn stole surreptitious +glances at his heavy gold watch; Marchbanks was pacing belligerently +up and down the room; Trask at regular intervals averted his head and +gulped down some whisky from a flask in his pocket; Gray, his face +as ashen as his hair, stood in silence behind old French's chair. +Lavery was very quiet, watching with bright inquisitive eyes the least +movement of the Inspector and his men. Weaver, his boyish face strained +and lined, seemed to be enduring agonies. He frequently sought Ellery +with pleading eyes, as if asking for help which he knew, instinctively, +could not be forthcoming.</p> + +<p>"I must ask you to have patience for a short time longer, gentlemen," +said the Inspector, smoothing his mustache with the back of his small +hand. "We have a few things more to do here—and then we'll see.... Ah! +You're MacKenzie, I take it? Are those the watchmen? Bring 'em in, man!"</p> + +<p>The middle-aged Scotchman had entered the window-room, herding before +him four oldish men with frightened faces and fidgety hands. Ritter +made up the rear.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Inspector. By the way, I'm having the employees checked up, as +Sergeant Velie instructed me to." MacKenzie waved the four men forward. +They shuffled a step farther into the room, reluctantly.</p> + +<p>"Who's the head night-watchman among you?" demanded the Inspector.</p> + +<p>A corpulent old man with fleshy features and placid eyes stepped +forward, touching his forehead.</p> + +<p>"I am, sor—Peter O'Flaherty's me name."</p> + +<p>"Were you on duty last night, O'Flaherty?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sor. That I was."</p> + +<p>"What time did you go on?"</p> + +<p>"Me reg'lar hour, sor," said the watchman. "Ha'past five. It's O'Shane +I relieve at th' desk in the night-office on th' 39th Street side. +These boys here"—he indicated the three men behind him with a fat and +calloused forefinger—"they come on with me. They was with me last +night, reg'lar."</p> + +<p>"I see." The Inspector paused. "O'Flaherty, do you know what has +happened?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sor. I've been told. And a shame it is, sor," responded +O'Flaherty soberly. He stole a glance at the limp figure of Cyrus +French, then jerked his head back toward the Inspector as if he had +committed an indiscretion. His cronies followed his gaze, and looked +forward again in exactly the same manner.</p> + +<p>"Did you know Mrs. French by sight?" asked the Inspector, his keen +little eyes studying the old man.</p> + +<p>"I did, sor," replied O'Flaherty. "She used to come to th' store +sometimes after closing when Mr. French was still here."</p> + +<p>"Often?"</p> + +<p>"No, sor. Not so very. But I knowed her right enough, sor."</p> + +<p>"Hmmm." Inspector Queen relaxed. "Now, O'Flaherty, answer +carefully—and truthfully. As truthfully as if you were on the +witness-stand.—Did you see Mrs. French last night?"</p> + +<p>Silence had fallen in the room—a silence pregnant with beating hearts +and racing pulses. All eyes were on the broad mottled face of the old +watchman. He licked his lips, seemed to reflect, squared his shoulders.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sor," he said, with a little hiss.</p> + +<p>"At what time?"</p> + +<p>"'Twas just eleven forty-five, sor," replied O'Flaherty. "Y'see, there +ain't but one night-entrance to th' store after hours. All th' other +doors and exits are ironed up. That one door is on 39th Street, th' +Employees' Entrance. There ain't no way but that t'get in or out o' the +buildin'. I—"</p> + +<p>Ellery moved suddenly, and everybody turned toward him. He smiled +deprecatingly at O'Flaherty. "Sorry, dad, but I've just thought of +something.... O'Flaherty, do I understand you to say that there is only +one way into the store after hours—the Employees' Entrance?"</p> + +<p>O'Flaherty champed his blue old jaws reflectively. "Why, yes, sor," he +said. "And what's wrong about that?"</p> + +<p>"Very little," smiled Ellery, "except that I believe there is a night +freight-entrance on the 39th Street side as well...."</p> + +<p>"Oh, that!" snorted the old watchman. "'Tain't hardly an entrance, sor. +Mostly always shut. So, as I was sayin'—"</p> + +<p>Ellery lifted a slender hand. "One moment, O'Flaherty. You say, 'Mostly +always shut.' Just what do you mean by that?"</p> + +<p>"Well," replied O'Flaherty, scratching his poll, "it's shut down +tighter'n a drum all night exceptin' between eleven o'clock and +eleven-thirty. So it don't hardly count."</p> + +<p>"That's <i>your</i> point of view," said Ellery argumentatively. "I thought +there must be a good reason for having a special night-watchman at the +spot all night. Who is he?"</p> + +<p>"That's Bloom over here," said O'Flaherty. "Bloom, step out, man, and +let the gentlemen look ye over."</p> + +<p>Bloom, a sturdy middle-aged man with reddish, graying hair, stepped +uncertainly forward. "That's me," he said. "Nothin' wrong in my freight +department last night, if that's what you wanna know...."</p> + +<p>"No?" Ellery eyed him keenly. "Exactly why is the freight-entrance +opened between eleven and eleven-thirty?"</p> + +<p>"Fer the delivery of groceries an' meats an' such," answered Bloom. +"Big turn-over every day in the store restaurant, and then there's the +Employees' Restaurant too. Get supplies fresh every night."</p> + +<p>"Who is the trucker?" interrupted the Inspector.</p> + +<p>"Buckley & Green. Same driver an' unloader every night, sir."</p> + +<p>"I see," said the Inspector. "Get it down, Hagstrom, and make a note to +question the men on the truck.... Anything else, Ellery?"</p> + +<p>"Yes." Ellery turned once more to the red-haired night-watchman. +"Tell us just what happens every night when the Buckley & Green truck +arrives."</p> + +<p>"Well, I go on duty at ten," said Bloom. "At eleven every night the +truck rolls up and Johnny Salvatore, the driver, rings the night bell +outside the freight-door...."</p> + +<p>"Is the freight-door kept locked after five-thirty?"</p> + +<p>MacKenzie, the store manager, interrupted. "Yes, sir. It's +automatically locked at closing-time. Never opened till the truck comes +up at eleven."</p> + +<p>"Go on, Bloom."</p> + +<p>"When Johnny rings, I unlock the door—it's sheet iron—and roll 'er +up. Then the truck drives inside, an' Marino, the unloader, unpacks the +stuff and stores it, while Johnny and myself check it over in my booth +near the door. That's all. When they're through, they take the truck +out, I unroll the door, and lock it, and just stay there all night."</p> + +<p>Ellery pondered. "Does the door remain open while the truck is being +unloaded?"</p> + +<p>"Sure," said Bloom. "It's only for a half an hour, and besides, nobody +could hardly get in without one of us seeing 'em."</p> + +<p>"You're sure of that?" asked Ellery sharply. "Positive? Swear to it, +man?"</p> + +<p>Bloom hesitated. "Well, I don't hardly see how anybody <i>could</i>," he +said lamely. "Marino's out there unloading, and Johnny and me in the +booth right by the door...."</p> + +<p>"How many electric lights are there in this freight room?" demanded +Ellery.</p> + +<p>Bloom looked bewildered. "Why, there's one big light right over where +the truck is, and then there's a small one in my booth. Johnny keeps +his headlights on, too."</p> + +<p>"How big is this freight room?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, about seventy-five foot deep by fifty wide. Store emergency trucks +are parked there for the night, too."</p> + +<p>"How far from your booth does the truck unload?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, 'way in, near the back, where there's a chute from the kitchen."</p> + +<p>"And one light in all that black expanse," murmured Ellery. "The booth +is enclosed, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"Just a glass window facing the inside of the room."</p> + +<p>Ellery played with his pince-nez. "Bloom, if I told you to swear that +nobody could get into that freight room, past the entrance, without +your seeing him, would you do it?"</p> + +<p>Bloom smiled in a sickly fashion. "Well, sir," he said, "I don't know +as I would."</p> + +<p>"Did you see anybody get in last night while the door was open and you +and Salvatore were in the booth checking over the goods?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir!"</p> + +<p>"But somebody might have got in?"</p> + +<p>"I—I guess so...."</p> + +<p>"One question more," said Ellery genially. "These deliveries are made +<i>every night</i>, without fail, and at exactly the same hour?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. Been that way as long as I can remember."</p> + +<p>"Another, if you'll pardon me. Did you lock that freight-door last +night promptly at eleven-thirty?"</p> + +<p>"To the dot."</p> + +<p>"Were you at that door all night?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. On my chair, right by the door."</p> + +<p>"No disturbance? Didn't hear or see anything suspicious?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir."</p> + +<p>"If—any one—tried—to—get—out—of—the—building—by—that—door," +said Ellery with startling emphasis, "you would have heard and seen +him?"</p> + +<p>"Sure thing, sir," said Bloom weakly, glancing with despair at +MacKenzie.</p> + +<p>"Very well, then," drawled Ellery, waving his arm negligently toward +Bloom, "the inquisition may proceed, Inspector." And he stepped back, +making furious notes in his book.</p> + +<p>The Inspector, who had been listening with a gradually clarifying +expression on his face, sighed and said to O'Flaherty, "You were +saying that Mrs. French came into the building at eleven-forty-five, +O'Flaherty. Let's have the rest of it."</p> + +<p>The head night-watchman wiped his brow with a slightly shaking hand and +a dubious glance in Ellery's direction. Then he took up the thread of +his story. "Well, I sits at th' night-desk all night—never gets up, +while Ralska and Powers here does the rounds every hour. That's me job, +sor—an' besides I check out all those who put in overtime, like th' +executive people, and such. Yes, sor. I—"</p> + +<p>"Easy, O'Flaherty," said the Inspector, with interest. "Tell us just +exactly what happened when Mrs. French arrived. You're sure it was +eleven-forty-five?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sor. I looked at th' time-clock next th' desk, 'cause I gotta put +down all arrivals on me time-sheet...."</p> + +<p>"Oh, the time-sheet?" muttered Queen. "Mr. MacKenzie, will you please +see that I get last night's time-sheet at once? Even before the report +on the employees." MacKenzie nodded and left. "All right, O'Flaherty. +Go on."</p> + +<p>"Well, sor, through the night-door acrost th' hall I sees a taxi roll +up and Mrs. French she steps out. She pays th' driver and knocks. I +sees who 'tis and opens quick. She gives me a cheery good-evenin', +and asks if Mr. Cyrus French was still in th' buildin', I says no, +ma'am, Mr. Cyrus French'd left early in th' afternoon, as he had, sor, +carryin' a brief-case. She thanks me, stops to think a bit, then she +says she'll go up to Mr. French's private apartment anyway, and starts +to walk out o' th' office toward the private elevator that's only used +to go up to th' apartment. I says to her, I says, Kin I get one o' +the boys to run th' elevator up for her an' open th' apartment door? +She says no thanks, right polite, sor, and rummages in her bag for a +minute, as if to see she's got her key. Yes, she had it—she fishes it +out o' her bag and shows it to me. Then she—"</p> + +<p>"Just a moment, O'Flaherty." The Inspector seemed perturbed. "You say +she had a key to the apartment? How is that, do you know?"</p> + +<p>"Well, sor, there're only a certain number o' keys to Mr. French's +apartment, sor," answered O'Flaherty, more comfortably. "S'far as +I know, Mr. Cyrus French has one, Mrs. French had one, Miss Marion +has one, Miss Bernice has one—me workin' here for seventeen years, +I knows th' fam'ly right well, sor—Mr. Weaver has one, and there's +one master-key in th' desk in my office all th' time. That's half a +dozen altogether, sor. Th' master-key is in case a key is needed in an +emergency."</p> + +<p>"You say Mrs. French showed you her key before she left your office, +O'Flaherty? How do you know it was the key to the apartment?" asked the +Inspector.</p> + +<p>"Easy enough, sor. Y'see, each key—they're special Yales, sor—each +key has a little gold dingus on it with th' initials o' the person it +belongs to. Th' key Mrs. French showed me had that on. Besides, I know +th' looks o' that key; it was the right one, all right."</p> + +<p>"One second, O'Flaherty." The Inspector turned to Weaver. "Have you +your apartment key on you, Weaver? Let me have it, please?"</p> + +<p>Weaver extracted a leather key-case from his vest-pocket and handed it +to Queen. Among a number of different keys was one with a small gold +disc fused into the tiny hole at the top. On this disc were engraved +the initials, <i>W.W.</i> The Inspector looked up at O'Flaherty.</p> + +<p>"A key like this?"</p> + +<p>"Just th' same, sor," said O'Flaherty, "exceptin' th' initials."</p> + +<p>"Very well." Queen returned the key-case to Weaver. "Now, O'Flaherty, +before you continue, tell me this—where do you keep your master-key to +the apartment?"</p> + +<p>"Right in a special drawer in th' desk, sor. It's there all the time, +day and night."</p> + +<p>"Was it in its place last night?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sor. I always looks for it special. It was there—the right key, +no mistake, sor. It's got a tab on it too, with th' word 'Master' on +it."</p> + +<p>"O'Flaherty," asked the Inspector quietly, "were you at your desk all +night? Did you leave your office at all?"</p> + +<p>"No, sor!" answered the old watchman emphatically. "From th' minute +I got there, at five-thirty, I didn't leave th' office until I was +relieved this mornin' by O'Shane at eight-thirty. I got longer hours +than him 'cause he's got more to do on his shift, with checkin' in +employees and all. And as for leavin' the desk, I brings me own feed +from home, even hot coffee in a thermos bottle. No, sor, I was on th' +watch all night."</p> + +<p>"I see." Queen shook his head as if to clear the mists of weariness and +motioned the watchman to continue with his story.</p> + +<p>"Well, sor," said O'Flaherty, "when Mrs. French left me office, I got +up out o' me chair, went into the hall, and watched her. She went to +th' elevator, opened th' door, an' went in. That's the last I saw +o' her, sor. When I saw she didn't come down I thought nothin' of +it, 'cause a number o' times Mrs. French has stayed overnight in Mr. +French's apartment upstairs. I thought she'd done th' same this night. +So that's all I know, sor."</p> + +<p>Ellery stirred. He lifted the dead woman's handbag from the bed and +dangled it before the watchman's eyes.</p> + +<p>"O'Flaherty," he asked in a drawling voice, "have you ever seen this +before?"</p> + +<p>The watchman replied, "Yes, sor! That's th' bag Mrs. French was +carryin' last night."</p> + +<p>"The bag, then," pursued Ellery softly, "from which she took her +gold-topped key?"</p> + +<p>The watchman seemed puzzled. "Why, yes, sor." Ellery seemed satisfied +and dropped back to whisper in his father's ear. The Inspector frowned, +then nodded. He turned to Crouther.</p> + +<p>"Crouther, will you please get the master-key in the office on the 39th +Street side." Crouther grunted cheerfully and departed. "Now then." The +Inspector picked up the gauzy scarf initialed <i>M.F.</i> which he had found +on the dead body. "O'Flaherty, do you recall Mrs. French's having worn +this last night? Think carefully."</p> + +<p>O'Flaherty took the wisp of silk in his horny fat fingers and turned it +over and over, his forehead wrinkled. "Well, sor," he said finally, in +a hesitant tone. "I can't rightly say. Seemed to me for a minute as if +I'd seen Mrs. French wear it, and then again seemed as if I hadn't. No, +I couldn't rightly say. No, sor," and he returned it to the Inspector +with a gesture of helplessness.</p> + +<p>"You're not sure?" The Inspector dropped the scarf back on the bed. +"Everything seem all right last night? No alarms?"</p> + +<p>"No, sor. O' course you know th' store's wired against burglars. Quiet +as a church last night. S'far as I know, nothin' happened out o' th' +way."</p> + +<p>Queen said to Sergeant Velie: "Thomas, call up the alarm central office +and find out if they've a report on last night. Probably not, or we'd +have heard from them by this time." Velie left, silently as usual.</p> + +<p>"O'Flaherty, did you see any one else enter the building last night +except Mrs. French? At any time during the night?" continued the +Inspector.</p> + +<p>"No, sor, absolutely not. Not a soul." O'Flaherty seemed anxious to +make this point clear, after his defection concerning the scarf.</p> + +<p>"Ah there, MacKenzie! Let me have the time-sheet, please." Queen took +from the store manager, who had just returned, a long scroll of ruled +paper. He looked it over hurriedly. Something seemed to catch his eye.</p> + +<p>"I see by your sheet, O'Flaherty," he said, "that Mr. Weaver and a Mr. +Springer were the last to leave the store yesterday evening? Did you +make these notations?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sor, Mr. Springer went out about a quarter to seven, and Mr. +Weaver a few minutes after."</p> + +<p>"Is that right, Weaver?" demanded the Inspector, turning to the +secretary.</p> + +<p>"Yes," replied Weaver in a colorless tone. "I stayed a little later +last night to prepare some papers for Mr. French to-day; I believe I +shaved.... I left a little before seven."</p> + +<p>"Who is this Springer?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, James Springer is the head of our Book Department, Inspector," put +in mild-mannered MacKenzie. "Often stays late. A very conscientious +man, sir."</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes. Now—you men!" The Inspector pointed to the two watchmen who +had not yet spoken. "Anything to say? Anything to add to O'Flaherty's +story? One at a time.... Your name?"</p> + +<p>One of the watchmen cleared his throat nervously. "George Powers, +Inspector. No, sir, I got nothin' to say."</p> + +<p>"Everything all right when you went your rounds? Do you cover this part +of the store?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir, everythin' was okay on my rounds. No, sir, I don't cover the +main floor. That's Ralska's job, here."</p> + +<p>"Ralska, eh? What's your first name, Ralska?" demanded the Inspector.</p> + +<p>The third watchman expelled his breath noisily. "Hermann, sir. Hermann +Ralska. I think—"</p> + +<p>"You think, eh?" Queen turned. "Hagstrom, you're taking this down, of +course?"</p> + +<p>"Yep, Chief," grinned the detective, his pencil busy in his notebook.</p> + +<p>"Now, Ralska, you were about to think something, no doubt very +important," snarled the Inspector. His temper seemed frayed and raw +once more. "What was it?"</p> + +<p>Ralska held himself stiffly. "I thought I heard somethin' funny last +night on the main floor."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you did! Where, exactly?"</p> + +<p>"Right about here—outside this window-room."</p> + +<p>"No!" Inspector Queen grew very quiet. "Outside this window-room. Very +good, Ralska. What was it?"</p> + +<p>The watchman seemed to take heart at Queen's calmer tone. "It was +just about one o'clock in the morning. Maybe a few minutes earlier. +I was in the part of the store near the Fift' Avenue and 39t' Street +side. This here window faces Fift' Avenue, past the night-office, so +it's a good distance away. I heard a queer kind o' noise. Can't make +up my mind what it was. Might 'a' been some one movin' around, might +'a' been a footstep, might 'a' been a door closin'—just don't know. +Anyway, I wasn't suspicious or anything—you get so you hear noises +that never happened on a night job like this.... But I went over in +that direction and couldn't see anything wrong, so I thought it must be +my imagination. Even tried a couple of the window doors. But they were +all locked. Tried this one, too. So I stopped in to have a word with +O'Flaherty here, and went on ahead, with my rounds. That's all."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" Inspector Queen seemed disappointed. "So you're not certain of +where the noise came from—if there was a noise?"</p> + +<p>"Well," responded Ralska carefully, "if it was anythin' at all it came +from this section o' the floor near these big street-window displays."</p> + +<p>"Nothing else all night?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir."</p> + +<p>"All right, that's all for you four men. You may go back home and catch +up on your sleep. Be back here to-night for work as usual."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir; yes, sir." The watchmen backed out of the window-room and +disappeared.</p> + +<p>The Inspector, brandishing the time-sheet in his hand, addressed the +store manager. "MacKenzie, have you given this sheet any study?"</p> + +<p>The Scotchman replied, "Yes, Inspector—thought you might be interested +and looked it over on the way."</p> + +<p>"Fine! MacKenzie, what's the verdict? Was every employee of the +store checked out regularly yesterday?" Queen's face was composed, +indifferent.</p> + +<p>MacKenzie did not hesitate. "As you can see, we have a simple check-out +system—by departments.... I can certainly assert that every <i>employee</i> +who was <i>in the store</i> yesterday checked out."</p> + +<p>"Does that include executives and gentlemen like the Board of +Directors?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir—there are their names in the proper places."</p> + +<p>"Very well—thank you," said the Inspector thoughtfully. "Please don't +forget that list of absentees, MacKenzie."</p> + +<p>Velie and Crouther at this point reëntered the room together. Crouther +handed the Inspector a key, an exact replica of the one in Weaver's +possession, marked "Master" on its gold disk as O'Flaherty had averred. +The detective-sergeant relayed a negative report from the burglar-alarm +company. Nothing unusual had occurred during the night.</p> + +<p>The Inspector turned again to MacKenzie. "How reliable is this +O'Flaherty?"</p> + +<p>"True-blue. Would give his life for Mr. French, Inspector," returned +MacKenzie warmly. "He's the oldest employee of the store—knew Mr. +French in the old days."</p> + +<p>"That's a fact," echoed Crouther, as if anxious to have his opinion +considered as well.</p> + +<p>"It has just occurred to me ..." Inspector Queen faced MacKenzie +inquiringly. "Just how private is Mr. French's apartment? Who has +access to it besides the French family and Mr. Weaver?"</p> + +<p>MacKenzie scraped his jaw slowly. "Hardly any one else, Inspector," +he replied. "Of course, the Board of Directors meet in Mr. French's +apartment periodically for conferences and other business matters; but +the only keys to it are in the possession of the people O'Flaherty has +mentioned. As a matter of fact, it's almost peculiar how little we +people know about Mr. French's apartment. In all my association with +the store, and it's a matter of ten years or so, I can't recall having +been in the apartment more than half a dozen times. I was thinking that +only last week, when Mr. French summoned me there for some special +instructions regarding the store. As for other employees—well, Mr. +French has always been adamant in the matter of his privacy. Aside +from O'Flaherty opening the door for the cleaning-woman three times +a week, and letting her out just before he goes off duty, there's +not an employee of the store who has access or occasion to visit the +apartment."</p> + +<p>"I see, I see. The apartment—we seem to be going back to that +apartment," muttered the Inspector. "Well! There seems to be very +little left here.... Ellery, what do you think?"</p> + +<p>Ellery swung his pince-nez with unaccustomed vigor as he regarded his +father. There was a troubled glint in the depths of his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Think? Think?" He smiled fretfully. "My ratiocinative machinery has +been chiefly occupied in the last half-hour or so with a stubborn +little problem." He bit his lip.</p> + +<p>"Problem? What problem?" growled his father affectionately. "I haven't +had a moment to think clearly, and you talk of problems!"</p> + +<p>"The problem," enunciated Ellery distinctly but not loudly enough to +be heard by the others, "of why Mrs. French's key to her husband's +apartment is missing."</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="10">10</h2> +</div> + +<h3>MARION</h3> + + +<p>"Not much of a problem," said Inspector Queen. "There is no particular +reason for expecting to find the key—here. Besides, I can't see that +it's of much importance."</p> + +<p>"<i>Alors</i>—we'll let it go at that," said Ellery, smiling. "I am always +worried by omissions." He dropped back, searching his vest-pocket for a +cigaret-case. His father eyed him sharply. Ellery rarely smoked.</p> + +<p>A policeman pushed open the window-door at this moment and lumbered +over to the Inspector. "Young lady outside giving the name of Marion +French. Says she wants Mr. Weaver," he whispered hoarsely. "Scared to +death at the mobs and the cops. One o' the floorwalkers is with her. +What'll I do, Inspector?"</p> + +<p>The Inspector's eyes narrowed. He shot a glance at Weaver. The +secretary seemed to sense the import of the message, although he had +not heard the whispered words; for he stepped forward at once.</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon, Inspector," he said eagerly, "but if that's Miss +French I'd like your permission to go to her at once and—"</p> + +<p>"Amazing intuition!" cried the Inspector suddenly, his white face +creasing into smiles. "Yes, I think I—Come along, Mr. Weaver. You +shall introduce me to Mr. French's daughter." He turned sharply to +Velie. "Carry on for a moment, Thomas. No one is to leave. I'll be back +in a jiffy."</p> + +<p>Preceded by a revitalized Weaver, he trotted out of the window-room.</p> + +<p>Weaver broke into a run as they stepped out onto the main floor. The +center of a little crowd of detectives and policemen, a young girl +stood stiffly, her face drained of color, eyes wild with a nameless +fear. As she caught sight of Weaver, a tremulous cry escaped her and +she swayed forward weakly.</p> + +<p>"Westley! What is the matter? These policemen—detectives—" Her arms +stretched out. In full sight of the grinning police and the Inspector, +Weaver and the girl embraced.</p> + +<p>"Sweetheart! You must get hold of yourself ..." Weaver whispered +desperately into the girl's ear as she clung to him.</p> + +<p>"Wes—tell me. Who is it? Not—" She drew away from him with horror in +her eyes. "Not—Winifred?"</p> + +<p>She read the answer in his eyes even before he nodded.</p> + +<p>The Inspector obtruded his elastic little figure between them. "Mr. +Weaver," he smiled, "may I have the pleasure...?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes—yes!" Weaver stepped quickly backward, releasing the girl. +He seemed astonished at the interruption, as if he had forgotten +momentarily the place, the circumstances, the time.... "Marion dear, +may I present Inspector Richard Queen. Inspector—Miss French."</p> + +<p>Queen took the proffered little hand and bowed. Marion murmured a +perfunctory pleasance, while her large grey eyes widened in stricken +interest at this tiny middle-aged gentleman with the clean white +mustache who bent over her hand.</p> + +<p>"You're investigating—a crime, Inspector Queen?" she faltered, +shrinking from him, clutching at Weaver's hand.</p> + +<p>"Unfortunately, Miss French," said the Inspector. "I'm genuinely +grieved that you've had such an unpleasant reception—more than I can +say...." Weaver glared at him in bewildered wrath. The old Machiavelli! +He had known all along what would happen!... The Inspector proceeded +in a gentle tone. "It's your stepmother, my dear—shockingly murdered. +Terrible! Terrible!" He clucked his tongue like a solicitous old hen.</p> + +<p>"Murdered!" The girl grew very still. The hand in Weaver's twitched +once, and was limp. For the instant both Weaver and the Inspector +thought she would faint, and involuntarily moved forward to her aid. +She staggered back. "No—thank you," she whispered. "My God—Winifred! +And she and Bernice were away—all night...."</p> + +<p>The Inspector stiffened. Then his hand fumbled for his snuff-box. +"Bernice, I believe you said, Miss French?" he said. "The watchman +mentioned that name before, too.... A sister, perhaps, my dear?" he +asked ingratiatingly.</p> + +<p>"Oh—what have I—Oh, Wes dear, take me away, take me away!" She buried +her face in the folds of Weaver's coat.</p> + +<p>Weaver said, above her head, "A perfectly natural remark, Inspector. +The housekeeper, Hortense Underhill, called Mr. French this morning +during the conference to report that neither Mrs. French nor Bernice, +her daughter, had slept at home.... You see, of course, that +Marion—Miss French...."</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, naturally." Queen smiled, touched the girl's arm. She +started convulsively. "If you'll come this way, Miss French—? Please +be brave. There is something I want you—to see."</p> + +<p>He waited. Weaver gave him an outraged glance, but pressed the girl's +arm encouragingly and led her, stumbling, toward the window. The +Inspector followed, beckoning to one of the detectives nearby, who +immediately took his place outside the window-door after the trio +entered the room.</p> + +<p>There was a little rustle of excitement as Weaver helped the girl into +the room. Even old French, shaking as if with ague, showed a light of +reason in his eyes as he spied her.</p> + +<p>"Marion my dear!" he cried in a terrible voice.</p> + +<p>She broke away from Weaver and fell on her knees before her father's +chair. No one spoke. The men looked uneasily away. Father and daughter +clung to each other....</p> + +<p>For the first time since he had come into the chamber of death, +Marchbanks, brother of the dead woman, spoke.</p> + +<p>"This—is—hellish," he said, savagely and slowly, glaring +out of bloodshot eyes at the trim figure of the Inspector. +Ellery, in his corner, crooked his body slightly forward. +"I'm—getting—out—of—this."</p> + +<p>The Inspector signaled to Velie. The burly Sergeant stumped across the +floor and towered above Marchbanks, saying nothing, his arms hanging +loosely by his sides. Marchbanks, large and corpulent, shrank before +the huge detective. He flushed, muttered beneath his breath, stepped +back.</p> + +<p>"Now," said the Inspector equably, "Miss French, may I trouble you to +answer a few questions?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I say, Inspector," protested Weaver, despite Ellery's warning +flick of the finger, "do you think it absolutely necessary to—"</p> + +<p>"I'm quite ready, sir," came the quiet voice of the girl, and she rose +to her feet, her eyes a trifle red, but clearly composed. Her father +had slumped back in his chair. He had forgotten her already. She smiled +wanly at Weaver, who sent her an ardent glance across the room. But she +kept her head averted from the sheeted corpse in the corner by the bed.</p> + +<p>"Miss French," snapped the Inspector, flicking the gauzy scarf from the +dead woman's clothes before her eyes, "is this your scarf?"</p> + +<p>She whitened. "Yes. How does it come here?"</p> + +<p>"That," said the Inspector dispassionately, "is what <i>I</i> should like to +know. Can you explain its presence?"</p> + +<p>The girl's eyes flashed, but she spoke calmly enough. "No, sir, I +cannot."</p> + +<p>"Miss French," went on the Inspector after a stifling pause, "your +scarf was found around Mrs. French's neck under her coat-collar. Does +that convey anything to you—perhaps suggest an explanation?"</p> + +<p>"She was wearing it?" Marion gasped. "I—I can't understand it. +She—she never did that before." She glanced helplessly at Weaver, +shifted her gaze and met Ellery's eyes.</p> + +<p>They looked at each other for a startled moment. Ellery saw a +slender girl with smoky hair and deep grey eyes. There was an +unaccented cleanliness about the lines of her young body that made +him feel pleased for Weaver's sake. She gave the impression of +straightforwardness and strength of will—honest eyes, firm lips, small +strong hands, a pleasingly cleft chin and a good straight nose. Ellery +smiled.</p> + +<p>Marion saw a tall athletic man with a suggestion of nascent vigor, +startlingly intellectual about the forehead and lips, cool and quiet +and composed. He looked thirty, but was younger. There was a hint of +Bond Street about his clothes. His long thin fingers clasped a little +book and he regarded her out of pince-nez eyeglasses.... Then she +blushed slightly and her eyes wavered away toward the Inspector.</p> + +<p>"When did you last see this scarf, Miss French?" went on the old man.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I—" Her tone changed; she took command of herself. "I seem to +remember wearing it yesterday," she said slowly.</p> + +<p>"Yesterday? Very interesting, Miss French. Do you recall just where—?"</p> + +<p>"I left the house directly after luncheon," she said, "wearing the +scarf under this coat. I met a friend at Carnegie Hall and we spent +the afternoon at a recital—Pasternak the pianist. We parted after the +recital and I took a 'bus down to the store. I do seem to remember +wearing the scarf all day...." Her brow wrinkled prettily. "I don't +remember having it, however, when I returned home."</p> + +<p>"You say you came to the store, Miss French?" interrupted the Inspector +politely. "For any special reason?"</p> + +<p>"Why—not particularly. I did think I might still catch father. I knew +he was leaving for Great Neck, but I didn't know exactly when, and—"</p> + +<p>The Inspector held up a ridiculously tiny white hand. "Just a moment, +Miss French. You say your father went to Great Neck yesterday?"</p> + +<p>"Why, yes. I understood he was to go out there for business. +There's—there's nothing wrong—about that, is there, sir?" She bit her +lip.</p> + +<p>"No, no—positively no!" said the Inspector, smiling. He turned to +Weaver. "Why didn't you tell me that Mr. French took a little trip +yesterday, Mr. Weaver?"</p> + +<p>"You didn't ask me," retorted Weaver.</p> + +<p>The Inspector started, then chuckled. "One on me," he said. "It's true +enough. When did he return and why did he go?"</p> + +<p>Weaver looked compassionately at the limp, oblivious figure of his +employer. "He went early yesterday afternoon to confer with Farnham +Whitney on Whitney's estate. A matter of merger, Inspector—the meeting +this morning discussed just that. Mr. French told me that he was driven +into the city early this morning by Whitney's chauffeur—arrived at the +store at nine o'clock. Anything else?"</p> + +<p>"Not just now." Queen turned to Marion. "Your pardon, my dear, for the +interruption.... Now where specifically did you go when you came to the +store?"</p> + +<p>"To my father's apartment on the sixth floor."</p> + +<p>"Indeed?" muttered the Inspector. "And why, may I ask, did you go to +your father's apartment?"</p> + +<p>"I usually go there when I'm at the store, which isn't often," +explained Marion. "Besides, I was told that Mr. Weaver was there, +working, and I thought—it might be nice to pay him a little visit...." +She eyed her father apprehensively, but he was insensible to words.</p> + +<p>"You went there directly on entering the store? And left immediately +from the apartment?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Is it possible," insinuated the Inspector very gently, "that you may +have dropped your scarf in the apartment, Miss French?"</p> + +<p>She did not reply immediately. Weaver tried frantically to catch her +eye, moving his lips, framing the word "No!" She shook her head.</p> + +<p>"Quite possible, Inspector," she said quietly.</p> + +<p>"I see." The Inspector beamed. "Now, when did you see Mrs. French last?"</p> + +<p>"At dinner last night. I had an appointment for the evening and left +almost immediately."</p> + +<p>"Did Mrs. French seem herself? Notice anything unusual, abnormal in her +speech or actions?"</p> + +<p>"Well.... She did seem worried about Bernice," Marion said slowly.</p> + +<p>"Ah!" Queen rubbed his hands together. "Then I infer that +your—stepsister, is it?—was not at home for dinner?"</p> + +<p>"No," replied Marion after a hesitating silence. "Winifred—my +stepmother told me that Bernice had gone out and would not be home for +dinner. But she seemed worried nevertheless."</p> + +<p>"She gave no indication of a reason for this worry?"</p> + +<p>"None whatever."</p> + +<p>"What is your step-sister's name? Is it French?"</p> + +<p>"No, Inspector. She retains her father's name of Carmody," murmured +Marion.</p> + +<p>"I see. I see." The Inspector stood plunged in thought. John Gray +shifted impatiently, whispered a word to Cornelius Zorn, who shook his +head sadly and leaned resignedly against the back of French's chair. +Queen paid no attention to them. He looked up at Marion. Her passive, +tired little figure drooped.</p> + +<p>"One question more for the moment, Miss French," he said, "and you may +rest.... Can you suggest, from anything that you know of Mrs. French's +background or affairs, or from anything that transpired recently—last +night, yesterday, perhaps—can you suggest," he repeated, "a possible +explanation for this crime? It's murder, of course," he continued +hastily, before she could reply, "and I know you are naturally chary +of answering. Take your time—think carefully over everything that has +occurred lately...." He stopped. "Now, Miss French, can you tell me +anything I might wish to hear?"</p> + +<p>There was naked silence in the room—a raw pulsing quiet that beat +invisibly against the atmosphere. Ellery heard quick breaths +drawn, saw bodies tense, eyes sharpen, hands twitch as, to a man, +the occupants of the room with the exception of Cyrus French leaned +forward, watching Marion French as she stood there, facing them.</p> + +<p>But she said, "No," very matter-of-factly, and the Inspector's eyes +flickered. Everybody relaxed. Some one sighed. Ellery noted that it was +Zorn. Trask lit a cigaret nervously and let the fire die. Marchbanks +sat frozen to his chair. Weaver made a little movement of despair....</p> + +<p>"Then that will be all, Miss French," returned Inspector Queen, in a +tone as casual as the girl's had been. He seemed pleasantly absorbed in +a contemplation of Lavery's formal cravat. "Please," he added, just as +pleasantly, "do not leave the room.... Mr. Lavery, may I have your ear +for the moment?"</p> + +<p>Marion dropped back and Weaver sprang to her side, dragging a chair +with him. She sank into it with a little smile, shading her eyes with +a nerveless hand. The other snuggled secretly into Weaver's eager +grasp.... Ellery watched them for a moment, then turned his sharp eyes +on Lavery.</p> + +<p>The Frenchman bowed, waited, fingers riffling his short beard.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="11">11</h2> +</div> + +<h3>LOOSE ENDS</h3> + + +<p>"As I understand it, Mr. Lavery, you are responsible for this +exhibition of modernistic house-furnishings?" Inspector Queen's voice +took a fresh note.</p> + +<p>"That is correct."</p> + +<p>"How long has this exhibition been going on?"</p> + +<p>"About a month, I should say."</p> + +<p>"Your main exhibition rooms are where?"</p> + +<p>"On the fifth floor." Lavery spread his fingers. "You see, this is more +or less of a pioneer project in New York, Inspector. I was invited to +exhibit some of my creations to the American public by Mr. French and +his Board, who are very much in sympathy with the movement. Most of the +purely enterprising details of the present exhibition emanate from Mr. +French, allow me to add."</p> + +<p>"Just what do you mean?"</p> + +<p>Lavery showed his teeth in a smile. "The matter of these +window-exhibits, for example. That was wholly Mr. French's idea, and I +do suppose it has resulted in much advertising for the establishment. +Certainly the crowds have flocked from the sidewalk outside to the +fifth floor exhibition rooms in such numbers that we have had to call +in special ushers to handle them."</p> + +<p>"I see." The Inspector nodded politely. "So these window-exhibits were +Mr. French's idea? Yes, yes—you have just told me that.... How long +has this particular window been dressed so, Mr. Lavery?"</p> + +<p>"This is the—let me see—the end of the second week of the +living-room-bedroom exhibit," answered Lavery, stroking his short +modish beard again. "The fourteenth day, to be exact. To-morrow we were +to have changed the room's contents, removed them to make way for a +model dining-room."</p> + +<p>"Oh, the windows are changed bi-weekly? Then this is the second room +you have exhibited?"</p> + +<p>"Quite so. The first was a full bedroom."</p> + +<p>Queen mused openly. His eyes drooped with weariness; blackish pouches +stood out beneath. He took a short turn up and down the room, halting +once more before Lavery.</p> + +<p>"It seems to me," he said, more to himself than to Lavery, "that this +unfortunate accident and its attendant circumstances dovetail too +fortuitously.... However! Mr. Lavery, is this window-exhibit held at +the same time each day?"</p> + +<p>Lavery stared. "Yes—yes, certainly."</p> + +<p>"At <i>exactly</i> the same time each day, Mr. Lavery?" pursued the +Inspector.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes!" said Lavery. "The Negress has entered this window at noon of +each day ever since the institution of the exhibit."</p> + +<p>"Very good!" The Inspector seemed pleased again. "Now, Mr. Lavery—in +the month that these demonstrations have taken place, has there ever to +your knowledge been one day on which the time-schedule was not adhered +to?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Lavery with positiveness. "And I am in a position to know, +sir. It has been my habit to stand on the main floor behind the +window-room during the Negress's demonstration every day. My lecture +upstairs is not scheduled until three-thirty of the afternoon, you see."</p> + +<p>The Inspector raised his eyebrows. "Oh, you lecture, too, Mr. Lavery?"</p> + +<p>"But of course!" cried Lavery. "I have been told," he added gravely, +"that my description of the work of the Viennese Hoffman has created +something of a stir among the <i>monde artistique</i>."</p> + +<p>"Indeed!" smiled the Inspector. "One question more, Mr. Lavery, and +then I think we will have finished with you for the present.—This +exhibition as a whole is not entirely a spontaneous thing? I mean," he +added, "steps have been taken to make the public aware both of your +window-demonstrations and of your lectures upstairs?"</p> + +<p>"Assuredly. The publicity and advertising have been planned most +carefully," rejoined Lavery. "We have circularized all the art-schools +and allied organizations. The charge-accounts, I understand, have +likewise been covered by personal letters from the management. The +bulk of the public attention, however, has been secured by means of +newspaper advertisements. Of course you have seen those?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I rarely read department store ads," the Inspector replied +hastily. "And I suppose you have received all sorts of publicity?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—yes, indeed," and Lavery again flashed his white teeth. "If you +would condescend to examine my scrap-books—"</p> + +<p>"Hardly necessary, Mr. Lavery, and thank you for your patience. That's +all."</p> + +<p>"A moment, please.—May I?" Ellery had stepped forward, smiling. The +Inspector glanced at him, waved his hand briefly, as if to say, "Your +witness!" and retreated to the bed, where he sat down with a sigh.</p> + +<p>Lavery had turned in his tracks and now stood stroking his beard, his +eyes politely questioning.</p> + +<p>Ellery did not speak for a moment. He twirled his pince-nez, looked up +suddenly. "I am quite interested in your work, Mr. Lavery," he said +with a disarming grimace. "Although I fear my esthetic studies have not +exhausted the field of modern interior decoration. As a matter of fact, +I was much interested the other day in your lecture on Bruno Paul...."</p> + +<p>"So you attended my impromptu classes upstairs, sir?" exclaimed Lavery, +flushing with pleasure. "Perhaps I was a trifle enthusiastic about +Paul—I know him quite well, you see...."</p> + +<p>"Indeed!" Ellery looked at the floor. "I take it that you have been +in America before, Mr. Lavery—your English is quite untouched by +Gallicism."</p> + +<p>"Well, I have traveled more or less extensively," admitted Lavery. +"This is my fifth visit to the States—Mr. Queen, is it?"</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry!" said Ellery. "I am Inspector Queen's unruly scion.... Mr. +Lavery, how many demonstrations a day are given in this window?"</p> + +<p>"Just one." Lavery raised his black brows.</p> + +<p>"How long does each demonstration take?"</p> + +<p>"Thirty-two minutes exactly."</p> + +<p>"Interesting," murmured Ellery. "By the way, is this room kept open at +all times?"</p> + +<p>"Not at all. There are some very valuable pieces in this room. It is +kept locked except when it is being used for demonstration purposes."</p> + +<p>"Of course! That was stupid of me," smiled Ellery. "You have a key, +naturally?"</p> + +<p>"A number of keys exist, Mr. Queen," answered Lavery. "The idea of the +lock is more to prevent transient trespassing during the day than to +keep out possible night-prowlers. It is presumed that after hours, in +an establishment as well guarded as this—provided with modern burglar +alarms, guards, and so on—the room would be safe enough against +burglary."</p> + +<p>"If you will pardon me for interrupting," came the mild voice of +MacKenzie, the store manager, "I am in a better position to clear up +the question of the keys than Mr. Lavery."</p> + +<p>"Delighted to have you," said Ellery quickly, but he began once more +to twirl his pince-nez. The Inspector, seated on the bed, preserved a +watchful silence.</p> + +<p>"We have a number of duplicate keys," explained MacKenzie, "to each +of the windows. In this particular instance Mr. Lavery has one, Diana +Johnson the demonstrator has one (which she leaves at the Employees' +Office desk when she leaves for the day), the floorwalker on this +section of the main floor and the store detectives each have one, and +there is a complete set of duplicates kept in the general offices on +the mezzanine floor. I am afraid very many people could have secured a +key."</p> + +<p>Ellery did not seem perturbed. He walked suddenly to the door, opened +it, peered out over the main floor for a moment, and returned.</p> + +<p>"Mr. MacKenzie, will you please summon that clerk at the leather-goods +counter opposite this window?"</p> + +<p>MacKenzie departed, returning shortly with a short, stout, middle-aged +man. He was white-faced and nervous.</p> + +<p>"Were you on duty all this morning?" inquired Ellery kindly. The man +jerked his head in the affirmative. "And yesterday afternoon?" Another +jerk. "Did you leave your post at any time this morning or yesterday +afternoon?"</p> + +<p>The clerk found his voice. "Oh, no, sir!"</p> + +<p>"Very well!" Ellery spoke softly. "Did you at any time during yesterday +afternoon or this morning notice any one entering or leaving this +window-room?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir." The man's tone was assured. "I've been on duty all the +time; I couldn't help but notice if any one had used this room, sir. I +haven't been very busy," he added, with an apologetic side-glance at +MacKenzie.</p> + +<p>"Thank you." The clerk left with eager steps.</p> + +<p>"Well!" Ellery sighed. "We seem to be progressing, and yet nothing +takes definite shape...." Shrugging his shoulders, he turned once more +to Lavery.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Lavery, are these windows illuminated after dark?"</p> + +<p>"No, Mr. Queen. The shades are drawn after every demonstration, and +they are kept drawn until the following day."</p> + +<p>"Then," and Ellery emphasized the word, "then I take it that these +lighting fixtures are dummies?"</p> + +<p>Eyes long since dulled by waiting and wretchedness expectantly followed +the direction of Ellery's arm. He was pointing toward the oddly cut, +clouded-glass wall lights. The eyes all turned, too, to observe the +numerous queerly shaped lamps about the room.</p> + +<p>For answer Lavery strode to the rear wall and, after a moment's +manipulation, removed one of the modernistic fixtures. The socket +which should have held an electric bulb was empty.</p> + +<p>"We have no use for lights here," he said, "so we have not installed +them." With a swift movement he restored the fixture to its place on +the wall.</p> + +<p>Ellery took a decisive step forward. But then he shook his head, +retreated, turned to the Inspector.</p> + +<p>"Henceforward, or at least for the present, I shall be silent," he +said, smiling, "and latinically pass for a philosopher."</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="12">12</h2> +</div> + +<h3>OUT THE WINDOW....</h3> + + +<p>A policeman pushed his way into the room, looked about as if to catch +the eye of authority, was summoned peremptorily by old Queen, mumbled a +few words, and departed almost as quickly as he had come.</p> + +<p>The Inspector immediately took John Gray aside and whispered in the +little director's ear. Gray nodded and went to the side of Cyrus +French, who was staring blankly into space, muttering to himself. With +the aid of Weaver and Zorn, Gray managed to twist French's chair around +so that the old man's back was to the body. French noticed nothing. +The store physician took his pulse professionally. Marion's hand was +at her throat; she stood up quickly and leaned against the back of her +father's chair.</p> + +<p>Then the door opened and two white-garbed men with visored caps +entered, bearing a stretcher between them. They saluted the Inspector, +who jerked his thumb toward the sheeted corpse.</p> + +<p>Ellery had withdrawn into the far corner of the room beyond the bed to +hold communion with his pince-nez. He frowned at it, tapped it on the +back of his hand, threw his lightcoat on the bed and sat down, taking +his head between his hands. Finally, as if he had come to either an +impasse or a conclusion, he produced from the pocket of his coat the +volume it contained, and began to scribble hurriedly on the fly-leaf. +He paid not the slightest attention to the two police doctors stooped +over the dead woman.</p> + +<p>Nor did he protest when he was unceremoniously moved by a silent, +nervous man who had entered immediately behind the stretcher bearers, +and who was now engaged with the help of an assistant in photographing +the dead woman, her position on the floor, the bed, the handbag and +other articles connected with the victim. Ellery's eyes followed the +police photographer, but abstractedly.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he snapped his little book back into his pocket and waited +thoughtfully until he caught his father's eye.</p> + +<p>"Lord, son," said the Inspector, coming over, "I'm tired. And worried. +<i>And</i> apprehensive."</p> + +<p>"Apprehensive? Come, now—don't fall into that silly frame of mind, +dad. Why should you be apprehensive? This case is coming along, coming +along...."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you've probably caught the murderer and hidden him in your +vest-pocket," growled the old man. "I'm not worried about the murderer, +I'm worried about Welles."</p> + +<p>"Sorry!" Ellery moved closer. "Don't let Welles rile you, dad; I don't +think he's as bad as you've painted him. And while he's merely heckling +you, I'll be working under-cover—grasp the idea?"</p> + +<p>"It's not half bad at that," said the Inspector. "My gosh! He's liable +to walk in here any minute now, El! I never thought of that! By this +time he has a telephoned report and—Yes! What is it?"</p> + +<p>A bluecoat tramped in with a message and left.</p> + +<p>The Inspector groaned. "Word's just come that Welles is on his way +here—now we'll have arrests, interviews, grillings, reporters running +over the place, and merry—"</p> + +<p>Ellery's air of raillery vanished. He grasped his father's arm and +guided him swiftly to an angle in the wall.</p> + +<p>"If that's the case, dad, let me tell you what is in my mind—quickly." +He looked around; they were fairly unobserved. He lowered his voice. +"Have you reached any definite conclusions yet? I'd like to have your +reactions before I tell you mine."</p> + +<p>"Well—" the old man peered about him cautiously, then cupped his +mouth in his small hands—"between you and me, son, there's something +queer about the whole business. As far as details are concerned, I'm +a little hazy—if you're clearer than I, it's probably because you +have had something of the advantage of an observer. But as to the +crime itself—the possible motive—the story behind it—I have the +inescapable feeling that the murder of Mrs. French is not half so +important to us as what may have necessitated the murder...." Ellery +nodded thoughtfully. "I have no doubt that this is a carefully planned +murder. Despite the weirdness of the place, the apparent sloppiness of +the crime, there is amazingly little to go on."</p> + +<p>"What about Marion French's scarf?" asked Ellery.</p> + +<p>"Fiddlesticks!" said the Inspector contemptuously. "Can't see that it +means anything intelligible. In all probability she left it somewhere +about and Mrs. French picked it up.... But I'll bet a cookie that the +Commissioner grabs it."</p> + +<p>"I think you're wrong there," commented Ellery. "He'll be afraid to +tackle French. Don't lose sight of French's power as head of the +Anti-Vice Society.... No, dad, for the present Welles will keep his +hands off Marion French."</p> + +<p>"Well, what have you concluded, Ellery?"</p> + +<p>Ellery produced his small volume and turned to the fly-leaf on which +he had scribbled a few moments before. He looked up. "I hadn't thought +about the remote nuances of the crime, dad," he said. "Although, +now that you've brought it up, it seems to me that you are probably +correct about the far-reaching significance of the motive as opposed +to the crime itself.... No, I've been chiefly occupied until now +with more direct affairs. I have four interesting little puzzlers to +elucidate. Listen carefully.</p> + +<p>"First, and probably most important," he began, referring to his notes, +"there is the puzzle of Mrs. French's key. We have a fair sequence of +incident. The night-watchman, O'Flaherty, observes the victim at about +eleven-fifty last night with the gold-disked apartment key in her +possession. She is lost sight of until twelve-fifteen to-day, when she +is found dead—still in the store, but with the key missing from the +scene of the crime. The question arises, then: Why is the key missing? +It seems on the face of it a pure matter of discovery, doesn't it? +Yet—regard the possibilities. It is plausible enough at this time to +suspect that the key's disappearance is connected with the crime, more +directly with the murderer. A murderer disappears, a key disappears. +It is not difficult to imagine that they disappeared together. Now, +if this is so—and for the present let us assume that it <i>is</i> so—why +did the murderer take the key? Obviously, we can't answer that +question—yet. But—we now know that the murderer has in his possession +a key to a certain apartment—French's private apartment on the sixth +floor."</p> + +<p>"That's so," muttered the Inspector. "I'm glad you suggested sending +one of the boys to watch that apartment this morning."</p> + +<p>"I had that thought," said Ellery. "But something else disturbs me. +I can't help asking myself: Doesn't the absence of the key perhaps +indicate that the body was brought to this window from some other +place?"</p> + +<p>"I can't see that at all," objected the Inspector. "Can't see that it +has anything to do with it."</p> + +<p>"Let's not quarrel about it," murmured Ellery. "I can see one very, +very interesting possibility that makes my question logical and the +item of Marion French's scarf seems to point the same way. I think that +I'll be able to check up soon on the facts—which will put me in a +position to prove more definitely what I've just postulated.... Let me +get on to point number two.</p> + +<p>"The natural thought one has on finding the body in this window is that +the crime was committed here. Of course! Usually, one would not even +stop to question it."</p> + +<p>"It seemed funny to me, though," said the Inspector, frowning.</p> + +<p>"Ah! It did, eh? Perhaps I can crystallize your suspicion a bit later," +said Ellery brightly. "We enter, we see a body, we say: Crime was +committed here. But then we stop to observe. We are told by Prouty +that the woman has been dead some twelve hours. The body is found a +bit after noon. That would make it a short time after midnight when +Mrs. French died. In other words, when the crime was committed. Observe +that in any case the crime was committed in dead of night. What is the +appearance of this window at such a time—of this whole section of the +building? Total darkness!"</p> + +<p>"And—?" put in the Inspector dryly.</p> + +<p>"You don't seem to take my dramatics very seriously," laughed Ellery. +"Total darkness, I repeat. Yet we are supposing that this window is +the scene of the crime. We prowl about the window, ask ourselves: Are +there lights in here? If there are, that's the end of it. With the +door closed, and these heavy drapes on the street side, light would be +unobserved outside the window-room. We investigate and find—no, no +lights. Plenty of lamps, plenty of sockets—no bulbs. I doubt, indeed, +if the lamps are even wired. So—we suddenly visualize a crime in total +darkness. What—you don't like that idea? Neither do I!"</p> + +<p>"There are such things as flashlights, you know," objected Queen.</p> + +<p>"So there are. That occurred to me. Then I asked myself: If there was +a crime here, there was some logically necessary antecedent action. A +crime presupposes a meeting, a probable quarrel, a murder, and in this +case, disposal of the body in a <i>very</i> queer and inconvenient place—a +wall-bed.... And all in the rays of a flashlight! As redoubtable Cyrano +would remark: No, I thank you!"</p> + +<p>"Might have carried bulbs with him, of course," muttered the Inspector, +then their eyes met and they both laughed at once.</p> + +<p>Ellery grew serious. "Well, let's leave the little matter of +illumination for the present. You'll admit it reeks slightly of +improbability?</p> + +<p>"And now to that exceedingly fascinating little thingamajig," he +continued, "the lipstick engraved with the letter <i>C</i>. That's my point +number three. In many ways, it's of extreme significance. The immediate +conclusion is that Lipstick marked <i>C</i> does not belong to Mrs. French, +whose initials, engraved on three other articles in her bag, are +<i>W.M.F.</i> Now, Lipstick marked <i>C</i> is of a noticeably darker shade +than the paint on the dead woman's lips. Which not only corroborates +the premise that Lipstick marked <i>C</i> is not Mrs. French's, but also +that there is <i>another</i> lipstick extant somewhere which <i>did</i> belong +to Mrs. French. Follow?... Now where is that lipstick? It is not in +this window anywhere. Therefore it is somewhere else. Did the murderer +take it, along with the key? That seems silly. Ah—but haven't we a +clue? Of course! For observe ..." he paused, "the dead woman's lips. +Half-finished! And of a lighter shade. What does this mean? Undoubtedly +that Mrs. French was interrupted while she was dabbing at her lips with +her own lipstick now missing."</p> + +<p>"Why interrupted?" demanded the Inspector.</p> + +<p>"Have you ever seen a woman who began to paint her lips leave them +half-painted? It just isn't done. It <i>must</i> have been an interruption +which prevented those lips from being entirely daubed. And a violent +interruption, I'll wager; nothing short of an unprecedentedly odd +occurrence would stop a woman from smearing that last red blob on the +right place."</p> + +<p>"The murder!" exclaimed the Inspector with a queer light in his eye.</p> + +<p>Ellery smiled. "Perhaps.—But do you grasp the implication, dad? If she +was interrupted by the murder or the incidents immediately preceding +the murder, and the lipstick is not in this window—"</p> + +<p>"Of course, of course!" exclaimed the old man. He sobered. "It's true, +though, that the lipstick might have been taken by the murderer for +purposes of his own."</p> + +<p>"On the other hand," returned Ellery, "if it was not taken by the +murderer, then it is still somewhere in or about the building. You +might institute a search through six floors of this drygoods mortuary."</p> + +<p>"Oh, impossible! But I suppose we'll have to have a try at it later."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps it won't be necessary in about fifteen minutes," said Ellery. +"At any rate, a genuinely interesting question comes up: To whom does +the <i>C</i> lipstick belong, if it is not Mrs. French's? You might look +into that, dad. I have an idea that the answer to that question will +bring complications—<i>à la</i> Scott Welles...."</p> + +<p>At mention of the Police Commissioner's name the Inspector's features +lengthened. "You'd better finish what you began, Ellery; he'll be here +any minute now."</p> + +<p>"And so I shall." Ellery removed his pince-nez and twirled it +recklessly in the air. "Before we proceed to point number four, bear in +mind that you're <i>cherchez</i>-ing two feminine accessories—<i>la lipstick +de Madame, et sa clef</i>....</p> + +<p>"To point number four, then," continued Ellery with a faraway gleam in +his eye. "For point number four we must credit the habitually sharpened +perceptions of our grossly underpaid and revered medico, Sam Prouty. He +thought it strange that wounds of the nature of Mrs. French's should +have bled so little. At least, there was little trace of blood on her +body and clothes.... By the way, there was also a smear of dried blood +on the palm of her left hand—you noticed it, of course?"</p> + +<p>"Saw it, all right," muttered the Inspector. "Probably clapped her hand +to one of the wounds at the moment she was shot, and then—"</p> + +<p>"And then," finished Ellery, "her hand dropped in death and the +divine ichor, which by all the laws of physics, according to friend +Sam, should have gushed forth, did—what? I should say," he remarked +seriously after a pause, "that it obeyed the immutable laws of that +exact science and did gush forth freely...."</p> + +<p>"I see what you mean ..." murmured the old man.</p> + +<p>"It gushed forth freely—but not in this window. In other words, +we must look for an interesting combination of elements to explain +away the phenomenon of two bloody revolver-wounds being practically +bloodless on the discovery of the body...."</p> + +<p>"Let me sum up the indications to this point," Ellery continued +swiftly. "To my mind the absence of Mrs. French's apartment key; the +absence of normal illuminating-facilities in this window; the absence +of Mrs. French's rightful lipstick, which she must have had almost +directly before her death, since her lips are only half-painted; the +absence of blood from two logically bloody wounds; the presence of +Marion French's scarf; and another item of a more general but none the +less convincing nature—all converge into one conclusion."</p> + +<p>"And that is that the murder was not committed in this window," said +the Inspector, taking snuff with a steady hand.</p> + +<p>"Exactly."</p> + +<p>"Just what do you mean by still another item which points toward that +conclusion, Ellery?"</p> + +<p>"Has it struck you at all," answered Ellery slowly, "what an utterly +preposterous setting this window-room is for the crime of murder?"</p> + +<p>"I did think of it, as I mentioned before, but—"</p> + +<p>"You've been too plunged into detail to get a psychological slant on +this affair. Think of the privacy, the secrecy, the conveniences, +that a fully planned murder requires. Here—what did the murderer +have? An unlit, periodically patrolled window. Dangerous from start +to finish. In the heart of the main floor, where the nucleus of the +night-watchman's staff is located. Not fifty feet from the constantly +present head night-watchman's office. Why? No, dad, it's perfectly +silly! It was the first thought I had when I came in here."</p> + +<p>"True enough," muttered the Inspector. "Yet—if it didn't take place +here, why transport the body here at all <i>after</i> the murder, if that is +what was done? It seems to me that almost as much danger, if not more, +existed in that event as in the first...."</p> + +<p>Ellery frowned. "That had occurred to me, of course.... There is an +explanation; there must be. I begin to see the manipulation of a fine +Italian hand...."</p> + +<p>"At any rate," broke in the Inspector with a slight impatience, "so +much is clear to me after your analysis: this window is certainly not +the scene of the crime. I think I see—yes, of course—it's as plain as +day—the apartment upstairs!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, that!" Ellery said absently. "Naturally. Wouldn't make sense +otherwise. The key, a logical place for the lipstick, privacy, +illumination ... yes, yes, the sixth floor apartment by all means. It's +my next stop...."</p> + +<p>"And it's positively depressing, El!" exclaimed the Inspector, as +if struck by a thought. "Imagine! That apartment has been used by +five people incessantly since eight-thirty this morning, when Weaver +arrived. Nobody noticed anything up there, so evidently traces of the +crime were removed from the apartment before that time. Goodness—if +only...."</p> + +<p>"Now don't be bothering your poor grey head with fancy!" laughed +Ellery, suddenly restored to good humor. "Of course the traces of the +crime have been removed. The top layer, so to speak. Perhaps even the +middle layer. But away down deep, underneath, we may find—who knows? +Yes, that's my next stop."</p> + +<p>"I can't help worrying about the reason this window was used at all," +frowned the Inspector. "Unless it's that time element...."</p> + +<p>"Heavens! You're becoming positively a genius, dad!" chuckled Ellery +affectionately. "I've just got over solving that little problem for +myself. Why was the body placed in the window? Let's apply unfailing +<i>logos</i>....</p> + +<p>"There are two possibilities, either or both of which may be correct. +First: to keep attention away from the <i>real</i> scene of the crime, which +is undoubtedly the apartment. Second, and more logically, <i>to prevent +the body from being discovered before noon</i>. The dead certainty of the +daily demonstration time—which, you have reasoned, of course, was +common knowledge to all New York—tenons much too snugly."</p> + +<p>"But why, Ellery?" objected Inspector Queen. "Why delay the body's +discovery until noon?"</p> + +<p>"If only we knew that!" murmured Ellery, with a shrug. "But in a +general way it seems reasonable that, if the murderer left the body to +be discovered—and he knew it with certainty—at twelve-fifteen, then +he had something to do <i>before noon</i> which the discovery of the body +prematurely would have made dangerous or impossible. Do you follow me?"</p> + +<p>"But what on earth—"</p> + +<p>"Yes, what on earth," replied Ellery sadly. "What did the murderer have +to do on the morning of the crime? <i>I</i> don't know."</p> + +<p>"We're just stumbling in the dark, Ellery," said the Inspector with a +faint groan. "Just staggering from premise to conclusion without a ray +of light anywhere.... For example, why couldn't the murderer have done +what he had to do last night, <i>in the building</i>? There are telephones, +you know, if he had to communicate with some one...."</p> + +<p>"Are there? But—we'll have to check up on that later."</p> + +<p>"I'll do that right away—"</p> + +<p>"Just a second, dad," interrupted Ellery. "Why not send Velie out to +that private elevator to look for traces of blood?"</p> + +<p>The Inspector stared at him, made a fist. "Goodness! How stupidly I've +managed things!" he cried. "Of course! Thomas!"</p> + +<p>Velie stalked across the room, received an inaudible instruction, and +immediately left.</p> + +<p>"I should have thought of that before," growled the Inspector, turning +back to Ellery. "Naturally, if the murder was committed in the +apartment, the body had to be brought down here from the sixth floor."</p> + +<p>"Probably find nothing," commented Ellery. "I'd pick the staircase, +myself.... But look here, dad. I want you to do something for +me.—Welles will be here any moment now. To all intents and purposes +this window is the scene of the crime. He'll want to hear all the +testimony all over again, anyway. Keep him down here—give me an hour +upstairs alone with Wes Weaver, won't you? I must see that apartment +at once. Nobody has been in it since the meeting broke up—it's been +watched all the time—there <i>must</i> be something there.... Will you?"</p> + +<p>The Inspector wrung his hands helplessly. "Of course, son—anything you +say. You can certainly tackle it with a fresher mind than I can. I'll +keep Welles down here. Want to examine that Employees' Entrance office, +the freight room, and that whole section of the main floor, anyway.... +But why are you taking Weaver?" His voice sank lower. "Ellery—aren't +you playing a dangerous game?"</p> + +<p>"Why, dad!" Ellery's eyes opened wide in honest astonishment. "What do +you mean? If you've any suspicion of poor Wes, disabuse your mind of +it right now. Wes and I were bunkies at school; remember that summer +during which I stayed with a chum in Maine? That was Westley's father's +place. I know the poor boy as well as I know you. Father's a clergyman, +mother's a saint. Background clean, life's always been an open book. No +secrets, no past...."</p> + +<p>"But you don't know what he's bumped into in the city here, Ellery," +objected the Inspector. "You haven't seen him for years."</p> + +<p>"Look here, dad," said Ellery gravely. "You've never made a mistake +following my judgment, have you? Follow it now. Weaver's as innocent of +this crime as a lamb. His nervousness is plainly connected with Marion +French.... There! The photographer wants to talk to you."</p> + +<p>They turned back to the group. Inspector Queen spoke to the police +photographer for a few moments. Then, dismissing the man, he resolutely +beckoned the Scotch store manager.</p> + +<p>"Mr. MacKenzie, tell me—" he asked abruptly, "what is the condition of +your telephone service after shopping hours?"</p> + +<p>MacKenzie said: "All 'phones except on one trunk line are cut off at +six o'clock. That line is connected with O'Flaherty's desk at the night +exit. If there are any incoming calls, he takes them. Otherwise, there +is no telephone service at night."</p> + +<p>"I see by O'Flaherty's time-sheet and report-sheet that there were +no incoming or outgoing calls last night," remarked the Inspector, +consulting the chart.</p> + +<p>"You can rely on O'Flaherty, Inspector."</p> + +<p>"Well," pursued Queen, "suppose some department is working overtime? +'Phone service kept open?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," replied MacKenzie. "But only on written request of the head of +the department.—I should add that we have very little of that sort of +thing here, sir. Mr. French has always insisted that the closing hour +be kept more or less strictly. Of course, there are exceptions every +once in a while.—If there is no record on O'Flaherty's chart of such a +request, you may be sure no lines were open last night."</p> + +<p>"Not even in Mr. French's private apartment?"</p> + +<p>"Not even in Mr. French's apartment," returned the store manager. +"Unless Mr. French or Mr. Weaver instructs the head operator to the +contrary."</p> + +<p>The Inspector turned questioningly to Weaver, and Weaver shook his head +in an emphatic negative.</p> + +<p>"One thing more, Mr. MacKenzie. Are you aware of the last time before +yesterday that Mrs. French visited the store?"</p> + +<p>"I believe it was a week ago Monday, Inspector," replied MacKenzie +after some hesitation. "Yes, I'm fairly certain. She came in to speak +to me about some imported dress material."</p> + +<p>"And she did not appear at the store after that?" Inspector Queen +looked around at the other occupants of the room. There was no answer.</p> + +<p>At this moment Velie reëntered. He whispered to his superior and +stepped back. The Inspector turned to Ellery. "Nothing in the +elevator—not a sign of blood."</p> + +<p>A policeman stepped into the window-room and made for the Inspector.</p> + +<p>"The Commissioner's here, Inspector."</p> + +<p>"I'll be right out," said the Inspector wearily. As he left the room, +Ellery gave him a meaning glance. He nodded slightly.</p> + +<p>When he returned a few moments later, escorting the portly, pompous +figure of Commissioner Scott Welles and a small army of detectives and +deputies, Ellery and Westley Weaver had vanished. And Marion French sat +in her chair, clutching her father's hand, watching the window-door as +if with Weaver had gone some of her heart and courage.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_SECOND_EPISODE">THE SECOND EPISODE</h2> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p><i>"As for the word CLUE, we are indebted for its genesis to +mythology.... Clue has descended etymologically from</i> CLEW +<i>(in common with many other words of similar endings; i.e.</i>, +TREW, BLEW, <i>etc.) ... being a literal Old English +translation of the Greek word for thread, directly traceable to the +legend of Theseus and Ariadne and the ball of cord she gave him +with which to grope his way out of the Labyrinth after killing the +Minotaur.... A clue in the detectival sense may be of an intangible as +well as a tangible nature; it may be a state of mind as well as a state +of fact; or it may derive from the absence of a relevant object as well +as from the presence of an irrelevant one.... But always, whatever +its nature, a clue is the thread which guides the crime investigator +through the labyrinth of nonessential data into the light of complete +comprehension...."</i></p> + +<p class="ph3">—From <span class="smcap">William O. Green's</span><br> +Introduction to <span class="smcap">Ars Criminalis</span><br> +<i>By</i> John Strang</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="chap"> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/illus2.jpg" alt=""> + <div class="caption"> +<p>A—Cardroom; + +B—Card table with banque cards; + +C—Ash tray with stubs; + +D—Servant's bedroom; + +E—Anteroom; + +F—Library; + +G—Conference table and chairs; + +H—Library desk; + +I—Bedroom; + +J—Lavatory; + +K—Spring door to private apartment; + +L—Elevator shaft; + +M—Stairway; + +N—Dressing table</p> + + </div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap"> + + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="13">13</h2> +</div> + +<h3>AT THE APARTMENT: <i>The Bedroom</i></h3> + + +<p>Ellery and Westley Weaver picked their way unnoticed through the +throngs on the main floor. At the rear of the store, Weaver indicated +around the bend of the wall a small grilled door. A policeman stood +guard with his back to the ironwork.</p> + +<p>"That's the private elevator, Ellery."</p> + +<p>Ellery exhibited a special police pass signed in Inspector Queen's +punctilious hand. The policeman touched his cap and opened the grilled +door.</p> + +<p>Ellery noted the staircase door around the corner, then entered the +elevator. He closed the door carefully, touched the button marked 6, +and the elevator began to ascend. They stood in silence, Weaver's lip +creased under his teeth.</p> + +<p>The elevator was finished in bronze and ebony, with an inlaid +composition-rubber floor. It was spotlessly clean. On the further wall +was a low divan-like seat covered with black velvet. Ellery adjusted +his pince-nez and looked about him with interest. He bent over to +examine more closely the velvet seat, craned his neck at a suspicious +darkening in an angle of the wall.</p> + +<p>"Might have known Velie would overlook nothing," he thought.</p> + +<p>The elevator clicked to a stop. The door opened automatically and they +stepped out into a wide, deserted corridor. At one end of the corridor +was a high window. Almost directly opposite the elevator exit was an +unpaneled door of heavy mahogany. A neat small tablet, with the words:</p> + + <p class="ph2">PRIVATE<br> +CYRUS FRENCH</p> + + +<p>was affixed to this door.</p> + +<p>A detective in plain clothes indolently leaned against the frame. He +seemed to recognize Ellery at once, for he greeted him and stepped +aside.</p> + +<p>"Going in, Mr. Queen?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Righto!" said Ellery, cheerfully. "Be a good man and stick it outside +here while we're sniffing around the apartment. If you see any +one—with authority—coming, rap on the door. If it's just anybody, +shoo 'im away. Understand?"</p> + +<p>The detective nodded.</p> + +<p>Ellery turned to Weaver. "Let's have your key, Wes," he said in a +natural tone. Without a word Weaver handed him the key-case which +Inspector Queen had examined in the window not long before.</p> + +<p>Ellery selected the gold-disked key and inserted it in the keyhole. He +turned and the tumbler slipped back noiselessly. He pushed open the +bulky door.</p> + +<p>He seemed surprised at its rigid weight, for he stepped back, taking +his hand from the door, and it immediately swung shut. He tried the +knob. The door was again locked.</p> + +<p>"Stupid of me," he muttered, as he again unlocked the door with the +key. He waved Weaver inside the apartment before him, and then allowed +the door to swing shut once more.</p> + +<p>"Special spring lock," commented Weaver. "Why are you surprised, +Ellery? It's to insure absolute privacy. The Old Man's rather a bug on +that."</p> + +<p>"The door can't be opened from the outside without a key, then?" +asked Ellery. "There's no way of fixing the bolt so that the door is +temporarily unlocked?"</p> + +<p>"The door is always as stubborn as that," said Weaver, with a fleeting +grin. "Although I can't see what difference it makes."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps all the difference in the universe," said Ellery, knitting his +brows. Then he shrugged his shoulders and looked about him.</p> + +<p>They stood in a small, almost bare anteroom with a cunningly +converted skylight roof.... A Persian rug on the floor, a long +leather-upholstered bench flanked with standing ashtrays against the +wall opposite the door.... To the left was a single chair and a little +magazine rack. And that was all.</p> + +<p>The fourth wall was cut through for another door, smaller and not so +formidable-looking.</p> + +<p>"Not especially prepossessing," remarked Ellery. "Is this the usual +taste of our multimillionaires?"</p> + +<p>Weaver seemed to have recovered something of his natural buoyancy, now +that he and Ellery were alone. "Don't misjudge the Old Man," he said +hastily. "He's really a regular old duck, and knows a plain room from +a fancy one. But he keeps this anteroom for the purpose of herding +together the people who come to see him on business of the Anti-Vice +League. This is a sort of waiting-room. Although, to tell the truth, +it hasn't been used much. You know, French has an enormous suite of +offices further uptown for Anti-Vice League affairs; most of that +business is transacted there. I suppose, though, he couldn't resist the +thought of entertaining some of his cronies here when he had the place +designed."</p> + +<p>"Any visitors of that sort lately?" inquired Ellery, his hand on the +knob of the inner door.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no! Not for several months, I think. The Old Man's been too +wrapped up in the approaching merger with Whitney. Anti-Vice League has +suffered, I guess."</p> + +<p>"Well, then," said Ellery judiciously, "since there's nothing here of +interest, let's proceed."</p> + +<p>They walked into the next room, and the door swung shut behind them. +This door, however, had no lock.</p> + +<p>"This," said Weaver, "is the library."</p> + +<p>"So I see." Ellery slouched against the door, surveying the room with +open eagerness.</p> + +<p>Weaver seemed afraid of silences. He wet his lips and said, "This +is also the conference room for directors' meetings, the Old Man's +hideaway, et cetera. Rather neat layout, don't you think?"</p> + +<p>The room was at least twenty feet square, Ellery estimated, and +presented a businesslike, if informal, appearance. In the center +of the room stood a long mahogany table, surrounded by heavy +red-leather-covered chairs. The chairs presented a ragged appearance, +distributed unevenly around the table, showing signs of the haste with +which the morning's meeting had been adjourned. Papers in disorderly +piles were scattered over the table.</p> + +<p>"Not usually that way," commented Weaver, noticing Ellery's grimace +of distaste. "But the conference was an important one, everybody was +excited, and then the news of the accident downstairs.... It's a wonder +everything isn't in more of a mess than it is."</p> + +<p>"Naturally!"</p> + +<p>On the wall opposite Ellery was a severely framed portrait in oils +of a ruddy-faced, masterful-jawed man, dressed in the fashion of the +'Eighties. Ellery lifted an eyebrow inquiringly.</p> + +<p>"Mr. French's father—the Founder," said Weaver.</p> + +<p>Under the portrait were built-in bookcases, a large comfortable-looking +chair, and an end-table of modern design. An etching hung over the +chair.</p> + +<p>The wall on the corridor side and the wall near which they stood were +tastefully furniture-covered. On both walls, left and right, were +identically decorated doors of the swinging, rotary-hinged type. The +doors were finished in a fine-grained reddish leather, studded with +brass bolts.</p> + +<p>The Fifth Avenue side of the room held a large flat-topped desk, +at about five feet from the rear wall. Its shining surface held a +French-style telephone, a slip of blue memorandum paper, and at the +edge of the desk facing the rest of the room a half-dozen books between +handsome onyx book-ends. Behind the desk the wall was pierced by a +large dormer-window, draped in heavy red velvet. This window overlooked +Fifth Avenue.</p> + +<p>Ellery completed his stationary examination with a frown. He looked +down at Weaver's key-case, which he still held in his hand.</p> + +<p>"By the way, Wes," he said suddenly, "is this your own key? Ever lend +it to anybody?"</p> + +<p>"That's my own, all right, Ellery," replied Weaver indifferently. "Why?"</p> + +<p>"I merely thought that it might be interesting to discover whether the +key has ever been out of your possession."</p> + +<p>"Nothing there, I'm afraid," said Weaver. "It's never been off my +person. As a matter of fact, as far as I know, all five keys have been +exclusively in their owner's possession since the apartment was built."</p> + +<p>"Hardly," said Ellery in a dry tone. "You forget Mrs. French's." +He eyed the key contemplatively. "Greatly bother you, Westley, if +I appropriate yours for the time? I do believe I shall go into the +business of collecting this particular type of key."</p> + +<p>"Help yourself," replied Weaver in a small voice. Ellery detached the +key from the case, which he forthwith returned to Weaver. The key he +put into his vest-pocket.</p> + +<p>"By the way," said Ellery, "is this your office too?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no!" replied Weaver. "I have my own office on the fifth floor. I +report there in the mornings before coming up here."</p> + +<p>"<i>Enfin!</i>" Ellery moved suddenly. "<i>Aux armes!</i> Westley, it is my +earnest desire to peep into the privacy of Mr. French's bedroom. Will +you oblige by leading the way?"</p> + +<p>Weaver indicated the brass-studded door on the opposite wall. They +traversed the thick-carpeted distance silently and Weaver swung the +door inward. They emerged into a large squarish bedroom, with windows +overlooking both Fifth Avenue and 39th Street.</p> + +<p>The bedroom was, to Ellery's unaccustomed eyes, astonishingly +modernistic in tone and decoration. Twin beds sunk almost to the +floor level, both based on concentric ovals of a highly polished +wood, caught the eye at once. A queerly shaped man's wardrobe and a +daringly designed woman's dressing-table indicated that the room had +been laid out for the use of Mrs. French as well as of her husband. +Two diversions in the quietly toned but cubistic design of the walls +pointed to closets within. Two chairs of unorthodox shape, a small +night-table, a telephone table between the twin beds, a few bright +scatter-rugs—Ellery, unacquainted with the Continental vogue at first +hand, found the French bedroom a most engaging study.</p> + +<p>On the wall toward the corridor was a door. It was partly open. Through +it Ellery saw a lavatory in colored tiles as strikingly modern as the +bedroom itself.</p> + +<p>"Just what are you looking for, if you're looking for anything specific +at all?" inquired Weaver.</p> + +<p>"Lipstick. Should be here.... <i>And</i> key. Let's hope it <i>isn't</i> here." +Ellery smiled and stepped into the center of the room.</p> + +<p>He observed that the beds were made up. Everything seemed in perfect +order. He strode over to the wardrobe, looked at its bare top. The +dressing-table caught his eye. He walked toward it as if half afraid of +what he might find. Weaver followed him curiously.</p> + +<p>The top surface of the dressing-table held few articles. A small tray +of mother-of-pearl; a powder-jar; a hand-mirror. On the tray were some +feminine accoutrements—tiny scissors, a file, a buffer. Nothing had +the appearance of recent use.</p> + +<p>Ellery frowned. He turned his head away, turned it back as if +fascinated by the dressing-table.</p> + +<p>"Really," he muttered, "it should be here. Of all places. The logical +one. Of course!"</p> + +<p>His fingers had touched the tray. Its shell was slightly curved at the +edges. As the tray moved, something rolled off the table, where it had +nestled under the tray's edge, and fell to the floor.</p> + +<p>With a grin of triumph Ellery picked up the article. It was a small, +gold-chased lipstick. Weaver came over in some astonishment to see the +find. Ellery pointed to the three initials on the cap: <i>W.M.F.</i></p> + +<p>"Why, that's Mrs. French's!" cried Weaver.</p> + +<p>"Dear Mrs. French," murmured Ellery under his breath. He lifted the cap +of the stick and twisted. A pinkish blob of paste appeared.</p> + +<p>"Seems to jibe," he said aloud. As if struck by a thought, he searched +his coat pocket and pulled out the larger, silver-chased lipstick from +the dead woman's bag in the window.</p> + +<p>Weaver suppressed an exclamation. Ellery looked at him pointedly.</p> + +<p>"So you recognized it, Wes?" he asked, smiling. "Now tell me—since +we're <i>tête-à-tête</i> and your innocent mind can grope trustingly in my +presence.... To whom does this lipstick marked <i>C</i> belong?"</p> + +<p>Weaver winced, raised his eyes to Ellery's cool ones. "To Bernice," he +said slowly.</p> + +<p>"Bernice? Bernice Carmody? The missing lady," drawled Ellery. "I +suppose Mrs. French was her real mother?"</p> + +<p>"Mrs. French was the Old Man's second wife. His daughter by his first +wife is Marion. First wife died about seven years ago. Bernice came +along with Mrs. French when the Old Man remarried."</p> + +<p>"And this is Bernice's lipstick?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I recognized it immediately."</p> + +<p>"Evidently," chuckled Ellery, "from the way you jumped.... Just what do +you know, Wes, about this Bernice's disappearance? From Marion French's +demeanor, I gather that she knows something.... Now, now, Wes—be +patient with me! I'm not a lover, you know."</p> + +<p>"Oh, but I'm sure Marion's not keeping anything back!" protested +Weaver. "When the Inspector and I went out a while ago to meet her near +the entrance, she told him that Bernice and Mrs. French had not slept +at home...."</p> + +<p>"Not really!" Ellery was genuinely startled. "How is that, Wes? The +facts, old boy, the facts!"</p> + +<p>"This morning, just before the conference," explained Weaver, "the Old +Man asked me to call his home and let Mrs. French know that he had +returned from Great Neck safely. I talked to Hortense Underhill, the +housekeeper—really more than a housekeeper; she's been with the Old +Man for a dozen years. Hortense said that the only one up and about was +Marion. This was a little after eleven. French spoke to Marion, told +her the usual thing.</p> + +<p>"At a quarter to twelve Hortense called up in something of a panic. +She'd been worried over the silence of Mrs. French and Bernice, and on +going to their bedrooms had found both empty, and the beds not slept +in. Which meant, of course, that both women had not been home all +night...."</p> + +<p>"And what did French say to that?"</p> + +<p>"He seemed annoyed rather than worried," replied Weaver. "Seemed to +think that they had probably stayed overnight with friends. We went on +with the conference, which broke up when we received the news about +the—you know."</p> + +<p>"Why on earth dad hasn't followed up that disappearance ..." muttered +Ellery with a singular facial contortion. He sprang to the telephone +and ordered the store operator to summon Sergeant Velie. When Velie's +voice boomed over the wire, Ellery rapidly acquainted him with the +facts, advised him to let the Inspector know that he considered it +imperative that Bernice be searched for immediately; and added that +Commissioner Welles be kept downstairs as long as it was in Inspector +Queen's power to do so. Velie grunted complete understanding and hung +up.</p> + +<p>Ellery instantly demanded the French house telephone number from +Weaver, and transmitted it to the operator.</p> + +<p>"Hello!" An indistinguishable murmur in the depths of the instrument. +"Hello. This is a police officer talking. Miss Hortense Underhill?... +Never mind that now, Miss Underhill.... Has Bernice Carmody returned +yet?... I see.... Please! Take a cab immediately and come straight +to the French store. Yes, yes, immediately!... By the way, has Miss +Carmody a maid?... Very well. Bring her with you.... Yes, to Mr. +French's private apartment on the sixth floor. Ask for Sergeant Velie +when you get downstairs."</p> + +<p>He hung up. "Your Bernice has not returned," he said mildly. "For what +reason Fortunatus alone knows." He looked thoughtfully at the two +lipsticks in his hand. "Was Mrs. French a widow, Wes?" he asked after a +pause.</p> + +<p>"No. She was divorced from Carmody."</p> + +<p>"That's not Vincent Carmody, the antique-dealer, by any chance?" asked +Ellery, without changing expression.</p> + +<p>"That's the man. Know him?"</p> + +<p>"Slightly. I've been in his establishment." Ellery frowned as he +regarded the lipsticks. His eyes keened suddenly.</p> + +<p>"Now, I wonder ..." he said, putting the gold stick aside and turning +the silver one over in his fingers. He unscrewed the cap, twisted the +body so that the dark red paste emerged. He kept twisting absently +until the entire carmine length was visible. He tried to twist it still +further. To his surprise, there was a distinct click! and the entire +paste in its metal setting fell out of the silver case into his hand.</p> + +<p>"What have we here?" he asked in honest astonishment, peering into the +cavity. Weaver leaned over for a better view. Ellery tipped the case +and shook it.</p> + +<p>A little capsule about a half-inch around and perhaps an inch long +fell out into his hand. It was filled with a powdery white crystalline +substance.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" breathed Weaver.</p> + +<p>Ellery shook it, held it up to the light. "Well, sir," he said slowly, +a grim smile lifting the corners of his lips, "it looks very much like +heroin to me!"</p> + +<p>"Heroin? The drug, you mean?" asked Weaver excitedly.</p> + +<p>"Precisely." Ellery restored the capsule to the lipstick case, screwed +the paste section into place, and put the lipstick into his pocket. +"Nice commercial heroin. I may be wrong, but I doubt it. I'll have the +stuff analyzed for me at Headquarters. Westley," and he turned squarely +to French's secretary, "tell me the truth. To your knowledge is—or +was—any member of the French family a drug addict?"</p> + +<p>Weaver replied with unexpected promptitude. "Now that you've found this +heroin, if that's what it is, it seems to me that I recall something +queer in the conduct and actions of Bernice, especially of late. That's +her lipstick, isn't it?—Ellery, I shouldn't be at all surprised +if Bernice is addicted to the stuff. She's been jumpy, nervous, +peaked-looking—alternated fits of gloom with spasms of hilarity...."</p> + +<p>"You're describing the symptoms, all right," said Ellery. "Bernice, eh? +The lady becomes more and more interesting with every passing moment. +How about Mrs. French—French himself—Marion?"</p> + +<p>"No—not Marion!" almost shouted Weaver. Then he grinned in shame. +"Sorry. No, Ellery, you forget that the Old Man is head of the +Anti-Vice League—good Lord!"</p> + +<p>"Quite a situation, eh?" smiled Ellery. "And Mrs. French was normal in +that respect, you think?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, absolutely."</p> + +<p>"Anybody in the family besides yourself suspect that Bernice is a dope +fiend?"</p> + +<p>"I don't think so. No, I'm pretty sure no one did. Certainly not the +Old Man. Marion has commented at times about Bernice's conduct and +queer actions, but I'm positive she doesn't suspect—this. As for Mrs. +French—well, it's hard to tell just what she thought. Always was +tight-mouthed when it came to her darling Bernice. Though if she did +suspect, she did nothing about it. I'm inclined to believe she was +ignorant of the whole business."</p> + +<p>"And yet—" Ellery's eyes gleamed, "it's passing strange, Westley, that +the evidence should be found on Mrs. French's body—in her handbag, in +fact ... now, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>Weaver shrugged his shoulders wearily. "My head's in a perfect whirl."</p> + +<p>"Westley, old boy," pursued Ellery, fingering his pince-nez, "what do +you think Mr. French would say if he knew there was drug-addiction in +his own family?"</p> + +<p>Weaver shuddered. "You don't know what a temper the Old Man has when +he's aroused. And I think that that would arouse him—" He stopped +short, looked at Ellery suspiciously. Ellery smiled.</p> + +<p>"Time grows apace," he said with heartiness, but there was a disturbed +light in his eye. "On to the lavatory!"</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="14">14</h2> +</div> + +<h3>AT THE APARTMENT: <i>The Lavatory</i></h3> + + +<p>"I hardly know what we may expect to find here," said Ellery dubiously, +as they stood in the glittering bathroom. "As a matter of fact, the +lavatory is the last place to look.... Everything all right, Westley? +Anything strike you as being out of place?"</p> + +<p>Weaver answered rapidly enough, "No," but a tinge of uncertainty shaded +his voice. Ellery glanced at him sharply, then around at the room.</p> + +<p>It was long and narrow. The tub was sunken. The washbowl was slender +and modern-looking. Above it hung a cunningly disguised chest. Ellery +pulled open its concealed door. It held on its three glass shelves some +bottles of house medicines, hair tonic, ointment, a tube of tooth-paste +and one of shaving cream, a safety-razor in an odd-looking wooden case, +two combs, and several other articles.</p> + +<p>Ellery slammed the door shut in a little flurry of disgust. "Come on, +Wes," he growled. "I'm doddering. There's nothing here." Nevertheless, +he stopped to open a door on the side. It was a closet for lavatory +linens. He poked his hand into a hamper and pulled out several soiled +towels. These he examined carelessly and threw back, looking at +Westley....</p> + +<p>"Well, spill it, son!" he said, pleasantly enough. "There is something +on your mind. What's rotten in Denmark?"</p> + +<p>"It's queer," said Weaver thoughtfully, pulling at his lip. "I thought +it queer at the time, and now that things have happened, well—I'm +thinking it's even queerer.... Ellery, there's something missing!"</p> + +<p>"Missing?" Ellery's hand shot out and closed about Weaver's arm in a +mighty grip. "My God, and you've kept mum! What is it that's missing, +man?"</p> + +<p>"You'll think I'm an idiot ..." said Weaver hesitantly.</p> + +<p>"Westley!"</p> + +<p>"Sorry." Weaver cleared his throat. "Well, there's a razor blade +missing, if you must know!" He scanned Ellery's face for a sign of +levity.</p> + +<p>But Ellery did not laugh. "A razor-blade? Tell me about it," he urged, +leaning against the closet door. He eyed the cabinet above the washbowl +speculatively.</p> + +<p>"I got here this morning a bit earlier than usual," began Weaver, with +a worried frown. "Had to prepare for the Old Man's arrival, and there +were a number of papers to straighten out for the directors' meeting. +Usually, you know, the Old Man doesn't get here until ten o'clock; +it's only on special occasions—like this one of the conference—that +he comes earlier.... So I left the house in something of a hurry, +intending to shave up here. I do that quite often, by the way—which +is one of the reasons I keep a razor in the apartment.... When I got +here—it was about eight-thirty—I dashed for my razor. And there +wasn't any blade."</p> + +<p>"That seems not so extraordinary," said Ellery with a smile. "You +simply didn't have any in the cabinet."</p> + +<p>"Oh, but I did!" protested Weaver. "The reason I felt something was +funny was that last evening, before I left the store, I had shaved up +here. I left the blade in the razor."</p> + +<p>"Didn't you have any others?"</p> + +<p>"No. I'd run out of them and intended to get some more. But I forgot +to bring some in with me this morning. Consequently, when I wanted to +scrape some of the old beard off there wasn't anything to do it with. +Blade had vanished! Sounds silly, doesn't it? And I particularly left +that blade in the razor yesterday because I've forgotten to restock +before, and I found that you can always squeeze another shave out of +the old blade."</p> + +<p>"You mean that it had gone, absolutely? You're sure you left it in the +razor?"</p> + +<p>"Positive. I cleaned it and slipped it back."</p> + +<p>"You didn't break it, or anything like that?"</p> + +<p>"I tell you no, Ellery," Weaver replied patiently. "That blade was +there."</p> + +<p>Ellery's lips curved upward humorously. "A pretty problem at that," he +said. "Is that why your face is fuzzed?"</p> + +<p>"Right enough. I haven't had a chance all day to go out for a shave."</p> + +<p>"Seems peculiar," said Ellery thoughtfully. "I mean that you should +have had only one blade left in the cabinet. Where are French's blades?"</p> + +<p>"He doesn't shave himself," replied Weaver a trifle stiffly. "He never +has. Patronizes the same barber every morning."</p> + +<p>Ellery did not comment further. He opened the cabinet and took down the +wooden razor-case. He examined the plain silver razor inside, but could +see nothing of interest.</p> + +<p>"You handled the razor this morning?"</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Did you take it out of the case?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no! I didn't at all. When I saw the blade was missing, I didn't +even bother."</p> + +<p>"That's <i>very</i> interesting." Ellery lifted the razor handle to the +level of his eyes, holding it by the tip, careful not to touch the +silver surface with his fingers. He breathed on the metal. It clouded +over for an instant.</p> + +<p>"Not the sign of a print," he commented. "Wiped away, undoubtedly." He +smiled suddenly. "We begin to find signs of a presence, an apparition, +a wraith here last night, old boy. Careful, wasn't he, she, or weren't +they?"</p> + +<p>Weaver laughed aloud. "Then you think my stolen blade has something to +do with this mess?"</p> + +<p>"To think," said Ellery solemnly, "is to know.... Keep this in mind, +Westley. I believe I heard you say downstairs that you left here +last night a bit before seven. The blade, then, was taken from this +apartment between about seven o'clock last night and eight-thirty this +morning.</p> + +<p>"Astounding!" murmured Weaver derisively. "So that's the sort of +hocus-pocus one must cultivate in order to be a detective?"</p> + +<p>"Laugh, varlet!" said Ellery sternly.... He stood in a queer attitude +of reflection. "I think we'll be going into the next chamber," he said +in an altogether different voice. "I begin to see a tiny light. It's +far off but—gossamer glimmer, nevertheless! <i>Allons, enfant!</i>"</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="15">15</h2> +</div> + +<h3>AT THE APARTMENT: <i>The Cardroom</i></h3> + + +<p>He strode purposefully from the lavatory, marched through the bedroom, +entered the library once more. Weaver followed, his face betraying an +objective interest startlingly in variance with his nervousness of the +past hour. He seemed to have forgotten something.</p> + +<p>"What's past that door?" demanded Ellery abruptly, pointing to the +second red-leather, brass-studded door on the opposite side of the room.</p> + +<p>"That's the cardroom," replied Weaver interestedly. "Think there's +something to look for, El? By George, you're getting me positively +excited!" Then he stopped, his face lengthened, and he stood soberly +surveying his friend.</p> + +<p>"Cardroom, eh?" Ellery's eyes were bright. "Tell me, Wes—you were the +first in the apartment this morning and you're in the best position +to know—did any one who was in the library to-day go into any of the +other rooms?"</p> + +<p>Weaver pondered for a moment. "Except that the Old Man went into the +bedroom when he got in this morning, and put his coat and hat away, +nobody left the library."</p> + +<p>"Didn't French visit the bathroom to wash up?"</p> + +<p>"No. He was in a confounded hurry to dictate some store business and +get ready for the conference."</p> + +<p>"You were with him when he visited the bedroom?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"And you're positive that none of the others—Zorn, Trask, Gray, +Marchbanks—left <i>this room</i> all morning?" He took a short turn about +the room. "By the way, you were here every minute of the time, I +suppose?"</p> + +<p>Weaver smiled. "I seem to be in an affirmative mood this +afternoon.—Yes to both questions."</p> + +<p>Ellery rubbed his hands together in a little spasm of glee. "The +apartment, then, with the one exception of the library, is in exactly +the same condition as when you arrived at eight-thirty. Excellent, most +excellent, my omniscient and exceedingly helpful Westley!"</p> + +<p>He walked briskly toward the cardroom door and pushed it open, Weaver +at his heels. And Weaver cried out in sheer astonishment from behind +Ellery's broad shoulders....</p> + +<p>The cardroom was smaller than both the library and the bedroom. It was +paneled in walnut. Cheerful drapes hung over the single large window +overlooking Fifth Avenue. A thick rug covered the floor.</p> + +<p>But Ellery, following the line of Weaver's gaze, saw that he was +staring in horror at a hexagonal, baize-covered card-table in the +center of the room. A small bronze ashtray and some playing-cards, +peculiarly arranged, were on the table. Two heavy folding-chairs were +pushed away from the table.</p> + +<p>"What's the trouble, Wes?" asked Ellery sharply.</p> + +<p>"Why, that—that table wasn't there last night!" stammered Weaver. "I +was in here looking for my pipe just before I left, and I'm sure...."</p> + +<p>"Not really!" murmured Ellery. "You mean the table was folded up, put +away, out of sight?"</p> + +<p>"Of course! The room was cleaned up yesterday morning by the charwoman. +And those cigarets in the ashtray.... Ellery, some one was in here +after I left last night!"</p> + +<p>"Obviously. And in the bathroom, too, if we're to believe the story +of the missing razor-blade. The important thing is—why was some one +in here? Just a moment." He went swiftly to the table and looked down +curiously at the cards.</p> + +<p>On both sides of the table were two small piles of cards—one stack +with the faces up, the other closed. In the center of the baize were +two rows of four stacks, open, with the pasteboards in descending +order, as Ellery verified by investigating carefully. Between the two +rows were three smaller piles.</p> + +<p>"Banque," muttered Ellery. "Peculiar!" He looked at Weaver. "You know +the game, of course?"</p> + +<p>"No, I don't," said Weaver. "I recognized the layout of the cards as +that of banque, because I've seen it played at the French house. But I +don't understand the game very well; it gives me a headache. But then +most card-games do. I never was much good at it."</p> + +<p>"So I remember," laughed Ellery, "especially that night at Bloombury's +when I had to sit in for you to recoup a hundred dollar I.O.U. at +stud.... You say you've seen the game played at French's—and that's +most interesting. Calls for questions, I do believe. Not many people +know how to play Russian banque."</p> + +<p>Weaver regarded Ellery strangely. His eyes went furtively to the stubs +of four cigarets lying in the ashtray. He looked back at once. "Just +two people in the French household," he said in a strangled voice, +"played banque."</p> + +<p>"And they are—or were, if I must follow your past tense?" asked Ellery +in a cool voice.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. French and—Bernice."</p> + +<p>"Oho!" Ellery whistled softly. "The elusive Bernice.... Nobody else +play?"</p> + +<p>"The Old Man abhors all forms of gambling," said Weaver, worrying his +lips with a forefinger. "Won't play cards for anything. Doesn't know an +ace from a deuce. Marion plays bridge, but only because it's something +of a social necessity. She dislikes cards, and I never heard of banque +before I entered French's employ.... But Mrs. French and Bernice were +violently addicted to it. Whenever they had the opportunity they played +it. None of us could quite understand it. A form of the glamorous +gambling fever, I don't doubt."</p> + +<p>"And the friends of the family?"</p> + +<p>"Well," said Weaver slowly, "the Old Man has never been so narrow as to +forbid card-playing altogether in his home. That's why this apartment, +by the way, is fitted out with a cardroom. It's for the convenience of +the directors—sometimes they play here between sessions. But in the +house itself I have had plenty of opportunity to observe visitors and +friends. I've never seen any one play banque except Mrs. French and +Bernice."</p> + +<p>"Beautiful—beautiful," said Ellery. "So symmetrically conclusive! +That's the way I like things...." But his brow was wrinkled with +thought. "And the cigarets, old boy—tell me why you've been trying for +five minutes not to look at the cigarets in the ashtray?"</p> + +<p>Weaver flushed guiltily. "Oh!" He was silent. "I hate to say it, +Ellery—I'm in the most hellish position imaginable...."</p> + +<p>"The cigarets, of course, are Bernice's brand.... You may as well come +out with it," said Ellery wearily.</p> + +<p>"How did you know?" cried Weaver. "But—I suppose it was clear enough +to an alert.... Yes, they're Bernice's. Her own brand. She has—had +them made up for her especially."</p> + +<p>Ellery picked up one of the stubs. It was silver-tipped, and just +below the tip was printed in script the brand-name: <i>La Duchesse</i>. +Ellery poked his finger among the remaining litter of stubs. His look +sharpened as he noted that all, without exception, had been smoked to +approximately the same length—to about a half-inch of the tip.</p> + +<p>"Pretty thoroughly smoked out, all of them," he commented. He sniffed +at the cigaret between his fingers, looked at Weaver inquiringly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, scented. Violet, I think," Weaver said promptly. "The +manufacturer provides the scent according to the specifications of his +customers. I remember hearing Bernice place an order not long ago when +I was over at the French's—placed it over the telephone."</p> + +<p>"And <i>La Duchesse</i> is rare enough to have weight in an inquiry.... Good +fortune, was it?" He talked to himself rather than to his friend.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"No matter.... And, of course, Mrs. French did not smoke?"</p> + +<p>"Why—how did you know?" demanded Weaver in surprise.</p> + +<p>"How nicely things fit together," murmured Ellery. "So very, very +nicely. And Marion—does she smoke?"</p> + +<p>"Thank God—no!"</p> + +<p>Ellery regarded him quizzically. "Well!" he said all at once. "Let's +see what's behind this door."</p> + +<p>He crossed the room to the wall opposite the window. A small plain door +opened into a little, simply furnished bedroom. Beyond it was a tiny +bathroom.</p> + +<p>"A servant's room," explained Weaver. "Originally planned for a valet, +but it's never been used to my knowledge. The Old Man isn't fussy and +he'd rather have his man at the Fifth Avenue house."</p> + +<p>Ellery made a swift examination of the two little rooms. He emerged in +a moment, shrugging his shoulders.</p> + +<p>"Nothing there, and there wouldn't be...." He paused, twirling his +pince-nez in the air. "We have a rather remarkable situation here, Wes. +Consider: We are now in possession of three direct indications of Miss +Bernice Carmody's presence in this apartment last night. Or rather two +direct indications, and one—the first—of a circumstantial nature. +That is—the lipstick marked <i>C</i> from Mrs. French's handbag. This is +the least damaging of the three, of course, since it does not <i>prove</i> +presence and might have been brought here by Mrs. French. But it must +be kept in mind. Second, the game of banque, which any number of +reputable witnesses, I gather, would testify, as strongly as you, was +indulged in by Mrs. French and Bernice practically to the exclusion of +the rest of the family and friends of the family. You noticed, didn't +you, that the game has the appearance of having been interrupted at +a critical stage? The way the cards are lying there—they give the +distinct impression that just when the game became hotly competitive, +it was stopped.... And third, the most critical indication of the +three—the <i>La Duchesse</i> cigarets. These are so obviously Bernice's +that they would be acceptable in court as admissible evidence, I'm +sure, if supported by strong circumstantial evidence of a confirmatory +nature."</p> + +<p>"But what? I don't see—" cried Weaver.</p> + +<p>"The suspicious fact that Miss Bernice Carmody has vanished," replied +Ellery gravely. "Flight?" He flung the word at Weaver.</p> + +<p>"I can't—I won't believe it," said Weaver weakly, but there was a +curious relief in his voice.</p> + +<p>"Matricide is an unnatural crime, to be sure," Ellery mused, "but is +not unknown.... Is it possible—" His reflections were disturbed by a +rapid knock at the apartment door. It was surprisingly loud, coming +as it did through the three walls of the cardroom, the library, the +anteroom.</p> + +<p>Weaver looked startled. Ellery straightened with a jerk, swiftly looked +around once more, then motioned to Weaver to precede him from the room. +He closed the brass-studded door with gentle fingers.</p> + +<p>"That must be your good hussif, Hortense Underhill, and the maid," said +Ellery almost gayly. "I wonder if they can be the harbingers of—more +evidence against Bernice!"</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="16">16</h2> +</div> + +<h3>AT THE APARTMENT: <i>Again the Bedroom</i></h3> + + +<p>Weaver flung open the outer door to admit two women. Sergeant Thomas +Velie loomed solidly behind them.</p> + +<p>"Did you send for these ladies, Mr. Queen?" demanded Velie, his broad +frame filling the door. "One of the boys downstairs caught 'em trying +to get past the man guarding the elevator—said you sent for them. Is +it all right?"</p> + +<p>His eyes roved dourly about the apartment—as much of it as he could +see from his position at the corridor door. Ellery smiled.</p> + +<p>"It's all right, Velie," he drawled. "They'll be safe with me.... And +how is the dear Commissioner progressing with the Inspector?"</p> + +<p>"Got his hooks into the scarf," growled Velie, and shot a keen look at +Weaver's instantly clenched fists.</p> + +<p>"Follow up the lead I gave you over the telephone?" asked Ellery +serenely.</p> + +<p>"Yes. She's among the missing. Got two men on it already." The +Sergeant's stern face cracked in a fleeting smile. "How much longer +will you need the Inspector's—coöperation downstairs, Mr. Queen?"</p> + +<p>"I'll buzz you, Velie. Fly away now, like a good little chap." Velie +grinned, but his face was frozen into its customary immobility as he +wheeled and made for the elevator.</p> + +<p>Ellery turned to the two women, who were standing close together eying +him apprehensively. He addressed the taller and elder of the two—a +stiff, slab-figured woman in her early fifties, marble-haired and +viciously blue-eyed.</p> + +<p>"You're Miss Hortense Underhill, I take it?" he asked severely.</p> + +<p>"That's right—Mr. French's housekeeper." Her voice was not unlike her +person—thin, sharp, steely.</p> + +<p>"And this is Miss Bernice Carmody's maid?"</p> + +<p>The other woman, a timid little creature with faded brown hair and +a plain face, started convulsively at being directly addressed and +crouched closer to Hortense Underhill.</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered the French housekeeper. "This is Miss Doris Keaton, +Bernice's maid."</p> + +<p>"Very good." Ellery smiled, stood aside with a deferential little bow. +"If you'll follow me, please—?" He led the way through the red-leather +door leading into the large bedroom. Weaver marched obediently behind.</p> + +<p>Ellery indicated the two bedroom chairs. "Sit down, please." The +two women sat down. Doris Keaton kept her big vapid eyes on Ellery, +surreptitiously hitching her chair closer to the housekeeper's.</p> + +<p>"Miss Underhill," began Ellery, pince-nez in hand, "have you ever been +in this room before?"</p> + +<p>"I have." The housekeeper seemed determined to out-stare Ellery. Her +cold blue eyes flashed colder fire.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you have?" Ellery paused politely without removing his gaze. +"When, may I ask, and on what occasion?"</p> + +<p>The housekeeper was undaunted by his coolness. "A peck of times. That +is, so to speak. I never came, though, except at Mrs. French's request. +Each time it was clothes."</p> + +<p>"It was clothes?" Ellery seemed puzzled.</p> + +<p>She nodded stonily. "Why, of course. They were far apart, those times, +but whenever Mrs. French intended to stay here overnight, she would ask +me to bring a next day's change for her. So that is how—"</p> + +<p>"Just a moment, Miss Underhill." There was a pleasant glitter in +Ellery's eyes as he reflected. "This was her usual custom?"</p> + +<p>"So far as I know."</p> + +<p>"When"—Ellery leaned forward—"when was the last time Mrs. French +asked you to do this?"</p> + +<p>The housekeeper did not reply at once. "I should say about two months +ago," she answered finally.</p> + +<p>"As far back as that?"</p> + +<p>"I said two months ago."</p> + +<p>Ellery sighed, straightened. "One of these closets, then, belonged to +Mrs. French?" he asked, indicating the two modern doors set in the +wall.</p> + +<p>"Yes—that one there," she replied promptly, pointing to the concealed +door nearest the lavatory. "But not only for Mrs. French's clothes—the +other girls sometimes kept things in there, too."</p> + +<p>Ellery's eyebrows shot up. "Not really, Miss Underhill!" he ejaculated. +His hand caressed his jaw tenderly. "I may infer, then, that both Miss +Marion and Miss Bernice sometimes used Mr. French's apartment?"</p> + +<p>The housekeeper regarded him levelly. "Sometimes. Not very often. Only +when Mrs. French was not using it, and they brought a girl friend along +to spend the night—on a sort of lark, you might call it."</p> + +<p>"I see. Have they slept here with a—a 'girl friend,' I believe you +said?—recently?"</p> + +<p>"Not that I know. Not for five or six months at least."</p> + +<p>"Very good!" Ellery flipped his pince-nez into the air with a certain +briskness. "Now, Miss Underhill, I want you to tell me quite exactly +when you saw Miss Carmody last, and under what circumstances."</p> + +<p>The two women exchanged meaningful glances; the maid bit her lip and +looked guiltily away. But the housekeeper retained her poise. "I <i>knew</i> +that was coming," she announced in a calm voice. "But you needn't think +either of my poor lambs had anything to do with this, whoever you are. +They didn't and you can take that for gospel. <i>I</i> don't know where +Bernice is, but be sure there's foul play been done her...."</p> + +<p>"Miss Underhill," said Ellery gently, "I'm sure this is all quite +interesting, but we are in something of a hurry. If you'll answer my +question—?"</p> + +<p>"All right, if you must have it." She set her lips, folded her hands +in her lap, looked at Weaver indifferently, and began. "It was +yesterday.—I'd better begin right with when they woke up; it'll make +easier telling.—Well, both Mrs. French and Bernice woke up at about +ten o'clock yesterday morning, and the hair-dresser attended each in +their rooms. They got dressed and had a bite of something. Marion had +already had lunch. I served them myself...."</p> + +<p>"Pardon me, Miss Underhill," interrupted Ellery, "but did you hear what +they talked about over the luncheon table?"</p> + +<p>"I don't listen to what isn't my affair," retorted the housekeeper +tartly, "so all I can tell about <i>that</i> is that they talked about +a new gown being made for Bernice. And Mrs. French seemed a little +absent-minded, too. She actually got her sleeve into her coffee—the +poor thing! But then she was always a little funny—maybe she had a +premonition of what was to come, you know?—God rest her troubled +soul!... Well, after lunch they remained in the music-room until about +two o'clock, talking and things. Don't know about what, either! But +they seemed as if they wanted to be let alone. Anyway, when they came +out I heard Mrs. French tell Bernice to go upstairs and dress—they +were going to take a ride through the Park. Bernice went upstairs, +and Mrs. French held back to tell <i>me</i> to tell <i>Edward Young</i>, the +chauffeur, to get the car out. Then Mrs. French went upstairs herself +to dress. But in about five minutes I saw Bernice coming down the +stairs, all dressed for the street, and when she saw me she told <i>me</i> +to tell her <i>mother</i>—whispered, she did—that she'd changed her mind +about taking a ride in the Park and was going out to do some shopping. +And she fair ran out of the house!"</p> + +<p>Ellery seemed poignantly concerned. "Clearly if somewhat volubly told, +Miss Underhill. And what would you say was the state of Miss Carmody's +nerves all day?"</p> + +<p>"Poor," replied the housekeeper. "But then Bernice has always been a +high-spirited and sensitive girl. Yesterday she seemed a little more +nervous than usual, though, now that I come to think of it. She was +all pale and fidgety when she slipped out of the house...."</p> + +<p>Weaver moved sharply. Ellery cautioned him with a glance and motioned +the housekeeper to continue.</p> + +<p>"Well, not long after, Mrs. French came down dressed for her drive. She +asked for Bernice, and I told her about Bernice's going off that way, +and I gave her Bernice's message. I thought for a minute that she was +going to faint—poor thing!—she got so pale and sick-looking, which +wasn't like her at all, and then she took hold of herself and she said: +'All right, Hortense. Tell Young to put the car back in the garage. I +shan't be going out, either....' and she marched right back upstairs +again. Oh, yes! She did tell me, though, before she went up, to let +her know the <i>instant</i> Bernice got back home.... Well, sir, that's the +last I saw of Bernice, and practically the last of Mrs. French. For +the poor soul stayed in her room all afternoon, came down for dinner +with Marion, and then went back up to her room again. She seemed more +anxious than ever about Bernice, and twice she made as if to go to the +telephone, but she seemed to change her mind. Anyway, about a quarter +after eleven at night she came down with her hat and coat on—yes, +sir, I know you'll ask me: the brown toque and the fox-trimmed cloth +coat—and she said she was going out. And go out she did. And that's +the last I saw of poor Mrs. French."</p> + +<p>"She didn't order the car?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>Ellery took a turn about the room. "And where was Miss Marion French +all day?" he asked suddenly. Weaver glanced at Ellery in shocked +surprise.</p> + +<p>"Oh! Miss Marion was up bright and early—always is an early riser, the +dear child—and she left the house right after luncheon, saying she had +a shopping appointment with one of her friends. I think she also went +to the Carnegie Hall for the afternoon, because only the day before +she showed me the tickets for a piano-playing thing by some foreigner. +She does love music so, that child! She didn't get back home until +about half-past five. She and Mrs. French had dinner together, and she +was surprised that Bernice was absent. Anyway, right after dinner she +dressed over and went out again."</p> + +<p>"At what hour did Miss Marion French return?"</p> + +<p>"That I can't say. I went to bed myself at eleven-thirty, after +releasing the house staff for the night. Didn't see anybody come in. +Mrs. French had told me not to wait up, besides."</p> + +<p>"Not a particularly well-regulated household," murmured Ellery. "Miss +Underhill, please tell me how Miss Carmody was attired when she left +the house—it was about two-thirty, I presume?"</p> + +<p>Hortense Underhill shifted restlessly in her chair. The maid still +regarded Ellery with stupid, frightened eyes.</p> + +<p>"Just about," said the housekeeper. "Well, Bernice was wearing—let me +see now—her blue felt hat with the brilliant fancy, her grey chiffon +dress, her grey fur-trimmed coat, and a pair of black leather pumps +with rhinestone buckles. Is that what you wanted to know?"</p> + +<p>"Precisely," said Ellery with a charming smile. He took Weaver to one +side. "Wes, do you know why I've called these two worthy ladies into +consultation?" he demanded in an undertone.</p> + +<p>Weaver shook his head. "Except for the fact that you wanted to know +about Bernice.... Oh, I say, Ellery, it wasn't that you're looking for +further indications of Bernice's presence here, is it?" he asked aghast.</p> + +<p>Ellery nodded gloomily. "We have three apparent indications of the +young lady's alleged visit to the apartment, to be journalistic.... +Something told me there were more. Indications that I might not be +able to descry. The housekeeper, though—the maid, Bernice's maid—" +He broke off, shook his head with impatience at his own thoughts. He +turned to the waiting women. "Miss Doris Keaton." The maid jumped, +stark terror in her eyes. "Don't be afraid, Miss Keaton," said Ellery +mildly, "I shan't bite you.... Did you help Miss Bernice dress +yesterday afternoon, after luncheon?"</p> + +<p>The girl whispered: "Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"Would you recognize the articles of clothing, for example, that she +wore yesterday, if you saw them here and now?"</p> + +<p>"I—I think so, sir."</p> + +<p>Ellery walked to the closet door nearest the lavatory, threw it +wide—disclosing a rack hung with multicolored gowns, a silken shoe-bag +tacked to the inner side of the door, and a top shelf on which lay +several hat-boxes—stepped back, and said:</p> + +<p>"There's your territory, Miss Keaton. See what you can find." He stood +directly behind the girl, watching her with quick sharp flashes of his +eyes. He was so absorbed in her movements that he did not even feel the +presence of Weaver at his side. The housekeeper sat, a thin stone, in +her chair, watching them.</p> + +<p>The maid's fingers trembled as she rummaged among the numerous gowns on +the rack. After going through the entire rack, she timidly turned to +Ellery and shook her head. He motioned her to proceed.</p> + +<p>She stood on tiptoe and lifted from the shelf the three hat-boxes. She +opened these one by one and scrutinized them briefly. The first two +boxes contained hats belonging to Mrs. French, she said hesitantly. +This was corroborated by a frigid nod from Hortense Underhill.</p> + +<p>The maid lifted the lid from the third box. She uttered a little choked +cry and reeled backward, touching Ellery. The contact seemed to burn +her skin. She jumped away, fumbled for a handkerchief.</p> + +<p>"Well?" asked Ellery softly.</p> + +<p>"That's—that's Miss Bernice's hat," she whispered, biting the +handkerchief nervously. "The one—she wore when she left the house +yesterday afternoon!"</p> + +<p>Ellery eyed the hat narrowly as it lay, brim to the bottom, in the +box. The soft blue felt crown, due to its position, had collapsed. A +glittering pin was fixed above the turned-down brim, just visible from +where he stood.... Ellery made a brief request and the maid lifted +the hat from the box and offered it to him. He turned it over in his +fingers, then silently handed the hat back to the girl, who as silently +took it, put her hand inside the crown, flipped the hat upside down, +and deftly returned it to the box in that position. Ellery, who had +been about to turn away, stiffened instantly. Nevertheless, he said +nothing, watching the girl replace the three hat-boxes on the shelf.</p> + +<p>"The shoes now, please," he said.</p> + +<p>Obediently the maid bent over the silk shoe-rack hanging on the inside +of the closet door. As she was about to remove a woman's pump, Ellery +stopped her with a tap on the shoulder and turned to the housekeeper.</p> + +<p>"Miss Underhill, will you please verify the fact that this is Miss +Carmody's hat?"</p> + +<p>He lifted a long arm, took down the box with the blue hat inside, +removed the hat, and handed it to Hortense Underhill.</p> + +<p>She examined it briefly. Unaccountably, Ellery had stepped away from +the closet to stand by the lavatory door.</p> + +<p>"It's hers," said the housekeeper, looking up belligerently. "But what +that has to do with anything, I don't know."</p> + +<p>"That's honest." Ellery smiled. "Will you please return it to the +shelf?" As he said this, he stepped slowly forward again.</p> + +<p>The woman, sniffing, put her hand inside the hat, inverted it, and +placed it in that position in the hat-box. She carefully lifted it to +the shelf and as carefully returned to her chair.... Weaver observed +Ellery's sudden grin with a lost bewilderment.</p> + +<p>Then Ellery did an amazing thing—a thing that brought an unbelieving +stare from each of the three people watching him. He reached up to the +shelf and took down the same hat-box!</p> + +<p>He opened it, whistling a tuneless little air and, removing the +much-handled blue hat, offered it to Weaver for inspection.</p> + +<p>"Here, Wes, let's have your masculine opinion," he said cheerfully. "Is +this Bernice Carmody's hat?"</p> + +<p>Weaver regarded his friend with astonishment, taking the hat +mechanically. Shrugging, he looked at the hat. "Looks familiar, Ellery, +but I can't be positive. I rarely notice women's clothes."</p> + +<p>"Hmm." Ellery chuckled. "Put the hat back, Wes old boy." Weaver sighed, +grasped the hat gingerly by the crown and dropped it, brim down, into +the box. He fumbled with the lid, affixed it, shoved the box back onto +the shelf—for the third time in less than five minutes.</p> + +<p>Ellery turned briskly to the maid. "Keaton, just how fastidious in her +habits is Miss Carmody?" he asked, feeling for his pince-nez.</p> + +<p>"I—I don't get you, sir."</p> + +<p>"Does she bother you much? Does she put her own things away generally? +Exactly what are your duties?"</p> + +<p>"Oh!" The maid's eyes sought the housekeeper once more for guidance. +Then she looked down at the carpet. "Well, sir, Miss Bernice was—is +always careful about her clothes and things. Most always puts her hats +and coats away herself when she gets in from being out. My work's more +doing personal things—fixing her hair, laying out her dresses, and +such."</p> + +<p>"A <i>very</i> careful girl," put in Miss Underhill icily. "Rare and +unusual, I've always called it. And Marion's the same way."</p> + +<p>"Delighted to hear it," said Ellery with perfect gravity. "Delighted is +hardly the word for it.... Heigh-ho, Keaton, the shoon!"</p> + +<p>"Huh?" The girl was startled.</p> + +<p>"Shoes—shoes, I should say."</p> + +<p>There were at least a dozen pairs of shoes, of assorted styles and +colors, protruding from separate pockets in the rack. Without exception +each of the shoes lay in its compartment with the tip inside and the +heel showing, hooked over the lip of the pocket.</p> + +<p>The maid Keaton went to work. She looked over the shoes, lifting out +several to examine them closely. Suddenly she snatched at a pair of +black leather pumps, lying in adjacent compartments. Each pump sported +a large and heavy rhinestone buckle which glittered in a shaft of +sunlight as she held them up before Ellery.</p> + +<p>"These! These shoes!" she cried. "Miss Bernice wore them yesterday when +she went out!"</p> + +<p>Ellery took them from her shaking fingers. After a moment he turned to +Weaver.</p> + +<p>"Mud splashes," he said laconically. "And here's a spot of wet. Seems +indubitable!" He handed them back to the maid, who tremblingly replaced +them in their compartments.... Ellery's eyes narrowed at once. She had +put the shoes back with the heels <i>inside</i>, despite the fact that all +the other shoes in the rack had the heels showing.</p> + +<p>"Miss Underhill!" Ellery withdrew the black pumps from their pockets. +The housekeeper rose sulkily.</p> + +<p>"Miss Carmody's?" Ellery demanded, handing her the shoes.</p> + +<p>She eyed them briefly. "Yes."</p> + +<p>"Having reached complete agreement," drawled Ellery with a smiling +change of tone, "please be so good as to return these shoes to the +rack."</p> + +<p>Without a word she obeyed. And Ellery, watching closely, chuckled to +observe that she had duplicated the maid's action in putting the pumps +into the rack heels first, so that the tips and buckles protruded from +the pockets.</p> + +<p>"Westley!" he said at once. Weaver approached wearily. He had been +standing at a window, looking moodily down over Fifth Avenue.... And +when Weaver replaced the pumps in the rack, he grasped the heels and +stuck the shoes in tips first.</p> + +<p>"Why do you do that?" asked Ellery as the two women, now convinced of +his madness, moved uneasily away from the closet.</p> + +<p>"Do what?" demanded Weaver.</p> + +<p>Ellery smiled. "Easy, Hamlet.... Why do you put the shoes into the bag +so that the heels hang over the pocket?"</p> + +<p>Weaver stared at him. "Why, they're all that way," he said blankly. +"Why should I put them in the opposite way?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Alors</i>," said Ellery, "<i>on a raison</i>.... Miss Underhill, why did you +put the shoes back into the rack with the tips showing, when all the +others have the heels showing?"</p> + +<p>"Anybody would know that," snapped the housekeeper. "These black pumps +have big buckles. Didn't you see what happened when Mr. Weaver put them +back tips first? The buckles caught on the material of the bag!"</p> + +<p>"Wondrous woman!" muttered Ellery. "And the others haven't any buckles, +of course...." He read confirmation in the housekeeper's eyes.</p> + +<p>He left them standing before the closet and paced silently back and +forth the length of the bedroom. His lips puckered fiercely as he +mused. Suddenly he turned to Miss Underhill.</p> + +<p>"I want you to look this closet over very carefully, Miss Underhill, +and tell me, if you possibly can, whether anything is not there which +you know should be there...." He stepped back and waved his hand.</p> + +<p>She stirred into activity, rummaging efficiently through the gowns, the +hat-boxes, the shoes once more. Weaver, the maid, Ellery watched her in +silence.</p> + +<p>She paused in her work, looked undecidedly at the shoe-bag, then up at +the shelf, hesitated, turned to Ellery.</p> + +<p>"I can't be sure," she said thoughtfully, her cold eyes searching +Ellery's, "but it seems to me that, while all of Mrs. French's things +are here that should be here, two things of Bernice's are <i>not</i> here +that should be here!"</p> + +<p>"No!" breathed Ellery. He did not seem unduly surprised. "A hat and +pair of shoes, no doubt?"</p> + +<p>She glanced at him quickly. "How did you know?... Yes, that's what I +thought. I remember several months ago when I was bringing down some +things of Mrs. French's, Bernice asked me to take her grey toque down, +too. And I did. And then there was her pair of low-heeled grey kid +shoes—two tones of grey, they were—I'm fair certain I brought <i>those</i> +down with me once...." She turned sharply on Doris Keaton. "Are they in +Miss Bernice's wardrobes at home, Doris?"</p> + +<p>The maid shook her head with vigor. "No, Miss Underhill. I haven't seen +them for a long time."</p> + +<p>"Well, there you are. Grey felt toque, close-fitting, no trimming, and +a pair of grey kid walking-shoes. They're missing."</p> + +<p>"And that," said Ellery with a little bow that made Miss Underhill +stare, "is precisely that. Thank you so much.... Westley, will you +escort Miss Underhill and the timidacious Keaton to the door? Tell the +man outside to see that they're taken down to Sergeant Velie and kept +out of the way of Commissioner Welles at least until everybody troops +up here.... Undoubtedly, Miss Underhill, Marion French will be glad," +and he bowed again to the housekeeper, "of your maternal and warming +presence. <i>Good</i> afternoon!"</p> + +<p>The instant the outer door had closed upon Weaver and the two women, +Ellery ran across the library to the door of the cardroom. He entered +with swift steps and stared down at the card-table with its neatly +heaped piles of pasteboards and its butt-strewn ashtray. He sat down +carefully in one of the chairs and examined the cards. Picking up the +heavy stack of closed cards before him, he spread them out without +disturbing their sequence. He frowned after a while, referred to eleven +piles of cards in the center of the table.... Finally he rose, puzzled, +defeated. He replaced all the stacks exactly as he had found them.</p> + +<p>He was staring gloomily at the cigaret-stubs when he heard the outer +door click shut and Weaver reënter the library. Ellery turned at once +and left the cardroom. The red-leather door swished softly to behind +him.</p> + +<p>"Ladies taken care of?" he inquired absently. Weaver nodded almost with +sulkiness. Ellery squared his shoulders, eyes twinkling. "Worrying +about Marion, I'll wager," he said. "Don't, Wes. You're acting like +a granny." He looked slowly about the library. His eyes came to rest +after a time on the desk before the dormer-window. "I think," he +announced dictatorially, sauntering toward the desk, "we'll take our +ease, in a manner of speaking, and see what we can see. Rest being the +sweet sauce of labor, as Plutarch so aptly says—sit, Wes!"</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="17">17</h2> +</div> + +<h3>AT THE APARTMENT: <i>The Library</i></h3> + + +<p>They sat down, Ellery at the comfortable swivel-chair behind the desk, +Weaver in one of the leather-covered chairs at the conference table.</p> + +<p>Ellery relaxed, letting his glance shift from wall to wall of the +library, flicker over the table, the litter of business papers, the +pictures on the wall, the glass top of the desk before him.... His +glance fell idly on the slip of blue memorandum paper by the telephone. +With perfect unconcern he picked it up and read it.</p> + +<p>It was an official memorandum. On it was neatly typed a message.</p> + +<p>Ellery reread the memorandum earnestly. He looked up at the +disconsolate countenance of Weaver.</p> + +<p>"Is it conceivable ..." he began. He broke off suddenly. "Tell me, +Wes—when did you type this memorandum?"</p> + +<p>"Eh?" Weaver started at the sound of Ellery's voice. "Oh, that! That's +a memo I sent around to the Board of Directors. Typed it yesterday +afternoon, after the Old Man left for Great Neck."</p> + +<p>"How many copies did you make?"</p> + +<p>"There were seven all told—one for each director, one for myself, and +one for the files. This copy is the Old Man's."</p> + +<p>Ellery spoke quickly. "How is it that I find it here on the desk?"</p> + +<p>Weaver was surprised at the seeming inconsequentiality of Ellery's +question. "Oh, I say!" he protested. "Just a matter of form. I left it +here so that the Old Man could see in the morning that I'd taken care +of the matter."</p> + +<p>"And it was here—on the desk—when you left the apartment last night?" +persisted Ellery.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="ph2">INTER-OFFICE MEMORANDUM</p> + + + <p>COPY</p> + + <p>To: Mr. French ✓<br> + Mr. Gray<br> + Mr. Marchbanks<br> + Mr. Trask<br> + Mr. Zorn<br> + Mr. Weaver</p> + + + +<p class="ph3">Monday, May 23, 19—</p> + + + +<p>A special meeting of the Board of Directors is hereby called for the +morning of Tuesday, May the twenty-fourth, at eleven o'clock, in the +Conference Room. <i>Do</i> <i>not</i> <i>fail</i> <i>to</i> <i>attend</i>. Details of the +Whitney-French negotiations will be discussed. It is hoped that a final +decision may be reached officially at that time. Your presence is +imperative.</p> + +<p>Mr. Weaver is to meet Mr. French in the Conference Room at nine a.m. +promptly to prepare the notes for final directorial discussion.</p> + + + <p class="ph3">[Signed] Cyrus French,</p> + + <p class="ph3">[Per] Westley Weaver,<br> +Sec'y.</p> +</div> + +<p>"Well, of course!" said Weaver. "Where should it be? Not only that, but +it was <i>still</i> there when I got in this morning." He grinned feebly.</p> + +<p>But Ellery was serious. His eyes glittered. "You're sure of that?..." +He half-rose from the swivel-chair in a strange excitement. He sank +back. "Seems to fit with the rest of the jigsaw," he muttered. "How +beautifully it explains that one unexplained point!"</p> + +<p>Thoughtfully he stowed the blue paper, uncreased, in a capacious wallet +which he took from his breast-pocket.</p> + +<p>"You'll say nothing of this, of course," he said slowly.... Weaver +nodded and relapsed into apathy. Ellery bent forward, placed his +elbows on the glass top, his head in his hands. He stared before +him.... Something seemed to disturb his revery. His eyes, blank +and preoccupied, focused by degrees on the books between the onyx +book-ends, standing austerely on the desk in his direct line of vision.</p> + +<p>After a moment, as if to satisfy a mounting curiosity, he straightened +up and became entirely absorbed in the titles of the books. His long +arm swooped down on one of them, carried it back for closer observation.</p> + +<p>"By the wisdom of Bibliophilus!" he murmured at last, looking up at +Weaver. "What a queer collection of volumes! Does your employer make a +habit of reading such heavy stuff as <i>An Outline of Paleontology</i>, Wes? +Or is this a text-book hang-over from your undergraduate days? I can't +recall your having a particular flair for science. It's by old John +Morrison, too."</p> + +<p>"Oh, that!" Weaver was momentarily embarrassed. "No, that's the—the +Old Man's, I suppose, Ellery. His books entirely. Don't think +I've ever observed the titles, as a matter of fact. What did you +say—paleontology? Didn't know he went in for it."</p> + +<p>Ellery regarded him keenly for a brief moment, then replaced the book. +"And what's more—do you know," he said softly, "this <i>is</i> fetching!"</p> + +<p>"What?" asked Weaver nervously.</p> + +<p>"Well, bend an ear to these titles: <i>Fourteenth Century Trade and +Commerce</i>, by Stani Wedjowski. There's a rare one for you, although +it is fitting that a department store magnate be interested in the +history of merchanting.... And this one—<i>A Child's History of +Music</i>, by Ramon Freyberg. A <i>child's</i> history, mind you. And <i>New +Developments in Philately</i>, by Hugo Salisbury. A passion for stamps! +Queer, queer, I tell you.... And—good heavens!—<i>Nonsense Anthology</i>, +by that surpassing idiot, A. I. Throckmorton!" Ellery lifted his eyes +to Weaver's troubled ones. "Dear young Dane," he said slowly, "I can +understand a chronic bibliophile having this bizarre collection on his +desk, for some dark purpose of his own, but I'll be immortally damned +if I can make it jibe with my conception of Cyrus French, head of the +Anti-Vice League and merchant prince.... Your employer does not impress +me as having the intellectual potentialities of a paleontological +field worker, who is a stamp-collecting addict, who has a passion for +medieval commerce, who knows so little of music that he must read +a child's history of it, and finally who indulges in the sickening +horseplay of the year's best—or worst—vaudeville jokes!... Wes, old +boy, there is more here than meets the vacillating eye."</p> + +<p>"I'm quite at sea," said Weaver, shifting in his chair.</p> + +<p>"And you should be, you should be, my child," said Ellery as he rose +and walked over to the bookcase on the wall to his left. He lightly +hummed the thematic air of <i>Marche Slav</i> as he scanned the titles of +the volumes behind the glass partitions. After a moment's scrutiny he +returned to the desk, where he sat down and again fingered the books +between the book-ends in an absent way. Weaver's eyes followed him +uneasily.</p> + +<p>"From the books in the case," resumed Ellery, "my suspicions seem to +be borne out. Nothing but works on social welfare and sets of Bret +Harte, O. Henry, and Richard Harding Davis, <i>et al.</i> All of which +compress nicely into the obvious intellectual stratum of your nice Old +Man. Yet on the desk...." He mused. "And they show no signs of use," +he complained, as if disturbed further by this heinous crime against +literature. "In two cases, where the volumes are bound that way, the +leaves are still uncut.... Westley, tell me truthfully, is French +interested in these subjects?" He flipped his finger at the books +before him.</p> + +<p>Weaver answered immediately. "Not to my knowledge."</p> + +<p>"Marion? Bernice? Mrs. French? The directors?"</p> + +<p>"I can answer positively in the case of the French family, Ellery," +replied Weaver, jumping from his chair and pacing up and down before +the desk. "None of them reads such stuff. As for the directors—well, +you've seen them."</p> + +<p>"Gray might be interested in this preposterous mélange," said Ellery +thoughtfully. "He's the type. But that child's history of music.... +Well!"</p> + +<p>He bestirred himself. On the fly-leaf of the little volume in his coat +pocket he made a careful memorandum of the titles and authors of the +desk volumes. With a sigh he dropped the pencil back into his vest +pocket and once more began to stare blankly at the books. His hand +played idly with one of the book-ends.</p> + +<p>"Mustn't forget to ask French about these books," he murmured, more to +himself than to Weaver, who still paced furiously up and down the room. +"—Sit down, Wes! You disturb my train of thought...." Weaver shrugged, +sat down quiescently. "Nice things, these," Ellery said in a casual +voice, indicating the book-ends. "That's a very curious bit of carving +on the onyx."</p> + +<p>"Must have cost Gray a pile of dollars," mumbled Weaver.</p> + +<p>"Oh, they were a gift to French?"</p> + +<p>"Gray gave them to him on his last birthday—in March. They were +imported, I know—I remember Lavery commenting on their rarity and +beauty a few weeks ago."</p> + +<p>"Did you say—March?" asked Ellery suddenly, bringing the black shining +book-end closer to his eyes. "That's only two months ago, and this—" +He quickly picked up the companion piece to the book-end in his hand. +He placed them side by side on the glass top of the desk, all at once +handling them with meticulous delicacy. He beckoned to Weaver.</p> + +<p>"Do you see any difference between these?" he asked in some excitement.</p> + +<p>Weaver leaned over, put out his hand to lift one of them....</p> + +<p>"Don't touch it!" said Ellery sharply. "Well?"</p> + +<p>Weaver stood up straight. "No call to shout, Ellery," he said +reproachfully. "As far as I can see, the felt under this one seems +faded a little."</p> + +<p>"Don't mind my rude manners, old son," Ellery said. "I thought that +difference in shade wasn't wholly my imagination."</p> + +<p>"I can't understand why the green felts should vary in color," remarked +Weaver in a puzzled way, returning to his chair. "Those book-ends +are nearly new. They must have been all right when the Old Man got +them—they were, in fact. I'd have noticed the discoloration had there +been one."</p> + +<p>Ellery did not answer at once. He stared down at the two pieces of +carved onyx. They were both cylindrical in shape, with the carving on +the outer sides. On the under sides, where the book-ends were to be +placed against the desk, were pieces of fine green felt. In the strong +clear afternoon sun, streaming through the big window, one exhibited a +marked difference in the shade of green.</p> + +<p>"Here's a pretty mystery," muttered Ellery. "And what it means, if it +means anything at all, I can't see at the moment...." He looked up at +Weaver with a glint in his eye. "Have these book-ends ever been out of +this room since Gray presented them to French?"</p> + +<p>"No," replied Weaver. "Never. I'm here every day, and I would know if +they'd been moved."</p> + +<p>"Have they ever been broken, or repaired, even here?"</p> + +<p>"Why, of course not!" said Weaver, puzzled. "That seems sort of silly, +El."</p> + +<p>"And yet essential." Ellery sat down and began to twirl his pince-nez, +his eyes riveted on the book-ends before him. "Gray's an intimate of +French, I take it?" he asked suddenly.</p> + +<p>"His best friend. They've known each other for over thirty years. They +have good-natured quarrels periodically about the Old Man's obsession +in the matter of white slavery, prostitution and the like, but they've +always been unusually close."</p> + +<p>"Which is as it should be, I suppose." Ellery sank into deep and +concentrated thought. He did not take his eyes from the book-ends. "I +wonder, now...." His hand dipped into his coat pocket and emerged with +a small magnifying-glass. Weaver regarded his friend in astonishment, +then burst into laughter.</p> + +<p>"Ellery! Upon my word! Just like Sherlock Holmes!" His mirth was +unadulterated, inoffensive, like the man himself.</p> + +<p>Ellery grinned sheepishly. "It <i>does</i> seem theatrical," he confessed. +"But I've found it a handy little tool at times." He bent lower, +applied the glass to the book-end with the darker green felt.</p> + +<p>"Looking for fingerprints?" chuckled Weaver.</p> + +<p>"You can never tell," said Ellery sententiously. "Although a glass +isn't infallible. You need fingerprint powder to make absolutely +sure...." He discarded the book-end and bent the glass on its mate. As +he scanned the lighter green of its felt, his hand shook convulsively. +Disregarding Weaver's cry of "What is it?" he fixed his attention +rigidly on a portion of the material where the felt met the onyx, at an +edge. A thin line, so thin that to the naked eye it was like a hair, +broadened slightly under the magnification of the lens. This line, +which extended all around the bottom of the book-end, was actually +composed of glue—the glue with which the felt was pasted to the onyx. +The second book-end also had the glue-line.</p> + +<p>"Here, take the glass, Wes, and focus it at the juncture of felt and +onyx," commanded Ellery, pointing to the under-side of the book-end. +"Tell me what you see—be careful you don't touch the surface of the +onyx!"</p> + +<p>Weaver bent over and eagerly looked through the glass. "Why, there's a +sort of dust stuck in the glue—it's dust, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Unorthodox-looking dust," said Ellery grimly, seizing the lens and +again examining the felt at that portion of the glue-line. In another +moment he had swept the eye of the glass over the other surfaces of the +book-end. He employed the same tactics with the second book-end.</p> + +<p>Weaver uttered a short exclamation. "I say, El, mightn't it be the same +stuff you found in Bernice's lipstick? Heroin, I think you called it!"</p> + +<p>"Smart guess, Westley," smiled Ellery, his eye fast to the lens. "But +I seriously doubt it.... This will require analysis, and immediately. +Something twitters a warning message in my subconscious."</p> + +<p>He dropped the magnifying-glass on the table, thoughtfully regarded the +two book-ends once more, then reached for the telephone.</p> + +<p>"Get Sergeant Velie—yes, detective-sergeant—on the wire for me +immediately." He spoke rapidly to Weaver while he waited, receiver to +ear. "If this stuff is what I am beginning to think it is, old boy, +the plot thickens like a purée. However, we'll see. Get me a good wad +of absorbent cotton from the bathroom-closet, will you, Wes? Hello, +hello—Velie?" he said into the telephone, as Weaver disappeared +through the brass-studded door, "this is Ellery Queen speaking. Yes, +from the apartment upstairs.... Velie, send me one of your best men at +once.... Who?... Yes, Piggott or Hesse will do. At once! And mum's the +word in the hearing of Welles.... No, you can't help—yet. Hold in, you +bloodhound!" He chuckled as he hung up.</p> + +<p>Weaver returned with a large carton filled with absorbent cotton. +Ellery took it from him.</p> + +<p>"Watch me, Wes," he announced with a laugh. "Watch carefully, because +it may be necessary for you in the not remote future to testify on the +witness stand as to precisely what I did here to-day.... Are you ready?"</p> + +<p>"I'm all eyes," grinned Weaver.</p> + +<p>"<i>Allay-oop!</i>" With a prestidigitator's flourish Ellery whipped out of +the large pocket of his sack-coat a curious metal packet. He pressed +a tiny button and the lid flew open, disclosing black leather pads of +thin tough texture, pierced for small bits of waxed thread, each of +which held a shining little instrument.</p> + +<p>"This," said Ellery, showing his even white teeth, "is one of my +most prized possessions. Given to me with the benediction of <i>Herr +Burgomeister</i> of Berlin last year for the little aid I gave him in +snaring Don Dickey, the American gem-thief.... Cunnin', isn't it?"</p> + +<p>Weaver fell back weakly. "What on earth is it?"</p> + +<p>"One of the handiest contraptions ever conceived by the mind of man +for the use of the criminal investigator," replied Ellery, his fingers +busy with the thin leather mats. "This was created especially for +your humble servant through the gratitude of the Berlin mayor and +the co-operator of the German central detective bureau. At my own +specifications, incidentally—I knew what I wanted.... You'll observe +that an almost incredible number of articles are packed in this +amazingly small aluminum container—aluminum for its lightness, by the +way. Everything in it that a first-class detective might conceivably +need during a scientific investigation—on a lilliputian scale, but +strong, compact, and extraordinarily utilitarian."</p> + +<p>"Well, I'll be damned!" exclaimed Weaver. "I didn't know you went in +for this sort of thing so seriously, Ellery."</p> + +<p>"Let the contents of my work-chest convince you," smiled Ellery. +"Here we have two accessory lenses—Zeiss, by the way,—for my pocket +magnifier; stronger than usual, you see. Here's a tiny steel tape +measure with the automatic recoil, 96-inch length, reverse side in +centimeters. Red, blue, and black crayons. Undersize drawing-compass +and special pencil. One vial each of black and white fingerprint +powder, with camel's-hair brushes and stamping pad. Packet of glassine +envelopes. Small calipers and smaller tweezers. Collapsible probe, +adjustable to various lengths. Tempered steel pins and needles. Litmus +paper and two tiny test-tubes. Combination knife containing two blades, +corkscrew, screw-driver, awl, file, scraper. Specially designed +field-compass—and don't laugh. Not all investigations are conducted +in the heart of New York.... And that's not the last by any means. +Red, white and green twine of thread-like thinness, but very strong. +Sealing-wax. Small 'lighter'—made specially for me. Scissors. And, +naturally, a stop-watch made by one of the world's best watch-makers—a +Swiss in the employ of the German government.... How do you like my +traveling work-case, Wes?"</p> + +<p>Weaver looked incredulous. "Do you mean to tell me all those things are +in that ridiculously small aluminum container?"</p> + +<p>"Exactly. The entire contraption is some four inches wide by six +inches long, and weighs slightly less than two pounds. Thickness of a +fair-sized book. Oh, yes! I forgot to mention a crystal mirror embedded +in the wall of one of the aluminum sides.... But I'd better be getting +down to work. Keep your eyes open!"</p> + +<p>From one of the leather mats Ellery extracted the tweezers. Adjusting +one of the more powerful lenses in his pocket-glass, he carefully +placed the first book-end in a fixed position on the desk, held +the magnifier to his eye with his left hand, and with his right +painstakingly maneuvered the tweezers into the hardened glue which +contained the suspicious-looking particles. He instructed Weaver to +hold in readiness one of the glassine envelopes and, uprooting the +almost invisible grains, placed them carefully in the envelope.</p> + +<p>He laid down the glass and the tweezers, and sealed the envelope +instantly.</p> + +<p>"I think I've bagged them all," he said with satisfaction. "And the +ones I've missed Jimmy will get.... Come!"</p> + +<p>It was Detective Piggott. He closed the outer door softly and entered +the library with ill-concealed curiosity.</p> + +<p>"Sergeant said you wanted me, Mr. Queen," and his eyes were on Weaver.</p> + +<p>"Righto. Just a sec, Piggott, and I'll tell you what to do." Ellery +scribbled an inky note on the reverse side of the envelope. It read:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Jimmy</span>: Analyze powder grains in envelope. Extract +any additional particles in glue-line of book-end marked <i>A</i>, also +analyze. Check on book-end marked <i>B</i> for similar grains. After +analyzing the grains, <i>and not until then</i>, check both book-ends for +fingerprints other than my own. Could bring out a print myself, but if +you find any, have it 'shot' in the lab and a photoprint immediately +made. 'Phone all information to me, <i>personally</i>, as soon as you've +done. I'm at French apartment in French store. Piggott will tell you.</p> + +<p class="ph3">"E. Q."</p> +</div> + +<p>Marking the book-ends <i>A</i> and <i>B</i> with his red crayon, he swathed both +in absorbent cotton, wrapped them in some paper Weaver found for him in +the desk, and handed package and envelope to the detective.</p> + +<p>"Take these down to Jimmy at the headquarters laboratory as fast as +you can get there, Piggott," he said insistently. "Don't let anything +stop you. If Velie or my father corners you on the way out, say it's on +business for me. On no account let the Commissioner get wind of what +you're carrying off the premises. Now scoot!"</p> + +<p>Piggott left without a word. He was too well trained in the methods of +the Queens to ask questions.</p> + +<p>And as he slipped out of the door, he saw the shadow of a rising +elevator through the frosted glass wall. He turned and sped down the +emergency stairs just as the door slid open and Commissioner Welles, +Inspector Queen and a small cohort of detectives and policemen stepped +out.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="18">18</h2> +</div> + +<h3>SCRAMBLED SIGNS</h3> + + +<p>Within five minutes the private corridor outside French's sixth floor +apartment was crowded with a score of people. Two policemen stood guard +at the door. Another stood with his back to the elevator, his eyes on +the emergency staircase-door nearby. In the anteroom lounged several +detectives smoking cigarets.</p> + +<p>Ellery sat smiling behind French's desk in the library. Commissioner +Welles puffed about the room, shouting orders to detectives, opening +the doors leading off the library, peering like a myopic owl at things +strange to him. Inspector Queen talked with Velie and Crouther near +the dormer-window. Weaver stood miserably in a corner, unnoticed. His +eyes frequently sought the anteroom door, beyond which he knew was +Marion French....</p> + +<p>"You say, Mr. Queen," grunted Welles, out of breath, "that the cigaret +stubs and the game of—blast it! what is it again?—banque are the only +signs of this Carmody girl's presence here?"</p> + +<p>"Not at all, Commissioner," said Ellery gravely. "You forget the +shoes and hat in the closet. I believe I recounted the housekeeper's +identification—?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, of course!" grumbled Welles. He frowned. "Here, you +fingerprint men!" he shouted, "have you covered that little room +off the cardroom?" Without waiting for a reply, he bellowed an +unintelligible order to several photographers who were busy over the +table holding the cards and cigaret-stubs. Finally, mopping his brow, +he beckoned imperiously to Inspector Queen.</p> + +<p>"What do you think, Queen?" he demanded. "Looks like a pretty clear +case, eh?"</p> + +<p>The Inspector sent a sidewise glance at his son, and smiled +cryptically. "Hardly, Commissioner. We've got to find the girl first, +you know.... Work's barely scratched. We haven't had the time to +check a single alibi, for example. Despite these clues pointing to +Bernice Carmody, we're not at all satisfied that there isn't something +deeper...." He shook his head. "At any rate, Commissioner, there's a +heap of work waiting for us. Anybody you'd like to question? We have +'em all outside in the corridor waiting."</p> + +<p>The Commissioner looked fierce. "No! Can't say I do at this stage...." +He cleared his throat. "What's next on your list? I've got to get down +to City Hall for a conference with the Mayor and I can't give this +thing the personal attention it deserves. Well?"</p> + +<p>"I want to clear up a few moot points," replied Queen dryly. "Several +people out there will stand questioning. French himself—"</p> + +<p>"French. Yes, yes. Too bad. Feel sorry for the man. Quite a blow." +Welles looked around nervously and lowered his voice. "By the way, +Queen, while there is not to be the slightest deviation from the +highest considerations of duty, you understand, it might be—ah—wise +to allow French to get home to his physician's care.... As for this +stepdaughter business, I hope"—he paused uncomfortably—"I might say I +have the feeling that this girl has made a complete getaway. You're to +follow her up conscientiously, of course.... Too bad. I—Well! I must +be going."</p> + +<p>He turned unceremoniously on his heel, and with something like a +sigh of relief tramped toward the door, followed by his bodyguard of +detectives. He turned in the anteroom and shouted back, "I want a quick +solution, Queen—too many unsolved homicides this past month." And he +disappeared with a final quiver of his fat sides.</p> + +<p>There was silence for several seconds after the anteroom door closed. +Then the Inspector shrugged his shoulders lightly and crossed the +room to Ellery's side. Ellery dragged a chair over for his father +and they held a whispered conversation for many minutes. The words +"razor-blade," ... "book-ends," ... "books" ... and "Bernice" ... +recurred at intervals. The old man's face grew longer and longer as +Ellery talked. Finally, he shook his head in despair and rose.</p> + +<p>An altercation beyond the anteroom door brought up the heads of all the +men in the library. A woman's passionate voice and the gruff tones of a +man intermingled. Weaver's nostrils quivered and he dashed across the +room and flung open the door.</p> + +<p>Marion French was endeavoring frantically to push past the burly figure +of a detective in the anteroom.</p> + +<p>"But I must see Inspector Queen!" she cried. "My father—Please don't +touch me!"</p> + +<p>Weaver grasped the detective's arm and violently pushed him aside.</p> + +<p>"Get your hands off her!" he growled. "I'll teach you to handle a lady +that way...."</p> + +<p>He would have attacked the amused detective if Marion had not thrown +her arms around him. By this time the Inspector and Ellery had hurried +up.</p> + +<p>"Here! Ritter, stand aside!" said the Inspector. "What's the trouble, +Miss French?" he asked gently.</p> + +<p>"My—my father," she gasped. "Oh, it's cruel, inhuman.... Can't you see +he's ill, out of his mind? For God's sake, let us take him home! He's +just fainted!"</p> + +<p>They pushed into the hallway. A crowd of people were stooping over +Cyrus French, who had collapsed and lay, white-faced, still, on the +marble floor. The store physician, small and dark, bent over him in +distress.</p> + +<p>"Out?" asked the Inspector with some concern.</p> + +<p>The physician nodded. "Should be in his bed right now, sir. In a +dangerous state of collapse."</p> + +<p>Ellery whispered to his father. The old man clucked worriedly, shook +his head. "Can't take a chance, Ellery. The man is ill." He signed to +two detectives and Cyrus French, arms hanging limply, was carried into +the apartment and laid on one of the beds. He regained consciousness a +moment later, groaning.</p> + +<p>John Gray wriggled his way past a policeman and stormed into the +bedroom.</p> + +<p>"You can't get away with this sort of thing, Inspector or no +Inspector!" he cried in his high-pitched voice. "I demand that Mr. +French be sent home immediately!"</p> + +<p>"Keep your shirt on, Mr. Gray," admonished the Inspector mildly. "He's +going in a moment."</p> + +<p>"And I'm going with him," squeaked Gray. "He'll want me, he will. I'll +take this up with the Mayor, sir. I'll—"</p> + +<p>"Shut <i>up</i>, sir!" roared Queen, his face scarlet. He whirled on +Detective Ritter. "Get a cab."</p> + +<p>"Miss French." Marion looked up, startled. The Inspector irritably took +a pinch of snuff. "You may leave with your father and Mr. Gray. But +please remain at home until we call this afternoon. We will want to +look over the premises and perhaps question Mr. French, if he's in a +condition to see us. And—I'm sorry, my dear."</p> + +<p>The girl smiled through wet lashes. Weaver moved stealthily to her +side, drew her a little apart.</p> + +<p>"Marion dear—I'm awfully sorry I didn't lam that brute for you," he +stammered. "Did he hurt you?"</p> + +<p>Marion's eyes widened, softened. "Don't be silly, darling," she +whispered. "And don't be getting mixed up with the police. I'll help +Mr. Gray get father home, and stay there just as Inspector Queen +ordered me to.... You won't be—in any trouble, dear?"</p> + +<p>"Who? I?" Weaver laughed. "Now don't be worrying your pretty head about +me.—And as for the store, I'll keep an eye on everything. Tell your +father that when he can understand.... Do you love me?"</p> + +<p>There was no one looking. He bent swiftly and kissed her. Her eyes +glowed in answer.</p> + +<p>Five minutes later Cyrus French, Marion French and John Gray had left +the building under a police escort.</p> + +<p>Velie lumbered over. "Got two of the boys on the trail of this +Carmody girl," he reported. "Didn't want to tell you before with the +Commissioner around—busy and all that."</p> + +<p>Queen frowned, then chuckled. "All my boys are turning traitor to the +City," he said. "Thomas, I want you to send somebody out on the trail +of Mrs. French after she left her house last night. She walked out +about eleven-fifteen. Probably took a cab, because she got here at +eleven-forty-five, which would make it about right in the after-theater +traffic. Got it?"</p> + +<p>Velie nodded and disappeared.</p> + +<p>Ellery sat at the desk again, whistling softly to himself, a faraway +look in his eyes.</p> + +<p>The Inspector had MacKenzie, the store manager, brought to the library.</p> + +<p>"Have you checked the employees, Mr. MacKenzie?"</p> + +<p>"A report came through from my assistant a few moments ago." Ellery +listened avidly. "So far as we have been able to determine," continued +the Scotchman, referring to a paper in his hand, "all employees who +checked in both yesterday and to-day were at their posts. As for +to-day, everything seems perfectly regular in that connection. There +is, of course, a list of absentees, which I have here. If you would +like to follow up on these employees, here's the list."</p> + +<p>"We'll have a peep at it," said the Inspector, taking the list from +MacKenzie. He turned it over to a detective with a command. "Now, +MacKenzie, you may start the ball rolling again. Store's routine is +to go on as usual, but be careful that you say nothing at all of this +whole business in your publicity. Have that window on Fifth Avenue +kept closed and guarded until further orders. We'll have to seal it up +anyway for a time. That's all. You're free to go."</p> + +<p>"I'd like to ask the remaining directors a question, dad, if you +haven't anything to quiz them about," said Ellery, after MacKenzie had +left.</p> + +<p>"I haven't a thought in my head about them—that I could turn to +account," answered Queen. "Hesse, bring in Zorn, Marchbanks and Trask. +Let's have another try at 'em."</p> + +<p>The detective returned shortly with the three directors. They looked +peaked and ragged; Marchbanks was chewing savagely at a frayed cigar. +The Inspector waved his hand at Ellery and retreated a step.</p> + +<p>Ellery rose. "Just one question, gentlemen, and then I think Inspector +Queen will permit you to go about your business."</p> + +<p>"High time," muttered Trask, biting his lip.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Zorn," said Ellery, ignoring the attenuated and foppish Trask, "is +there a regular meeting-time for your Board of Directors?"</p> + +<p>Zorn juggled his heavy gold watch-chain nervously. "Yes—yes, of +course."</p> + +<p>"If I'm not too inquisitive, when is that meeting-time?"</p> + +<p>"Every other Friday afternoon."</p> + +<p>"This is routine, strictly adhered to?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—yes."</p> + +<p>"How is it that there was a meeting this morning—on a Tuesday?"</p> + +<p>"That was a special meeting. Mr. French calls them as the occasion +demands."</p> + +<p>"But the semi-monthly meetings are held regardless of special meetings?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"I take it, then, that there was a meeting on Friday last?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>Ellery turned to Marchbanks and Trask. "Is Mr. Zorn's testimony +substantially correct, gentlemen?"</p> + +<p>Both nodded their heads sullenly. Ellery smiled, thanked them, and sat +down. The Inspector smiled, thanked them, and told them politely that +they were free to leave. He escorted them to the door and whispered to +the policeman on guard an inaudible instruction. Zorn, Marchbanks and +Trask left the private corridor immediately.</p> + +<p>"There's an interesting feller outside, El," remarked the Inspector. +"Vincent Carmody, Mrs. French's first husband. Think I'll tackle him +next.—Hesse, bring in Mr. Carmody in about two minutes."</p> + +<p>"Did you check up at all on the night freight-entrance on 39th Street +while you were downstairs?" asked Ellery.</p> + +<p>"Sure did." The Inspector took a pinch of snuff reflectively. "That's +a funny place, El. With the watchman and the truckman in the little +booth, it would have been pie for somebody to slip into the building, +especially at night. Went over it with particular thoroughness. It +certainly looks like the answer to how the murderer gained entry last +night."</p> + +<p>"It may answer the question of how the murderer got in," remarked +Ellery lazily, "but it doesn't answer the question of how he got out. +That exit was closed to him by eleven-thirty. If he left the building +by that door, then, he must have done so before eleven-thirty, eh?"</p> + +<p>"But Mrs. French didn't get here until eleven-forty-five, El," objected +the Inspector, "and according to Prouty she was killed about midnight. +So how could he have left by that door before eleven-thirty?"</p> + +<p>"The answer to that," said Ellery, "is that he couldn't, and therefore +didn't. Is there a door through which he could have slipped into the +main building from the freight room?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing to it," growled the Inspector. "There's a door 'way back in +the shadows of the room. It wasn't locked—never is—because these +fools took it for granted that if the outer door was locked, the inner +door didn't have to be. Anyway, it heads right onto a corridor which is +parallel with the corridor that runs past the night-watchman's office, +but further into the body of the main floor.<a id="FNanchor_6" href="#Footnote_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> In the darkness, it +must have been ridiculously easy to slip through the door, sneak down +that corridor, turn the corner, and cover the thirty feet or so to the +elevator and stairs. That's probably the answer."</p> + +<p>"How about the master-key in that office downstairs?" asked Ellery. +"Did the day-man say anything about it?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing there," replied the Inspector disconsolately. "O'Shane is his +name, and he swears the key never left the locked drawer during his +shift."</p> + +<p>The door opened and Hesse escorted a preternaturally tall man with +penetrating eyes and a straggly grey beard into the room. He was +handsome in a sophisticated way, and striking. Ellery noted with +interest the triangular lean jaw. The man was dressed carelessly, but +in clothes of quality. He bowed stiffly to the Inspector and stood +waiting. His eyes shifted luminously from man to man in the room.</p> + +<p>"I had barely a chance of talking to you downstairs, Mr. Carmody," said +the Inspector pleasantly. "There are a few things I want to ask you. +Won't you sit down?"</p> + +<p>Carmody dropped into a chair. He nodded curtly to Weaver as he caught +the secretary's eye, but said nothing.</p> + +<p>"Now, Mr. Carmody," began the Inspector, striding up and down before +the desk at which Ellery sat quietly, "a few unimportant but necessary +questions. Hagstrom, you're ready?" He cocked an eye at the detective, +who nodded, notebook in hand. The Inspector resumed his march on the +rug. Suddenly he looked up. Carmody's eyes burned deeply into thin air.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Carmody," said the Inspector abruptly, "I understand that you are +the sole owner of the Holbein Studios, dealing in antiques?"</p> + +<p>"That is precisely correct," said Carmody. His voice was startling—low +and vibrant and deliberate.</p> + +<p>"You were married to Mrs. French, and divorced some seven years ago?"</p> + +<p>"That is also correct." There was a finality in his tones that impinged +unpleasantly on the ear. He emanated an aura of complete self-control.</p> + +<p>"Have you seen Mrs. French since your divorce?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Many times."</p> + +<p>"Socially? There was no particular unpleasantness in your relations?"</p> + +<p>"None whatever. Yes, I met Mrs. French socially."</p> + +<p>The Inspector was slightly nettled. This witness answered exactly what +he was asked, and no more.</p> + +<p>"How often, Mr. Carmody?"</p> + +<p>"As often as twice a week during the social season."</p> + +<p>"And you last saw her—"</p> + +<p>"A week ago Monday evening, at a dinner given by Mrs. Standish Prince +at Mrs. Prince's home."</p> + +<p>"You spoke to her?"</p> + +<p>"Yes." Carmody stirred. "Mrs. French was very much interested in +antiques, an interest cultivated perhaps during our marriage." The man +seemed made of steel. He showed not the faintest trace of emotion. "We +conversed for a time about a Chippendale chair she was particularly +anxious to have."</p> + +<p>"Anything else, Mr. Carmody?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. About our daughter."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" The Inspector pursed his lips, pulled at his mustache. "Miss +Bernice Carmody was placed in the custody of your wife after your +divorce?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"You have seen your daughter periodically, perhaps?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Although Mrs. French secured custody of my daughter, our informal +arrangement at the time of our divorce was that I might see the child +at any time." A warm color floated into his voice. The Inspector +regarded him quickly, looked away. He plunged into a new line of +questioning.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Carmody, can you suggest any possible explanation to account for +this crime?"</p> + +<p>"No, I cannot." Carmody grew colder at once. For no apparent reason his +eyes shifted to Ellery, and held there intently for an instant.</p> + +<p>"Had Mrs. French any enemies, to your knowledge?"</p> + +<p>"No. She was singularly free from the profundity of character which so +often breeds animosity in others." Carmody might have been talking of +an utter stranger; his tone, his bearing were wholly impersonal.</p> + +<p>"Not even yourself, Mr. Carmody?" asked the Inspector softly.</p> + +<p>"Not even myself, Inspector," said Carmody in the same frozen tones. +"If it is any concern of yours, my love for my wife dwindled during our +wedded life and when it had entirely disappeared, I secured a divorce. +I felt no bitterness toward her then, nor do I now. You will, of +course," he added without a change in inflection, "have to take my word +for that."</p> + +<p>"Did Mrs. French seem nervous the last few times you saw her? Did +anything seem to be troubling her? Did she give you any clue to a +possible secret worry?"</p> + +<p>"Our conversations, Inspector, were hardly of so intimate a nature. I +noticed nothing unusual about her. Mrs. French was an extraordinarily +prosaic person. Not at all the worrying kind, I can assure you."</p> + +<p>The Inspector paused, Carmody sat quietly. Then he spoke, without +warning, without passion. He merely opened his mouth and began to +speak, but it was so unexpected that the Inspector started violently +and took a hasty pinch of snuff to conceal his agitation.</p> + +<p>"Inspector, you are evidently questioning me with the secret hope that +I may have something to do with the crime, or that I may be in the +possession of vital information. Inspector, you are wasting your time." +Carmody leaned forward, his eyes strangely blazing. "Believe me when +I say that I haven't the slightest interest either in the live Mrs. +French—or the dead Mrs. French. Or the whole damned French tribe put +together. My own concern is with my daughter. I understand that she +is missing. If she is, there has been foul play. If you have any idea +in your head that my daughter is a matricide, the more fool you.... +You will be perpetrating a crime against an innocent girl if you do +not immediately seek to discover Bernice's present whereabouts and the +reason for her disappearance. And in that connection, you are welcome +to my unstinting co-operation. If you do not look for her immediately, +I shall set private detectives on her trail. I think that is all."</p> + +<p>Carmody rose to his astonishing height and stood immovably waiting.</p> + +<p>The Inspector stirred. "I should advise a slight softening of tone in +the future, Mr. Carmody," he said dryly. "You may go."</p> + +<p>Without another word the antique-dealer turned and left the apartment.</p> + +<p>"Well, what do you think of Mr. Carmody?" asked Queen quizzically.</p> + +<p>"I've never known an antiquarian who wasn't queer in some way," laughed +Ellery. "Cool customer, however.... Dad, I should very much like to see +Monsieur Lavery again."</p> + +<p>The Frenchman was pale and nervous when he was conducted into the +library. He seemed excessively tired and sank into a chair at once, +stretching his long legs with a sigh.</p> + +<p>"You might have provided chairs outside in the corridor," he said +reproachfully to the Inspector. "My good fortune to be the last called! +<i>C'est la vie, hein?</i>" He shrugged his shoulders humorously. "May I +smoke, Inspector?"</p> + +<p>He lit a cigaret without waiting for a reply.</p> + +<p>Ellery rose and shook himself vigorously. He looked at Lavery, and +Lavery looked at him, and both smiled for no apparent reason.</p> + +<p>"I shall be brutally frank, Mr. Lavery," drawled Ellery. "You are a +man of the world. You will not be constrained by a false sense of +discretion.... Mr. Lavery, have you ever suspected during your stay +with the Frenches, that Bernice Carmody is a drug addict?"</p> + +<p>Lavery started, regarded Ellery with alert eyes. "You have discovered +that already? And without seeing the girl? My felicitations, Mr. +Queen.... To your question, let me reply without hesitation—yes."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I say!" protested Weaver suddenly, from his corner. "How could you +know, Lavery? On such a short acquaintance?"</p> + +<p>"I know the symptoms, Weaver," said Lavery mildly. "The sallow, +almost saffron complexion; the slightly protruding eyeballs; the bad +teeth; the unnatural nervousness and excitability; a certain air of +furtiveness constantly maintained; the sudden hysteria and the more +sudden recovery; the excessive thinness, growing more patent with every +passing day—no, it was not difficult to diagnose the young lady's +ailment." He turned to Ellery with a quick gesture of his thin fingers. +"Let me make it perfectly clear that my opinion is just an opinion, +little more. I have no definite evidence of any kind. But, short of +medical advices to the contrary, I should be ready as a layman to swear +that the girl is a drug fiend in an advanced stage!"</p> + +<p>Weaver groaned. "The Old Man—"</p> + +<p>"Of course, we're all terribly sorry about that," put in the Inspector +quickly. "You suspected her of being an addict at once, Mr. Lavery?"</p> + +<p>"From the moment I laid eyes on her," said the Frenchman emphatically. +"It was a source of constant astonishment to me that more people did +not observe what was so perfectly plain to me."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps they did—perhaps they did," muttered Ellery, brows drawn +taut. He brushed a vagrant thought away and addressed Lavery once more.</p> + +<p>"Have you ever been in this room before, Mr. Lavery?" he asked, à +propos of nothing.</p> + +<p>"In Mr. French's apartment?" cried Lavery. "Why, every day, sir. Mr. +French has been more than kind, and I have used this room incessantly +since my arrival in New York."</p> + +<p>"Then there is nothing more to be said," Ellery smiled. "You may now +retire to your lecture-room, if it isn't too late, and carry on the +grand work of continentalizing America. Good day, sir!"</p> + +<p>Lavery bowed, showed his white teeth all around, and left the apartment +with long strides.</p> + +<p>Ellery sat down at the desk and wrote earnestly on the fly-leaf of his +sadly abused little book.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="19">19</h2> +</div> + +<h3>OPINIONS AND REPORTS</h3> + + +<p>Inspector Queen stood Napoleonically in the center of the library, +staring vindictively at the anteroom door. He muttered to himself, +turning his head slowly from side to side like a terrier.</p> + +<p>He beckoned to Crouther, the head store detective, who was assisting +one of the photographers at the door of the cardroom.</p> + +<p>"Look here, Crouther, you ought to be in a good position to know about +this." The Inspector filled his nostrils with snuff. The burly store +detective scraped his jaw expectantly. "Seeing that door there reminded +me. What in heaven's name was French's idea in having a special spring +lock put on the corridor door? Seems to me that for an apartment only +occasionally used this is pretty well guarded."</p> + +<p>Crouther grinned deprecatingly. "Now don't go bothering your head about +that, Inspector. The old boy's just a bug on privacy, that's all. Hates +to be interrupted—that's a fact."</p> + +<p>"But a burglar-proof lock in a burglar-proof building!"</p> + +<p>"Well," said Crouther, "you either have to take him that way or go +nuts. Matter of fact, Inspector," he lowered his voice, "he's always +been a little queer on some subjects. I can remember like to-day the +morning I got a written order from the boss, with signatures and a +lot of that bunk, requisitioning a specially made lock. That was when +they were remodeling the apartment, about two years ago. Sol followed +my orders and had an expert locksmith manufacture the dingus on that +outside door. Boss liked it pretty much, too—was happy as an Irish +cop."</p> + +<p>"How about this business of setting a man at the door?" demanded the +Inspector. "Certainly that lock would keep out anybody who wasn't +wanted."</p> + +<p>"We-ell," said Crouther hesitantly, "the boss is such a bug on this +privacy business that he didn't even want knocks on the door. Guess +that's why he asked me for a man to stand guard every once in a while. +Always kept the boys in the corridor, too—they hate the job, the whole +crew of 'em. Couldn't even come into the anteroom and sit down."</p> + +<p>The Inspector scowled down at his regulation policeman's boots for a +moment and crooked his finger at Weaver.</p> + +<p>"Come here, my boy." Weaver trudged wearily across the rug. "Just +what's behind French's craze for privacy? From what Crouther tells me, +this place <i>is</i> like a fortress most times. Who in heaven's name is +allowed in here besides his family?"</p> + +<p>"It's just an idiosyncrasy of the Old Man's, Inspector," said Weaver. +"Don't take it too seriously. He's a good deal of an eccentric. Very +few people see the inside of this apartment. Apart from myself, the +immediate family, the Board of Directors, and during the last month +Mr. Lavery, practically no one in the store organization is allowed +in here. No, that's not quite true. MacKenzie, the store manager, is +called in occasionally to get direct orders from the Old Man—was in +last week, in fact. But aside from MacKenzie, this place is a complete +mystery to the store forces."</p> + +<p>"You tell 'em, Mr. Weaver," put in Crouther jocularly.</p> + +<p>"And that's how it is, Inspector," continued Weaver. "Not even Crouther +has been here in the past few years."</p> + +<p>"Last time I saw this place before this morning," amended Crouther, +"was two years ago when they were redecorating and refurnishing it." He +grew red in the face at the thought of some secret injury. "That's a +heck of a way to treat a head store detective, believe me."</p> + +<p>"You ought to work for the City, Crouther," said the Inspector grimly. +"Shut up and be satisfied with a soft job!"</p> + +<p>"I should explain, if I haven't done so before," added Weaver, "that +the taboo is more or less limited to employees. A great many people +come here, but most of the visits are strictly by appointment with the +Old Man, and his visitors come on Anti-Vice League business. Clergymen, +most of them. A few politicians, not many."</p> + +<p>"That's a fact," put in Crouther.</p> + +<p>"Well!" The Inspector shot a keen glance toward the two men before him. +"It looks mighty bad for this Carmody girl, eh? What do you think?"</p> + +<p>Weaver looked pained and half-turned away.</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't know about that, Inspector," said Crouther with heavy +importance. "My own ideas about this case—"</p> + +<p>"Eh? Your own ideas?" The Inspector looked startled, then suppressed +a smile. "What <i>are</i> your own ideas, Crouther? Might be of some +value—never can tell."</p> + +<p>Ellery, who had been sitting abstractedly at the desk, listening to the +conversation with half-cocked ears, jammed his little volume into his +pocket, rose, and sauntered idly over to the group.</p> + +<p>"What's this? A post-mortem?" he demanded, smiling. "And what do I +hear, Crouther, about an idea of yours on the case?"</p> + +<p>Crouther looked embarrassed for a moment and shuffled his feet. But +then he squared his thick shoulders and lashed out into speech, openly +enjoying his rôle of orator.</p> + +<p>"I think," he began—</p> + +<p>"Ah!" said the Inspector.</p> + +<p>"I think," Crouther repeated, unabashed, "that Miss Carmody is a +victim. Yes, sir, victim of a frame-up!"</p> + +<p>"No!" murmured Ellery.</p> + +<p>"Go on," said the Inspector curiously.</p> + +<p>"It's as plain as the nose—beg pardon, Inspector—on your face. Who +ever heard of a girl bumping her own mother off? It ain't natural."</p> + +<p>"But the cards, Crouther—the shoes, the hat," said the Inspector +gently.</p> + +<p>"Just hooey, Inspector," said Crouther with confidence. "Hell! That's +no trick, to plant a pair o' shoes and a hat. No, sir, you can't tell +me Miss Carmody did the job. Don't believe it and won't believe it. I +go on common sense, and that's a fact. Girl shoot her own mother! No, +sir!"</p> + +<p>"Well, there's something in that," remarked the Inspector +sententiously. "What do you make of Miss Marion French's scarf, while +you're analyzing the crime, Crouther? Think she's mixed up in it +anywhere?"</p> + +<p>"Who? That little girl?" Crouther expanded, snorted. "Say, that's +another plant. Or else she left it here by mistake. Kind o' like the +plant idea, though, myself. Fact!"</p> + +<p>"You would say, then," interpolated Ellery, "while you're on the +Holmesian track, that this is a case of—what?"</p> + +<p>"Don't get you entirely, sir," said Crouther stoutly, "but it looks +darned near like a case of murder and kidnapping. Can't see any other +way to explain it."</p> + +<p>"Murder and kidnapping?" Ellery smiled. "Not a bad idea at that. Good +recitation, Crouther."</p> + +<p>The detective beamed. Weaver, who had resolutely refrained from +commenting, heaved a sigh of relief when a knock on the outer door +interrupted the conversation.</p> + +<p>The policeman stationed outside opened the door to admit a weazened +little man, completely bald, carrying a bulging brief-case.</p> + +<p>"Afternoon, Jimmy!" said the Inspector cheerfully. "Got anything for us +in that bag of yours?"</p> + +<p>"Sure have, Inspector," squeaked the little old man. "Got down here as +fast as I could.—Hello, Mr. Queen."</p> + +<p>"Glad to see you, Jimmy," said Ellery, and the expression on his face +was one of intense expectancy. At this moment the photographers and +fingerprint investigators trooped into the library, hats and coats on, +their apparatus stowed away. "Jimmy" greeted them all by name.</p> + +<p>"Through here, Inspector," announced one of the photographers. "Any +orders?"</p> + +<p>"Not at the moment." Queen turned to the fingerprint men. "Anybody find +anything?"</p> + +<p>"Got a lot of prints," reported one of them, "but practically all came +from this room. Not a one in the cardroom and none in the bedroom, +except for a few stray prints of Mr. Queen's, here."</p> + +<p>"Anything in the prints from this room?"</p> + +<p>"Hard to say. If the room's been used all morning by this Board of +Directors, chances are they're all legitimate. We'll have to get hold +of these people and check their prints. Okay, Inspector?"</p> + +<p>"Go ahead. But be nice about it, boys." He waved them toward the door. +"So long, Crouther. See you later."</p> + +<p>"Good enough," said Crouther cheerfully, and departed behind the police +workers.</p> + +<p>The Inspector, Weaver, the man called "Jimmy," and Ellery were left +standing in the center of the room. The detectives personally attached +to Queen lounged about in the anteroom, conversing in low tones. The +old man carefully closed the anteroom door and hurried back toward the +group, rubbing his hands briskly together.</p> + +<p>"Now, Mr. Weaver—" he began.</p> + +<p>"Perfectly all right, dad," said Ellery mildly. "No secrets from Wes. +Jimmy, if you've anything to tell, tell it rapidly, graphically, and +above all rapidly. Talk, James!"</p> + +<p>"Okay," responded "Jimmy," scratching his bald pate dubiously. "What +would you like to know?" His hand dived into the bag he carried and +reappeared with an article painstakingly wrapped in soft tissue paper. +He carefully unwrapped the package, and one of the onyx book-ends +emerged. The second book-end, similarly sheathed in tissue, he placed +by the side of the first on the glass top of French's desk.</p> + +<p>"The book-ends, eh?" muttered Queen, bending forward curiously to +examine the barely visible glue-lines where felt and stone met.</p> + +<p>"In the onyx itself," ventured Ellery. "Jimmy, what were those whitish +grains I sent you in the glassine envelope?"</p> + +<p>"Ordinary fingerprint powder," replied "Jimmy," at once. "The white +variety. And how it got there, maybe you can answer—I can't, Mr. +Queen."</p> + +<p>"Not at the moment," smiled Ellery. "Fingerprint powder, eh? Did you +find any more in the glue?"</p> + +<p>"You got nearly all of them," said the little bald-headed man. "Did +find a few, though. Found a bit of foreign matter, of course—some dust +chiefly. But the grains are what I've told you. There's not a print on +either of them, except your own, Mr. Queen."</p> + +<p>Inspector Queen stared from "Jimmy" to Weaver to Ellery, a strange +light dawning on his face. His hand fumbled nervously for his snuff-box.</p> + +<p>"Fingerprint powder!" he said in a stunned voice. "Is it possible +that—?"</p> + +<p>"No, I've checked on what you're thinking, dad," said Ellery soberly. +"This room was not entered by the police before I myself found the +grains in the glue. As a matter of fact, I suspected their identity at +once, but of course I wished to be certain.... No, if you're thinking +that one of your men sprinkled the powder on these book-ends, you're +mistaken. They couldn't have, possibly."</p> + +<p>"You realize what this means, of course?" The Inspector's voice grew +shrill with excitement. He took a short turn on the rug. "I have had +all sorts of experience," he said, "with criminals who use gloves. +That's one of the accepted habits of the law-breaking profession, +it seems—maybe it's an outgrowth of fiction and newspaper exposés. +Gloves, canvas, cheesecloth, felt—they're all used either to prevent +leaving fingerprints or to destroy what prints may be left. But +this—this is the work of a—"</p> + +<p>"A super-criminal?" suggested Weaver timidly.</p> + +<p>"Exactly. A super-criminal!" replied the old man. "Sounds +dime-novelish, does it, El? Coming from me, too—with comparative +butchers like Tony the Wop and Red McCloskey waiting for me down at the +Tombs. Most cops scoff at the mere suggestion of super-criminals. But +I've known them—rare and precious birds when they do crop out...." +He looked at his son defiantly. "Ellery, the man—or woman, for that +matter—who committed this crime is not the usual criminal. He—or +she—is so careful as to do the job and then, not satisfied with +possibly using gloves and letting it go at that, sprinkles the room +with the policeman's pet crime-detector, fingerprint powder, to bring +out his or her <i>own</i> prints, in order to wipe them out of existence!... +There isn't the slightest doubt in my mind—we're dealing with a most +unusual character, a habitual criminal who's risen far above the +stupidity of his generally dull-witted kind."</p> + +<p>"Super-criminal...." Ellery thought for a moment, then shrugged his +shoulders lightly. "It does look that way, doesn't it?... Commits the +murder in this room, then goes about the enormously ticklish job of +cleaning up afterward. Has he left prints? Perhaps. Perhaps the work +he had to do was so delicate as to make it impossible for him to use +gloves—there's a thought, eh, dad?" He smiled.</p> + +<p>"Doesn't make sense, though—that last," muttered Queen. "Can't see +what he might possibly have to do that he couldn't do with gloves on."</p> + +<p>"I have a little idea about that," remarked Ellery. "But to go on. He +hasn't used gloves, let us say, at least for one small but important +operation, and he's certain that there are prints of his fingers left +on the book-ends—which of necessity, then, are connected with what +he had to do. Very well! Does he merely wipe the surface of the onyx +carefully, trusting that he's eradicated all the tell-tale marks? He +does not! He produces fingerprint powder, whisks it gently over all the +surfaces of the onyx, one at a time, and where he sees a convolvular +smudge, he immediately destroys it. In this way he's <i>sure</i> there are +no fingerprints left. Smart! A little painstaking, of course—but he +was gambling with his life, remember, and he took no chances. No—" +Ellery said slowly, "he took—no chances."</p> + +<p>There was a little silence, broken only by the soft swish of "Jimmy's" +hand caressing his bald head.</p> + +<p>"At least," said the Inspector impatiently, at last, "there's no sense +in looking for prints anywhere about. The criminal who was clever +enough to go through a rigmarole like this would be mighty sure he +left none. So—let's forget it for the moment and get back to some +personalities. Jimmy, wrap those book-ends up again and take them back +to Headquarters with you. Better have one of the boys go along with +you—let's take no chances on your, well, let's say, losing 'em."</p> + +<p>"Right, Inspector." The police laboratory worker deftly rewrapped the +book-ends in the tissue paper, stowed them away in his bag, and with a +cheery, "So long!" disappeared from the room.</p> + +<p>"Now, Mr. Weaver," said the Inspector, settling himself comfortably +in a chair, "have a seat and let's hear some things about the various +people we've met in the course of this investigation. Sit down, Ellery, +you make me fidgety!"</p> + +<p>Ellery smiled and seated himself at the desk, for which he seemed +to have developed a curious passion. Weaver relaxed in one of the +leather-covered chairs, resignedly.</p> + +<p>"Anything you say, Inspector." He looked over at Ellery. Ellery was +gazing fixedly at the books on the desk-top.</p> + +<p>"Well, for an introduction," began the Inspector briskly, "tell us +something about that employer of yours. Mighty queer cuss, isn't he? +Anti-vice work made him daffy, perhaps?"</p> + +<p>"I think you've judged the Old Man a trifle inaccurately," said Weaver +tiredly. "He's the best and most generous soul in the world. If you can +conceive a strange combination of Arthurian purity of nature with a +definite narrowness of outlook, you'll hit close to understanding him. +He's not a broad-minded man, in the generally accepted sense of the +word. He has a little iron in him, too, or he wouldn't be crusading +against vice. He loathes it instinctively, I think, because certainly +there's never been the smallest element of scandal or criminality in +his family. That's why this thing has hit him so hard. He probably +foresees the ravenous way in which the newspapers will pick up the +choice morsel—wife of the Anti-Vice League head mysteriously murdered, +and all that. And then, too, I think he loved Mrs. French dearly. I +don't think she loved him—" he hesitated, but continued loyally, "but +she was always good to him in her cold, self-contained way. She was a +good bit younger than he, of course."</p> + +<p>The Inspector coughed gently. Ellery regarded Weaver with morose eyes, +but his thoughts seemed far away. Perhaps on the books, for his fingers +played idly with their covers.</p> + +<p>"Tell me, Mr. Weaver," said Queen, "have you noticed anything—well, +abnormal—in Mr. French's actions lately? Or better still, do you know +personally of anything that might have caused him secret worry in +recent months?"</p> + +<p>Weaver was silent for a long time. "Inspector," he said at last, +meeting Queen's eyes frankly, "the truth is that I know a great +many things about Mr. French and his family and friends. I'm not +a scandal-monger. You must understand that this is an extremely +embarrassing position for me. It's hard to betray confidences...."</p> + +<p>The Inspector looked pleased. "Spoken like a man, Mr. Weaver. Ellery, +answer your friend."</p> + +<p>Ellery regarded Weaver compassionately. "Wes, old boy," he said, "a +human being has been killed in cold blood. It is our business to punish +the murderer who took that life. I can't answer for you—it's difficult +for a straight-thinking man to spill a heap of family secrets—but if +I were you, I should talk. Because, Wes"—he paused—"you're not with +policemen. You're with friends."</p> + +<p>"Then I'll talk," said Weaver despairingly, "and hope for the best.—I +believe you asked about something abnormal in the Old Man's actions +recently, Inspector? You've hit a truth. Mr. French <i>is</i> secretly +worried and upset. Because—"</p> + +<p>"Because—?"</p> + +<p>"Because," said Weaver in a spiritless voice, "a few months ago an +unfortunate friendship sprang up between Mrs. French and—Cornelius +Zorn."</p> + +<p>"Zorn, eh? Love-affair, Weaver?" asked Queen in a soothing voice.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid so," replied Weaver uncomfortably. "Though what she saw in +<i>him</i>—But now I'm becoming gossipy! The fact is that they were seeing +each other much too often, so much so that even the Old Man, the most +unsuspicious soul that ever breathed, began to realize that something +was wrong."</p> + +<p>"Nothing definite, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"I don't think there was anything radically wrong, Inspector. And +of course Mr. French never breathed a word of it to his wife. He +wouldn't dream of hurting her feelings. But I know it touched him +deeply, because once he let slip something in my presence that gave +all his transparent broodings away. I'm reasonably certain that he was +desperately hoping things would work out for the best."</p> + +<p>"I thought Zorn held aloof from French in that window," mused the +Inspector.</p> + +<p>"Undoubtedly. Zorn makes no bones about his feeling for Mrs. French. +She was not an unattractive woman, Inspector. And Zorn is pretty small +potatoes. He broke a lifelong friendship when he began to dally with +the Old Man's wife. It's that, I think, as much as anything, that made +the Old Man feel so badly."</p> + +<p>"Is Zorn married?" put in Ellery suddenly.</p> + +<p>"Why, yes, El," replied Weaver, facing his friend for the moment. +"Sophia Zorn's a queer woman, too. I think she hated Mrs. French—not +the slightest feminine sympathy in her make-up. Pretty objectionable +character, that woman."</p> + +<p>"Does she love Zorn?"</p> + +<p>"That's hard to answer. She has an abnormal streak of possessiveness, +and that may be why she was so jealous. She showed it at every +opportunity and made things quite uncomfortable for all of us at times."</p> + +<p>"I suppose," put in the Inspector with a grim smile, "it's common +knowledge. Those things always are."</p> + +<p>"Much too common," said Weaver bitterly. "It's been a hideous farce, +the whole business. My God, there have been times when I was tempted to +strangle Mrs. French myself for the ghastly wreck she was making out of +the Old Man!"</p> + +<p>"Well, don't make that statement when the Commissioner is around, +Weaver," smiled the Inspector. "What is French's feeling for his +immediate family?"</p> + +<p>"Of course he loved Mrs. French—was uncommonly thoughtful in the +little things for a man of his age," said Weaver. "As for Marion"—his +eyes brightened—"she's always been the apple of his eye. A perfect +love between father and daughter.... It's been a little unpleasant—for +me," he added in a lower tone.</p> + +<p>"So I gathered from the coldness with which you two kids habitually +greet each other," remarked the Inspector dryly. Weaver flushed +boyishly. "Now, how about Bernice?"</p> + +<p>"Bernice and Mr. French?" Weaver sighed. "About what you would expect +under the circumstances. If the Old Man's anything, he's fair. Almost +leans over backward in that respect. Of course, Bernice is not his +daughter—he couldn't love her as he loves Marion, for instance. But he +treats them exactly alike. They get equally as much of his attention, +the same allowance for pin-money and clothes—not the slightest +difference in their status as far as he is concerned. But—well, one is +his daughter, and the other is his stepdaughter."</p> + +<p>"And there," said Ellery with a little chuckle, "is a pointed epigram. +Tell us, Wes—how about Mrs. French and Carmody? You've heard what he +said—does it all fit?"</p> + +<p>"He told the exact truth," replied Weaver at once. "He's an enigma +of a man, is Carmody—cold-blooded as a fish except where Bernice is +concerned. I think he'd give his shirt for her. But he treated Mrs. +French after their divorce precisely as if she were an unavoidable +social necessity."</p> + +<p>"Why were they divorced, by the way?" asked the Inspector.</p> + +<p>"Infidelity on Carmody's part," said Weaver.—"Good night! I feel like +a tongue-slapping washerwoman.—Well, Carmody was so injudicious as +to be caught in a hotel-room with a lady of the chorus, and though +the affair was hushed up, the truth couldn't be kept from trickling +out. Mrs. French, who was something of a moral virago in those days, +immediately sued for divorce, and got it—and with it, custody of +Bernice."</p> + +<p>"Hardly a moral virago, Wes," remarked Ellery. "Not from the Zornian +implications. Say rather—she knew what side her bread was buttered +on and decided that there were more fish in the sea than a faithless +husband...."</p> + +<p>"A complicated figure of speech," said Weaver, with a smile. "But I see +what you mean."</p> + +<p>"I'm beginning to get little sidelights into Mrs. French's character," +murmured Ellery. "This Marchbanks fellow—her brother, I believe?"</p> + +<p>"And that's about all," said Weaver grimly. "Hated each other like +poison. I think Marchbanks had her number. He's no glistening lily +himself. Anyway, they never had much use for each other. It made it a +little embarrassing for the Old Man, because Marchbanks had been on the +Board for many years."</p> + +<p>"Drinks too much, that's plain," said the Inspector. "Marchbanks and +French get along all right?"</p> + +<p>"They have very little contact socially," said Weaver. "In business, +they seem to jibe nicely. But that's because the Old Man's so darned +sensible."</p> + +<p>"There's only one other member of the cast about whom I have any +curiosity at the moment," said the Inspector. "And that's the +dissipated-looking, fashionable gentleman of the Board named Trask. Has +he any contacts with the French family other than business?"</p> + +<p>"More 'other' than 'business,'" replied Weaver. "I may as well go the +whole hog while I'm tattling. I'll need a scrubbing-brush after I'm +through!—Mr. A. Melville Trask is on the Board purely as a result of +tradition. His father was the original member, and it was the elder +Trask's dying wish that his son succeed him. It meant loads of red +tape, but finally they succeeded in dragging him in, where he's been an +ornament ever since. Not a brain in his head. But shrewdness?—plenty! +Because Mr. Trask has ever since been gunning for Bernice for over a +year now—ever since he was elected to the Board, as a matter of fact."</p> + +<p>"Interesting," murmured Ellery. "What's the idea, Wes—the family +fortune?"</p> + +<p>"You've hit it exactly. Old Man Trask lost a lot in the stock market, +and his son has been plunging so heavily that the report is he's near +the end of his rope financially. So I guess he figured his best bet was +a fortuitous marriage. And that's where Bernice comes in. He's been +hounding her, courting her, taking her out, flattering her mother for +months now. He's wormed his way into the affections of Bernice—who +has few enough admirers, poor kid!—so much so that they're virtually +engaged. Nothing official, but that's the understanding."</p> + +<p>"Opposition?" demanded the Inspector.</p> + +<p>"Plenty," replied Weaver grimly. "Chiefly from the Old Man. He feels it +his duty to protect his stepdaughter from a man of Trask's stamp. Trask +is a cad and a rounder of the worst sort. The poor girl would lead a +dog's life with him."</p> + +<p>"Wes, what makes him so sure she'll come into money?" asked Ellery +suddenly.</p> + +<p>"Well"—Weaver hesitated—"you see, El, Mrs. French had a respectable +wad herself. And, of course, it's been an open secret that when she +died—"</p> + +<p>"It would go to Bernice," said the Inspector.</p> + +<p>"Interesting," said Ellery, rising to his full length and stretching +wearily. "And for no reason at all, I'm reminded that I haven't had a +bite to eat since this morning. Let's all go out for a sandwich and a +sip of java. Anything more, dad?"</p> + +<p>"Can't think of a thing," said the old man with a return to his +glumness. "We'll lock up and go. Hagstrom! Hesse! Get those cigaret +stubs and cards into my own bags—and the shoes and hat, too...."</p> + +<p>Ellery picked up the five books from the desk and handed them to +Hagstrom.</p> + +<p>"You might pack these, too, Hagstrom," he said. "You're taking these +things to Headquarters, dad?"</p> + +<p>"Why, of course!"</p> + +<p>"Then, on reconsideration, Hagstrom, I'll take these books myself." The +detective wrapped them carefully in a piece of brown paper he took from +one of the police kits and returned them to Ellery. Weaver retrieved +his hat and coat from one of the bedroom closets and the Inspector, +Ellery and Weaver, preceded by the detectives, walked out of the +apartment.</p> + +<p>Ellery was the last one out. As he stood in the corridor, one hand on +the knob of the outer door, he looked slowly from the apartment to the +brown-papered package in his hand.</p> + +<p>"Thus endeth," he said softly to himself, "the first lesson." His hand +dropped and the door snapped shut.</p> + +<p>Two minutes later only a lone bluecoat was left in the corridor, +propped up against the door in a nondescript chair he had appropriated +somewhere, reading a tabloid newspaper.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_THIRD_EPISODE">THE THIRD EPISODE</h2> +</div> + + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>"<i>Manhunting is by all odds the most thrilling profession in the +world. Its thrills ... are in exact proportion to the temperament +of the manhunter. It reaches its completest fulfillment in the +investigator who ... observing microscopically the phenomena of a +crime and collating them precisely, exercises his God-given gift +of imagination and concocts a theory which embraces</i> ALL +<i>the phenomena and omits none, not the tiniest crumb of a fact.... +Penetration, patience, and passion—these rarely combined qualities +make the genius of criminal investigation, just as they make +the genius of any profession, unless the extra-mundane arts be +excepted....</i>"</p> + +<p class="ph3">—From <span class="smcap">There Is An Under World</span><br> +<i>By</i> James Redix (the Elder).</p> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="20">20</h2> +</div> + +<h3>TOBACCO</h3> + + +<p>Cyrus French's house fronted the Hudson River, on lower Riverside +Drive. It was old and dusky, set well back from the Drive and +surrounded by primly kept shrubbery. A low iron fence ran around the +property.</p> + +<p>When Inspector Queen, Ellery Queen and Westley Weaver entered the +reception room, they found Sergeant Velie already there, engaged in +earnest conversation with another detective. This man left immediately +on the entrance of the small party, and Velie himself turned a +perturbed face to his superior.</p> + +<p>"We've struck oil, Inspector," he said in his calm bass. "Managed to +trace the cab that picked up Mrs. French last night almost at once. It +was a Yellow that patrols this neighborhood regularly. Got the driver +and he remembered his fare without any trouble."</p> + +<p>"And I suppose—" began the Inspector gloomily.</p> + +<p>Velie shrugged. "Nothing to brag about. He picked her up right in front +of the house here at about twenty after eleven last night. She told him +to take her down Fifth. He followed orders. At 39th Street she told him +to pull up, and then she got out. Paid him and he beat it. He did see +her cross the street toward the department store. That's all."</p> + +<p>"Not so much," murmured Ellery, "to be sure. Did he stop at all on the +trip downtown—did she communicate with any one on the way?"</p> + +<p>"I asked him that. Nothing doing, Mr. Queen. She didn't give him +another order until they reached 39th Street. Of course, he did say +there was heavy traffic, and he had to stop a number of times. It's +possible that somebody might have hopped in and out of the cab during a +traffic wait. But the driver says no, he didn't see anything wrong."</p> + +<p>"And if he's alert, he would have, naturally," said the Inspector, +sighing.</p> + +<p>A maid took their hats and coats, and immediately afterward Marion +French appeared. She squeezed Weaver's hand, smiled wanly at the +Queens, and placed herself at their disposal.</p> + +<p>"No, Miss French, there's nothing we can do with you now," said the +Inspector. "How is Mr. French?"</p> + +<p>"Loads better." She made a little <i>moué</i> of apology. "I did act +frightfully at the apartment, Inspector Queen. I know you'll forgive +me—seeing father faint made me lose control of myself."</p> + +<p>"Nothing to forgive, Marion," growled Weaver, "if I do take the words +out of the Inspector's mouth. I don't think Inspector Queen quite +realized how ill your father really was."</p> + +<p>"Now, now, Mr. Weaver," said the Inspector mildly. "Miss French, do you +think Mr. French will be able to see us in a half-hour or so?"</p> + +<p>"Well.... If the doctor says so, Inspector. But goodness! Won't you sit +down? I've been so upset by all this—confusion...." A shadow darkened +her face. The men accepted chairs. "You see, Inspector," continued +Marion, "there's a nurse with daddy, and the doctor's still here. An +old friend. Mr. Gray, too. Shall I see?"</p> + +<p>"If you will, my dear. And would you mind having Miss Hortense +Underhill come in for a moment?"</p> + +<p>When Marion had left the room, Weaver excused himself and hurried after +her. Her startled "Why, Westley!" could just be heard from the main +hall a moment later. There was a sudden silence, then a suspiciously +soft sound, and finally retreating footfalls.</p> + +<p>"I think," said Ellery soberly, "that that was a luscious salute to the +Venerian goddess.... I wonder why old Cyrus frowns upon Westley as a +prospective son-in-law. Wants wealth and position, I suppose."</p> + +<p>"Does he?" asked the Inspector.</p> + +<p>"I gather so."</p> + +<p>"Well, that's neither here nor there." The Inspector delicately took +snuff. "Thomas," he said, "what have you done about Bernice Carmody? +Any traces?"</p> + +<p>Velie pulled a longer face than usual. "Just one, and it barely helps +us to a start. The Carmody girl was seen yesterday afternoon leaving +this house by a day watchman—special officer—who's privately employed +to patrol the neighborhood. He knows the girl by sight. He saw her walk +quickly down towards 72nd Street—straight down the Drive. She didn't +meet any one, apparently, and was headed for a definite place, because +she seemed in a hell of a hurry. He had no reason to give her more than +a casual glance or two, and so couldn't tell me just how far down the +Drive she went or whether she turned down a side street."</p> + +<p>"Worse and worse." The Inspector grew thoughtful. "That girl is +almighty important, Thomas," he sighed. "Put extra men on her trail if +you think it's necessary. We've got to find her. I suppose you've got a +complete description, clothes and all?"</p> + +<p>Velie nodded. "Yes, and four men on her already. If there's anything at +all, Inspector, we'll find it."</p> + +<p>Hortense Underhill clumped into the room.</p> + +<p>Ellery sprang to his feet. "Dad, this is Miss Underhill, the +housekeeper. This is Inspector Queen, Miss Underhill. The Inspector has +a few questions to ask you."</p> + +<p>"That's what I'm here for," said the housekeeper.</p> + +<p>"Um," said the Inspector, eyeing her keenly. "My son tells me, Miss +Underhill, that Miss Bernice Carmody left this house yesterday +afternoon against her mother's wishes—in fact, sneaked out behind her +back. Is that correct?"</p> + +<p>"That's correct," snapped the housekeeper, with a malevolent glance +toward Ellery, who was smiling. "Though what <i>that</i> has to do with it, +<i>I</i> can't see."</p> + +<p>"No doubt," said the old man. "Was that Miss Carmody's usual +procedure—to run away from her mother?"</p> + +<p>"I haven't the faintest notion of what you're driving at, Mr. +Inspector," said the housekeeper coldly. "But if you're aiming to +implicate that girl.... Well! Yes, she did that a few times a month. +Slipped out of the house without a word and was gone usually about +three hours. There was always a scene with Mrs. French when she +returned."</p> + +<p>"I don't suppose you know," asked Ellery slowly, "where she went at +such times? Or what Mrs. French said to her when she returned?"</p> + +<p>Hortense Underhill clicked her teeth disagreeably. "No. Neither did her +mother. That's why they had a scene. And Bernice would never tell. Just +sit calmly and let her mother rave.... Except, of course, last week. +Then they <i>did</i> have a scene."</p> + +<p>"Oh, something extraordinary a week ago, eh?" said Ellery. "And I +gather that Mrs. French <i>did</i> know then?"</p> + +<p>The housekeeper permitted an expression of surprise to flick across +her hard features. "Yes, I think she did," she said more quietly than +before. She favored Ellery with a suddenly interested glance. "But what +it was I don't know. I think she found out where Bernice was going, and +they quarreled about it."</p> + +<p>"Just when was this, Miss Underhill?" asked the Inspector.</p> + +<p>"A week ago Monday."</p> + +<p>Ellery whistled softly to himself. He and the Inspector exchanged +glances.</p> + +<p>The Inspector leaned forward. "Tell me, Miss Underhill—these days on +which Miss Carmody generally disappeared—do you recall whether they +were all the same, or different days?"</p> + +<p>Hortense Underhill looked from father to son, began to speak, thought +for an instant, looked up again. "Now that I think of it," she +said slowly, "they weren't always Mondays. I remember a Tuesday, a +Wednesday, and a Thursday.... I do believe she went every week on +consecutive days! Now, what could that mean?"</p> + +<p>"More, Miss Underhill," replied Ellery, frowning, "than you can +guess—or I, for that matter.... Have the bedrooms of Mrs. French and +Miss Carmody been disturbed since this morning?"</p> + +<p>"No. When I heard about the murder at the store I locked up both +bedrooms. I didn't know but that—"</p> + +<p>"That it might have been important, Miss Underhill?" said Ellery. "That +was clever of you.... Will you please lead the way upstairs?"</p> + +<p>The housekeeper rose without a word and walked out into the main hall +and up the broad central staircase, the three men following. She +stopped on the second floor and opened a door with a key from a bunch +in her black silk apron-pocket.</p> + +<p>"This is Bernice's room," she announced, and stepped aside.</p> + +<p>They entered a large green-and-ivory bedroom, ornately furnished with +period furniture. A huge canopied bed dominated the room. Despite +the mirrors and colors and exotic pieces, the room was unaccountably +depressing. It looked cold. The sunbeams that streamed in through the +three wide windows, far from lending warmth to the ensemble, in some +grotesque way only heightened the general effect of cheerlessness.</p> + +<p>Ellery's eyes, as he stepped into the room, were not concerned with its +eeriness. They focused immediately on a large, garishly carved table to +the side of the bed, on which was an ashtray filled to overflowing with +cigaret-stubs. He quickly crossed the room and picked up the tray. Then +he put it back on the table with a curious gleam in his eye.</p> + +<p>"Was this tray with its cigaret-stubs here this morning when you locked +up, Miss Underhill?" he asked sharply.</p> + +<p>"Yes. I didn't touch anything."</p> + +<p>"Then this room hasn't been tidied since Sunday?"</p> + +<p>The housekeeper flushed. "The room was attended to on Monday morning, +after Bernice awoke," she snarled. "I will <i>not</i> hear any imputations +against my household, Mr. Queen! I—"</p> + +<p>"But why not Monday afternoon?" interposed Ellery, smiling.</p> + +<p>"Because Bernice chased the maid out of the room after the bed was +made, that's why!" snapped the housekeeper. "The girl didn't have time +to empty the ashtray. I hope that satisfies you!"</p> + +<p>"It does," murmured Ellery. "Dad—Velie—come here a moment."</p> + +<p>Ellery silently pointed down to the cigaret-stubs. There were at least +thirty on the tray. Without exception the cigarets, of a flat Turkish +variety, had been smoked only one-quarter of their length, and crushed +out against the tray. The Inspector picked one up, and peered at a word +of gilt lettering near the tip.</p> + +<p>"Well, what's surprising about that?" he demanded. "They're the same +brand as the ones on the card-table in the apartment. Girl must be +frightfully nervous, though."</p> + +<p>"But the length, dad, the length," said Ellery softly. "However, +no matter.... Miss Underhill, has Miss Carmody always smoked <i>La +Duchesse</i>?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, <i>sir</i>," said the housekeeper unpleasantly. "And too many for her +health, too. She gets them from some Greek person with an outlandish +name—Xanthos, I think it is—who makes them up on special order for +young ladies of the better classes. Perfumed, they are!"</p> + +<p>"A standing order, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"You suppose correctly. When Bernice's supply ran out, she merely +repeated her order, which was for a box of five hundred always.... +That's one thing about Bernice, although you mustn't take it as +anything against the poor child, because too many young ladies have the +same pernicious habit—but she smokes altogether too much for propriety +and health, too. Her mother never smoked, nor do Marion and Mr. French."</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, we are aware of those facts, Miss Underhill, thank you." +Ellery took a glassine envelope from his compact pocket-kit and calmly +poured into it the dusty contents of the ashtray. The envelope he +handed to Velie.</p> + +<p>"You had better keep this with whatever mementoes of the case will be +filed at Headquarters," he said in a sprightly tone. "I think it will +prove of interest in the final summation.... Now, Miss Underhill, if +you will please spare us just another slice of your precious time...."</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="21">21</h2> +</div> + +<h3>KEYS AGAIN</h3> + + +<p>Ellery looked quickly about the garish room and strode over to a large +door on the side wall. He opened it and uttered a low exclamation +of satisfaction. It was a clothes-closet, packed with feminine +garments—gowns, coats, shoes, hats in profusion.</p> + +<p>He turned once more to Hortense Underhill, who was regarding him with +peculiar disquiet. Her lips compressed as she saw his hand absently +ruffle through the mass of gowns hanging from the racks.</p> + +<p>"Miss Underhill, I believe you said that Miss Carmody was at the +apartment some months ago, and hasn't been there since?"</p> + +<p>She nodded stiffly.</p> + +<p>"Do you recall what she wore when she was there last?"</p> + +<p>"Really, Mr. Queen," she said in frigid tones, "I haven't such a memory +as you evidently give me credit for. How <i>could</i> I remember that?"</p> + +<p>Ellery grinned. "Very well. Where is Miss Carmody's apartment key?"</p> + +<p>"Oh!" The housekeeper was genuinely startled. "That's a funny thing, +now, Mr. Queen—I mean your asking that. Because only yesterday morning +Bernice told me that she thought she'd lost her key and asked me to get +one of the others' keys and duplicate it for her."</p> + +<p>"Lost, eh?" Ellery seemed disappointed. "Are you certain, Miss +Underhill?"</p> + +<p>"I've just told you."</p> + +<p>"Well, there's no harm in looking," said Ellery cheerfully. "Here, +Velie, lend a hand with these duds. You don't mind, dad?" And in a +moment he and the sergeant had attacked the closet with a furious +determination, to the accompaniment of the Inspector's chuckle and +Hortense Underhill's outraged gasp.</p> + +<p>"You see ..." said Ellery from clenched teeth, as he swiftly passed +his hands through coats and gowns, "people don't generally lose +things. They merely think they do. In this case, Miss Carmody perhaps +searched for it in a few obvious places and gave it up as hopeless.... +She probably didn't look in the right garments.... Ah, there, Velie! +Splendid!"</p> + +<p>The tall sergeant held up a heavy fur coat. In his left hand gleamed a +gold-disked key.</p> + +<p>"In an inside pocket, Mr. Queen. The fur coat would make it heavy +weather when Miss Carmody last used the key."</p> + +<p>"Fair and subtle enough," said Ellery, taking the key. It was an exact +duplicate of Weaver's key, which he now took from his pocket and +compared with the latest discovery—a twin except for the initials +<i>B.C.</i> engraved on the disk.</p> + +<p>"Why do you want all the keys, El?" demanded the Inspector. "I can't +see any good reason for it."</p> + +<p>"You have enormous powers of perspicacity," said Ellery gravely. "Now +how did you know I wanted <i>all</i> the keys? But you're perfectly right—I +do, and I shall take up a collection very shortly. The reason is surely +as plain as the nose on your face, as Crouther would say.... Don't want +anybody getting into that apartment for a while, very simply."</p> + +<p>He deposited both keys in his pocket and turned to the unpleasant +housekeeper.</p> + +<p>"Did you carry out Miss Carmody's orders about duplicating this 'lost' +key?" he asked curtly.</p> + +<p>The housekeeper sniffed. "I did not," she said. "Because now that I +think of it, I don't really know whether or not Bernice was jesting +with me when she said she had lost the key. And something happened +yesterday afternoon that made me undecided about it, and I thought I'd +wait until I saw Bernice again to ask her."</p> + +<p>"And what was that, Miss Underhill?" inquired the Inspector, with a +slow gentleness.</p> + +<p>"Something queer, to tell the truth," she replied thoughtfully. Her +eyes flashed suddenly, and her expression became remarkably more human. +"I <i>do</i> want to help," she said softly. "And I am beginning to think +more and more that what happened <i>will</i> help...."</p> + +<p>"You have us simply petrified with excitement, Miss Underhill," +murmured Ellery, without changing expression. "Please proceed."</p> + +<p>"Yesterday afternoon, at about four o'clock—no, I think it must have +been closer to half-past three—I received a telephone call from +Bernice. That was after she had left the house so mysteriously—you +know."</p> + +<p>The three men stiffened into strained attention. Velie muttered an +indistinguishable curse beneath his breath, but quieted under a +flashing glance from the Inspector. Ellery leaned forward.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Miss Underhill?" he urged.</p> + +<p>"It was most puzzling," continued the housekeeper. "Bernice had spoken +to me casually about losing the key just before lunch. Yet when she +called in the afternoon, the first thing she said was that she wanted +her key to the apartment, and would send around for it by messenger at +once!"</p> + +<p>"Is it possible," muttered the Inspector, "that she thought you had +already had a duplicate key made for her?"</p> + +<p>"No, Inspector," said the housekeeper incisively. "It didn't sound as +if she thought that at all. In fact, it seemed as if she'd utterly +forgotten about having lost the key. So much so that I immediately +reminded her that she'd told me about losing the key, in the morning, +and having another made for her. She seemed quite distressed and said, +'Oh, yes, Hortense! Isn't it stupid of me to forget that way,' and +began to say something else, when she stopped suddenly and then said, +'Don't bother, Hortense, after all, it isn't particularly important. +I thought I might want to drop in at the apartment this evening.' +I reminded her that she could get the use of the master-key at the +night-watchman's desk if she wanted to go to the apartment so badly. +But she didn't seem interested and hung up immediately."</p> + +<p>There was a little silence. Then Ellery looked up with a great light of +interest in his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Can you remember, Miss Underhill," he asked, "just what it was that +Miss Carmody began to say in the middle of the conversation, and then +appeared to reconsider?"</p> + +<p>"It's hard to be exact about it, Mr. Queen," replied the housekeeper. +"But somehow I got the impression that Bernice was going to ask me to +get one of the other keys to the apartment for her. Perhaps I'm wrong."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you are," said Ellery whimsically, "but I'd not give even the +most preposterous of odds that you aren't...."</p> + +<p>"You know," added Hortense Underhill, as an afterthought, "I also got +the impression, when she began to say that and stopped, that—"</p> + +<p>"<i>That somebody was talking to her, Miss Underhill?</i>" asked Ellery.</p> + +<p>"Exactly, Mr. Queen."</p> + +<p>The Inspector turned a startled face toward his son. Velie moved his +huge bulk lightly forward and whispered in the Inspector's ear. The old +man grinned.</p> + +<p>"Keen, keen, Thomas," he chuckled. "That's just what I was thinking, +too...."</p> + +<p>Ellery flicked his finger warningly.</p> + +<p>"Miss Underhill, I can't expect you to exhibit miracles of acuteness," +he said in a serious, admiring tone. "But I should like to ask—if +you're entirely certain that it was Miss Carmody talking to you over +the wire?"</p> + +<p>"That's it!" cried the Inspector. Velie smiled grimly.</p> + +<p>The housekeeper regarded the three men with strangely limpid eyes. +Something electric shot through all four.</p> + +<p>"I don't—believe—it—was," she whispered....</p> + +<p>After a while they left the missing girl's bedroom and entered an +adjoining room. It was severer in tone and immaculately clean.</p> + +<p>"This is Mrs. French's room," said the housekeeper in a low voice. +Her acid nature seemed sweetened by a sudden realization of complex +tragedy. Her eyes followed Ellery with grave respect.</p> + +<p>"Is everything in perfect order, Miss Underhill?" asked the Inspector.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>Ellery walked over to a wardrobe and scanned its neat racks +thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>"Miss Underhill, will you please look through this rack and tell us if +any of Miss Marion French's clothes are here?"</p> + +<p>The housekeeper went through the racks while the three men looked +on. She proceeded carefully, then shook her head in an unhesitating +negative.</p> + +<p>"Then Mrs. French was not in the habit of wearing Miss French's things?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, sir!"</p> + +<p>Ellery smiled with satisfaction and at once wrote a line of +hieroglyphics in his makeshift notebook.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="22">22</h2> +</div> + +<h3>BOOKS AGAIN</h3> + + +<p>The three men stood uncomfortably in old Cyrus French's bedroom. The +nurse fluttered about in the hall, a solid door separating her from +her charge. Marion and Weaver had been ordered downstairs to the +drawing-room. French's physician, Dr. Stuart, a large impressive man, +with a professional irascibility glared at the Queens from his post at +French's bedside.</p> + +<p>"Five minutes—no longer," he snapped. "Mr. French is hardly in a +conversational condition!"</p> + +<p>The Inspector clucked placatingly, and stared at the sick man. French +lay lumpily in his great bed, nervous eyes darting from one to another +of his inquisitors. One flabby white hand plucked at the silk coverlet. +His face was entirely drained of color, pasty, shockingly unwholesome +in appearance. His grey hair straggled over a furrowed forehead.</p> + +<p>The Inspector stepped nearer to the bed. He bent forward and said in a +low voice, "This is Inspector Queen of the police, Mr. French. Can you +hear me? Do you think you are strong enough to answer a few perfunctory +questions about Mrs. French's—accident?"</p> + +<p>The quicksilver eyes ceased rolling and concentrated on the gentle grey +face of the Inspector. They blinked suddenly with intelligence.</p> + +<p>"Yes ... yes ..." French whispered, moistening his thin pale lips +with a bright tongue. "Anything ... to clear up this ... ghastly +business...."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Mr. French." The Inspector leaned closer. "Is there any +explanation in your mind that might account for the death of Mrs. +French?"</p> + +<p>The liquid eyes blinked, closed. When they opened, there was an +expression of utter bewilderment within their reddish depths.</p> + +<p>"No ... none," French breathed painfully. "None ... whatsoever.... +She—she had ... so many friends ... no enemies.... I—it is ... +unbelievable that any one ... should be so ... fiendish as to ... +murder her."</p> + +<p>"I see." The Inspector tugged at his mustache with nimble fingers. +"Then you know of no one who might have had a <i>motive</i> for killing her, +Mr. French?"</p> + +<p>"No...." The hoarse feeble voice gathered strength suddenly. "The +shame—the notoriety.... It will be the death of me.... With all my ... +unsparing efforts to put an end to vice ... that this should happen to +me!... Hideous, hideous!"</p> + +<p>His voice grew more and more violent. The Inspector motioned in alarm +to Dr. Stuart, who leaned quickly over the sick man and felt his pulse. +Then, in an extraordinarily gentle voice, the physician soothed his +patient until the throaty rumblings faded off and the hand on the +coverlet unflexed and lay still.</p> + +<p>"Have you much more?" asked the doctor in a gruff undertone. "You must +be quick, Inspector!"</p> + +<p>"Mr. French," said Queen quietly, "is your personal key to the store +apartment always in your possession?"</p> + +<p>The eyes rolled sleepily. "Eh? Key? Yes ... yes, always."</p> + +<p>"It has certainly not left your person in the past fortnight or so?"</p> + +<p>"No ... positively not...."</p> + +<p>"Where is it, Mr. French?" continued the Inspector in an urgent soft +voice. "Surely you will not mind letting us have it for a few days, +will you, sir? In the interests of justice, of course.... Where? Oh, +yes! Dr. Stuart, Mr. French asks that you get the key from the key-ring +in his trousers' hip-pocket. In the wardrobe, sir, the wardrobe!"</p> + +<p>In silence the burly physician went to a wardrobe, rummaged about in +the first pair of trousers that met his eye, and returned in a moment +with a leather key-case. The Inspector examined the gold-disked key +marked <i>C.F.</i>, unhooked it, and returned the case to the doctor, who +promptly replaced it in the trousers. French lay quietly, eyes veiled +by puffy lids.</p> + +<p>The Inspector handed Cyrus French's key to Ellery, who deposited it +with the other keys in his pocket. Then Ellery stepped forward and +leaned over the sick man.</p> + +<p>"Easy, Mr. French," he murmured in a soothing tone. "We have just two +or three more questions, and then you will be left to your much-needed +privacy.... Mr. French, do you recall what books are on your desk in +the library of your apartment?"</p> + +<p>The old man's eyes flew open. Dr. Stuart growled angrily beneath his +breath something about "arrant nonsense ... silly sleuthing." Ellery's +body remained in its deferential attitude, his head close to French's +slack mouth.</p> + +<p>"Books?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Mr. French. The books on your apartment desk. Do you recall their +titles?" he urged gently.</p> + +<p>"Books." French screwed his mouth up in a desperate effort to +concentrate. "Yes, yes.... Of course. My favorites ... Jack London's +<i>Adventure</i> ... <i>The Return of Sherlock Holmes</i>, by Doyle ... +McCutcheon's <i>Graustark</i> ... <i>Cardigan</i>, by Robert W. Chambers, and ... +let me think ... there was one other ... yes! <i>Soldiers of Fortune</i>, by +Richard Harding Davis.... That's it—Davis.... Knew Davis.... Wild, but +a ... a great fellow...."</p> + +<p>Ellery and the Inspector exchanged glances. The Inspector's face grew +crimson with suppressed emotion. He muttered, "What the deuce!"</p> + +<p>"You're certain, Mr. French?" persisted Ellery, leaning over the bed +once more.</p> + +<p>"Yes ... yes. My books ... I should know ..." whispered the old man, +annoyance sounding weakly in his voice.</p> + +<p>"Of course! We were merely making sure.... Now, sir, have +you ever been interested in such subjects as, let us say, +paleontology—philately—medieval commerce—folk lore—elementary +music?"</p> + +<p>The tired eyes widened with puzzled amazement. The head wagged twice +from side to side.</p> + +<p>"No ... I can't say that I am.... My serious reading is restricted to +works on sociology ... my work for the Anti-Vice Society ... you know +my position...."</p> + +<p>"You are positive that your five books by Davis, Chambers, Doyle and +the others are on your apartment desk now, Mr. French?"</p> + +<p>"I—suppose so," mumbled French. "Been there ... for ages.... Ought to +be.... Never noticed anything wrong...."</p> + +<p>"Very well. That is quite excellent, sir. Thank you." Ellery glanced +swiftly at Dr. Stuart, who was exhibiting marked signs of impatience. +"One question, Mr. French, and we shall leave you. Has Mr. Lavery been +in your apartment recently?"</p> + +<p>"Lavery? Yes, of course. Every day. My guest."</p> + +<p>"Then that will be all." Ellery stepped back and made a hasty note +on the fly-leaf of his now overscribbled little volume. French's +eyes closed, and he shifted his body slightly, with an unmistakable +relaxation that signified complete fatigue.</p> + +<p>"Please leave quietly," grunted Dr. Stuart. "You've retarded his +recovery sufficiently for one day."</p> + +<p>He turned his back truculently upon them.</p> + +<p>The three men tiptoed from the room.</p> + +<p>But on the staircase leading to the main foyer, the Inspector muttered, +"Where in time do those books come in?"</p> + +<p>"Ask me not in mournful numbers," said Ellery ruefully. "I wish I knew."</p> + +<p>Thenceforth they descended in silence.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="23">23</h2> +</div> + +<h3>CONFIRMATION</h3> + + +<p>They found Marion and Weaver sitting glumly in the drawing-room, +hands clasped, and suspiciously silent. The Inspector coughed, Ellery +thoughtfully scrubbed away at his pince-nez, Velie screwed up his eyes +and blinked at a Renoir on the wall.</p> + +<p>The boy and the girl sprang to their feet.</p> + +<p>"How—how is daddy?" asked Marion hurriedly, one slim hand to a +crimson-dappled cheek.</p> + +<p>"Resting quietly now, Miss French," replied the Inspector in some +embarrassment. "Ah—a question or two, young lady, and then we will be +on our way.... Ellery!"</p> + +<p>Ellery came directly to the point.</p> + +<p>"Your key to your father's apartment, Miss French—" he demanded—"is +it always in your possession?"</p> + +<p>"Why, certainly, Mr. Queen. You don't think—"</p> + +<p>"A categorical question, Miss French," said Ellery blandly. "Your key +has not left your possession in, let us say, four weeks?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly not, Mr. Queen. It's my own, and every one else who might +have occasion to go into the apartment has a key of his or her own, as +well."</p> + +<p>"Lucidly said. May I borrow yours temporarily?"</p> + +<p>Marion half-turned toward Weaver with hesitation written in her eyes. +Weaver pressed her arm reassuringly.</p> + +<p>"Do whatever Ellery asks, Marion," he said.</p> + +<p>Without a word Marion rang for a maid, and in a few moments turned over +to Ellery another key whose only distinguishing characteristic from the +keys already on his person was the neatly engraved <i>M.F.</i> on the bright +disc. Ellery stowed it away with the others and murmured his thanks, +retreating a step.</p> + +<p>The Inspector promptly stepped forward.</p> + +<p>"I must ask you what may prove an awkward question, Miss French," he +said.</p> + +<p>"I—we seem to be completely in your hands, Inspector Queen," said the +girl, smiling faintly.</p> + +<p>The Inspector stroked his mustache. "Just what has been the +relationship between yourself, let us say, and your stepmother and +stepsister? Amicable? Strained? Openly antagonistic?"</p> + +<p>Marion did not answer at once. Weaver shuffled his feet and turned +away. Then the girl's magnificent eyes met the old man's honestly.</p> + +<p>"I think 'strained' expresses it exactly," she said in her clear +sweet voice. "There has never been much love lost on any side of the +triangle. Winifred has always preferred Bernice above me—which is of +course natural—and as for Bernice, we didn't agree from the beginning. +And as time went on, and—and things began to happen, the rift simply +widened...."</p> + +<p>"'Things'?" prompted the Inspector suggestively.</p> + +<p>Marion bit her lip, flushed. "Well—just little things, you know," she +said evasively. She hurried on. "All of us tried very hard to conceal +our dislike for each other—for dad's sake. I'm afraid we weren't +always successful. Dad is keener than people think."</p> + +<p>"I see." The Inspector tchk-ed with concern. He straightened with +a peculiarly swift movement of his body. "Miss French, do you know +anything that might give us a hint to the murderer of your stepmother?"</p> + +<p>Weaver gasped, whitened. He seemed about to voice a bitter protest. But +Ellery laid a restraining hand on his arm. The girl grew still, but she +did not flinch. She passed her fingers wearily across her forehead.</p> + +<p>"I—no." It was a bare whisper.</p> + +<p>The Inspector made a deprecating little gesture.</p> + +<p>"Oh, please don't ask me anything more about—about <i>her</i>," she cried +suddenly in an agonized voice. "I can't go on this way, talking about +her, trying to tell the truth, because ..." she spoke more quietly, +"... because it would be in the poorest taste to calumniate that +poor—dead—thing." She shuddered. Weaver boldly put his arm about her +shoulders. She turned to him with a little sigh of relief and buried +her face against his breast.</p> + +<p>"Miss French." Ellery's tone was gentleness itself. "You can help us on +one point.... Your stepsister—what brand of cigaret does she smoke?"</p> + +<p>Marion's astonishment at the seemingly irrelevant question brought her +head up with a start.</p> + +<p>"Why—<i>La Duchesse</i>."</p> + +<p>"Exactly. And she smoked <i>La Duchesse</i> exclusively?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. At least, for as long as I know her."</p> + +<p>"Has she"—Ellery was casual—"has she any peculiarity in her method of +smoking, Miss French? Any perhaps slightly unusual habit?"</p> + +<p>The pretty brows drew closer together in a little frown. "If you mean +by habit"—she hesitated—"a distinct nervousness—yes."</p> + +<p>"Does this nervousness manifest itself in a noticeable way?"</p> + +<p>"She smokes incessantly, Mr. Queen. And she never takes more than five +or six puffs at a cigaret. She doesn't seem by nature able to smoke +calmly. A few puffs, and she grinds out the long stump of tobacco still +remaining almost with—viciousness. The cigarets she leaves are always +bent and twisted out of shape."</p> + +<p>"Thank you so much." Ellery's firm lips lifted in a smile of +satisfaction.</p> + +<p>"Miss French—" the Inspector took up the attack—"you left this house +last night after dinner. You did not return until midnight. <i>Where were +you during those four hours?</i>"</p> + +<p>Silence. A frightened silence so suddenly fraught with hidden +complications of emotion that it seemed almost of physical substance. +It was a tableau created for a single moment's duration: the slight +Inspector, alert, controlled, leaning forward; the straight body of +Ellery, muscles completely inanimate; the vague bulk of Velie, drawn +and powerful; a petrified agony on Weaver's mobile features—and the +utter misery of Marion French's slender, stricken figure.</p> + +<p>It passed in the drawing of a breath. Marion sighed, and the four men +relaxed stealthily.</p> + +<p>"I was ... walking in ... the Park," she said.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" The Inspector smiled, bowed, smoothed his mustache. "Then there +is nothing more to be said, Miss French. Good afternoon."</p> + +<p>It was simply said, and the Inspector, Ellery and Velie passed from the +room, into the reception hall, out of the house without another word +spoken.</p> + +<p>But it left Marion and Weaver in a dejection and apprehension so +profound that they stood in their places, exactly as they had been, +eyes turned away from each other, long after the outer door had snicked +cleanly shut.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="24">24</h2> +</div> + +<h3>THE QUEENS TAKE STOCK</h3> + + +<p>Dusk was descending on the city when Velie took leave of the Queens +outside the French mansion to manipulate the official machinery already +operating on the shadowy trail of the vanished Bernice Carmody.</p> + +<p>After Velie had gone, the Inspector looked at the quiet River, looked +at the darkening sky, looked at his son, who was energetically +polishing his pince-nez and staring down at the pavement.</p> + +<p>The Inspector sighed. "The air will do both of us a lot of good," he +said tiredly. "I need something to clear my addled brain, anyway.... +Ellery, let's walk home."</p> + +<p>Ellery nodded, and side by side they sauntered down the Drive toward +the corner. At the corner they turned east and settled down to a slow, +thoughtful pace. They walked another block before the silence was +broken.</p> + +<p>"This is really the first chance," remarked Ellery at last, grasping +his father's arm encouragingly at the elbow, "that I've had to mull +over the multitude of factors that have arisen so far. Significant +factors. Telling factors, dad! There are so many they give me <i>mal à la +tête</i>."</p> + +<p>"Really?" The Inspector was depressed, morose. His shoulders sagged.</p> + +<p>Ellery regarded him keenly. He tightened his grip on the old man's arm. +"Come, dad! Buck up. I know you're at sea, but it's because of the +trouble and worry you've had on your mind recently. My brain has been +more than usually free from occupation lately. It's been clear enough +to grasp the amazing fundamentals this case has spewed up to-day. Let +me think aloud."</p> + +<p>"Go ahead, son."</p> + +<p>"One of the two most valuable clues this affair has given us is the +fact that the corpse was found in the Fifth Avenue exhibition-window."</p> + +<p>The Inspector snorted. "I suppose you'll tell me now that you already +know who did the job."</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>The Inspector was so taken aback that he stopped in his tracks and +stared at Ellery with an expression of complete dismay and unbelief.</p> + +<p>"Ellery! You're joking. How <i>could</i> you?" he finally managed to +splutter.</p> + +<p>Ellery smiled gravely. "Don't misunderstand me. I say I know who +murdered Mrs. French. I should qualify that by saying that certain +indications point with incredible consistency at one individual. I have +no proof. I don't grasp one-tenth of the implications. I am entirely +ignorant of the motive, the undoubtedly sordid story behind the +crime.... Consequently, I shall not tell you whom I have in mind."</p> + +<p>"You wouldn't," growled the Inspector, as they walked on.</p> + +<p>"Now, dad!" Ellery laughed a little. He tightened his hold on the small +package of books from French's library table, which he had carried +stubbornly from the moment they had left the department store. "I have +a good reason. In the first place, it's quite conceivable that I'm +being misled by a series of coincidences. In that case, I should merely +be making an ass of myself if I accused some one and then had to eat +crow.... When I have <i>proof</i>—you'll know, dad, the very first one.... +There are so many unexplained, seemingly inexplicable things. These +books, for example.... Well!"</p> + +<p>He said no more for a few moments as they strode through the streets.</p> + +<p>"I began," he said at last, "with the suspicious fact that Mrs. +French's body was found in the exhibition-window. And it <i>was</i> +suspicious, to say the least. For all the reasons that we went +over before—the lack of blood, the missing key, the lipstick +and the half-painted lips, the lack of illumination, the general +preposterousness of the window as the scene of the crime.</p> + +<p>"It was quite plain that Mrs. French had not been murdered in that +window. Where had she been murdered, then? The watchman's report +that she had signified the apartment as her destination; the missing +apartment key <i>which she had</i> when O'Flaherty saw her go toward the +elevator—these suggested that the apartment should be examined at +once. Which I immediately proceeded to do."</p> + +<p>"Go on—I know all that," said Queen grumpily.</p> + +<p>"Patience, Diogenes!" chuckled Ellery. "The apartment told the story +quite graphically. Mrs. French's presence seemed indubitable. The +cards, the book-ends and the story they told...."</p> + +<p>"I don't know what story they told," grunted the Inspector. "You mean +that powder?"</p> + +<p>"Not in this instance. Very well, let's forget the book-ends for +the moment and go to—the lipstick which I found on the bedroom +dressing-table. That belonged to Mrs. French. Its color matched the +color on her half-painted lips. Women don't stop fixing their lips +unless something of a tremendously serious nature intervenes. The +murder? Possibly. Certainly the events leading to the murder.... So, +for this reason and that, all of which you will know in greater detail +to-morrow, I hope, I came to the conclusion that Mrs. French had been +murdered in that apartment."</p> + +<p>"I shan't argue with you, because it's probably true, although your +reasons are ludicrous right now. But go ahead—get down to more +concrete things," said the Inspector.</p> + +<p>"You must grant me some premises," laughed Ellery. "I'll prove that +apartment business, never fear. At this time, grant me that the +apartment is the scene of the crime."</p> + +<p>"It's granted—for the time."</p> + +<p>"Very well. If the apartment was the scene of the crime, and the window +was not, then very simply the body was removed from the apartment to +the window and crammed into that wall-bed."</p> + +<p>"In that case, yes."</p> + +<p>"But why? I asked myself. <i>Why</i> was the body removed to the window? Why +wasn't it left in the apartment?"</p> + +<p>"To make it appear that the apartment wasn't the scene of the murder? +But that doesn't make sense, because—"</p> + +<p>"Yes, because no pains were taken to remove traces of Mrs. French's +presence, like the game of banque, the lipstick—although I'm inclined +to think that leaving the lipstick was an oversight. It is evident, +then, that the reason the body was removed was <i>not</i> to make it appear +that the apartment was not the scene of the crime, <i>but to delay the +discovery of the body</i>."</p> + +<p>"I see what you mean," muttered the Inspector.</p> + +<p>"The time-element, of course," said Ellery. "The murderer must have +known that at 12 o'clock sharp, every day, that window was exhibited, +<i>and that the window was locked and unused before 12 o'clock</i>. I was +looking for a reason to explain the removal of the body. The fact that +it would not be discovered until after the noon hour gave the answer in +a flash. For some reason the murderer wanted to delay the discovery of +the crime."</p> + +<p>"I can't see why...."</p> + +<p>"Not definitely, of course, but we can make a generalization that will +serve the immediate purpose. If the murderer arranged it so that the +body would not be found before noon, it meant that he had something +to do during the morning which the discovery of the body <i>would have +prevented him from doing</i>. Is that clear?"</p> + +<p>"It follows," conceded the Inspector.</p> + +<p>"<i>Allons—continuer!</i>" said Ellery. "At first glance, that business +about having to do something which the discovery of the crime would +make impossible of accomplishment, is something of a poser. However, +we know certain facts. For example, no matter how the murderer entered +the store, <i>he must have stayed all night</i>. There were two ways of +getting in unnoticed but no way of getting out unnoticed after the +murder. He could have remained hidden somewhere in the store until +after closing-hours, and then stolen up to the apartment; or he +could have slipped through that open freight-door on 39th Street. He +certainly couldn't get out through the Employees' Entrance, because +O'Flaherty was there all night, in a perfect position to see somebody +leave that way. And O'Flaherty saw no one. He couldn't have got out +through the freight-door, because that door was locked for the night at +eleven-thirty, and Mrs. French didn't arrive until eleven-forty-five. +If he had slipped out via the freight-door, he couldn't have committed +the murder. Obviously! The freight-door was closed to him at least a +half-hour before the woman was killed at all. So—he must have had to +remain in the store all night.</p> + +<p>"Now, that being the case, he could not escape until at least nine +o'clock the next morning, when the doors were opened to the public and +any one could walk out as if he were an early customer."</p> + +<p>"Well then, why all that rigmarole about stowing the body in the window +in order to prevent its discovery before noon? What for?" demanded the +Inspector. "If he could get out at nine o'clock and he had something +to do, why couldn't he have done it then? In that case he wouldn't +care when the body was found, because he could do what was necessary +immediately after nine."</p> + +<p>"Precisely." Ellery's voice sharpened with a certain zest. "<i>If he were +free to walk out at nine and stay out</i>, he would have no reason for +delaying the discovery of the body."</p> + +<p>"But, Ellery," objected the Inspector, "he <i>did</i> delay the discovery of +the body! Unless—" A light dawned on his face.</p> + +<p>"That's it exactly," Ellery said soberly. "If our murderer was in +some way connected with the store, his absence would be noted or at +least would be in danger of notice after a murder was discovered. By +secreting the body in a place where he knew it would not be found until +noon, he had all morning to watch for an opportunity to slip away and +do what he had to do....</p> + +<p>"Of course, there's something else. It's an open question whether +the murderer planned in advance to secrete the body in the window +after killing Mrs. French in the apartment. I rather think the switch +of locale was not planned on much before the crime. For this reason. +Ordinarily the apartment is not entered until about ten o'clock in the +morning. Weaver has his own office, and French doesn't get down until +that hour. So that the murderer must have figured, in his original +plan, on committing the crime in the apartment and leaving the body +there. He would have ample time to get out of the building after nine +and return before ten, let us say. So long as the body was found +<i>after</i> he attended to his nefarious morning business, he was safe.</p> + +<p>"But when he entered that apartment, or perhaps after he committed the +crime, he saw something which made it absolutely essential for him to +remove the body to the window." Ellery paused. "On the desk was a blue +official memorandum. It was there all afternoon on Monday, and Weaver +swears he left it there on the desk when he quit Monday evening. And it +was in exactly the same position on Tuesday morning. So it was there +for the murderer to see. And it said that Weaver would be there at nine +o'clock! It was an innocent little memo calling a board meeting, but it +must have put the murderer into something of a panic. If somebody was +coming to the apartment at nine, he wouldn't have a chance to do what +evidently was of desperate necessity, although we still don't know what +it is. Therefore the removal of the body to the window and the rest of +it. Follow?"</p> + +<p>"Seems holeproof," grunted the Inspector, but there was a light of +absorbing interest in his eye.</p> + +<p>"There's one vital thing to be done almost immediately," added Ellery +thoughtfully. "Unquestionably whoever committed the crime did not hide +in the store yesterday afternoon and wait for closing hour. I'll tell +you why. The complete time-sheet is a check-up on everybody connected +with this investigation. The time-sheet gives the checking-out time +of everybody. <i>All</i> the people we're interested in are reported as +having left the building at five-thirty or before, with the exception +of Weaver and this man Springer, the head of the book department. And +since they were definitely seen leaving, they couldn't obviously have +<i>stayed</i> for the crime. You remember the names? Although people like +Zorn, Marchbanks, Lavery and the rest do not check out, their name and +time are noted when they leave the building, as was the case yesterday. +Since everybody did leave, then the murderer must have got into the +building by the only way left—the freight-door on 39th Street. It +would be the more logical thing for the murderer to do anyway, because +he could establish an alibi for the evening, and still have time to +get into the store through that freight-entrance between eleven and +eleven-thirty."</p> + +<p>"We'll have to double-check everybody's movements last night," said the +Inspector dolefully. "More work."</p> + +<p>"And probably unproductive. But I agree that it's necessary. We should +do that as soon as possible."</p> + +<p>"Now." Ellery's lips twisted into a rueful smile. "There are so many +ramifications to this case," he said apologetically, interrupting his +line of thought. "For example—why did Winifred come to the store +at all? There's a question for you! And was she lying when she told +O'Flaherty that she was going to the apartment upstairs? Of course, the +watchman did see her take the elevator, and it is a fair assumption +that she went to the sixth floor rooms, especially since we have +definite evidence of her presence there. Besides, where else could she +go? The window? Preposterous! No, I think we may assume that she went +directly to the private apartment."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps Marion French's scarf was already in the window and for +some obscure reason Mrs. French wished to retrieve it," suggested the +Inspector, grinning wryly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, you <i>don't</i> think," retorted Ellery. "That business of Marion's +scarf has a perfectly simple explanation, I'm positive, whatever +else may be mysterious about the girl.... But here's a point. Did +Winifred French have an appointment with a particular person, in +the store, in the apartment? Granted the whole affair is cloaked in +mystery—a clandestine meeting in a deserted department store and all +that—yet the hypothesis that the murdered woman came for a definite +purpose to meet a definite person seems too inevitable to discard. In +that case, then, did she know about the strange manner in which her +fellow-conspirator, and as it turned out her murderer, entered the +store? Or did she expect him to walk in as she did, through the regular +night-entrance? Evidently not, because she made no mention of another +person to O'Flaherty, which she might have done had she nothing to +conceal, but gave him the distinct impression that she had dropped in +for something. Then she <i>was</i> involved in some shady business, <i>did</i> +know that her companion would take mysterious precautions against +discovery—openly and submissively.</p> + +<p>"Was that companion Bernice or Marion? We have reason to believe, from +the mere look of things, that it might have been Bernice. The banque +game, Bernice's cigarets, Bernice's hat and shoes—very significant and +alarming, those last two items. On the other hand, let us examine some +sidelights on the question of Bernice.</p> + +<p>"We are fairly agreed that the murderer of Mrs. French took away Mrs. +French's apartment key. This might point to Bernice on first thought, +because we know she did not have her own key that afternoon—in fact, +she couldn't have had her own key, since we actually found it in her +closet at home to-day. Yes, it appears that if Bernice had been in +that store last night, she would have taken her mother's key away. <i>But +was she in the store?</i></p> + +<p>"The time has come, I do believe," said Ellery quizzically, "to lay +that particular ghost. Bernice was <i>not</i> in the French department store +last night. Perhaps I had better say at this point that Bernice is not +a matricide. In the first place, despite the presence of the game of +banque, which is known by many people to be a passion of both women, +the presence of the cigarets betrays the frame-up. Bernice, who is a +drug addict, has been indicated beyond a doubt as <i>always</i> smoking only +one-quarter of the length of her <i>La Duchesse</i> cigarets, and crushing +out the long stub. Yet the stubs we found were <i>without exception</i> +smoked carefully down almost to the tip. This is so unnatural as to +be conclusive. One or two cigarets might conceivably be found so +consumed; but to find a dozen! It's no go, dad. Bernice did not smoke +those cigarets we found on the card-table. And, of course, if she did +not, then some once else prepared them with the obvious intention of +throwing suspicion on the missing girl. Then there's the matter of the +'phone call to Hortense Underhill, presumably from Bernice. Fishy, +dad—exceedingly piscine! No, Bernice didn't forget about her key so +foolishly. <i>Somebody wanted her key badly enough to risk a call and a +messenger.</i>"</p> + +<p>"The shoes—the hat," murmured the Inspector suddenly, looking up at +Ellery in a startled way.</p> + +<p>"Exactly," said Ellery somberly, "very significant and alarming, as I +said before. If Bernice was framed, and we find on the scene of the +crime the shoes and hat she wore the day of the murder—then it simply +means that Bernice has met with violence herself! She must be a victim, +dad. Whether she is already dead or not I don't know. It depends +on the masked story behind the crime. But certainly this deduction +links the disappearance of Bernice and the murder of her mother very +closely. Now why should the girl be done away with also? Perhaps, +dad, if she were left at large, she might be a dangerous source of +information—dangerous as far as the criminal is concerned."</p> + +<p>"Ellery!" exclaimed the Inspector. He was trembling with excitement. +"Mrs. French's murder—Bernice's kidnapping—<i>and she was a drug +fiend</i>...."</p> + +<p>"I'm not particularly surprised, dad," said Ellery warmly. "You have +always been quick on the scent.... Yes, it looks that way to me, +too. Remember that Bernice walked out of her stepfather's house not +only willingly, but eagerly. Is it too much to suppose that she was +going—<i>to replenish a waning supply of drugs?</i></p> + +<p>"If that is so, and it seems a good sound possibility, then this +whole case is shrouded and complicated by the manipulations—of drug +distributors. I'm very much afraid we've fallen into just such a +prosaic business as that."</p> + +<p>"Prosaic your left eyebrow!" cried Inspector Queen. "Ellery, it gets +clearer and clearer. And with all this rumpus about the increase in +drug distribution—if we should uncover the ring that's been operating +so hugely—if we should actually <i>nab</i> the ringleaders—Ellery, it will +be a remarkable achievement! How I'd like to see Fiorelli's face, when +I tell him what's behind this!"</p> + +<p>"Well, don't be over-sanguine, dad," said Ellery pessimistically. "It +may be a <i>tour de force</i>. At any rate it's sheer conjecture at this +stage of the game, and we shouldn't be too uplifted by hope.</p> + +<p>"We have another angle that helps us localize the geography of the +crime even more precisely."</p> + +<p>"The book-ends?" Inspector Queen's voice was uncertain.</p> + +<p>"Of course. This too is based on pure reasoning, but I'll wager any +one anything that in the end we find it's true. Conclusions that +fit a series of circumstances so snugly have an overwhelmingly high +percentage of probability in their favor....</p> + +<p>"Westley Weaver avers positively that the onyx book-ends have neither +been repaired nor removed from the apartment library since they were +presented to French by John Gray. In examining the book-ends we find a +noticeable difference in the color of the green felt, or baize, pasted +on the bases, the under surfaces. Weaver offers the suggestion that +something is wrong. Why? Because this is the first time he has noticed +the differing shades of green. He has seen those book-ends for months. +He is certain that when the book-ends were new the felts were alike in +color, that they must have been alike all along.</p> + +<p>"As a matter of fact, while there is no evidential method whereby +we may tell when exactly that lighter felt appeared, there is one +corroboration." Ellery stared thoughtfully at the pavement. "The +book-end with the lighter felt was newly glued. That I would take my +oath on. The glue, while powerful in action and already quite hard, +retained a viscidity and suspicious stickiness that told the story at +once. And the powder grains stuck in the glue-line—no, the evidence is +there. The book-ends were handled last night by the criminal. We might +suspect Mrs. French, perhaps, if not for the fact that the fingerprint +powder was used. That's the work of your 'super-criminal,' dad, not of +an elderly society lady." He smiled.</p> + +<p>"Let's try to link book-ends and crime more closely." He squinted ahead +in a little tempest of silence. The old man trudged by his side, eyes +on the changing street vista. "We enter the scene of the crime. We +find many things of a peculiar nature there. The cards, the lipsticks, +the cigarets, the shoes, the hat, the book-ends—all out of tune with +normality. We have linked every element except the book-ends directly +with the crime. Why, in the face of the possibilities—why not the +book-ends too? I can furnish excellent hypotheses commensurate with +known facts. The fingerprint powder grains, for one thing. Accessories +of crime. And a crime was committed. We find the grains stuck in a +newly glued felt, which is also suspiciously different in shade from +its fellow. Certainly it is against all reason to say that the felts +might have been differently colored from the beginning. Not with such +an expensive and unique pair of book-ends. And the difference was +never noticed before.... No, the human probabilities all point to the +conclusion that last night some one removed the original felt from the +first book-end, pasted on a new piece of felt, sprinkled fingerprint +powder to bring out any prints that might be on the book-end, removed +the fingerprints, and inadvertently left some minute grains in the +fresh glue-line of the piece."</p> + +<p>"You've proved it to my satisfaction," said the Inspector. "Go on."</p> + +<p>"<i>Alors!</i> I examine the book-ends. They are of solid onyx. Furthermore, +the only change in their composition is the removal of the original +felt from one of them. I conclude therefore that the book-end was <i>not</i> +repaired in order to hide something inside or because something was +extracted from its interior. There is no interior. Everything is on the +surface.</p> + +<p>"With this in mind, I ask myself: What other reason could have caused +the repair of the onyx piece, if it was not to hide traces of a +secretion or a removal? Well, there's the crime itself. Can we tie the +crime and the fixing of the book-ends into one knot?</p> + +<p>"Yes, we can! Why should a felt be removed and another substituted? +<i>Because something happened to that felt which, if the felt were left +as it was, would have betrayed traces of a crime.</i> Remember that the +murderer's most pressing need was to keep knowledge of the murder +from every one until he had delivered the all-important message during +the morning. And he knew that that library would be tenanted at nine +o'clock in the morning, that if anything were wrong with the book-end +it would be noticed in all probability."</p> + +<p>"Blood!" exclaimed the Inspector.</p> + +<p>"You've hit on it," replied Ellery. "It could scarcely be anything +else but blood-stains. It would have to be something of a directly +suspicious nature, or the murderer would not have taken all the trouble +he did. The cards, the other things—these in themselves would never +suggest a murder before the body was found or foul play even suspected. +But blood! That's the water-mark of violence.</p> + +<p>"So I reasoned that in some way blood soaked the felt, and the murderer +was compelled to change the felt and dispose of the tell-tale bloody +one."</p> + +<p>They walked on in silence for a long time. The Inspector was buried in +thought. Then Ellery spoke once more.</p> + +<p>"You see," he said, "I was progressing with commendable rapidity in the +reconstruction of the physical elements of the crime. And, when I had +reached the conclusion about the blood-soaked felt, immediately another +isolated fact leaped into my mind.... You remember Prouty's suspicions +in connection with the lack of blood on the corpse? And our instant +deduction that the murder must have been committed somewhere else? Here +was the missing link."</p> + +<p>"Good, good," murmured the Inspector, reaching excitedly for his +snuff-box.</p> + +<p>"The book-ends," went on Ellery rapidly, "were obviously of no +importance in the crime <i>until</i> they became blood-soaked. After +that, of course, the whole chain of incident was a logical +outgrowth—changing the felt, handling the book-ends, and then +applying the powder to efface prints made necessary by the handling....</p> + +<p>"Then, I reasoned, the staining of the book-end was an accident. It was +standing innocently on the glass-topped desk. How could the blood have +got on it? There are two possibilities. The first is that the book-end +was used as a weapon. But this is indefensible, because the wounds were +the result of revolver-shots, and there are no signs of a <i>striking</i> +blow with such a bludgeon as the book-end might have made. Then the +only remaining possibility is that the blood got on it inadvertently. +How might this have occurred?</p> + +<p>"Easily. The book-end is on the glass-topped desk. The only way blood +could get on the bottom of the book-end, where the blood would show +ineffaceably, would be by its <i>trickling across the glass</i> and soaking +into the material. But you see what this gives us."</p> + +<p>"Mrs. French was sitting at the desk when she was shot," announced the +old man gloomily. "She was shot below the heart. She fell into the +chair and got another in the heart itself. The blood from the first +wound gushed out before she fell. The blood from the second wound +trickled out as she lay across the table—and soaked into the felt."</p> + +<p>"And that," said Ellery, smiling, "is a perfect recitation. Remember +that Prouty is sure that the <i>precordial</i> type of wound particularly +would bleed profusely. That's probably what happened.... Now we can +further reconstruct the crime. If Mrs. French sat at the desk and was +shot in the heart, then her murderer was in front of her and shot +across the desk. It must have been at a distance of several feet, +because there are no powder marks on the woman's clothes. We can +perhaps compute the approximate height of the murderer by determining +the angle at which the bullets entered the body. But I have little +faith in this, because there is no exact way of judging just how far +the bullets traveled, or in other words how far from Mrs. French the +murderer stood when he fired. And an error of inches would throw off +all our calculations as to his height, considerably. You might get your +firearms expert, Kenneth Knowles, on the job, but I don't think much +will come of it."</p> + +<p>"Neither do I," sighed the Inspector. "Nevertheless, it's comforting +to be able to place the crime so precisely. It all hangs together, +Ellery—a nice bit of reasoning. I'll get Knowles to work immediately. +Is there anything else, son?"</p> + +<p>Ellery said nothing for an appreciable moment. They turned into West +87th Street. Half-way up the block stood the brownstone old house in +which they lived. They quickened their steps.</p> + +<p>"There's a heap more, dad, that I haven't gone into, because of this +and that," Ellery said absently. "The signs were all there, for the +world to see. They needed intelligent assembly, however. You're +probably the only one on the scene who has the mental potentiality for +piecing them together. The others.... And you're exceptionally dulled +by care." He smiled as they reached the brownstone steps of their +dwelling.</p> + +<p>"Dad," he said, one foot on the lowest step, "on one phase of this +investigation I am entirely at sea. And that—" he tapped the package +under his arm, "is the five books I plucked from old French's desk. +It seems silly to suppose that they can have anything to do with the +murder, and yet—I have the queerest feeling that they can explain so +much if we worm out their secret."</p> + +<p>"You've gone slightly daffy with concentration," growled the Inspector, +laboriously ascending the stairs.</p> + +<p>"Nevertheless," remarked Ellery, inserting a key into the lock of the +big carved old-fashioned door, "this night is dedicated to a sedulous +analysis of the books."</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_FOURTH_EPISODE">THE FOURTH EPISODE</h2> +</div> + + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>"<i>Oriental police set far smaller store by the criminal alibi than do +Occidentals.... We know only too well what warped cunning is capable +of ... and prefer to probe emotions and instincts rather than crack +down highly glazed stories. This is undoubtedly explained by the +difference in psychology of the two racial strains.... The Oriental +is notoriously more suspicious than the Occidental, dealing with +fundamentals rather than superficials.... Where the Western world +is inclined to shout a lusty</i> BANZAI! <i>in acclamation of +its more successful rogues, we cut off their ears, or put them in +stocks for milder crimes, or behead them for major ones—but always +pointing out by example (with true Japanese subtlety, perhaps?) the +over-whelming ignominy of the punishment....</i>"</p> + +<p class="ph3">—From the Preface to the English edition of <span class="smcap">A Thousand +Leaves</span>,<br> <i>By</i> Tamaka Hiero.</p> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="25">25</h2> +</div> + +<h3>ELLERIUS BIBLIOPHILUS</h3> + + +<p>The hearth of the Queen domicile was housed in one of the West 87th +Street's lingering brownstones. That the Queens chose to live among the +unvarnished woods of a generation dead and gone was a commentary upon +the powerful influence of son upon father. For Ellery, whose collection +of well-used books, whose dilettante's knowledge of antiquities, whose +love for the best of the past, over-whelmed his natural leaning toward +the comforts of the modern age, stood firmly against the Inspector's +groaning indictment of "dustiness and mustiness."</p> + +<p>You might expect, therefore, that the Queens lived on the top floor +of this sprawling old mansion, and that the door was of time-softened +oak (on which appeared their only concession to expediency—a placard +labeled "The Queens"), and that when you were admitted by gypsy-blooded +Djuna, an odor redolent of old leather and masculinity would assail the +nostrils.</p> + +<p>There was an anteroom hung with a vast tapestry (the gift of the Duke +of —— in return for the Inspector's services in a matter preserved +in silence). The anteroom was opulently Gothic, and it was Ellery's +will again which prevented the Inspector from consigning it, period +furniture and all, to the auction rooms.</p> + +<p>And there was the living-room and library. Dotted with books, massed +with books. Oak-ribbed ceiling—huge natural fireplace with a broad oak +mantel and curious old ironwork—the Nuremberg swords crossed martially +above—old lamps, brasswork, massive furniture. Chairs, divans, +footstools, leather cushions, ashstands—a veritable fairyland of easy +bachelordom.</p> + +<p>Off the living-room was the bedroom, a chaste and comfortable +rest-place.</p> + +<p>The whole was presided over by small, volatile Djuna, the orphan boy +adopted by Inspector Queen during his lonely years when Ellery was +attending the University. Djuna's world was limited to his beloved +patron and their common dwelling-place. Valet, cook, housekeeper and on +occasion confidant....</p> + +<p>At nine o'clock of the morning of Wednesday, the twenty-fifth of +May—the day after the discovery of Mrs. Winifred French's lifeless +body in the French establishment—Djuna was setting the table in the +living-room for a late breakfast. Ellery was conspicuous by his absence +from the room. The Inspector sat grumpily in his favorite armchair, +staring at Djuna's twinkling brown hands.</p> + +<p>The telephone bell rang. Djuna grasped the instrument.</p> + +<p>"For you, Dad Queen," he announced pompously. "It's the District +Attorney."</p> + +<p>The old man plodded across the room to the telephone.</p> + +<p>"Hello! Hello, Henry.... We-e-ell, a little progress. Something tells +me Ellery is on the scent. In fact, he told me so himself.... What?... +Yes, as far as I'm concerned it's a devil's brew. Can't make head +or tail of it.... Oh, go on with your blarney, Henry! I'm talking +straight.... The situation is briefly this."</p> + +<p>The Inspector spoke for a long time in a voice fluctuating between +despair and excitement. District Attorney Henry Sampson listened +carefully.</p> + +<p>"And that," concluded the Inspector, "is where it stands at this +moment. Something tells me Ellery is up to one of his familiar tricks. +He was up half the night poring over those infernal books.... Yes, +certainly, I'll keep you posted. May need you soon at that, Henry. +Ellery performs miracles at times, although I'd wager my next year's +pay that—Oh, go on back to your work, you ferret!"</p> + +<p>He hung up the receiver in time to greet a prodigiously yawning Ellery +who fumbled with his necktie and endeavored to keep the folds of his +dressing-gown together simultaneously.</p> + +<p>"So!" growled the Inspector, plumping into his chair. "What time did +you get to bed, young man?"</p> + +<p>Ellery finished the delicately dual operation and reached for a chair, +digging Djuna surreptitiously in the ribs.</p> + +<p>"No scolding now," he said, reaching for a piece of toast. "Have +breakfast yet? No? Waiting for the sluggard? Regale yourself with this +Olympian coffee—we can talk as we eat."</p> + +<p>"What time?" repeated the Inspector inexorably, sitting down at the +table.</p> + +<p>"To be temporal," said Ellery, his mouth full of coffee, "it was +three-twenty A.M."</p> + +<p>The old man's eyes softened. "Shouldn't do that," he mumbled, reaching +for the percolator. "It'll fag you."</p> + +<p>"Essential." Ellery drained his cup. "There are things to do, Sire.... +Have you heard anything this morning?"</p> + +<p>"Plenty that means nothing," said the Inspector. "I've been at that +'phone since seven.... Got a preliminary autopsy report from Sam +Prouty. Nothing to add to what he said yesterday except that there +are absolutely no signs of drug poisoning or addiction. The woman was +certainly not a 'dope.'"</p> + +<p>"Interesting, and not necessarily uninformative," smiled Ellery. "What +else?"</p> + +<p>"Knowles, the firearms man, was vague enough to make it unexciting. He +claims that he couldn't place the distance the bullets traveled before +they entered the body, exactly to the foot. The angles are easily +determined, but from his calculations the murderer might be anywhere +from five to six feet in height. Not very illuminating, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Hardly. We'll never convict anybody on that kind of evidence. But I +can scarcely blame Knowles. These things are rarely absolute. How about +the absentees from the store yesterday?"</p> + +<p>The Inspector scowled. "Had one of the boys checking up with MacKenzie +all yesterday evening. Just had MacKenzie on the wire. Everybody +accounted for, not a thing suspicious or unexplained. And as for this +Carmody girl, poor Thomas had his strings out all night. Combed the +neighborhood. Contacted the Missing Persons Bureau. I tipped him off on +the drug business, and the Narcotic Squad's been busy checking up on +known dives. Nothing doing. Not a trace of her."</p> + +<p>"Just dropped out of existence...." Ellery frowned, poured himself +another cup of coffee. "I'll confess the girl has me worried. As I said +yesterday, all signs point to her having been done away with. If not +done away with, then certainly held very securely in a remote hide-out. +If I were the murderer, I think I'd add her to my list of victims.... +There's just a bare chance that she may be alive, dad. Velie must +redouble his efforts."</p> + +<p>"Don't worry about Thomas," said the Inspector grimly. "If she's alive, +he'll find her in time. If she's dead—Well! He's doing all he can."</p> + +<p>The telephone bell rang again. The Inspector answered.</p> + +<p>"Yes, this is Inspector Queen talking...." His tone changed magically. +It dripped formality. "Good morning, Commissioner. What can I do for +you?... Well, sir, we're getting along very nicely. We've gathered +together a heap of threads, and it's not twenty-four hours since we +found the body.... Oh, no! Mr. French has been a bit upset about the +whole affair. We've gone quite easy on him—nothing to worry about +there, sir.... Yes, I know. We're making it as comfortable for him +as we can under the circumstances.... No, Commissioner. Lavery has an +absolutely unimpeachable reputation. A foreigner, of course.... What's +that? Absolutely no!... We have a perfectly natural explanation for +that scarf of Miss Marion French's, sir. Well, I'm relieved too, to +tell the truth, Commissioner.... Quick solution? Commissioner, it will +be quicker than that!... Yes, sir, I know.... Thank you, Commissioner. +I'll keep you posted."</p> + +<p>"And that," said the Inspector in a deadly voice, as he hung up the +receiver carefully and turned a livid face toward Ellery, "is a sample +of the blank-dangest, extra-soft-boiled, unmitigated blatherskite of a +mud-hen of a police commissioner that this or any city ever had!"</p> + +<p>Ellery laughed aloud. "You'll be frothing at the mouth if you don't +control yourself. Every time I hear you rave about Welles I'm reminded +of that sage Germanic dictum: 'Who fills an office must learn to bear +reproach and blame.'"</p> + +<p>"On the contrary, I'm getting soft words from Welles," said the +Inspector, in a calmer tone. "He's frightened out of his wits about +this French affair. French wields a lot of power for a harmless old +reformer, and Welles doesn't like the possibilities. Did you hear the +absolute nonsense I salved him with over the phone? Sometimes I think +I've lost my self-respect."</p> + +<p>But Ellery was suddenly plunged in thought. His eyes had spied the five +books from French's desk, which now lay on an end-table nearby. With an +indistinct murmur of sympathy, he rose and sauntered over to the table, +fingering the books affectionately. The old man's eyes narrowed.</p> + +<p>"Out with it!" he said. "You've discovered something in those books!" +He hopped out of his chair suspiciously.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I think I have," replied Ellery slowly. He picked up the five +books and carried them to the breakfast-table. "Sit down, dad. My work +last night wasn't entirely wasted."</p> + +<p>They sat down. The Inspector's eyes were bright and curious as he chose +one of the books at random and riffled its pages aimlessly. Ellery +watched him.</p> + +<p>"Suppose, dad," said Ellery, "you take up these five books and go +through them. Here's the situation. You have five volumes, the only +fact to go on being that they're queer books for a certain person to +possess. You're looking for a reason to explain why those five books +are where they are. Go to it."</p> + +<p>He lit a cigaret thoughtfully and leaned back in his chair, blowing +smoke at the paneled ceiling. The Inspector seized on the volumes and +attacked them singly. When he had finished with one, he took up the +next, and so on until he had examined all five. The wrinkles on his +forehead deepened. He looked up at Ellery out of very puzzled eyes.</p> + +<p>"Danged if I can see anything remarkable in these books, Ellery. There +doesn't seem to be a point of similarity among them."</p> + +<p>Ellery smiled, drew his body forward abruptly. He tapped the books +with a long forefinger for emphasis. "That's exactly why they <i>are</i> +remarkable," he said. "There doesn't seem to be a point of similarity. +And in fact, except for one little link, they <i>haven't</i> any points of +similarity."</p> + +<p>"You're talking Greek," said the Inspector. "Elucidate."</p> + +<p>For answer Ellery rose and disappeared into the bedroom. He reappeared +in a moment with a long slip of paper on which were copiously inscribed +in a weird series of scrawled characters a body of notes.</p> + +<p>"This," he announced, reseating himself at the table, "is the +result of last night's séance with the ghosts of five authors' +brain-children.... Lend ear, Father Queen.</p> + +<p>"The books, by title and author, are as follows—just to make the +analysis entirely clear: <i>New Developments in Philately</i>, by Hugo +Salisbury. <i>Fourteenth Century Trade and Commerce</i>, by Stani Wedjowski. +<i>A Child's History of Music</i>, by Ramon Freyberg. <i>An Outline of +Paleontology</i>, by John Morrison. And finally, <i>Nonsense Anthology</i>, by +A. I. Throckmorton.</p> + +<p>"Let's analyze these five books.</p> + +<p>"Number one. The titles have not the slightest connection with each +other. Because of this fact, we can discard any thought that the +<i>subject matter</i> of the books is relevant to our investigation.</p> + +<p>"Number two. The dissimilarity is further heightened by a number of +small points. For example, all the covers are of different colors. +True, there are two blues, but they are of distinct hues. The sizes are +different: three of the books are oversize, and all of these oversizes +have differing dimensions: one of the books is a pocket edition; the +last book is of average size. The bindings are different: three of +them are of cloth, but of different grain; one of them is a de luxe +leather binding; one of them is bound in linen. The inner format is +different. In two cases the paper is light India in shade; in the other +three white is used. Of the white different weights are apparent. The +type-style, on examination, although I know little enough about such +technical matters, is in each instance different. The number of pages +differs also—and their actual enumeration elicits no intelligible +message. They mean nothing.... Even in price they show dissimilarity. +The leather-covered is three-fifty, and the pocket edition is a dollar +and a half. The publishers are different. The dates of issue and number +of editions are different...."</p> + +<p>"But Ellery—of course—they're more or less obvious ..." objected the +Inspector. "Where does this lead you?"</p> + +<p>"In an analysis," returned Ellery, "nothing is too trivial to be +overlooked. They may mean nothing and they may mean a heap. In any +case, they are definite facts about these five books. And if they point +to nothing else, they certainly indicate that physically the books +differ in practically every respect.</p> + +<p>"Number three—and this is the first exciting development—the +right-hand top corner of the back inside leaf—let me repeat that: the +right-hand top corner of the back inside leaf—has the notation in hard +pencil of a date!"</p> + +<p>"A date?" The Inspector snatched one of the books from the table and +turned to the back inside leaf. There, in the upper right-hand corner, +was a tiny penciled date. He examined the other four books and they +exhibited in exactly the same places similar penciled dates.</p> + +<p>"If," continued Ellery calmly, "you arrange these dates arbitrarily in +their chronological order this is the result:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">4/13/19—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">4/21/19—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">4/29/19—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">5/7 /19—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">5/16/19—</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>"By consulting the calendar I discovered that these dates represent, +progressively as I have given them: Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, +Saturday, and Monday."</p> + +<p>"That's interesting," muttered the Inspector. "Why is Sunday omitted?"</p> + +<p>"A valuable little point," said Ellery. "In four cases we have +consecutive days of the week, one week apart. In one case a +day—Sunday—is skipped. That this is an oversight on the part of the +dater is not likely; that a book is missing is impossible, because the +number of days between the first four dates is eight, and the fifth +is increased only to nine. Plainly, then, Sunday was omitted for the +reason that Sunday is generally omitted—it is a non-working day. +What the work is I haven't at the moment an answer for. But we may +take the irregularity in the case of the Sunday omission as a logical +irregularity which you will find in any part of the business world."</p> + +<p>"Follows," commented the Inspector.</p> + +<p>"Very well. We now come to point number four. And this is of +considerable interest. Dad, take up the five books and read the titles +in the chronological order of their dates."</p> + +<p>The old man obeyed. "<i>Fourteenth Century Trade and Commerce</i>, by Stani +Wedjowski. The—"</p> + +<p>"One moment," interrupted Ellery. "What's the date on the back inside +leaf?"</p> + +<p>"April thirteenth."</p> + +<p>"What day is April thirteenth?"</p> + +<p>"Wednesday."</p> + +<p>Ellery's face lit up triumphantly. "Well?" he cried. "Don't you see the +connection?"</p> + +<p>The Inspector looked slightly nettled. "Darned if I do.... The second +one is <i>Nonsense Anthology</i>, by A. I. Throckmorton."</p> + +<p>"Date and day?"</p> + +<p>"Thursday, April twenty-first.... The next is <i>A Child's History of +Music</i>, by Ramon Freyberg—Friday, April twenty—By jinks, Ellery! +Friday, April twenty-ninth!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, go on," said Ellery approvingly.</p> + +<p>The Inspector concluded rapidly. "<i>New Developments in Philately</i>, by +Hugo Salisbury—and that's <i>Saturday</i>, May seventh.... And the last +one is <i>An Outline of Paleontology</i>, by John Morrison—<i>Monday</i>, of +course.... Ellery, this is really amazing! In every case the <i>day</i> +coincides with the first two letters of the author's last name!"</p> + +<p>"And that's one of the major results of my all-night session," +smiled Ellery. "Pretty, isn't it? <i>We</i>djowski—Wednesday. +<i>Th</i>rockmorton—Thursday. <i>Fr</i>eyberg—Friday. <i>Sa</i>lisbury—Saturday. +And <i>Mo</i>rrison—Monday, with Sunday obligingly omitted. Coincidence? +Hardly, hardly, dad!"</p> + +<p>"There's dirty work at the crossroads, all right, my son," said the +Inspector with a sudden grin. "This doesn't make any impression on +me as far as the murder is concerned, but it's mighty interesting +nevertheless. Code, by George!"</p> + +<p>"If the murder is worrying you," retorted Ellery, "harken to my point +number five.... We have five dates so far. April thirteenth, April +twenty-first, April twenty-ninth, May seventh, and May sixteenth. Let +us suppose, for the sake of blessed argument, that there is a sixth +book somewhere in limbo. Then, by all the laws of probability, that +sixth book, if it exists, should bear a date eight days from Monday the +sixteenth of May, which is—"</p> + +<p>The Inspector leaped to his feet. "Why, this is extraordinary, Ellery," +he cried. "Tuesday, May twenty-fourth—the day of...." His voice fell +flatly in a curious disappointment. "No, that's not the day of the +murder; it's the day <i>after</i> the murder."</p> + +<p>"Now, dad," laughed Ellery, "don't go moping so soon because of a +little thing like that. It <i>is</i> extraordinary, as you say. If a sixth +book is extant, then it bears the date of May twenty-fourth. If we can +do nothing else at this time, we can certainly suppose the existence of +that sixth book. The continuity is too compelling. Things don't merely +happen that way.... This problematical sixth book gives us our first +definite link between the books and the crime.... Dad, has it occurred +to you that our criminal had to <i>do</i> something on Tuesday morning, the +twenty-fourth of May?"</p> + +<p>The Inspector stared at him. "You think the book—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I think so many things," said Ellery ruefully, rising and +stretching his lean figure. "But it does seem to me that we have every +reason to believe in the existence of a sixth book. And there is only +one possible clue to that sixth book...."</p> + +<p>"It's author's name begins with <i>Tu</i>," said the Inspector quickly.</p> + +<p>"Exactly." Ellery gathered up the tell-tale volumes and stowed them +carefully away in a drawer of a large desk. He returned to the table +and looked thoughtfully down at his father's grey head with its tiny +pink bald spot.</p> + +<p>"All night," he said, "I have felt that one person alone can furnish +me—willingly—with the missing information.... Dad, there is a story +behind these codified books, and the story is undoubtedly tied up with +the crime. I am so positive of that that I'll bet you a dinner at +Pietro's."</p> + +<p>"I don't bet," growled the Inspector, twinkling, "at least with you, +you dunderhead. And who's this know-it-all?"</p> + +<p>"Westley Weaver," replied Ellery. "And he doesn't know it all. I +believe that he is withholding some information which to him is +meaningless, but which to us may mean a solution of the mystery. I +believe that if for any reason he is deliberately withholding this +information, that reason concerns Marion French. Poor Wes thinks +Marion is up to her knees in the muck of this thing. And perhaps he's +right—who knows? At any rate, if there's one person in this whole +investigation whom I trust implicitly it's Westley. He's a little dense +at times, but he's the real thing.... I do believe I'll have a little +chat with Westley. It may do us all good to have him down here for a +round-table discussion."</p> + +<p>He took up the telephone and gave the number of the French store. The +Inspector watched him dubiously as he waited.</p> + +<p>"Wes? This is Ellery Queen.... Can you jump into a cab, Westley, and +come down to my place for a half-hour or so? It's quite important.... +Yes, drop everything and come over."</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="26">26</h2> +</div> + +<h3>THE TRAIL TO BERNICE</h3> + + +<p>The Inspector prowled about the apartment in a fever of restlessness. +Ellery completed his toilet in the bedroom and listened calmly to his +father's occasional outbursts of invective against fate, crime and +police commissioners. Djuna, silent as ever, removed the breakfast +things from the living-room table and retired to his kitchenette.</p> + +<p>"Of course," said the Inspector in a more lucid moment, "Prouty did say +that he and Knowles were pretty sure Mrs. French was sitting down when +the second shot was fired. That corroborates part of your analysis, +anyway."</p> + +<p>"It helps," said Ellery, struggling with his shoes. "Expert testimony +never hurt any trial, especially when the experts are men like Prouty +and Knowles."</p> + +<p>Queen snorted. "You haven't seen as many trials as I have.... But +what gets me is that revolver. Knowles says the bullets are from one +of those black .38 Colts that you can buy for a dime a dozen from any +'fence.' Of course, if Knowles could get hold of the gun, he could +absolutely establish that the bullets were shot from it, because +they still retain enough barrel marks of a unique character to make +identification positive. Incidentally, they're both from the same gun. +But how on earth can we get hold of it?"</p> + +<p>"You're riddling," said Ellery. "<i>I</i> don't know."</p> + +<p>"And without the gun we're terribly short of vital evidence. It isn't +in the French store—the boys have searched from cellar to roof. Then +the murderer took it away with him. Too much to expect that we'll ever +get our hands on it."</p> + +<p>"Well," remarked Ellery, putting on a smoking-jacket, "I shouldn't be +so positive. Criminals do stupid things, dad, as you know better than +I. Although I will admit that—"</p> + +<p>The doorbell rang imperiously and Ellery started in astonishment. "Why, +that can't be Westley so soon!"</p> + +<p>The Inspector and Ellery went into the library and found a very +dignified little Djuna ushering William Crouther, the French store +detective, into the room. Crouther was flushed and excited; he began to +speak at once.</p> + +<p>"Morning, gentlemen, morning!" he cried genially. "Resting up after a +hard day, eh, Inspector? Well, I think I've got something you'll be +interested in—yes, sir, that's a fact."</p> + +<p>"Glad to see you, Crouther," lied the Inspector, while Ellery's eyes +narrowed as if in anticipation of the news Crouther had to transmit. +"Sit down, man, and tell us all about it."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, thank you, Inspector," said Crouther, sinking into the +Inspector's sacred armchair with an explosive sigh. "I haven't been +exactly sleeping myself," he announced as a preliminary, chuckling. +"Did considerable flat-footing last night and I've been on the go since +six this morning."</p> + +<p>"Honest toil requireth no reward before heaven," murmured Ellery.</p> + +<p>"Eh?" Crouther seemed puzzled, but a grin spread over his florid face +as he fumbled in his breast-pocket and produced two oily cigars. +"Little joke, eh, Mr. Queen? Smoke, Inspector? You, Mr. Queen?... Don't +mind if I do myself." He lit the cigar and flicked the burnt match +carelessly into the fireplace. A pained spasm passed over the face of +Djuna, who was removing the last traces of the breakfast meal from the +table. Djuna was tyrannical when his household was upset. He cast a +venomous glance at Crouther's broad back and stumped away into the +kitchenette.</p> + +<p>"Well, Crouther, what is it?" demanded the Inspector with a crackle of +impatience in his voice. "Spill it, spill it!"</p> + +<p>"Right you are, Inspector." Crouther lowered his voice mysteriously, +leaning forward toward the two men and emphasizing his forthcoming +remarks with the butt of his fuming cigar. "What do you think I've been +doing?"</p> + +<p>"We haven't the slightest idea," said Ellery, with interest.</p> + +<p>"I've—been—on—the—trail—of—Bernice Carmody!" whispered Crouther +in a vibrant bass voice.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" The Inspector was patently disappointed. He regarded Crouther +morosely. "Is that all? I've got a squad of my best men on the same +job, Crouther."</p> + +<p>"Well," said Crouther, leaning back and flicking ashes on the +carpet, "I didn't exactly expect you to kiss me at that statement, +Inspector—that's a fact.... But," his voice lowered cunningly again, +"I'll bet your men didn't get what I got!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, you got something, did you?" asked the Inspector quickly. "Now, +that <i>is</i> news, Crouther. Sorry I was so hasty.... Just what is it +you've dug up?"</p> + +<p>Crouther leered triumphantly. "The trail of the girl out of the city!"</p> + +<p>Ellery's eyes flickered with sincere surprise. "You got that far, did +you?" He turned to his father with a smile. "That seems to be one on +Velie, dad."</p> + +<p>The Inspector looked disgruntled and curious at the same time. "I'll be +hanged for a rascal!" he muttered. "How did you do it and what's the +dope exactly, Crouther?"</p> + +<p>"It was this way," said Crouther promptly, crossing his legs and +puffing smoke into the air. He seemed to be enjoying himself hugely. +"I've worked all along—with due respect to you and your boys, +Inspector—on the idea that this Bernice Carmody was done away with. +Kidnapped, murdered—I don't know—but somethin' like that. I felt that +she didn't do the job, although the signs do point to her, and that's a +fact.... So I took the liberty of snoopin' around the French house last +night and seeing what I could see about how the girl got out of the +place. Saw this housekeeper up there and she told me what she told you, +I guess. Don't mind, Inspector?... Anyway, I found out too about that +'special' who saw her walkin' down the Drive toward 72nd Street. That +set me going, and before I got stuck I'd traced her a long way. I found +a cruising cab-driver who said he picked up a woman of her description +on West End Avenue and 72nd. Private cab, it is; and I guess I was just +lucky, that's all. This whole business of trailing is part luck and +part perspiration—fact, ain't it, Inspector?"</p> + +<p>"Ummh," said the Inspector sourly. "You've certainly put one over on +Tom Velie. What then? Get any more?"</p> + +<p>"Sure did!" Crouther relit his cigar. "Driver took the girl to the +Hotel Astor. She told him to wait for her. She went into the lobby and +in about two minutes came out again with a tall blond man dressed kind +of swell, and carrying a suitcase. They piled into the cab. Driver +said the girl seemed kind of scared, but she didn't say anything, and +the tall man told him to take 'em for a drive through Central Park. +In the Park, just about the middle, man tapped on the window and told +the driver to stop—they were goin' to get out. That was what made the +driver kind of leery, anyway—couldn't ever remember anybody payin' +off in the middle of the Park. But he didn't say anything, and the +blond gent paid the fare and told him to drive off. He did, but not +before he'd caught a look at the girl's face. She was pale and sort +of half-shot—looked drunk, he said. So he just moved off slow and +careless, and kept his eyes open. And sure enough, he saw the pair of +'em go over to a parked car not fifty feet away, get in, and right away +the car shot out of the Park goin' uptown!"</p> + +<p>"Well," said the Inspector in a hushed voice, "that's quite a +story. We'll have to look over this cab-driver.... Did he catch the +license-number of the car?"</p> + +<p>"Too far away," said Crouther, scowling for an instant. Then his face +cleared. "But he wasn't too far away to spot the fact that it had a +Massachusetts license-plate."</p> + +<p>"Excellent, Crouther, excellent!" cried Ellery suddenly, springing to +his feet. "Thank goodness some one has kept his head about him! What +kind of car was it—did your man see?"</p> + +<p>"Yep," grinned Crouther, expanding under the praise. "Closed +car—sedan—dark blue—and a Buick. How's that?"</p> + +<p>"Mighty nice work," said the Inspector grudgingly. "How did the girl +act on the trip over to the other automobile?"</p> + +<p>"Well, the driver couldn't see so well," said Crouther, "but he did +tell me that the girl sort of stumbled and the tall man grabbed her arm +and sort of forced her."</p> + +<p>"Slick, slick!" muttered the Inspector. "Did he catch a glimpse of the +driver in the closed car?"</p> + +<p>"Nope. But there must have been some one in the Buick, because our man +says the couple climbed into the back, and then the car streaked it +right out of the Park."</p> + +<p>"How about this tall blond man, Crouther?" asked Ellery, puffing +furiously at his cigaret. "We should be able to get a fairly complete +description of him from the taxicab driver."</p> + +<p>Crouther scratched his head. "Never thought of askin' the guy," he +confessed. "Here, Inspector—how about your boys taking it up from +where I've left off? I got plenty of work at the store, now that things +are shot to pieces down there.... Want this driver's name and address?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly." The Inspector wrestled inwardly with a spiritual problem +as Crouther wrote out the name and address. When the store detective +handed it to him it was evident that virtue had won, for he smiled +weakly and stretched out his hand. "Let me congratulate you, Crouther. +That was a good night's work!"</p> + +<p>Crouther pumped the Inspector's hand up and down heartily, grinning. +"Glad to help, Inspector—that's a fact. Just goes to prove that us +boys on the outside <i>do</i> know a thing or two, eh? I always say—"</p> + +<p>The doorbell trilled, relieving the Inspector of the embarrassment of +having his hand held. Ellery and the old man looked at each other for a +fleeting instant. Then Ellery sprang toward the door.</p> + +<p>"Expecting company, Inspector?" asked Crouther broadly. "Don't want to +butt in. I guess I'd better—"</p> + +<p>"No, no, Crouther, stay right where you are! I have an idea you may +come in handy," called Ellery rapidly, as he made for the door in the +anteroom.</p> + +<p>Crouther beamed and sat down again.</p> + +<p>Ellery threw open the door. Westley Weaver, his hair rumpled, a worried +look on his face, walked hurriedly into the apartment.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="27">27</h2> +</div> + +<h3>THE SIXTH BOOK</h3> + + +<p>Weaver shook hands all round, expressed surprise at the presence of +Crouther—who shuffled his feet awkwardly and grinned—rubbed his +face with one nervous hand, and then sat down, waiting. He eyed the +Inspector apprehensively.</p> + +<p>Ellery, noting this, smiled. "No cause for neurosis, Wes," he said +gently. "This isn't quite a third degree. Have a cigaret, make +yourself comfortable, and listen for a moment."</p> + +<p>They drew chairs around the table. Ellery looked at his fingernails +thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>"We've been muddling over those books I picked up on the desk in +French's apartment," he began. "And we've discovered some interesting +things there."</p> + +<p>"Books?" exclaimed Crouther in a bewildered way.</p> + +<p>"Books?" echoed Weaver, but his tone was flat and unconvincing.</p> + +<p>"Yes," repeated Ellery, "books. The five volumes that you saw me +puzzling over. Westley," and he looked full into the young man's eyes, +"I have an idea that somewhere at the back of your mind is a lump +of information that we can use. Information about these volumes. To +be perfectly frank, I noticed a queer hesitancy on your part when I +first got my hooks into them. Just what are your scruples—if you have +any—about this story I've laid to you—if there is a story?"</p> + +<p>Weaver flushed violently, began to stammer. "Why, Ellery, I never—"</p> + +<p>"Look here, Wes." Ellery leaned forward. "There's something on your +mind. If it's Marion, let me tell you here and now that none of us has +the slightest suspicion of the girl. There may be something behind her +nervous attitude, but whatever it is, it isn't criminal, and probably +has little to do directly with the murder of Mrs. French.... Does that +sweep away any scruples in your mind?"</p> + +<p>Weaver stared at his friend for a long time. The Inspector and Crouther +sat quietly. Then the young man spoke—in a different voice this time, +a voice colored with a new confidence. "Yes, it does," he said slowly. +"Marion <i>has</i> been on my mind, and her possible connection with the +affair has made me not quite so frank as I might have been. And I do +know something about those books."</p> + +<p>Ellery smiled with satisfaction. They waited in silence for Weaver to +collect his thoughts.</p> + +<p>"You've had occasion," said Weaver at last, lapsing into a clear +narrative tone, "to mention a man by the name of Springer. I believe +his name arose when you were looking over the night-watchman's chart, +Inspector. You remember that on Monday evening Springer didn't leave +the building until seven o'clock, and that I followed him out directly +after. These facts were recorded on O'Flaherty's chart."</p> + +<p>"Springer?" Ellery frowned. The Inspector nodded.</p> + +<p>Weaver looked hesitantly at Crouther and then turned to the Inspector. +"Is it all right—?" he began in some embarrassment.</p> + +<p>Ellery replied at once for his father. "Perfectly, Wes. Crouther has +been in on the case from the beginning, and I imagine he may be of help +in the future as well. Go ahead."</p> + +<p>"Very well, then," said Weaver. Crouther sank back into his chair +complacently. "About two months ago—I forget the exact date—the +Accounting Department brought to the attention of Mr. French certain +suspicious irregularities in the Book Department. Springer, of course, +is head of the department. The irregularities were of a financial +nature, and it was thought that receipts were not commensurate with +the volume of business. It was a confidential matter, and the Old Man +was quite upset about it. There was nothing definite in the Accounting +Department's suspicions, and because the whole business was vague, the +accountants were ordered to forget all about it temporarily, and the +Old Man asked me to conduct a little private investigation of my own."</p> + +<p>"Springer, hey?" scowled Crouther. "Funny I didn't hear about it, Mr. +Weaver."</p> + +<p>"Mr. French didn't believe," explained Weaver, "that too many people +should know about it. The suspicions were just nebulous enough to call +for secrecy. And because I handle most of the matters connected with +the Old Man personally, he turned to me rather than to any one else.... +I couldn't, of course," continued Weaver wearily, "do any scouting +around during the working day. Springer himself was always there. So I +was compelled to do my investigating after hours. I had been checking +up sales slips and records for about three or four days in the Book +Department, after everybody had left the building, as I thought, when +one evening I got wind of something queer. I might say that my few +nights' snooping hadn't got me anywhere—everything seemed all right."</p> + +<p>The Queens and Crouther were listening now with strained attention.</p> + +<p>"The night I've referred to," went on Weaver, "I was about to enter the +Book Department when I noticed an unusual brightness—a number of lamps +were lit up. My first thought was that somebody was working overtime, +and when I looked in cautiously the thought seemed corroborated. It +was Springer, alone, pottering about in the aisles of the Department. +I don't know exactly what made me keep out of sight—perhaps it was +the fact that I was already suspicious of him—but I did, and watched +curiously to see what he was doing.</p> + +<p>"I saw him go over to one of the wall-shelves, after looking around +with a furtive air, and swiftly take down a book. He took a long patent +pencil from his pocket and, opening the book somewhere at the back, he +made a rapid notation with the pencil. He snapped the book shut, made +some sort of mark on the back-board, and immediately placed the book on +a different shelf. I noted that he seemed quite anxious about <i>how</i> he +placed the book; he fussed with it for several moments before he seemed +satisfied. And that was all. He entered his private office in the rear +and reappeared shortly after wearing his hat and coat. He then walked +out of the Department, almost brushing by me as I stood huddled in a +little alcove in the shadow. A few moments later the lights, except for +one or two bulbs kept lit all night, snapped out. I found out later +that he had checked out the regular way, informing the night-watchman +that he was through for the night, and that O'Flaherty should have the +switch for the book section turned off."</p> + +<p>"That doesn't seem so flukey to me," said Crouther. "Probably just part +of his job."</p> + +<p>"When you're looking for suspicious activity," said the Inspector +vaguely, "you can generally find it."</p> + +<p>"I had something of the same thought," replied Weaver. "It was a trifle +peculiar to find Springer working overtime in the first place—the +practice is rather discouraged by Mr. French. But then the incident +itself might be perfectly innocent. I did go over to that shelf after +Springer had gone and inquisitively I took down the book he had just +placed there. I turned to the back and on an inside leaf I found in +pencil a date and a street-and-number address."</p> + +<p>"An address?" Both Ellery and the Inspector exclaimed simultaneously. +"What was it?" demanded the Inspector.</p> + +<p>"I forget just now," said Weaver, "but I have a note of it in my +pocket. Would you like—?"</p> + +<p>"Never mind the address at the moment," said Ellery with a curious +calm. "I'm not quite clear on this matter of the five books I took from +French's desk. Are they the actual books Springer marked?"</p> + +<p>"No, they're not," replied Weaver. "But perhaps I had better give +you my story in something like a sequence of incidents. It's rather +complicated.... After noticing the date and address, which I couldn't +figure out at all as far as a possible meaning was concerned, I +examined the back-board on which I had seen Springer write something. +I found it was merely a light pencil-line under the name of the author."</p> + +<p>"That back-board fascinated me from the moment you mentioned it," mused +Ellery. "Are you sure, Westley, that the mark was under the <i>entire</i> +name? Wasn't it perhaps under <i>the first two letters</i>?"</p> + +<p>Weaver stared. "Why, so it was," he cried. "But how on earth could you +know, Ellery?"</p> + +<p>"Guess-work," said Ellery negligently. "But it follows. No wonder," he +said, turning to his father, "I couldn't get more out of these books, +dad. They aren't the originals.... Go on, Wes."</p> + +<p>"I had no reason then," continued Weaver, "to take decisive action +about that book. I merely noted the address and date and, after +slipping the book back into the exact place in which Springer had +originally set it, I went about my business of checking up on +Springer's records. As a matter of fact, I forgot about the whole +thing. It wasn't until the following week—nine days, to be exact—that +the incident was recalled to my mind."</p> + +<p>"Springer did the same thing, I'll bet!" cried Crouther.</p> + +<p>"Bravo, Crouther," murmured Ellery.</p> + +<p>Weaver smiled fleetingly and went on. "Yes, under the same +circumstances Springer did the same thing, and because I had gone down +into the Book Department on my regular nightly check-up, I caught +him at it again. This time I was puzzled to note that he repeated +his performance of the week before in every detail. And the business +still didn't register any meaning in my mind. I merely jotted down +the address and date once more—they were different from the previous +week's, incidentally—and went about my business. It wasn't until the +third week—after eight days had passed—that my suspicions began to +function a little more actively."</p> + +<p>"Then," said Ellery, "you took a duplicate of the book, and the book +was <i>Fourteenth Century Trade and Commerce</i>, by a gentleman named Stani +Wedjowski."</p> + +<p>"Correct," said Weaver. "On that third occasion, it came to me that the +addresses were of vital importance. What that importance was I had no +idea. But I realized that the books were there for some purpose, and I +decided to try a little experiment. In the case of the Wedjowski book, +after Springer had gone I got another copy of the book, marked the date +in the back for reference, made a private note of the new address, and +took the duplicate book back upstairs with me to study. Perhaps, I +thought, there's something <i>about</i> this book that will enlighten me. I +left the original exactly where Springer had placed it, naturally.</p> + +<p>"I studied that book until I was blue in the face. I couldn't +make a thing of it. And I repeated my tactics for the next four +weeks—Springer did his mysterious little job every eight days, I +noticed—and studied my duplicate books very assiduously. They didn't +make sense, and I was getting desperate. I might add that all this +time I had been keeping tabs on Springer's records, and I was just +beginning to see light. Springer was taking advantage of the one +flaw in the departmental system, and was falsifying his accounts in +a devilishly clever manner. And then I knew that the books must have +some significance—whether connected with my own investigation or not +I didn't know. But I had no doubt now that they signified something +crooked.</p> + +<p>"At any rate, by the sixth week I was quite desperate. This was Monday +evening—the night of the murder, although I had no idea of what was +going to happen within a few hours. I watched Springer as usual, saw +him go through the customary ritual, and leave. But this time I meant +to do a daring thing. <i>I took the original book.</i>"</p> + +<p>"Good for you!" cried Ellery. He lit a cigaret with unsteady fingers. +"Brilliant, in fact. Go on, Wes; this is tremendously exciting." The +Inspector said nothing; Crouther regarded Weaver with a new respect.</p> + +<p>"I duplicated the markings in another book exactly and placed it where +Springer had left the original, which I took away with me. I had to +do these things in a hurry, because I meant to follow Springer that +night to see if I could get any clue from his movements. I was in luck, +because he had stopped to chat with O'Flaherty. As I dashed out of the +building, Springer's latest book under my arm, I was just in time to +see him turn the corner on Fifth Avenue."</p> + +<p>"Regular detective," remarked Crouther admiringly.</p> + +<p>"Well, hardly," laughed Weaver. "At any rate I followed Springer's +wandering trail all evening. He had dinner alone in a Broadway +restaurant and then went to a movie. I stuck to his trail like the fool +I am, I suppose, because he did nothing at all suspicious, telephoned +no one, spoke to no one, all evening. Finally, about midnight, he got +home—he lives in the Bronx in an apartment house. I watched that house +for an hour—even pussyfooted up to the floor on which his apartment +is. But Springer stayed in. And so I finally went home, still carrying +Springer's book, but no wiser when I left him than when I'd begun to +follow."</p> + +<p>"Nevertheless," said the Inspector, "you showed good judgment in +sticking to him."</p> + +<p>"What's the title of that sixth book and where is it? How does it +happen that I didn't find it among the five others in French's +apartment? You put the five books there, of course?" asked Ellery +rapidly.</p> + +<p>"One at a time," pleaded Weaver, smiling. "The book is <i>Modern Trends +in Interior Decoration</i>, by Lucian Tucker...." Ellery and the Inspector +exchanged glances at Weaver's mention of the author's name. "You didn't +find it among the other five because I didn't leave it there. I took it +home with me. You see, I felt all along that the duplicates weren't +important. It was evidently the originals that counted. Perhaps I was +wrong, but I certainly figured that the sixth, being an original, was +more precious than the other five. So I put it in a safe place Monday +night when I got home—my own bedroom. As for the five, the reason I +kept them at the store was that I was studying them at odd moments and +wanted them handy. I didn't want to bother the Old Man about them and +the whole business, because he was having his hands full negotiating +this merger with Whitney, and he always leaves details to me, anyway. +So I merely slipped each book, as I got it, between the book-ends on +the Old Man's desk. I also took away one of the Old Man's books to keep +the count similar, and merely hid them in the bookcase, behind odd +volumes there. In this way, by the end of five weeks the Old Man's five +books had entirely disappeared into the bookcase, and the duplicates of +Springer's books were between the book-ends. I meant to explain if the +Old Man noticed the new volumes on his desk, but he didn't, so I didn't +bother. Those 'favorites' of his are mere atmosphere, anyhow; he'd got +so accustomed to seeing them there on his desk that he sort of took it +for granted they were still there, even though he was up and about that +desk every day for weeks. It often happens that way.... As for Springer +noticing the strange books on the desk, that was impossible. Springer +never had occasion to come to Mr. French's apartment."</p> + +<p>"Then I take it," demanded Ellery, with a creeping light of animation +in his eyes, "that you put the five books between the book-ends week +for week? In other words, that the first book, the Wedjowski thing, was +on that desk six weeks ago?"</p> + +<p>"Exactly."</p> + +<p>"That's <i>most</i> interesting," said Ellery, and subsided in his chair.</p> + +<p>The Inspector stirred into action. "Here, Weaver, let's have a look at +those addresses. You have them on you, I think you said?"</p> + +<p>For answer, Weaver took a small notebook from his breast-pocket and +extracted a slip of paper. The Inspector, Ellery and Crouther bent +curiously over to read the seven addresses.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'll be—" The Inspector's voice was hushed, quietly throbbing. +"Ellery, do you know what these are? Here are <i>two</i> addresses that +Fiorelli's boys have had under suspicion for weeks as depots for the +distribution of dope!"</p> + +<p>Ellery dropped back thoughtfully, while Crouther and Weaver stared at +each other. "I'm not particularly surprised," said Ellery. "Two, eh? +That means all seven are probably dope-distributing headquarters ... +changed from week to week ... clever, no doubt about it!" Suddenly he +started forward. "Wes!" he almost shouted, "the sixth address! Where is +it? Quickly!"</p> + +<p>Weaver hastily produced another memorandum. The address was a number on +East 98th Street.</p> + +<p>"Dad," said Ellery at once, "this is remarkable luck. Do you realize +what we've in our hands? <i>Yesterday's dope depot!</i> The date—May +twenty-fourth—Tuesday—the trail is so hot it sparks!"</p> + +<p>"By the lord Harry," muttered the Inspector, "you're right. If that +98th Street place should still be tenanted—I can't see why not—" He +sprang to his feet and reached for the telephone. He gave the number +of Police Headquarters and in a moment was speaking to Sergeant Velie. +He spoke rapidly, had his call switched to the office of the Narcotic +Squad. He spoke tersely to Fiorelli, head of the Squad, and hung up.</p> + +<p>"I've just tipped off Fiorelli and they're going to raid that 98th +Street address immediately," he said briskly, taking a pinch of +snuff with practiced fingers. "They're taking Thomas with them, and +they'll stop here to pick us up. I want to be in on this one!" His jaw +stiffened grimly.</p> + +<p>"Raid, hey?" Crouther rose and tightened his muscles. "Mind if I go +along, Inspector? Be a picnic for me—that's a fact!"</p> + +<p>"No objection at all, Crouther," said the Inspector absently. "You +deserve a bit of the show, anyway.... Fiorelli has raided those two +addresses I recognized, but in each case the birds had shut up shop and +disappeared. Let's hope they haven't had time in this case!"</p> + +<p>Ellery opened his mouth as if to speak, then clamped his lips together +very firmly. He became thoughtful at once.</p> + +<p>Weaver seemed confounded by the bombshell he had caused to explode. He +subsided limply in his chair.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="28">28</h2> +</div> + +<h3>UNRAVELING THREADS</h3> + + +<p>They all looked at Ellery in sudden disquiet. Crouther, his mouth +half-open, shut it and began to scratch his head. Weaver and the +Inspector shifted heavily in their chairs at the same instant.</p> + +<p>Ellery without a word stepped into the kitchenette. His low voice was +heard murmuring to Djuna. Ellery reappeared, fumbled for his pince-nez +and began to twirl it idly. "The uneasy thought just struck me—and +yet," his face brightened, "it isn't so bad at that!"</p> + +<p>He replaced his glasses on his thin nose and rose to his feet, pacing +leisurely up and down before the table. Djuna slipped out of the +kitchenette and left the apartment.</p> + +<p>"While we're waiting for the squad wagon," Ellery said, "we may as well +go over some of the ground, in the light of these newest disclosures of +Westley's.</p> + +<p>"Does anybody doubt now that French's is being used as an important +medium for drug distribution?"</p> + +<p>He challenged them lightly with his eyes. An angry glare lit up +Crouther's heavy features.</p> + +<p>"Say, Mr. Queen, that's pretty rough on me," he barked. "I'm not +denying this Springer guy is a crook—don't see how it could be +otherwise—but how do you figure out a dope ring's been operating right +under our noses at the store?"</p> + +<p>"Keep your shirt on, Crouther," said Ellery mildly. "They've merely +put one over on the French establishment. What an opportunity," he +went on, in the tone of one who finds much to admire, "for a drug +ring! Using a no doubt simple code, which is already fairly clarified +in my mind, transmitting it through innocent books, and setting the +whole business in the respectable domain of the head of the Anti-Vice +League himself! That's a stroke of genius, that is.... Look here. There +can't be an alternative. We find at intervals of eight days—the only +exception being one of nine, and this is plausibly accounted for by +the intervention of Sunday—the head of the Book Department marking an +address in—and this is one of the beautiful elements of the scheme—in +little-used, stodgy books.... Did you notice that the date in each book +was <i>not</i> the date when Springer prepared it? No, in every case it was +for the day <i>following</i>. The book marked Wednesday, by the author whose +name began with WE, was placed on the <i>same</i> shelf ... it was the same +shelf every week, wasn't it, Wes?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"The book marked for Wednesday, then, was placed on the same shelf +as all the others on Tuesday evening. The Thursday book on Wednesday +evening the week following, and soon. What could this possibly mean? +Obviously, that Springer didn't allow too much time to elapse between +the evening he prepared the book with the address and <i>the time it was +to be picked up</i>!"</p> + +<p>"Picked up?" demanded the Inspector.</p> + +<p>"Of course. Everything points to a well-constructed plan of +operation in which Springer's main job was to inform some one of an +address through the medium of a book. If Springer could inform that +problematical person or persons by word of mouth, why the complicated +book-code system? No. The probability is that Springer knows the people +who come in to pick up his doctored volumes, but that they, being mere +pawns, don't know him. But this is really beside the point. The crux of +the matter is that Springer would not allow the prepared book to linger +on the shelf too long. It might be purchased; the address in it might +inadvertently be noticed by a stranger. Dad, if you were in Springer's +place, how would you arrange <i>the time</i> when the book should be picked +up?"</p> + +<p>"Seems clear. If Springer prepared it at night, then he would have it +picked up in the morning."</p> + +<p>Ellery smiled. "Exactly. What risk then does he run? He writes the +address in the book after hours, when the book cannot be removed that +night in a legitimate way by an outsider; and the very next morning +the appointed messenger takes it from its place on the shelf—a place +of course set definitely when the plan was originally concocted. The +chances are, in fact, that the messenger arrives as early as possible +the next morning—perhaps as soon as the store opens, at nine o'clock. +He browses around, goes over to the shelf finally, picks up the book he +knows about in advance through a sign which I'll explain in a moment, +pays for it in the regular way and walks out with his information under +his arm—safe, clean and ridiculously easy.</p> + +<p>"Now! There are a few inferences to be drawn. We must suppose that +when the messenger arrives in the morning he has no contact with +Springer—really, everything points to this complete alienation +between Springer and the messenger, with one or both ignorant of the +other's identity. Then the only clue the messenger has to the book +fixed the night before is a code, or system, arranged beforehand. +That's just common sense. But what could the code be? And that is the +beautiful part of the plan.</p> + +<p>"Why, I asked myself, was it necessary to the plan to have the +author's name—at least its first two letters—coincide with the first +two letters of the day on which the book was to be picked up by the +messenger? The question is answered if we suppose complete ignorance +of detail on the part of the messenger. If, when he got his job, +his first instructions, he was told the following, then the whole +procedure becomes clear: 'Every week you are to call at the French Book +Department for a book which will contain an address. The book will be +on the top shelf of the fourth tier of book-racks situated in such +and such a place in the Department. The book will always be on that +shelf.... Now. Every week you are to call on a different day. Eight +days apart, to be exact. Except when Sunday intervenes, and then it +will be nine days—from the preceding Saturday to the following Monday. +Let us say the morning you are due to call for the book is a Wednesday. +Then the book you should pick up will be by an author whose last name +begins with a <i>WE</i>, to correspond to the <i>WE</i> of Wednesday. To make +identification absolutely positive, and to get you out of the Book +Department as quickly as possible, so that you will not be compelled +to rummage through every book on that shelf, a light pencil-mark will +appear on the first two letters of the author's name, positively +identifying the proper volume. You pick up the book, look at the back +inner leaf to make sure the address is there, then buy the book and +walk out of the store.'... Does that sound plausible?"</p> + +<p>There was a vehement chorus of assents from the three men.</p> + +<p>"It's a devilishly ingenious scheme," said Ellery thoughtfully, "if a +little complicated. Really, though, the complications iron themselves +away with the passage of time. The beauty of the plan is that the +messenger needs his instructions <i>only once</i>, the first time, and he +can carry on indefinitely, for months, without a slip-up.... The next +Thursday he has to look for a pencil-mark on a book whose author's +last name begins with <i>TH</i>; the Friday following, an <i>FR</i>; and so on. +What the messenger does with the book when he gets it is debatable. +From the look of things, this is a highly centralized society of drug +distributors, with the pawns in the game knowing as little as possible +about the business at hand, probably being kept in complete ignorance +of the ringleader or leaders. The question naturally arises—"</p> + +<p>"But why," asked Weaver, "that period of <i>eight</i> days? Why not merely +every week on the same day?"</p> + +<p>"A good question, and it has, I think, a simple answer," replied +Ellery. "These people were taking not the slightest chance of a +slip-up. If a certain person came into the Book Department at nine +o'clock <i>every Monday</i>, he might after a time be noticed and remarked +on. But coming in on a Monday, then a Tuesday, then a Wednesday, all +a week and a day apart, there was little likelihood that he would be +remembered."</p> + +<p>"My God, what a racket!" muttered Crouther. "No wonder we never got +wind of it!"</p> + +<p>"Clever's no name for it," sighed the Inspector. "Then you think, +Ellery, that the addresses are all local 'joints' for the selling of +the dope?"</p> + +<p>"No question about it," said Ellery, lighting another cigaret. "And +while we're remarking about cleverness, how does this strike you? +The ring never uses the same address twice! That's patent from the +different address each week. And it's apparent, too, that their system +of distribution makes it a methodical weekly affair. Your Narcotic +Squad has a chance to ferret out a drug depot if it's used week after +week; people notice suspicious activity, perhaps; the address and the +word go around through the grapevine of the underworld. But how can +your Squad ever get on the track of a gang which uses a <i>different</i> +depot every week? Why, the scheme is amazing. As it is, Fiorelli did +get wind of two of the addresses through informers or stool-pigeons; +the fact that he didn't get any other shows how holeproof the plot +really is. And of course, when he raided the places, he found the ring +gone—cleared out. They probably have an afternoon <i>soirée</i> week after +week and dismantle the place immediately after the last customer's gone.</p> + +<p>"Now consider how safe the ring really is. They must have a regular +channel of communication with their customers—and I suspect it's a +limited list. Too many would be dangerous by their very numbers. That +means, then, that the customers are wealthy, probably society people, +who get a weekly tipoff by telephone, we'll say—just an address. They +know the rest. And what can the customer do? What does he <i>want</i> to do? +We all know the desperate, uncontrollable craving of the addict for his +drug. Here he has a safe source of supply, and what's more important, a +regular source of supply. No—the customers aren't blabbing. What could +be sweeter?"</p> + +<p>"It staggers the imagination," muttered the Inspector. "What a plan! +But if we clean them up this time—!"</p> + +<p>"I need only refer to the well-known cup and the better-known lip," +laughed Ellery. "However, we'll see.</p> + +<p>"Some questions arise, as I began to say a few moments ago, more +directly applicable to the murder. We may certainly presume that +Bernice is—or was—one of the ring's customers. And I do believe +that shady, mysterious motive of which we haven't been able to grasp +the merest shadow, is beginning to emerge into daylight. Winifred +French was not an addict. She carried in her bag a lipstick belonging +to Bernice and filled with heroin.... And carried it to her death. +A strong line of incident, dad! Very, very strong.... Interesting, +isn't it, especially since we haven't been able to discover any other +motive for the crime? But motive won't mean much in the unraveling +of this case, I'm afraid; the big job is to corral the murderer and +also to round up the drug ring. A dual task which presents to my +deduction-weary mind a suggestion of difficulty....</p> + +<p>"Another question. Is Springer pawn or king in this drug game? My guess +is—he's on the inside, knows all the facts, but is not top man. And +the question naturally arises, too—did Mr. Springer fire the lethal +weapon aimed at Mrs. French's heart? I'd rather not go into that at the +moment.</p> + +<p>"And finally, doesn't this business of the drug ring indicate that +Winifred's murder—and Bernice's disappearance—are integral parts of +the same crime, rather than two unrelated crimes? I think it does, but +I cannot see how we shall ever get to the truth of the matter unless—a +certain eventuality occurs. Deponent being temporarily out of wind, +deponent will sit down and think of the case <i>in toto</i>."</p> + +<p>And Ellery, without another word, seated himself and worried his +pince-nez in a thoroughly absent manner.</p> + +<p>The Inspector, Weaver and Crouther sighed all at once.</p> + +<p>They were sitting that way, silently, looking at each other, when +a short siren blast from the street below announced the arrival of +Fiorelli, Velie and the raiding party.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="29">29</h2> +</div> + +<h3>RAID!</h3> + + +<p>The police van, crammed with detectives and officers, rushed through +the West Side, headed uptown. Traffic opened magically before +its wailing siren. Hundreds of eyes followed its reckless course +wonderingly.</p> + +<p>The Inspector shouted to a grim and chagrined Velie, above the roar +of the exhaust, Crouther's story of the lone taxicab driver and the +mysterious automobile with the Massachusetts license-plate. The +Sergeant gloomily promised an immediate check-up on the chauffeur's +story and dissemination of the new information to all his operatives +on the trail of the vanished girl. Crouther sat chuckling by his side +as Velie took from the Inspector's hand the name and address of the +cab-driver.</p> + +<p>Weaver had been excused, and with the arrival of the van had left to +return to the French store.</p> + +<p>Fiorelli sat quietly chewing his fingernails. His face was haggard and +feverish as he pulled the Inspector to one side.</p> + +<p>"Had a bunch of boys beat it up to the 98th Street address beforehand +to surround the house," he boomed hoarsely. "Not taking any chances on +their doing a fade-away. The boys are keeping under cover, but they +won't let a rat slip through the net!"</p> + +<p>Ellery sat calmly in the van, watching the crowds jump into view and +disappear. His fingers thrummed a rhythmic tattoo on the iron mesh +obscuring the view.</p> + +<p>The powerful truck turned into 98th Street and dashed eastward. The +neighborhood thickened, grew squalid. As the van plunged further toward +the East River the on-rushing scene became one of ramshackle buildings +and ramshackle humanity....</p> + +<p>At last the police car ground to a stop. A man in plain clothes had +stepped suddenly from a doorway into the middle of the street, +pointing meaningly toward a low, two-story building of rotten wood and +peeled paint, leaning crazily over the sidewalk as if the slightest +convulsion of nature would topple it, a brittle wreck, into the gutter. +The front door was closed. The windows were heavily shaded. The house +looked tenantless, lifeless.</p> + +<p>With the first grinding of the van's brakes, a dozen men in plain +clothes ran into view from odd corners and doorways. Several in the +dilapidated backyard of the house drew guns and advanced on the rear of +the building. An avalanche of policemen and detectives poured out of +the truck, headed by Fiorelli, Velie and the Inspector, Crouther close +behind, and ran up the crumbling wooden steps to the front door.</p> + +<p>Fiorelli pounded fiercely on the cracked panels. There was not a +whisper of audible response. At a sign from Inspector, Queen Velie and +Fiorelli put their formidable shoulders to the door and shoved. The +wood splintered and the door cracked back, revealing a dim, musty +interior, a broken old chandelier, and a flight of uncarpeted steps +leading up to a second floor.</p> + +<p>The police streamed into the building, investing both floors +simultaneously, opening doors, pushing into corners, guns ready.</p> + +<p>And Ellery, sauntering leisurely behind, openly amused at the +psychology of the gaping mob which had miraculously gathered outside +the house, kept back by the clubs of several bluecoats, saw at once +that the raid was a failure.</p> + +<p>The house was empty, without the least sign of occupancy.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="30">30</h2> +</div> + +<h3>REQUIEM</h3> + + +<p>They stood about in one of the dusty, deserted rooms—an old-fashioned +parlor, with the battered remains of a Victorian fireplace mutely +proclaiming its fall upon evil days—and talked quietly. Fiorelli was +beside himself with impotent rage. His dark beefy face was the color of +slate; he kicked a charred piece of wood across the room. Velie looked +glummer than usual. The Inspector took the unsuccessful termination of +the raid more philosophically. He inhaled snuff and sent one of the +detectives in search of a caretaker, or superintendent, if there was +one to be found in the neighborhood.</p> + +<p>Ellery said nothing.</p> + +<p>The detective returned shortly with a strapping, livid Negro.</p> + +<p>"Do you take care of this house?" asked the Inspector brusquely of the +Negro.</p> + +<p>The Negro removed his rusty derby and shuffled his feet. "'Spects so, +yassuh!"</p> + +<p>"What are you—janitor, superintendent?"</p> + +<p>"Kinda, suh. Ah takes care of a whole passel o' houses on dis block. +Rents 'em fo' de ownahs when a tenant comes 'long."</p> + +<p>"I see. Was this house occupied yesterday?"</p> + +<p>The Negro bobbed his head vigorously. "Yassuh! 'Bout fo'-five days ago +party comes 'long an' rents de whole house. Da's wha' de agent says +when he brung 'm down. Paid de agent cash money fo' a month. Saw it wiv +mah own eyes."</p> + +<p>"What sort of man was the tenant?"</p> + +<p>"Kinda shortish an' had a long black mustache, suh."</p> + +<p>"When did he move in?"</p> + +<p>"De nex' day—Sunday, Ah don' doubt. Van come moseyin' down wiv some +fu'niture."</p> + +<p>"Did you see the name of the van company on the truck?"</p> + +<p>"Nosuh, sho' didn't. Dey weren't none. One o' dese open trucks wiv de +sides covuhed wiv black ta'paulin. No name on de truck a-tall."</p> + +<p>"Did you see the man with the black mustache around much?"</p> + +<p>The Negro scratched his short woolly thatch. "Nosuh, kain't say Ah did. +Don't believe Ah seed him a-tall till yestiddy mo'nin'."</p> + +<p>"How was that?"</p> + +<p>"Dat's when he moved out agin, suh. Didn't say nuffin' to me, but jes' +about eleven o'clock in de mo'nin' de same truck she rolls up to de do' +and de two drivuhs dey goes into de house an' purty soon dey stahts +pilin' de fu'niture out o' de house an' into de truck. Didn't take 'em +long—dey wan't much fu'niture, an' den Ah sees de boss-man come out o' +de house, say sumpin' to de drivuhs, an' walk away. De truck went away, +too. Yassuh, an' de boss-man jes' flung dat key de agent gave'm right +out deah on de stoop o' de house befo' he walked off. Yassuh."</p> + +<p>The Inspector spoke in a low voice to Velie for a moment, then turned +back to the Negro.</p> + +<p>"Did you see anybody go into the house during the four days?" asked the +Inspector. "Especially Tuesday afternoon—yesterday?"</p> + +<p>"Why—yassuh, yestiddy, but not befo'. Mah old 'ooman, she sets out +yonduh gen'ally all day, an' she told me las' night dat dey was a +whole raft o' white folks comin' up to dat empty house all yestiddy +aftuhnoon. Dey was all kinda put out when dey saw de house was closed. +Oh, 'bout a dozen of 'em. Dey all went away quick."</p> + +<p>"That'll do," said the Inspector slowly. "Give your name and address +and the name of the realty company you're working for to that man over +there, and keep your mouth tight about all this. Remember!"</p> + +<p>The Negro stiffened, mumbled, stammered the required information to a +detective of the Narcotic Squad, and shuffled rapidly from the room.</p> + +<p>"Well, that settles it," said Inspector Queen to Velie, Fiorelli, +Ellery and Crouther, who were grouped together. "They got wind and beat +it. Something made 'em suspicious and they had to clear out—didn't +even have time to distribute the dope to their customers. There must be +a dozen mighty sick addicts in the city to-day."</p> + +<p>Fiorelli made a disgusted gesture. "Aw, let's fade," he growled. "They +got a jinx on me, that gang."</p> + +<p>"Tough luck," said Crouther. "That must have been fast work."</p> + +<p>"I'm going to trace that truck, if I can," said Velie. "Want to help, +Crouther?" He smiled sardonically.</p> + +<p>"Hey, lay off," said Crouther good-naturedly.</p> + +<p>"Don't quarrel, now," sighed the Inspector. "You might try, Thomas, but +I have a notion that's a privately owned truck that operates only on +the ring's jobs. And I suppose that now the gang is scared off, we'll +not pick up their trail again in a hurry. Eh, Ellery?"</p> + +<p>"I suggest," said Ellery, speaking for the first time since the raid, +"that we go home. We've met our Waterloo for—" he smiled sadly—"to +put it mildly, the nonce."</p> + +<p>Fiorelli and Velie mustered the squad of officers and took the police +van back to Headquarters, leaving a bluecoat on guard outside the 98th +Street shack. Crouther, poking Velie slyly in the ribs as the burly +Sergeant swung into the truck, departed early for the French store.</p> + +<p>"They'll be sendin' out an alarm for me," he grinned. "After all, I got +a job."</p> + +<p>He hailed a cruising taxicab which headed west and south. The Queens +followed suit in another cab.</p> + +<p>Ellery took out his thin silver watch in the car and stared at its dial +with amused eyes. The Inspector regarded him in a puzzled way.</p> + +<p>"I can't see why you want to go home," he grumbled. "I'm a long time +overdue at my office now. There must be a pile of work on my desk. I've +missed the morning line-up for the first time in months, and I suppose +Welles has called again, and—"</p> + +<p>Ellery stared fixedly at his watch, a faint smile on his lips. The +Inspector subsided, muttering.</p> + +<p>Ellery paid the cab-driver when the taxi drew up before their +brownstone on 87th Street, herded his father gently upstairs, and did +not speak until Djuna had closed the door behind them.</p> + +<p>"Ten minutes," he announced with satisfaction, snapping the watchcase +shut and returning the watch to his vest-pocket. "That's average time, +I should say, from 98th Street and the River to 87th Street on the +other side." He grinned and threw off his light coat.</p> + +<p>"Have you gone fay?" gasped the Inspector.</p> + +<p>"Like a fox," said Ellery. He took up the telephone and called +a number. "French's? Connect me with Mr. Springer in the Book +Department.... Hello, Book Department? Mr. Springer, please.... What? +Who is this speaking?... Oh, I see.... No, it's quite all right. Thank +you!"</p> + +<p>He hung up.</p> + +<p>The Inspector was twisting his mustache in an agony of apprehension. He +glared at Ellery. "Do you mean to say that Springer's—" he began in a +thunderous voice.</p> + +<p>Ellery seemed not perturbed. "I'm so glad," he said with sly +simplicity. "Mr. Springer, according to his young lady assistant, was +taken suddenly ill not five minutes ago and left in something of a +hurry, saying he would not return to-day."</p> + +<p>The old man sank into his chair worriedly. "How under heaven could I +have anticipated this?" he said. "I surely thought he'd keep until +later in the day. Return, he said, did he? We'll never set eyes on him +again!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, but you shall," said Ellery gently.</p> + +<p>And quoth Ellery: "'Preparation is half the battle, and nothing is lost +by being on one's guard.' The good Spanish don uttered a homely truth +there, padre!"</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="31">31</h2> +</div> + +<h3>ALIBIS: MARION-ZORN</h3> + + +<p>Muttering imprecations upon the elusive head of James Springer, +the Inspector departed for a flying visit to Headquarters, leaving +Ellery hunched comfortably before the open dormer-window, smoking and +thinking. Djuna, in his uncanny simian way, sat motionless on the floor +at his feet, unblinking in the soft glare of sunlight streaming into +the room.... When the Inspector returned two hours later Ellery, still +smoking, was seated at the desk reading over a batch of notes.</p> + +<p>"Still at it?" asked Queen with quick concern, hurling his hat and coat +toward a chair. Djuna noiselessly picked them up and hung them in a +closet.</p> + +<p>"Still at it," rejoined Ellery. But there was a deep wrinkle between +his brows. He rose, looked reflectively at his notes, then with a sigh +replaced them in the desk and shrugged his shoulders. The wrinkle +disappeared, dissolved smoothly into small fine lines of humor as he +caught sight of his father's worried mustache and high color.</p> + +<p>"Nothing new downtown?" he asked sympathetically. He sat down at the +window again.</p> + +<p>Queen paced nervously up and down the rug. "Little enough. Thomas has +looked up that cab-driver of Crouther's—and we've driven up another +blind alley, it seems. The man gave us a pretty clear description of +this tall blond abductor, and of course we've flashed wires through +the entire East. Particularly Massachusetts. With a description of the +car and Bernice Carmody. Now I suppose we'll have to wait...."</p> + +<p>"Umm." Ellery flicked the ashes from his cigaret. "Waiting won't bring +Bernice Carmody back from the grave," he said in sudden earnestness. +"And there's still a chance she may be alive.... I shouldn't confine my +search to the northeast, dad. This gang is clever. They may have pulled +the old license-plate trick. They may actually have headed south, +changed cars—any one of a dozen things. In fact, if you found Bernice +Carmody, dead or alive, right here in New York City, it wouldn't +surprise me in the least. After all, the trail ended in Central +Park...."</p> + +<p>"Thomas has his eyes open and his beaters out," said the Inspector +disconsolately. "And he's up to the tricks as well as you, my son. If +there's the faintest spoor, he'll follow it—and get not only the girl +but the man too."</p> + +<p>"<i>Cherchez la femme</i>," said Ellery lightly.... He sat musing. The +Inspector placed his hands behind his small back and strode up and +down, eying Ellery in a puzzled manner meanwhile.</p> + +<p>"Marion French called me at Headquarters," he stated suddenly.</p> + +<p>Ellery's head lifted slowly. "Yes?"</p> + +<p>The old man chuckled. "I thought that would get you!... Yes, the girl +called several times this morning while I was here, and when I finally +got to the office she seemed quite feverish with—well, not excitement +exactly, but anticipation. So, being thoughtful of you, my son—which +is more than you can say about yourself, incidentally—I asked her to +meet me here."</p> + +<p>Ellery merely smiled.</p> + +<p>"I suppose Weaver's been talking to her," continued the Inspector +grumpily.</p> + +<p>"Dad!" Ellery laughed outright. "Occasionally you positively startle me +with your insight...."</p> + +<p>The doorbell rang, and Djuna ran to answer it. Marion French, dressed +in a severe black suit and a pert little black hat, her chin set at a +charmingly defiant angle, stood outside.</p> + +<p>Ellery sprang to his feet, his fingers straying to his tie. The +Inspector stepped forward quickly and opened wide the anteroom door.</p> + +<p>"Come in, come in, Miss French!" He was all smiles and fatherliness. +Marion smiled bewilderingly at Djuna and greeted the Inspector in a +grave undertone as she walked into the living-room. She blushed at +Ellery's warm words of welcome. And sat down in the Inspector's own +armchair at his magnanimous command, perched on the edge of the leather +seat, hands tightly clasped, chiseled lips firm.</p> + +<p>Ellery stood by the window. The Inspector drew up a chair and sat close +to the girl, facing her.</p> + +<p>"Now, what is it you wanted to talk to me about, my dear?" he asked in +a conversational tone.</p> + +<p>Marion's glance flew timidly to Ellery and returned. "I—It's about—"</p> + +<p>"About your visit to Mr. Zorn's place Monday evening, Miss French?" +inquired Ellery, smiling.</p> + +<p>She gasped. "Why—why, you knew!"</p> + +<p>Ellery made a deprecatory gesture. "It is hardly knowledge. Some call +it guessing."</p> + +<p>The Inspector's eyes bored into hers. But his voice was gentle now. +"Has Mr. Zorn a hold over you—or is it a matter more directly +concerned with your father, my dear?"</p> + +<p>She stared from one to the other as if she could not believe her ears. +"To think—" She laughed a trifle hysterically. "And I thought all +the while that it was a deep, dark secret...." A shadow seemed to +lift from her face all at once. "I suppose you want a coherent story. +You have heard, Westley tells me—" she bit her lip and crimsoned—"I +shouldn't have said that—he told me <i>particularly</i> not to say we'd +discussed this...." Both the Inspector and Ellery laughed aloud at her +<i>naïveté</i>. "At any rate," she went on, smiling faintly, "I gather that +you've heard about—about my stepmother and Mr. Zorn.... Really, it was +more gossip than anything else!" she cried. She calmed immediately. +"But I wasn't sure. And we all tried—so hard—to keep the nasty rumors +from father. I'm afraid we weren't entirely successful." Fear suddenly +flamed in her eyes. She stopped short and looked down at the floor.</p> + +<p>Ellery and the Inspector exchanged glances. "Go on, Miss French," said +the Inspector in the same soothing tone.</p> + +<p>"Then"—she spoke more rapidly now—"I overheard, quite by accident, +something that confirmed part of the rumors. Nothing—it hadn't gone +far, their affair, but it was getting dangerous. Even I could see +that.... That's the way things were on Monday."</p> + +<p>"You told your father?" asked Queen.</p> + +<p>She shivered. "Oh, no! But I had to save daddy's health, his +reputation, his—his peace of mind. I didn't even take Westley into my +confidence. He would have forbidden me to do—what I did. I called on +Mr. Zorn—and his wife."</p> + +<p>"Go on."</p> + +<p>"I went to their apartment. I was frankly desperate. It was just after +dinner and I knew they'd both be at home. And I wanted Mrs. Zorn to be +there, because she knew—and she was as jealous as a witch. She'd even +threatened—"</p> + +<p>"Threatened, Miss French?" demanded the Inspector.</p> + +<p>"Oh, it was nothing, Inspector," said Marion hurriedly, "but it told +me that she knew what was going on. And it was as much her fault +that Mr. Zorn fell in love with—with Winifred as anything. Mrs. +Zorn is—oh, quite awful...." She smiled wanly. "You'll think me a +scandalous gossip.... But before both of them I accused Mr. Zorn, +and—and told him it must stop. Mrs. Zorn flew into a terrible rage and +began to swear. All her spite turned against Winifred. She threatened +dire things. Mr. Zorn tried to argue with me, but—I suppose the +weight of two women railing at him just sapped his strength. He left +his apartment in a huff—left me with that awful woman. She looked +almost insane...." Marion shuddered. "So I became a little frightened +and—well, I suppose it <i>was</i> a good deal like running. I could hear +her screaming even in the corridor.... And—and that's all, Inspector +Queen, that's all," she faltered. "When I left the Zorns' apartment it +was a little after ten. I felt weak and sick. I really did walk in the +Park, as I told you yesterday at the store. I walked and walked until +I thought I'd drop from exhaustion, and then I went home. It was just +about midnight."</p> + +<p>There was a little silence. Ellery, watching the girl impassively, +turned his head away. The Inspector cleared his throat.</p> + +<p>"You went directly to bed, Miss French?" he asked.</p> + +<p>The girl stared at him. "Why, what do you mean?... I—" Fright gleamed +again in her eyes. But she said courageously, "Yes, Inspector, I did."</p> + +<p>"Did any one see you come into the house?"</p> + +<p>"No—no."</p> + +<p>"You saw no one, spoke to no one?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>The Inspector frowned. "Well! At any rate, Miss French, you did the +right thing—the only thing—in telling us about it."</p> + +<p>"I didn't want to," she said in a small voice. "But Westley, when I +told him to-day, said I must. And so—"</p> + +<p>"Why didn't you want to?" asked Ellery. It was the first time he had +spoken since Marion had begun her story.</p> + +<p>The girl did not speak for a long moment. Finally, with a determined +expression, she said: "I'd rather not answer that, Mr. Queen," and rose.</p> + +<p>The Inspector was on his feet instantly. He escorted her to the door in +an animate silence.</p> + +<p>When he returned, Ellery was chuckling. "As transparent as any angel," +he said. "Don't frown so, dad. Have you checked up on our good friend +Cyrus French?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, that!" The Inspector looked unhappy. "Yes, I had Johnson working +on it last night. Got his report this morning. He was at Whitney's +in Great Neck, all right. I understand he had a slight attack of +indigestion about nine o'clock Monday night. Retired immediately."</p> + +<p>"Coincidence?" Ellery grinned.</p> + +<p>"Eh?" Queen scowled. "At any rate, that accounts for him."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes?" Ellery sat down and crossed his long legs. "Purely as an +intellectual exercise," he said mischievously, "it does nothing of the +kind. You see, old Cyrus retires at nine. Let us assume that he wishes +to return to New York without the knowledge of his host. Suddenly. That +night. He slips out of the house and goes trudging down the road.... +Hold! Did any one see him leave so early in the morning in Whitney's +car?"</p> + +<p>The Inspector stared. "The chauffeur, of course—man who drove him into +the city. Johnson told me French left long before any one else was up. +But the chauffeur!"</p> + +<p>Ellery chuckled. "Better and better," he said. "Chauffeurs can be +hushed. It has been done.... Our worthy anti-vicious magnate, then, +slips out of the house; perhaps his accomplice, the chauffeur, even +drives him down to the station secretly. There's a train about that +hour. I know, because I took one three weeks ago Monday night when +I returned from Boomer's. And it's only a half-hour or so into Penn +Station. In time to slip through the freight-door...."</p> + +<p>"But he'd have to stay all night!" groaned the Inspector.</p> + +<p>"Granted. But then there's a sagacious chauffeur to alibi one.... You +see how simple it is?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, tosh!" exploded the Inspector.</p> + +<p>"I didn't say it wasn't," said Ellery, eyes twinkling. "But it's +something to bear in mind."</p> + +<p>"Fairy-tales!" growled the Inspector, and then they laughed together. +"I've arranged to get those alibis, by the way. I called Zorn from the +office and told him to come down here. I want to see how his story +checks up with Marion French's. And what he did after ten last night."</p> + +<p>Ellery lost his bantering air. He looked dissatisfied, rubbed his +forehead wearily. "It might be wise," he said, "to get all those alibis +clear, at that. Mightn't be a bad idea to get Mrs. Zorn down here, too. +And I'll emulate the Stoics meanwhile."</p> + +<p>The Inspector made a number of telephone calls, while Djuna went +rapidly through telephone directories, and Ellery slumped into an +easy-chair and closed his eyes....</p> + +<p>A half-hour later Mr. and Mrs. Zorn sat in the Queen living-room side +by side, facing Inspector Queen. Ellery was far off in a corner, almost +hidden by a jutting bookcase.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Zorn was a large-boned woman, well fleshed and rosy. Her +too-golden hair was cut in a severe, startling bob. She had cold green +eyes and a large mouth. She looked, at first glance, under thirty; on +closer observation, faint crinkles around her chin and eyes added ten +years to her appearance. She was dressed in the height of fashion and +carried herself with an air of arrogance.</p> + +<p>Despite Marion's story, Mr. and Mrs. Zorn seemed on the most amicable +of terms. Mrs. Zorn acknowledged her husband's introduction of the +Inspector with regal graciousness; she punctuated each remark to Zorn +with a sweet "My dear...."</p> + +<p>The Inspector examined her shrewdly with his eyes, and decided not to +mince words.</p> + +<p>He turned first to Zorn. "I have called you, as a logical step in this +inquiry, to explain your movements on the night of Monday past, Mr. +Zorn."</p> + +<p>The director's hand strayed to his bald pate. "Monday night? The +night—of the murder, Inspector?"</p> + +<p>"Exactly."</p> + +<p>"Are you insinuating—" Rage leaped into his eyes behind their heavy +gold-rimmed spectacles. Mrs. Zorn made the least gesture with a finger. +Zorn calmed magically. "I had dinner," he said, as if nothing had +happened, "at our apartment with Mrs. Zorn. We stayed in all evening. +At ten o'clock or so I left the apartment and went directly to the +Penny Club on Fifth Avenue and 32nd Street. I met Gray there and +we discussed the Whitney merger for a half-hour or so. I developed +a headache and told Gray I thought I'd try to walk it off. We said +good-night and I left the Club. I did take a long walk up the Avenue +and, in fact, walked all the way home to 74th Street."</p> + +<p>"And what time was that, Mr. Zorn?" asked the Inspector.</p> + +<p>"I should say about a quarter to twelve."</p> + +<p>"Was Mrs. Zorn up—did she see you?"</p> + +<p>The large rosy woman chose to reply for her husband. "No, Inspector, +no indeed! I had dismissed the servants for the night a little after +Mr. Zorn left the apartment, and I'd gone to bed myself. I fell +asleep almost immediately, and didn't hear him come in." She smiled, +exhibiting huge white teeth.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid I don't quite understand how—" began the Inspector +courteously.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Zorn and I have separate sleeping apartments, Inspector Queen," +she said, dimpling.</p> + +<p>"Umm." The Inspector turned once more to Zorn, who had sat perfectly +still during this colloquy. "Did you meet any one you knew during your +walk, Mr. Zorn?"</p> + +<p>"Why—no."</p> + +<p>"When you entered your apartment house, did any of the house personnel +see you?"</p> + +<p>Zorn fumbled with his massive red mustache. "I'm afraid not. There's +only a night-man at the switchboard after eleven, and when I came in he +was absent from his post."</p> + +<p>"The elevator, I suppose, is of the self-service type?" asked Queen +dryly.</p> + +<p>"Yes—that's correct."</p> + +<p>The Inspector turned to Mrs. Zorn. "At what time did you see your +husband in the morning—Tuesday morning?"</p> + +<p>She raised her blond brows archly. "Tuesday morning—let me see.... Oh, +yes! It was ten o'clock."</p> + +<p>"Fully dressed, Mrs. Zorn?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. He was reading his morning paper when I came into our +living-room."</p> + +<p>The Inspector smiled, quite wearily, and rose to take a short turn +about the room. Finally he stopped before Zorn and fixed him with a +stern eye. "Why haven't you told me about Miss French's visit to your +apartment Monday evening?"</p> + +<p>Zorn grew very still. The effect of Marion's name on Mrs. Zorn was +startling. The color drained from her face and her pupils dilated +tigerishly. It was she who spoke.</p> + +<p>"That——!" she said in a low passionate voice. But her body was tense +with anger. The mask of politeness fell from her face and revealed an +older woman—shrewish, cruel.</p> + +<p>The Inspector seemed not to hear. "Mr. Zorn?" he said.</p> + +<p>Zorn moistened his lips with a nervous tongue. "That's true—true +enough. I didn't see that it had anything to do.... Yes, Miss French +visited us. She left about ten o'clock."</p> + +<p>The Inspector made an impatient movement. "You talked about your +relations with Mrs. French, Mr. Zorn?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes. That's it." The words tumbled out, gratefully.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Zorn flew into a rage?"</p> + +<p>The woman's eyes darted cold green fire. Zorn mumbled, "Yes."</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Zorn." The eyes became veiled. "You went to bed shortly after +ten Monday night and did not leave your chamber until ten o'clock the +following morning?"</p> + +<p>"Right, Inspector Queen."</p> + +<p>"In that case," concluded the Inspector, "there is nothing more to be +said—now."</p> + +<p>When the Zorns had departed, the Inspector saw that Ellery was sitting +in his forgotten corner laughing silently to himself.</p> + +<p>"I fail to see the joke," said the old man ruefully.</p> + +<p>"Oh, dad—the mess and mire of it!" cried Ellery. "<i>La vie c'est +confusée!</i> How beautifully events belie each other.... What do you make +of your late interview?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know what you're talking about," growled the Inspector, "but +I know one thing. <i>Any one</i> who can't be accounted for by the visual +evidence of witnesses between eleven-thirty o'clock Monday night and a +little after nine on Tuesday morning might have done this job. Let's +take a hypothetical case. Suppose X is a possibility as the murderer. X +is not seen after eleven-thirty Monday night. He says he went home and +went to sleep. There is no witness. Suppose he didn't go home. Suppose +he slipped into the French store through that freight-entrance. And got +out the next morning at nine. Returned home, sneaked into his apartment +without any one seeing him, and then reappeared about ten-thirty or +so, letting lots of people see him. The presumption is that he slept +home all night and therefore couldn't have committed the crime. Yet +physically it was possible...."</p> + +<p>"Too true, too true," murmured Ellery. "Well, evoke the next victim."</p> + +<p>"He should be here any moment now," said the Inspector, and went into +the bathroom to bathe his perspiring face.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="32">32</h2> +</div> + +<h3>ALIBIS: MARCHBANKS</h3> + + +<p>Marchbanks glowered. He bore himself with the sullenness of a man who +nurses a grudge. He snapped at the Inspector and ignored Ellery. He +deposited his stick and hat on the table with a bang, rudely refusing +to allow Djuna to take them from him. He sat down uninvited and drummed +nastily on the arm of the chair.</p> + +<p>"Well, sir," thought the Inspector, "we'll have at <i>you</i>." He took +a pinch of snuff with deliberation, regarding Marchbanks curiously. +"Marchbanks," he said in curt tones, "where were you Monday evening and +night?"</p> + +<p>The dead woman's brother scowled. "What's this—a third degree?"</p> + +<p>"If you choose to make it so," retorted the Inspector, in his most +unpleasant voice. "I repeat—where were you Monday night?"</p> + +<p>"If you must know," said Marchbanks bitingly, "I was out on Long +Island."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Long <i>Island</i>!" The Inspector seemed duly impressed. "When did you +go, where did you go, and how long did you stay?"</p> + +<p>"You people always insist on a 'story,'" wheezed Marchbanks, setting +his feet solidly on the rug. "Very well. I left town at about seven +o'clock Monday evening. In my car...."</p> + +<p>"You drove yourself?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I—"</p> + +<p>"Anybody with you?"</p> + +<p>"NO!" shouted Marchbanks. "Do you want my story or don't you? I—"</p> + +<p>"Continue," said the Inspector judicially.</p> + +<p>Marchbanks glared. "As I began to say—I left town Monday evening at +seven in my car. I was bound for Little Neck—"</p> + +<p>"Little Neck, eh?" interpolated the Inspector exasperatingly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Little Neck," stormed Marchbanks. "What's wrong in that? I had +been invited to a small party at the house of a friend of mine there—"</p> + +<p>"His name?"</p> + +<p>"Patrick Malone," replied Marchbanks resignedly. "When I got there, I +found no one at home except Malone's man. He explained that at the last +moment Malone had been called away on business and had had to call off +the party...."</p> + +<p>"Did you know that such an eventuality might occur?"</p> + +<p>"If you mean did I know that Malone was going to be called away—yes, +in a way. He'd mentioned the possibility of it over the 'phone to me +earlier in the day. At any rate, I saw no use in staying, so I left +at once and proceeded off the main road to my own shack, a few miles +farther on. I keep it for occasional jaunts into the Island. I—"</p> + +<p>"Have you any servants there?"</p> + +<p>"No. It's a small place and I prefer solitude when I'm out that way. So +I slept there overnight and returned to the City in the morning by car."</p> + +<p>The Inspector smiled sardonically. "I suppose you met no one all night +or in the morning who might verify your statements?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know what you mean. What are you driving at—?"</p> + +<p>"Yes or no?"</p> + +<p>"... No."</p> + +<p>"What time did you get to the City?"</p> + +<p>"About ten-thirty. I rose rather late."</p> + +<p>"And what time was it Monday evening when you reached your friend +Malone's place and spoke to his valet?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I should say about eight or eight-thirty. I don't recall exactly."</p> + +<p>The Inspector sent a mutely humorous glance across the room to Ellery. +Then he shrugged his shoulders. Marchbanks' florid face darkened and he +rose abruptly.</p> + +<p>"If you have nothing more to ask me, Inspector Queen, I must be going." +He picked up his hat and stick.</p> + +<p>"Ah! Just one other thing. Sit down, Marchbanks." Marchbanks +reluctantly reseated himself. "How do you account for the murder of +your sister?"</p> + +<p>Marchbanks sniggered. "I thought you'd ask that. Up a tree, eh? Well, +I'm not surprised. The police of this city are—"</p> + +<p>"Answer my question, please."</p> + +<p>"I don't account for it, and I can't account for it!" cried Marchbanks +suddenly. "That's your business! All I know is that my sister has been +shot to death, and I want her murderer sizzling in the Chair." He +stopped, out of breath.</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, I realize your natural desire for revenge," said the +Inspector tiredly. "You may go, Mr. Marchbanks, but keep in town."</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="33">33</h2> +</div> + +<h3>ALIBIS: CARMODY</h3> + + +<p>Vincent Carmody was the next caller. His reticence was as marked as +usual. He folded his astonishing length and sat down quite noiseless in +the inquisitorial chair. And sat waiting.</p> + +<p>"Ah—Mr. Carmody," began the Inspector uneasily. The antique-dealer +disdained to reply to what was obviously a question of fact. "Ah—Mr. +Carmody, I've called you in for a little consultation. We are checking +up on the movements of everybody connected directly or indirectly with +Mrs. French. Purely as a matter of form, you understand...."</p> + +<p>"Ummm," said Carmody, his fingers in his straggly beard.</p> + +<p>The Inspector dipped hastily into his old brown snuff-box. "Now, I +should be happy, sir, to hear an account of your movements on Monday +night—the night of the murder."</p> + +<p>"The murder." Carmody said it negligently. "Not interested in that, +Inspector. What about my daughter?"</p> + +<p>The Inspector stared with growing irritation at Carmody's +expressionless lean face. "Your daughter's search is being conducted +by the proper authorities. We haven't found her yet, but we have new +information which is likely to produce results. Please answer my +question."</p> + +<p>"Results!" Carmody said it with surprising bitterness. "I know what +that word means in the police vocabulary. You're stumped and you know +it. I'll put my own detective on the case."</p> + +<p>"Will you <i>please</i> answer my question?" grated the Inspector.</p> + +<p>"Keep cool," said Carmody. "Don't see what my movements on Monday night +have to do with the case. I certainly didn't kidnap my own daughter. +But if you must have it, here it is.</p> + +<p>"Late Monday I received a telegram from one of my scouts. He reported +the discovery of practically a house full of early American pieces +in the wilds of Connecticut. I invariably investigate finds of that +nature personally. I took the train at Grand Central—the 9:14. Changed +at Stamford and didn't get to my destination until nearly midnight. +It's far off the beaten path. Had the address and immediately called +on the people who owned the furniture. Nobody home, and I still don't +know what went wrong. Had no place to stay—no hotel there—and had to +return to the city. Couldn't make a decent connection and didn't get +back to my apartment until four in the morning. That's all."</p> + +<p>"Not quite, Mr. Carmody." The Inspector mused. "Did any one see you +when you returned to the city—at your apartment, perhaps?"</p> + +<p>"No. It was too late. Nobody up. And I live alone. I had my breakfast +at the apartment dining-room at ten o'clock. The head-waiter will +identify me."</p> + +<p>"No doubt," said the Inspector disagreeably. "Meet any one on your trip +who might remember you?"</p> + +<p>"No. Unless the conductor of the train."</p> + +<p>"Well!" Queen slammed his hands behind his back and regarded Carmody +with open distaste. "Please make a note of all your movements and mail +it to me at Headquarters. One question more. Do you know that your +daughter Bernice is a drug addict?"</p> + +<p>Carmody leaped out of his chair snarling. In an instant he had been +transformed from bored reticence to contorted fury. Ellery half-rose +from his chair in the corner; it appeared for a moment as if the +antique-dealer might strike the Inspector. But the old man stood very +still, examining Carmody coolly. Carmody, fists clenched, subsided in +his chair.</p> + +<p>"How did you find that out?" he muttered in a strangled voice. The +muscles rippled under the skin of his dark triangular jaw. "I didn't +think any one knew—except Winifred and me."</p> + +<p>"Ah, so Mrs. French knew it too?" queried the Inspector instantly. "Had +she known it long?"</p> + +<p>"So it's out," growled Carmody. "Good God!" He raised a haggard face +to Queen. "I've known it for about a year. Winifred—" his face +hardened—"Winifred didn't know it at all. Eyes of the mother, and all +that," he added bitterly. "Rot! She thought chiefly of herself.... So +I told her—two weeks ago. She didn't believe it. We quarreled. But +at the end she knew—I saw it in her eyes. I had talked to Bernice +countless times about it. She was shameless. She would not divulge +the source of her drug supply. In desperation I turned to Winifred. +I thought Winifred might succeed where I had failed. I don't know +any more...." His voice dropped to a whisper. "I was going to take +Bernice away—somewhere—anywhere—cure her.... And then Winifred was +murdered and Bernice—gone...." His voice died away. Huge welts stood +out under his eyes. The man was suffering—how deeply, by what perverse +psychology only Ellery, sitting quietly in his corner, realized.</p> + +<p>And then, without another sound, without so much as a word of +explanation, Carmody sprang to his feet, snatched his hat, and dashed +from the Queen apartment. The Inspector, at the window, saw him running +wildly down the street, hat still clutched in his hand.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="34">34</h2> +</div> + +<h3>ALIBIS: TRASK</h3> + + +<p>Trask was a half-hour late for his appointment at the Queen apartment. +He appeared indolently, indolently greeted the two Queens, indolently +sank into the chair, indolently applied a match to his cigaret, which +was stuck rakishly in a long jade holder, and indolently awaited the +Inspector's questions.</p> + +<p>Where was he Monday night? Oh, about town—vaguely, with an idle +gesture of his arm. He tweaked the points of his mustache.</p> + +<p>Where "about town"? Well, really—can't remember. Some night-club or +other at first.</p> + +<p>At what time? Must have started about eleven-thirty.</p> + +<p>Where was he before eleven-thirty? Oh, he'd been disappointed by some +friends, and had dropped into a Broadway theater at the last moment.</p> + +<p>What was the name of the night-club? Really, don't recall it.</p> + +<p>What did he mean by "not recalling it"? Well—to tell the truth, he +had some bootleg liquor and it must have contained dynamite—ha, ha! +Put him out like a light. Got awfully drunk. Didn't remember anything +except dashing cold water on his face at ten o'clock Tuesday morning +in the lavatory of the Pennsylvania Station. All mussed up, too. Must +have had an awful night of it. Probably kicked out of the night-club in +the morning. And all that. Just had time to dash home and get into some +fresh clothes. Then the directors' meeting at the French store.</p> + +<p>"Beautiful!" muttered the Inspector, eying Trask as if he were an +obnoxious little animal. Trask flicked the ashes from his cigaret in +the general direction of a tray.</p> + +<p>"Trask!" The whip in Queen's voice brought the tall, dissipated +director's body up with a start. "Are you sure you can't remember what +night-club you were in?"</p> + +<p>"I say now," drawled Trask, sinking back, "you scared me that time, +Inspector. I've told you no. Went completely out of my head. Don't +recall a thing."</p> + +<p>"Well, that's just too bad," grunted the Inspector. "If I'm not +disturbing you, Trask—do you know that Bernice Carmody was a habitual +drug-user?"</p> + +<p>"Not really!" Trask sat up straight. "Then I <i>was</i> right!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, you suspected it?"</p> + +<p>"A number of times. Bernice was queer quite frequently. Showed all the +symptoms. I've seen plenty of 'em." He brushed a speck of ash from his +gardenia with languid distaste.</p> + +<p>The Inspector smiled. "Which didn't daunt you from going ahead with +your contemplated engagement to Miss Carmody?"</p> + +<p>Trask looked virtuous. "Oh, no—really! I'd intended to cure her after +we were married. Without her family's knowledge, and all that. Too +bad—too bad," he sighed. He sighed again.</p> + +<p>"What has your relationship been with Cyrus French?" demanded the +Inspector impatiently.</p> + +<p>"Oh, that!" Trask brightened. "Absolutely of the best, Inspector. +You—er—you would rather expect a chap to get along with his future +father-in-law. Haw-haw!"</p> + +<p>"Get out of here," said the Inspector distinctly.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="35">35</h2> +</div> + +<h3>ALIBIS: GRAY</h3> + + +<p>John Gray folded his gloves neatly, deposited them in his rich black +derby, and handed them with a cheerful smile to Djuna. Then he shook +hands decorously with the Inspector, nodded to Ellery with just +the proper note of heartiness, and obediently seated himself at the +Inspector's request.</p> + +<p>"Well!" he chuckled, smoothing his white mustache. "Very charming +household, I see. Very! And how is the investigation proceeding, +Inspector? Tchk, tchk!" He chattered like a spry old parrot, his +twinkling eyes never still.</p> + +<p>The Inspector cleared his throat. "A little matter of check-up, Mr. +Gray. Routine. I haven't inconvenienced you by this summons?"</p> + +<p>"Not at all, not at all," said Gray amiably. "I've just come from a +visit to Cyrus—Cyrus French, I should say—and he's much better, by +the way, much better."</p> + +<p>"That's nice," said the Inspector. "Now, Mr. Gray, just to make it +legal—can you account for your movements on Monday night?"</p> + +<p>Gray looked blank. Then he smiled slowly. Then he burst into an +infectious chuckle. "I see, I see! Clever, Inspector, quite clever. You +want to be sure of everything. Very interesting! I suppose every one is +coming in for a similar quiz?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes!" said the Inspector reassuringly. "We've had a number of +your colleagues on the carpet to-day already." They both laughed. Gray +became politely serious.</p> + +<p>"Monday night? Let me see." He plucked his mustache thoughtfully. +"Of course! Monday night I spent the entire evening at my Club. The +Penny Club, you know. Had dinner there with some of my cronies, played +billiards—the usual thing. At about ten o'clock, I believe, or perhaps +a little after ten, Zorn—you remember Zorn, of course, one of my +fellow-directors—Zorn dropped in for a chat. We discussed the coming +merger, the details of which we were to work out in conference the next +morning with French and the rest, and about a half-hour later Zorn +left, complaining of headache."</p> + +<p>"Well, that tallies nicely," said Queen, with a grin. "Because Mr. Zorn +was here not long ago and told us about your meeting at the Penny Club."</p> + +<p>"Really?" Gray smiled. "Then I gather there is little left to be said, +Inspector."</p> + +<p>"Not quite, Mr. Gray." The Inspector clucked cheerfully. "You see, just +to keep the record straight—how did you spend the rest of the evening?"</p> + +<p>"Oh! In a commonplace manner, sir. I left the Club at about eleven and +walked home—I live not far from there, on Madison Avenue. Simply went +home and to bed."</p> + +<p>"You live alone, Mr. Gray?"</p> + +<p>Gray grimaced. "Unfortunately, being a misogynist, I have no family, +Inspector. An old servant keeps house for me—I live in an apartment +hotel, you know."</p> + +<p>"Then your housekeeper was up when you returned from the Club, Mr. +Gray?"</p> + +<p>Gray spread his hands briefly. "No. Hilda had left on Saturday evening +to visit a sick brother in Jersey City, and did not get back until +Tuesday afternoon."</p> + +<p>"I see." The Inspector took snuff. "But surely <i>some one</i> saw you get +home, Mr. Gray?"</p> + +<p>Gray looked startled, then he smiled again one of his twinkling smiles. +"Oh, you want me to establish my—alibi, is it, Inspector?"</p> + +<p>"That's what it's called, sir."</p> + +<p>"Then there's nothing more to be said," replied Gray happily. "Because +Jackson, the night-clerk, saw me when I entered the building. I asked +for mail and stood chatting with him for several minutes. Then I took +the elevator to my suite."</p> + +<p>The Inspector's face brightened. "Then really," he said, "there +<i>is</i> nothing more to be said. Except—" his face lengthened +momentarily—"what time was it when you stopped talking with this +night-clerk and went upstairs?"</p> + +<p>"Just eleven-forty. I remember glancing at the clock above Jackson's +desk to compare it with my own watch."</p> + +<p>"And where is your hotel, Mr. Gray?"</p> + +<p>"Madison and 37th, Inspector. The <i>Burton</i>."</p> + +<p>"Then I think—Unless, Ellery, you would like to ask Mr. Gray a +question or two?"</p> + +<p>The aged little director turned quickly, in open surprise. He had +forgotten the presence of Ellery, who was sitting quietly in his corner +listening to the conversation. Gray looked expectant as Ellery smiled.</p> + +<p>"Thank you, dad—I <i>have</i> something to ask Mr. Gray, if we're not +keeping him too long?" He looked questioningly at their visitor.</p> + +<p>Gray expostulated. "Not at all, Mr. Queen. Anything I can do to help +you—"</p> + +<p>"Very well, then." Ellery hoisted his lean length from the chair and +stretched his muscles. "Mr. Gray, I'm going to ask you a peculiar +question. I rely upon your discretion to preserve silence, for one +thing, and upon your undoubted loyalty to Mr. French and your concern +in his bereavement to answer frankly."</p> + +<p>"I'm entirely at your service."</p> + +<p>"Let me present a hypothetical case," continued Ellery rapidly. "Let us +suppose that Bernice Carmody was a drug addict...."</p> + +<p>Gray frowned. "A drug addict?"</p> + +<p>"Exactly. And let us suppose further that neither her mother nor her +stepfather suspected her malady and condition. Then let us suppose that +Mrs. French suddenly discovered the truth...."</p> + +<p>"I see, I see," murmured Gray.</p> + +<p>"The hypothetical question arising from this hypothetical case is: +What do you think Mrs. French would do?" Ellery lit a cigaret.</p> + +<p>Gray grew thoughtful. Then he looked into Ellery's eyes. "The first +thing that occurs to me, Mr. Queen," he said simply, "is that Mrs. +French would <i>not</i> confide in Cyrus."</p> + +<p>"That's interesting. You know them both so well...."</p> + +<p>"Yes." Gray set his small wrinkled jaw. "Cyrus has been a lifelong +friend. I know—or knew—Mrs. French perhaps as well as any one +acquainted with the French family. And I am certain, familiar as I am +with Cyrus's character and Mrs. French's knowledge of his character, +that she would not dare to tell him such a thing. She would keep it +strictly to herself. She might possibly inform Carmody, her first +husband...."</p> + +<p>"We needn't go into that, Mr. Gray," said Ellery. "But why would she +keep it a secret from French?"</p> + +<p>"Because," said Gray frankly, "Cyrus is hypersensitive on the subject +of vice, particularly drug addiction. You must remember that most of +his latter years have been devoted to wiping out as much of this sort +of vice in the City as possible. To find it in his own family would, I +firmly believe, unbalance him.... But, of course," he added quickly, +"he doesn't know; I'm positive Mrs. French would keep a thing like that +to herself. She might try to cure the girl secretly, perhaps...."</p> + +<p>Ellery said clearly: "One of the major reasons for Mrs. French's +silence in a case like this would be, I suppose, that she was aiming to +secure for her daughter a generous slice of her husband's fortune?"</p> + +<p>Gray started uncomfortably. "Well.... I don't.... Yes, if you must +have the truth, I think that is so. Mrs. French was a calculating—not +necessarily unscrupulous, mind you—but a calculating and very +practical woman. I believe that, motherlike, she was determined that +Bernice come in for a good share of Cyrus's estate when Cyrus should +pass on.... Is there anything else, Mr. Queen?"</p> + +<p>"That is," said Ellery, smiling, "quite sufficient. Thank you +immeasurably, Mr. Gray."</p> + +<p>"Then," said the Inspector, "that will be all."</p> + +<p>Gray looked relieved, accepted his coat, hat and gloves from Djuna, +murmured polite adieux, and left.</p> + +<p>The Inspector and Ellery heard his light quick step on the staircase as +he descended to the street.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="36">36</h2> +</div> + +<h3>"THE TIME HAS COME ..."</h3> + + +<p>The Queens had dinner in silence. Djuna served in silence, and in +silence cleared the table afterward. The Inspector dipped into the +browned interior of his snuff-box and Ellery held communion with first +a cigaret, then a pipe, then a cigaret again. In all this time no word +was spoken. It was a silence of sympathy, not infrequent in the Queen +household.</p> + +<p>Finally Ellery sighed and stared into the fireplace. But it was the +Inspector who spoke first.</p> + +<p>"As far as I am concerned," he said with a grim disappointment, "this +day has been entirely wasted."</p> + +<p>Ellery raised his eyebrows. "Dad, dad, you grow more irascible with +every passing day.... If I didn't know how upset and overworked you've +been of late, I'd be annoyed with you."</p> + +<p>"At my obtuseness?" demanded the Inspector, twinkling.</p> + +<p>"No, at the lapse of your usual mental vigor." Ellery twisted his head +and grinned at his father. "Do you mean to say that to-day's incidents +have meant nothing to you?"</p> + +<p>"The raid flat, Springer skipped, nothing tangible from the alibis of +these people—I can't see any cause for celebration," retorted the +Inspector.</p> + +<p>"Well, well!" Ellery frowned. "Perhaps I'm over-sanguine.... But the +whole thing is so clear!"</p> + +<p>He sprang to his feet and began to rummage in his desk. He produced his +voluminous sheets of notes and thumbed rapidly through them under the +Inspector's wearied and bewildered eyes. Then he slapped them back into +their receptacle.</p> + +<p>"It's all over," he announced, "all over but the shouting and—the +proof. I have all the threads—or rather, all the threads which lead +inexorably to the murderer of Mrs. French. They don't make solid proof, +such as is demanded by our venerable courts of law and our prosecuting +system. What would you do in a case like that, dad?"</p> + +<p>The Inspector wrinkled his nose in self-disgust. "I take it that what's +been a hopeless maze to me has been a clear thoroughfare to you. That +rankles, son! I have raised up a Frankenstein to haunt my old age ..." +Then he chuckled and laid a slightly infirm hand on Ellery's knee.</p> + +<p>"Good lad," he said. "I don't know <i>what</i> I'd do without you."</p> + +<p>"Shucks." Ellery blushed. "You've gone sentimental, too, dad ..." Their +fingers met covertly. "Now, look here, Inspector! You've got to help me +to a decision!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes ..." Queen dropped back, embarrassed. "You've got a case, an +explanation and no proof. What to do.... Bluff, my son. Bluff as if +you'd raised the pot before the draw on a pair of fours and then found +real opposition staring at you. Raise again!"</p> + +<p>Ellery looked thoughtful. "I've been tottering on the edge.... +Christmas!" His eyes brightened with a sudden thought. "How stupid I've +been!" he cried at once. "I've a beautiful card up my sleeve and I've +forgotten all about it! Bluff? We'll just about sweep our slippery +friend off our slippery friend's feet!"</p> + +<p>He yanked the telephone toward him, hesitated, then turned it over to +the Inspector, who was regarding him with gloomy fondness.</p> + +<p>"Here's a list," he said, scribbling on a piece of paper, "of some +people of importance. Will you blow the conch, dad, while I begin a +memorization of these pesky notes?"</p> + +<p>"The time is—" asked the Inspector submissively.</p> + +<p>"To-morrow morning at nine-thirty," replied Ellery. "And you might call +the D.A. and tell him to close in on our friend Springer."</p> + +<p>"Springer!" cried the Inspector.</p> + +<p>"Springer," replied Ellery. And thereafter there was silence, broken +periodically by the voice of the Inspector on the telephone.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="ph2">PARENTHESIS AND CHALLENGE</p> + +<p>I have often found it a stimulating exercise in my own reading of +murder fiction to pause at that point in the story immediately +preceding the solution, and to try by a logical analysis to determine +for myself the identity of the criminal.... Because I believe that +numerous gourmets of this species of fictional delicacy are as +interested in the reasoning as in the reading, I submit in the proper +spirit of sportsmanship an amiable challenge to the reader.... Without +reading the concluding pages, Reader—Who killed Mrs. French?... +There is a great tendency among detective-story lovers to endeavor to +"guess" the criminal by submitting to the play of a blind instinct. A +certain amount of this is inevitable, I will admit, but the application +of logic and common sense is the important thing, the source of the +greater enjoyment.... Whereupon I state without reservation that +the reader is at this stage in the recounting of <i>The French Powder +Mystery</i> fully cognizant of all the facts pertinent to the discovery +of the criminal; and that a sufficiently diligent study of what has +gone before should educe a clear understanding of what is to come. <i>A +rivederci!</i></p> + +<p class="ph3">E. Q.</p> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_LAST_EPISODE">THE LAST EPISODE</h2> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>"<i>Forty years in the service of the</i> SÛRETÉ, <i>one might +hazard, would dull the edge of one's zest for the hunt. Thank the good +Lord, this is not so! at least in my own case, which has been as full +of interest, I dare say, as the next.... There was the admirable Henri +Tencqueville, who cut his throat before my very eyes when we cornered +him in his Montmartre hideaway ... and Petit Charlot, who shot two of +my faithful lads to death and bit off a piece of the good Sergeant +Mousson's nose in the</i> mêlée <i>before he was subdued.... Ah, well! I +grow tender in reminiscence, but ... I would make the point that even +to-day, old and enfeebled as I am, I would not give up the thrill +of that final</i> coup de main, <i>that last stage of the chase when the +quarry, panting and desperate, has his back to the wall—no, not for +all the everlasting delights of the Turkish heaven!...</i>"</p> + + +<p class="ph3">—From <span class="smcap">The Memoirs of a Prefect</span>,<br> <i>By</i> Auguste Brillon.</p> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="37">37</h2> +</div> + +<h3>MAKE READY!</h3> + + +<p>They came in one by one—furtive, curious, impassive, bored, reluctant, +openly nervous. Quietly they came in, conscious of the tight police +cordon, of a quivering strain in the atmosphere, of shrewd eyes that +noted and calculated their least movement—conscious most of all of +grim over-hanging disaster, to whom and with what dire effects they did +not know and could only guess.</p> + +<p>It was nine-thirty of the fateful Thursday morning. The door through +which they shuffled in silence was the door marked PRIVATE: CYRUS +FRENCH.... They passed inside through the bare lofty anteroom, +into the heavy quiet of the library, sat down in incredible camp-chairs +set up martially facing the dormer-windows.</p> + +<p>They crowded the room. In the front row sat old Cyrus French himself, +a white and trembling figure. His fingers were desperately entwined +in the fingers of Marion French by his side. Westley Weaver, harried +face gaunted by sleeplessness, occupied the seat next to Marion's. To +French's left was Dr. Stuart, the old man's physician, watching his +patient with a professional pantherishness. By Stuart's side sat John +Gray, dapper and bird-like, occasionally leaning over the doctor's +bulky abdomen to talk into the sick man's ear.</p> + +<p>In the row behind were Hortense Underhill, the housekeeper, and Doris +Keaton, the maid. Both sat rigidly, whispering to each other out of the +corners of their mouths, peering about with frightened eyes.</p> + +<p>In serried ranks.... Wheezing Marchbanks; the portly Zorn fingering his +watch-chain; a befurred and aromatic Mrs. Zorn dispensing smiles to +the grave Frenchman, Paul Lavery, who stroked his short beard; Trask, +a flower in his lapel, but utterly pale, with enormous leaden rings +under his eyes; the antique-dealer Vincent Carmody, a saturnine figure, +uncompromising, somber, even in his chair towering above the heads of +the company; mild-mannered Arnold MacKenzie, the general manager of the +store; Diana Johnson, the Negress who had discovered Mrs. French's dead +body; the four watchmen—O'Flaherty, Bloom, Ralska, Powers....</p> + +<p>There was little conversation. Each time the anteroom door opened +people twisted about in their seats, craned, jerked their eyes back to +the window again with guilty side-glances toward each other.</p> + +<p>The conference table had been pushed against the wall. In a row +of chairs before the table sat Sergeant Thomas Velie and William +Crouther, chief of the store's detective force, talking in undertones; +scowling Salvatore Fiorelli, of the Narcotic Squad, bright black +eyes snapping at some inexpressible thought, his scar pulsing slowly +beneath the swarthy skin; "Jimmy," the little bald-headed operative of +the Headquarters fingerprint department. At the anteroom door stood +Patrolman Bush, relegated to the important post of guardian of the +door. A cloud of detectives, among them Inspector Queen's favorite +operatives—Hagstrom, Flint, Ritter, Johnson, and Piggott—massed along +the wall directly opposite the conference table. At each corner of the +room stood a silent officer in blue, cap in hand.</p> + +<p>Neither Inspector Queen nor Ellery Queen had yet put in his appearance. +People whispered this information to each other. They looked sidelong +at the anteroom door, against which Bush's broad back was set.</p> + +<p>Gradually, tangibly, another silence came over the scene. +Whispers trembled, wavered, ceased. Glances became more furtive, +chair-twistings more frequent. Cyrus French coughed violently; +he doubled up in agony. Dr. Stuart's eyes flickered with a vague +anxiety. Weaver bent far to the side when the old man's paroxysm had +passed; Marion looked startled; soon their heads were close together, +touching....</p> + +<p>Crouther scraped his hand over his face. "What the hell is holdin' up +the works, Sergeant?" Velie shook his head gloomily. "What's it all +about?"</p> + +<p>"Got me."</p> + +<p>Crouther shrugged.</p> + +<p>The silence thickened. Every one grew still as stone.... The silence +grew more embarrassing with each passing moment—a silence that +swelled, breathed, became alive....</p> + +<p>Then Sergeant Velie did a strange thing. His spatulate forefinger, +resting on his knee, tapped three distinct times, in rhythm. Not even +Crouther caught the signal, and Crouther was at Velie's side. But +the officer on guard, who had been watching the Sergeant's hand for +minutes, immediately sprang into motion. All eyes flashed instantly +upon him, grasping at this sign of life, of happening with a pitiful +eagerness.... The policeman went to the desk, which was shrouded by a +light tarpaulin, and bending far over carefully removed the covering. +He stepped back, folded the tarpaulin neatly, retreated to his +corner....</p> + +<p>But he was already forgotten. As if the sheer rays of a searchlight +had been trained upon the desk, every one in the room eyed the objects +revealed with a fascination drawn from the deepest crevices of his +being.</p> + +<p>They were many, and heterogeneous. Ranged in orderly rows along the +glass top, each with a small labeled card before it, were the gold +lipstick marked <i>W.M.F.</i>, which Ellery had found on the bedroom +dressing-table; the silver-chased lipstick with the <i>C</i> monogram from +the dead woman's bag in the exhibition-window; six keys with gold +discs—the keys to the apartment, five of which bore the initials +of Cyrus French, Winifred Marchbanks French, Marion French, Bernice +Carmody, Westley Weaver, and the sixth the word Master; the two +carved onyx book-ends, lying with a small jar of white powder and a +camel's-hair brush between them; the five strange volumes which Ellery +had found on French's desk; the shaving-set from the lavatory cabinet; +two ashtrays filled with cigaret-stubs—one set much shorter in length +than the other; the gauzy scarf initialed <i>M.F.</i>, taken from the neck +of the victim; a board on which were tacked the cards from the cardroom +table, laid out exactly as they had first appeared to the police; the +slip of blue memorandum paper which was checked off at Cyrus French's +typewritten name; the blue hat and the walking shoes from the bedroom +closet which Hortense Underhill and Doris Keaton had identified as +having been worn by Bernice Carmody the day she disappeared; and a +black .38 Colt revolver, with the two now rusty-looking splatters of +metal which had been the lethal bullets lying near the muzzle.</p> + +<p>Quite by itself, prominently in view of the audience, lay a pair of +dull, steely manacles—a symbol and a portent of what was to come....</p> + +<p>And there they reposed, the silent clues garnered during the +investigation frankly open to the gaze of the uneasy guests of Ellery +Queen. Again they stared, whispered.</p> + +<p>But this time they had not long to wait. A slight commotion in the +corridor outside became plainly audible in the library. Sergeant Velie +lumbered to his feet and went quickly to the anteroom door, motioning +Patrolman Bush aside. He disappeared, the door swinging shut behind him.</p> + +<p>Now the door became the focal point of those half-angry, bewildered +eyes—that door behind which the deep murmur of several voices kept up +a short mysterious litany.... And as if it had been cut cleanly by a +knife, the voices broke off and an instant of silence fell before the +knob of the door was rattled, the door was pushed inward, and eight men +stepped into the room.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="38">38</h2> +</div> + +<h3>THE END OF ALL THINGS</h3> + + +<p>It had been Ellery Queen's hand on the knob—a subtly changed young man +with drawn features and a sharpened glance that swept the room once and +then returned to the anteroom.</p> + +<p>"Before me, Commissioner," he murmured, holding the door wide. +Commissioner Scott Welles grunted, pushed his heavy body into view. +Three tight-lipped men in plain clothes—his bodyguard—flanked him as +he crossed the room toward the desk.</p> + +<p>Next to appear in full sight of the assembled company was a strangely +altered Inspector Richard Queen, holding himself rigidly erect. He was +pale. He followed the police commissioner in silence.</p> + +<p>After Queen came District Attorney Henry Sampson and his assistant, the +red-haired Timothy Cronin. They were whispering to each other, paying +no attention to the occupants of the room.</p> + +<p>Velie, making up the rear, carefully closed the anteroom door, flipped +Bush back to his post with a curt finger, and dropped into his chair +beside Crouther. The store detective looked up at him inquiringly; +Velie said nothing and settled his big body. Both men turned to watch +the newcomers.</p> + +<p>There was a little flurry of conversation as Ellery Queen and his +companions stood near the desk at the head of the room. Inspector Queen +indicated one of the leather-padded conference chairs immediately to +the right and a little behind the desk, as the seat to be occupied by +the Commissioner. Welles seemed a sadder and wiser man—he sat down +without a word, his eyes on Ellery's quiet figure before the desk.</p> + +<p>The three guards disposed themselves with the other detectives at the +side of the room.</p> + +<p>Inspector Queen himself sat down in a big chair to the left of the +desk, with Cronin at his side. The District Attorney dropped into a +chair next to the Commissioner. Desk in the center, its varied articles +beckoning attention. On either side two chairs with official occupants. +And dominating the scene....</p> + +<p>The stage was set.</p> + +<p>Ellery Queen, cynically examining the room and its occupants once +more, expressed himself as satisfied at the Commissioner's brusque +question. Ellery stepped behind the desk and stood with his back to +the dormer-windows. His head was lowered, his eyes on the desk-top. +His hand strayed to the glass, hovered over the book-ends, played with +the jar of white powder.... He smiled, straightened, raised his head, +removed his pince-nez glasses, looked calmly at his hushed audience, +waited.... Not until there was absolute silence did he speak.</p> + +<p>"Ladies and gentleman." Prosy beginning! Yet something vaguely eerie +shivered through the air; it was a simultaneous sigh from many breasts.</p> + +<p>"Ladies and gentlemen. Sixty hours ago Mrs. Winifred French was shot to +death in this building. Forty-eight hours ago her body was found. This +morning we have assembled at a private Waterloo to name her murderer." +Ellery had spoken quietly; now he paused for the slightest instant....</p> + +<p>But after that sigh <i>en masse</i> even breaths seemed to be drawn with +care. No one spoke; no one whispered. They merely sat and waited.</p> + +<p>A cutting edge slipped into the tone of Ellery's voice. "Very well! +A few preliminary explanations are required. Commissioner Welles—" +he turned slightly toward Welles, "it is with your permission that I +conduct this unofficial inquest?"</p> + +<p>Welles nodded, once.</p> + +<p>"Then let me explain," continued Ellery, turning back to his auditors, +"that I am merely taking the place of Inspector Queen, who is unable +to take charge because of a minor throat ailment which makes long +speaking difficult and painful. Correct, sir?" He bowed very solemnly +in the direction of his father. The Inspector grew even paler than +before, nodded wordlessly. "Further," Ellery went on, "if I shall at +any time use the personal 'I' in my discourse this morning, you are to +understand that it is merely for convenience—that in reality I shall +be describing the investigatory processes of Inspector Queen himself."</p> + +<p>He halted abruptly, threw a challenging glance about the room, met +nothing but wide eyes and ears, and plunged at once into an analysis of +the French murder case.</p> + +<p>"I shall take you through our investigation of this crime, ladies and +gentlemen," he began in a sharp decisive tone, "step by step, deduction +by deduction, observation by observation, until I arrive at what is an +inevitable conclusion. Hagstrom, you are taking this down?"</p> + +<p>Eyes followed the direction of Ellery's glance. At the side of the room +where the detectives were congregated, Detective Hagstrom was seated, +pencil poised above a stenographic notebook. Hagstrom bobbed his head.</p> + +<p>"What transpires here this morning," explained Ellery pleasantly, "will +become part of the official dossier of the case. Enough of asides!" He +cleared his throat.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Winifred Marchbanks French was discovered dead—killed by two +bullets, one in the heart and one in the <i>precordial</i> region below the +heart—on Tuesday at fifteen minutes or so past noon. When Inspector +Queen arrived upon the scene he noted several facts which led him to +believe that"—he paused—"the exhibition-window on the main floor was +<i>not</i> in effect the place where the crime was committed."</p> + +<p>The room was deathly still. Fascination, fear, aversion, grief—the +gamut of emotions played upon those intent white faces. Ellery Queen +went on, rapidly.</p> + +<p>"There were five component elements in this initial investigation," he +said, "that pointed to the conclusion that the murder was not committed +in the window.</p> + +<p>"The first was the fact that, while on Monday night Mrs. French had in +her possession her personal key to this apartment, the key was missing +from her person and effects Tuesday morning, on the discovery of her +dead body. O'Flaherty, the head night-watchman, testified that she +had the key at eleven-fifty Monday night when she left his cubbyhole +to take the elevator upstairs. Yet it was gone. Search of the store +and premises left the key still unfound. What was the inference? That +the key and the crime were in some way connected. How? Well, the key +appertained to the apartment. If it was missing, wasn't there an +indication that the apartment also entered into the crime somewhere? At +least there was enough suspicion to be gleaned from the missing key to +warrant a belief that the apartment <i>might have been</i> the scene of the +crime."</p> + +<p>Ellery paused; his lips twitched with fleeting amusement at the +frowning faces before him.</p> + +<p>"Captious reasoning? I see the disbelief on your faces. Yet bear it in +mind. The fact of the key's being missing meant nothing of itself—but +when it was added to the four other facts of which I shall speak, it +took on significance indeed."</p> + +<p>He swung back into his main narrative.</p> + +<p>"The second element was a grotesque and even amusing one—you will +see, incidentally, that the detection of crime is not built upon +weighty salient factors, but upon just such incongruities as I shall +have occasion to mention this morning.... I refer to the fact that the +crime must have been committed a short time after midnight. This was +simply calculated from Dr. Prouty's report—Dr. Prouty is the Assistant +Medical Examiner—that Mrs. French had been dead some twelve hours when +she was found.</p> + +<p>"If Mrs. French had been shot to death in the window-room at a little +past midnight, ladies and gentlemen," continued Ellery, with a twinkle +in his eye, "her murderer must have committed his crime either in +total darkness or by the feeble illumination of a pocket-torch! For +there were no lighting fixtures that worked in the room—in fact, no +bulbs—and the room was not even wired. Yet we were forced to suppose +that the murderer met his victim, talked with her, perhaps quarreled +with her, then shot her unerringly in two vital spots, disposed of her +body in the wall-bed, cleaned up the blood-stains and what not—all in +a room at best illuminated by a flashlight! No, it was not reasonable. +Wherefore Inspector Queen, quite logically, I believe, concluded that +the crime was not committed in the exhibition-window."</p> + +<p>There was a little rustle of excitement. Ellery smiled, continued.</p> + +<p>"This, however, was not the only reason for his belief. There was +a third point. And that was the lipstick—the long, silver-chased +lipstick—monogrammed <i>C</i>, found in Mrs. French's handbag by her body. +That this lipstick obviously was not Mrs. French's I shall not discuss +at this point. The pertinent factor was that it contained lip-rouge of +a decidedly darker shade of red than the lip-rouge on the dead woman's +lips. But this meant that Mrs. French's own lipstick—with which she +daubed the lighter rouge on her lips—should be somewhere about. But +it was not! Where could it be? Perhaps the murderer took it? That +sounded rather nonsensical. The most plausible explanation seemed to be +that the missing lipstick was somewhere else in the building.... Why +somewhere else in the building?—why not at Mrs. French's home, or at +least outside the store?</p> + +<p>"For this very good reason. That Mrs. French's lips—her dead mute +lips—which were painted with the lighter shade of red, indicated that +she had not completed her application of the rouge! There were two dabs +on either side of her upper lip, and another small dab in the center +of her lower lip. The rouge had not been smeared—it had patently been +applied with a finger and left that way..." Ellery turned toward Marion +French. He said gently, "How do you apply your lip-rouge, Miss French?"</p> + +<p>The girl whispered: "Just as you described, Mr. Queen. Three pats, one +on each side of the upper lip and one in the center of the lower lip."</p> + +<p>"Thank you." Ellery smiled. "We had, then, visible evidence of a +case where a woman began to paint her lips and did not complete the +operation. But this was unnatural, remarkable. There are very few +things that will keep a woman from finishing this delicate task. Very, +very few! One of them might be a violent interruption of some kind. +A violent interruption? But there was murder committed! Was that the +interruption?"</p> + +<p>He changed his tone, forged ahead. "It seemed likely. But in any +case, those lips had not been painted in the window-room. Where was +the lipstick? That we found it later in the apartment was merely +confirmation....</p> + +<p>"Point number four was physiological. Dr. Prouty was puzzled by the +fact that there was so little blood on the corpse. Both wounds—one +particularly—should have bled considerably. The <i>precordial</i> region +contains many blood-vessels and muscles which would have been badly +torn by the passage of the bullet, which left a ragged wound. Where +was the blood? Had the murderer cleaned it up? But in the dark, or +semi-darkness, he could not possibly have removed all traces of the +copious blood-flow from those wounds. Whereupon we were compelled +once more to conclude that that blood had flowed—<i>somewhere else</i>. +Which meant that Mrs. French had been shot somewhere else than in the +window-room.</p> + +<p>"And the fifth point was a psychological one which I fear"—he smiled +sadly—"would not carry much weight in a court of law. Nevertheless to +me it was quite over-whelming in its indication. For the mind rebelled +at the thought that the window-room was the scene of the crime. It was +preposterous, dangerous, asinine from the point of view of a potential +murderer. A meeting and a murder connote secrecy, privacy—any number +of exact requirements. The window-room afforded none of these. The +room is not fifty feet away from the head night-watchman's office. +That area is well-patrolled at periodic intervals. Revolver-shots had +to be fired—and none was heard. No! Both Inspector Queen and myself +felt—for the five reasons I have given you, no single one of which was +conclusive, but which were collectively significant—that the crime was +not committed in the window-room."</p> + +<p>Ellery paused. His audience was following the story with eager, panting +concentration. Commissioner Welles regarded Ellery with a new light in +his small eyes. The Inspector was sunk deeply in thought.</p> + +<p>"If not the window," continued Ellery, "where then? The key pointed +to the apartment—the required privacy, illumination, a logical +place for the use of lipstick—certainly the apartment seemed the +best possibility. So Inspector Queen, relying upon my discretion and +discernment, since he himself could not leave the window-room where +the preliminary investigation was still going on, asked me to go to +the apartment and see what I could see. Which I did, with interesting +results....</p> + +<p>"The first thing I found in the apartment was Mrs. French's own +lipstick, lying on the bedroom dressing-table." Ellery picked up +the gold lipstick from the desk and held it up for a moment. "This +lipstick proved at once, of course, that Mrs. French had been in the +apartment on Monday night. The fact that it was lying under the curved +edge of a mother-of-pearl tray on the dressing-table and was quite +hidden, showed that it had probably been overlooked by the murderer. +In fact, the murderer had no reason even to look for it, because he +did not apparently observe that the lipstick in Mrs. French's bag and +the coloring on her lips were not identical." Ellery replaced the +glittering metal case on the desk.</p> + +<p>"Now, I found the lipstick on the dressing-table. What did this mean? +It seemed rather plain that Mrs. French had been using the stick at +that dressing-table inside when she was interrupted. But the fact that +the lipstick was still there on the table when I found it pointed, it +seemed to me, to the fact that Mrs. French was not shot in the bedroom. +What was the interruption, then? Obviously, either a knock on the outer +door or the noise of the murderer entering the apartment. It was not +the latter, for the murderer had no key to the apartment, as I shall +soon prove. Then it must have been a knock at the door. Then, too, Mrs. +French must have been expecting it, for it so disturbed her, or it +was so important to her, that she immediately put down her lipstick, +neglecting to complete the daubing of her lips, and hurried through +the library and into the anteroom to admit her nocturnal visitor. +Presumably she opened the door, the visitor entered, and they went into +the library where Mrs. French stood behind the desk and the visitor +stood to the right, facing her—that is, Mrs. French stood where I am +standing now and the murderer stood about where Detective Hagstrom is +sitting at this moment.</p> + +<p>"How do I know this?" went on Ellery rapidly. "Very simply. On +examining the library, I discovered that these book-ends, which lay on +the desk"—he lifted the two onyx book-ends carefully and exhibited +them—"had been tampered with. The green felt sheathing of one of +them was lighter in shade than its mate. Mr. Weaver volunteered the +information that the book-ends were only two months old, having been +presented to Mr. French by Mr. Gray on the occasion of Mr. French's +last birthday, and that he had observed them at that time in perfect +condition, with the felts exactly alike in color. Furthermore, the +book-ends had never left the room, or in fact the desk itself. +Apparently, then, the change of felt had occurred the night before. And +that was proved when, on examining the felt under a powerful glass, I +noted some scattered grains of a white powder stuck in the glue-line +where felt and onyx met!</p> + +<p>"The glue was still a trifle viscid," said Ellery, "showing that it +had been very recently applied. The grains, on examination, by myself +cursorily and on analysis by the official fingerprint expert, proved +to be ordinary fingerprint powder, such as is used by the police. +But the use of fingerprint powder predicated a crime. There were no +fingerprints on the onyx. That meant the fingerprints had been removed. +Why the powder, then? Obviously, first to sprinkle the surface in order +to bring out what fingerprints might be there, and second to remove the +ones found. So much was evident.</p> + +<p>"But the larger question arose—why were these book-ends handled at +all?" Ellery smiled. "It was an important question, and its answer +told an important story. Well, we now knew that they were handled in +order to change the felt on one of them. <i>But why had that felt been +changed?</i>"</p> + +<p>His eyes challenged them mischievously. "There was only one logical +answer. <i>To hide or remove a trace of the crime.</i> But what could such +a trace be—one that would necessitate carefully ripping off a whole +felt, running down to some department in the store which stocks felts +and baizes (with what risk you may imagine!), bringing back the felt +and some glue, and finally pasting the new protector on the book-end? +It must be a damaging trace indeed. The most damaging trace of a crime +which I can conceive is—blood. And that was the answer.</p> + +<p>"For Dr. Prouty had stated positively that much blood had flowed. +Then I had found the exact spot where Mrs. French's heart-blood had +poured out of her body! I proceeded to reconstruct that incident. The +book-ends were on the far edge of the desk, opposite the place where +I am now standing. The blood must have come, then, from a position +similar to mine at this moment. If we suppose that Mrs. French had been +shot as she stood here, the first bullet striking above the abdomen in +the <i>precordial</i> region, then the blood spurted out directly on the +glass top of the desk and trickled across to the book-end, soaking +it in gore. Whereupon she must have collapsed in the chair, falling +forward just as the second bullet, fired from the same spot, hit her +directly in the heart. This also bled a little. Only one book-end was +affected—the one nearer the center of the table. It was so bloody that +the murderer was compelled to remove the felt altogether and substitute +a new one. Why he felt compelled to hide this trace of the crime I +shall go into later. As for the different shade of the new felt—it is +an optical fact that colors are more difficult to distinguish truly +by artificial light than by daylight. At night, no doubt, the two +shades of green seemed identical. With the aid of the sun I immediately +detected the difference....</p> + +<p>"You see now how we concluded exactly where Mrs. French was when she +was murdered. As for the position of her assailant, it was determined +from the angle of the wounds themselves, which were pointing to the +left and quite ragged, indicating that the murderer stood rather +sharply to the right."</p> + +<p>Ellery paused, patting his lips with a handkerchief. "I have strayed +a little from the main line of my exposition," he said, "because it +was necessary to convince you that I now had genuine proof that the +murder had been committed in the apartment. Until the discovery of the +tampered book-ends I could not be sure, despite the fact that I found +these cards and cigaret-stubs"—he displayed them briefly—"in the +cardroom next door."</p> + +<p>He put down the board on which the cards were tacked. "We found the +cards lying on the table there arranged in such a manner as to indicate +immediately that a game of Russian banque had been interrupted. Mr. +Weaver testified that the cardroom had been tidy the evening before, +that the cards had not been there. That meant, of course, that some one +had used them during the night. Mr. Weaver further attested to the fact +that of all the French family and their friends and acquaintances, Mrs. +French and her daughter Bernice Carmody were the only ones addicted to +the game of banque—that in fact it was well known in many quarters how +passionately devoted to it they were.</p> + +<p>"The cigaret-stubs in the ashtray on the table bore the brand-name <i>La +Duchesse</i>—again identified by Mr. Weaver as Miss Carmody's brand. It +was scented with her favorite <i>odour</i>, violet.</p> + +<p>"It seemed, then, that Mrs. French and Miss Carmody had both been in +the apartment Monday night, that Miss Carmody had smoked her unusual +cigarets, and that they had played a game of their beloved banque.</p> + +<p>"In the bedroom closet we found a hat and a pair of shoes identified by +Miss Underhill, the French housekeeper, and Miss Keaton, a maid in the +French employ, as having been worn by Miss Carmody on Monday, the day +of the murder, when she left the house and was not seen again. Another +hat and another pair of shoes were missing from the closet, seeming to +indicate that the girl had changed the damp ones she was wearing for +the dry ones that were missing.</p> + +<p>"So much for that." Ellery paused and looked about him, eyes glittering +strangely. There was not the slightest sound from his audience. They +seemed mesmerized, intent only on watching the slowly rising structure +of damning evidence.</p> + +<p>"To make an all-important point.... Now that I knew that the apartment +was the scene of the crime, the question inevitably arose: <i>Why was the +body removed to the window downstairs?</i> What purpose did it serve? For +it must have served some purpose—we saw too many signs of cunning, +coördinated scheming to believe that the murderer was an arrant +lunatic, doing things for no reason at all.</p> + +<p>"The first alternative was that the body was removed to make it appear +that the apartment was not the scene of the murder. But this did not +follow from the facts, for if the murderer wished to remove all traces +of the crime from the apartment, why did he not also remove the banque +game, the cigaret-stubs, the shoes and the hat? True, if the body +were not discovered or the murder not suspected, the finding of these +articles would indicate no crime. But the murderer could not hope to +conceal the body forever. Some day, somehow, it would be found, the +apartment gone over, and the cards, cigarets and other things would +point to the apartment as the place where the murder was committed.</p> + +<p>"So, it was evident that the body was removed for another reason +entirely. What could that be? The answer came after thought—<i>to +delay the discovery of the body</i>. How was this arrived at? Simple +mental arithmetic. The exhibition was held every single day at noon +sharp. This was an unvarying rule. The window was not entered until +noon. These facts were common knowledge. If the body were hidden in +that wall-bed the murderer had absolute assurance that it would not be +discovered before twelve-fifteen. There was the good sharp reason ready +made for us—the only gleam of light in the whole muddle, which was +complicated by such questions as why the window was used at all when it +had so many obvious disadvantages, and so on. So we had no doubt that +the murderer took the trouble of carrying the body down six flights of +stairs and into the exhibition-room because he knew that the body would +not be found all the next morning.</p> + +<p>"Logically, then, the question followed: Why did the murderer desire to +delay the discovery of the body? Think it over and you will see that +there can be only one convincing reason—because he had to do something +on Tuesday morning which the discovery of the body would have rendered +dangerous or even impossible!"</p> + +<p>They were hanging on his words now breathlessly.</p> + +<p>"How could this be?" asked Ellery, his eyes sparkling. "Let's shift to +a new tack for the moment.... No matter how the murderer entered the +store, he must have stayed all night. He had three ways to enter, but +no way to get out unobserved. He could have hidden in the store during +the day; he could have come in after hours by the Employees' Entrance; +or he could have slipped into the building by the freight-door at +eleven o'clock at night while the commissary truck was unloading the +food supplies for the next day. The chances were that this last was +the method used, for O'Flaherty had seen no one enter by his door, and +coming in at eleven at night was better for the murderer's purpose +than having to stay in the store from five-thirty until midnight.</p> + +<p>"But how to get out? O'Flaherty reports no one left by his door; all +other exits were locked and bolted; and the freight-door on 39th Street +was closed at eleven-thirty, fifteen minutes before Mrs. French even +arrived at the store and a half-hour before she was murdered. So the +criminal had no recourse but to stay in the store all night. Then he +could not escape until nine the next morning, when the doors were +opened to the public. At that time he could walk out of the store as if +he were an early customer.</p> + +<p>"But here another factor entered. If he could walk out of the store at +nine, a free man, why couldn't he also attend to whatever business he +had without the rigmarole of taking the body to the window in order to +secure a delay? The point is that he <i>did</i> transfer the body. Then he +<i>couldn't</i> walk out of the store at nine, a free man. He <i>needed</i> that +delay. He had <i>to stay in the store even after nine</i>!"</p> + +<p>Simultaneously there came a short gasp from different quarters of the +room. Ellery looked around quickly, as if anxious to determine exactly +who had been shocked into astonishment and perhaps fear.</p> + +<p>"I see that several of you catch the inference on the wing," he said, +smiling. "There could be only one reason to explain why our murderer +had to stay in the store even after nine—and that is that <i>he was +connected with the store</i>!"</p> + +<p>This time incredulity, suspicion, dread were written on all those +plastic faces. Every one drew unconsciously away from his neighbor, as +if suddenly aware of the many persons which this last indictment might +implicate.</p> + +<p>"Yes, that is where we arrived finally," continued Ellery in an +unemotional voice. "If our mysterious criminal were an employee of the +store or connected with the store in some official or even unofficial +capacity, his absence on the discovery of a murder would certainly be +noted. He could not afford to have his absence, which was evidently +of paramount importance, noted. He was in a difficult position. The +memorandum note"—he exhibited the blue slip on the desk before +him—"left on this desk by Mr. Weaver overnight told the murderer +that both Mr. Weaver and Mr. French would be in the apartment at nine +o'clock the next morning. If he left the body in the apartment, the +murder would be discovered at nine, the hue and cry raised, and he +would never get his chance to slip out of the store and attend to his +secret business. And even telephone calls might be watched. So he had +to make sure the body was not discovered until he had time to slip +away, or even telephone (for this would be untraceable if there was +no reason to check calls). The only method which he knew would surely +delay the discovery of the body was to hide it in the window-room. +Which he did, and quite successfully.</p> + +<p>"By this time we were able to clear up finally that minor point of how +the murderer entered the building. We had the Monday time-chart. Our +murderer must be, we said, an employee of the store or in some way +connected with it. Yet the time-chart showed that every one had checked +out regularly before or at five-thirty. Then the murderer must have +entered the building by the freight-door, as the only means left.</p> + +<p>"One other point, while we are on the subject of the murderer's desire +to delay the discovery of the body.... It occurred to me, as no doubt +it has occurred to you, that our mysterious criminal ran uncommon +risks and embarked on numerous voyages of complication when he began +to clean up the mess after his crime. For example—that he carried +the body downstairs. But that is explained by the fact that he had to +have time in the morning to attend to this vague business, an item, +incidentally, which we have not as yet explained. Also—why did he go +to the trouble of securing a new felt, carefully mopping up the blood, +and so on? Again this is answered by the need for time in the morning, +and the fact that if a bloody book-end were found by Mr. Weaver, +let us say, at nine o'clock a crime would be suspected at once, and +undoubtedly the criminal's chance of getting his business done would +be seriously jeopardized. Evidently then, what he had to do was of the +most pressing importance—so pressing that he could not run the risk +of the crime's even being suspected before that business was attended +to...."</p> + +<p>Ellery paused and referred to a sheaf of paper which he took from +his breast-pocket. "We must leave for the moment our general +conclusion that the person we are seeking is connected officially or +semi-officially with this establishment," he said at last. "Please +bear that statement in mind while I veer off into another lane of +speculation entirely....</p> + +<p>"I brought to your attention a few moments ago four concrete evidences +of the presence of Miss Bernice Carmody in this apartment on Monday +night. These were, in the order in which we found them, the game of +banque exclusively indulged in by Miss Carmody and her mother; the <i>La +Duchesse</i> cigarets, violet-scented, known to be Miss Carmody's special +brand; Miss Carmody's hat, which she was observed wearing on Monday +afternoon when she disappeared from sight; and her shoes, which fit the +same description.</p> + +<p>"Now I shall show you that, far from proving that Miss Carmody was +present here on Monday night, they prove exactly the contrary," +continued Ellery briskly. "The banque game contributes nothing to our +little refutation; the cards lay there in a legitimate array, and we +must leave them for the present.</p> + +<p>"The cigarets, however, present a more illuminating view of +my contention. These"—he held up one of the ashtrays on the +exhibit-table—"these cigaret-stubs were found on the table in the +cardroom." He lifted one of the stubs from the tray and held it high. +"As you can see, this cigaret has been almost entirely consumed—in +fact, only the small strip which bears the brand imprint is left. +Without exception, each of the ten or twelve cigarets in this ashtray +have been uniformly smoked to the same tiny stub.</p> + +<p>"On the other hand, in Miss Carmody's bedroom at the French house we +found these stubs." He exhibited the second ashtray, picking out one of +the cigarets from its cluttered, dusty depths to show to his audience. +"You will observe that in the case of this stub, the cigaret, also +a <i>La Duchesse</i> of course, has been little more than one-quarter +consumed—Miss Carmody evidently having taken only five or six puffs +before crushing the remainder in the tray. Every stub in this tray from +Miss Carmody's bedroom has been similarly treated.</p> + +<p>"In other words," he said with a bare smile, "we find the amusing +phenomenon of two sets of cigarets, both presumably smoked by the +same person, exhibiting distinctly opposite physical remains. On +investigating, we discovered that Miss Carmody, for reasons soon to be +clarified, is extremely nervous—so much so that none of those persons +who know her best can recall any occasion on which she has not smoked +her favorite cigarets in exactly this wasteful, convulsive manner.</p> + +<p>"What is the inference?" A perceptible pause. "Merely that Miss +Carmody did <i>not</i> smoke the cigarets we found on the cardroom table; +that they were smoked or prepared by some one else who did not know +Miss Carmody's unvarying method of throwing away cigarets one-quarter +consumed....</p> + +<p>"Now, as for the shoes and hat," Ellery said without allowing his +auditors time in which to digest this latest pronouncement, "we found +further signs of a tampering hand. The appearance of things is that +Miss Carmody was here Monday night, having been wet by the rain of +the afternoon and evening, and that before leaving the apartment +she changed her soaked hat and shoes, putting on others from the +small stock of her clothing already in the bedroom closet. <i>But</i> we +discovered that the hat had been inserted in a hat-box with its brim to +the bottom. And that the shoes had been stuck into the shoe-bag with +their heels projecting from the pocket.</p> + +<p>"In testing the habituary nature of such a procedure, we considered +that an over-whelming percentage of women put their hats away in +hat-boxes with the crowns <i>to the bottom</i> and the brims to the top; +also that when shoes have large buckles, as this pair has, they are put +away with the heels inside, so that the buckles will not catch on the +material of the bag. Yet both articles denoted this peculiar ignorance +of feminine custom. Here the inference is also obvious—Miss Carmody +did not put away those shoes and the hat; <i>a man did</i>. For it is the +masculine custom to put hats away with the brim downward; and a man +would not grasp the significance of the buckle. All the shoes in the +rack had the heels showing, because none happened to have buckles; +whoever put Miss Carmody's shoes in the rack automatically followed +suit, which a woman would not have done.</p> + +<p>"Now these points, taken by and of themselves, are, I will confess, +rather weak and inconclusive. But when you put the three together, the +evidence is too strong to be overlooked—it was not Miss Carmody who +smoked the cigarets and put away shoes and hat, but some one else—a +man."</p> + +<p>Ellery cleared away a huskiness in his throat. His tone was barbed +with earnestness, despite a growing hoarseness. "There is another +item of considerable interest in this last connection," he continued. +"In examining the lavatory inside, Mr. Weaver and I ran across an +intriguing theft. A safety-razor blade of Mr. Weaver's, which he had +used after five-thirty Monday afternoon and had cleaned and restored +to the case because it was his last blade and he knew he would have +to shave in the morning—this blade, I say, was missing on Tuesday +morning. Mr. Weaver, who was busy Monday night and consequently forgot +to put in a new supply of blades, came to the apartment Tuesday +morning early—at eight-thirty, in fact, because he had to clear up +some business and reports before the arrival of Mr. French at nine. He +intended to shave in the apartment. The blade, which he had put away +only the late afternoon before, was gone. Mr. French, let me explain, +does not keep a razor, never shaving himself.</p> + +<p>"Now why was the blade gone? Of course, it was plain that the blade +must have been used Monday night or early Tuesday morning before Mr. +Weaver arrived here. Who could have used it? One of two people—Mrs. +French or her murderer. Mrs. French could have used it as a cutting +instrument of some sort; or her murderer could have used it.</p> + +<p>"Of the two alternatives, surely the second is more tenable. Remember +that the criminal was constrained by circumstances to pass the night +in the store. Where could he stay with most safety? Certainly in the +apartment itself! He could not roam about the dark floors, or even hide +among them with as great a margin of safety as in the apartment—not +with the watchman prowling about all night! Now—we find a blade +used. It suggests normally the process of shaving. Well, why not? We +know that the murderer had to make an appearance in the morning as an +employee or official of the store. Why shouldn't he shave while he was +temporarily occupying the apartment? It predicates a cold-blooded +personality, but that is an argument for rather than an argument +against it. Why is the blade missing? Evidently something happened +to it. What could have happened to it? Did it break? Why not! The +blade had been used a few times; it was brittle. A little extra force +in screwing the parts of the razor together, and the blade might +easily have snapped. Let us suppose that this happened. Why didn't +the murderer merely leave the broken blade? Because the murderer is +a canny scoundrel and in his own way an excellent psychologist. If a +broken blade remains it is more likely to be recalled that it was <i>not</i> +broken at a former date than to take it for granted that the blade +<i>was</i> broken at that former date. If the blade is missing there is no +incentive to suspicion or memory. An altered object is a more vigorous +mental stimulant than a missing one. At least, that is what I should +have thought if I had been in the murderer's place; and in effect I +believe the person who planned this affair did the correct thing in +taking away the blade—correct according to his lights. The proof is +that Mr. Weaver thought little or nothing of the missing blade until +I probed it out of him; and then it was only because I brought to the +investigation an unprejudiced, impersonal observation."</p> + +<p>Ellery grinned a little. "I have been working on presumptions and more +or less feeble deductions, as you can see; yet if you put together +all the scattered, flimsy facts which I have outlined in the past ten +minutes, I think you will see that common sense simply cries out that +the blade was used for shaving, that it was broken, and that it was +taken away. We find no evidence that the blade might have been used +for anything but its legitimate purpose; and this only strengthens +the contention. Let me leave this line of thought temporarily and go +to another, altogether different, and in its way one of the most +significant in the entire investigation."</p> + +<p>There was a surreptitious rustling of bodies in hard chairs, a quick +intake of breaths. The eyes on Ellery did not waver.</p> + +<p>"It may have come to you," he said in a quiet, merciless voice, "that +more than one person could have been implicated in this affair; +that, perhaps, if Miss Carmody did not put away her shoes and +hat—disregarding the damning evidence of the cigarets—she still might +have been present; for another—a man—could have disposed of the shoes +and hat while she stood by or did something else. I shall disprove that +with the most gratifying expedition."</p> + +<p>He put his palms flat on the desk, leaned slightly forward. "Who, +ladies and gentlemen, had rightful access to this apartment? Answer: +The five possessors of the keys. That is—Mr. French, Mrs. French, +Miss Carmody, Miss Marion French, and Mr. Weaver. The master-key in +O'Flaherty's desk was closely guarded, and no one could have got it +without either his knowledge or the knowledge of the day-man, O'Shane. +And no such knowledge exists, which makes it plain that the master key +in no way enters our calculations.</p> + +<p>"Of the six keys <i>in esse</i>, as it were, we are now able to account for +five. Mrs. French's is missing. All the others are absolutely accounted +for as having been exclusively in the possession of their owners. +Mrs. French's key has been sought for by the combined cunning of the +detective force. It is still missing. In other words, it is not on +these premises, despite the fact that O'Flaherty positively avers that +Mrs. French had it in her possession when she entered the store Monday +night.</p> + +<p>"I told you at the beginning of this impromptu demonstration that the +murderer probably took that key. Now I tell you not only that he took +it, but that <i>he had to take it</i>.</p> + +<p>"We have one confirmation in fact that the criminal <i>wanted</i> a key. On +Monday afternoon, some time after Miss Carmody left the French house +furtively, Miss Underhill, the housekeeper, received a telephone call. +The caller claimed to be Miss Carmody. The caller asked Miss Underhill +to have Miss Carmody's key to the apartment ready, that a messenger +would be sent for it at once. Yet only the very same morning, Miss +Carmody had told Miss Underhill that she had lost her key, she thought, +and asked Miss Underhill to secure one of the other keys and make a +duplicate for her!</p> + +<p>"Miss Underhill doubts that the caller was Miss Carmody. She is ready +to swear that some one stood by the telephone at the other end and +prompted the caller's reply when Miss Underhill reminded the caller +about the lost key and the morning's instructions. The caller then hung +up in some confusion....</p> + +<p>"What is the inference? Surely that the caller was not Miss Carmody, +but a hireling or accomplice of the murderer, who prompted the call in +order to secure a key to the apartment!"</p> + +<p>Ellery drew a long breath. "I leave you for the moment to your own +cogitations on the interesting inflections this incident raises.... Now +let me conduct you through a logical maze to another conclusion—the +one with which I began this branch of my thesis.</p> + +<p>"Why did the murderer want a key? Obviously, to secure a means of +access to the apartment. He could not get in except through the agency +of a second person who possessed a key, if he had not one himself. +Presumably he expected to be admitted to the apartment by Mrs. French, +but in the careful planning of the crime the possession of a key for +himself might conceivably be important, and this explains the call and +the projected 'messenger.' But to the case in point!</p> + +<p>"The criminal killed Mrs. French in the apartment. Now that he had a +corpse and knew that he must take it down into the window-room, for +the various reasons I have given, he pulled up with a sudden thought. +He knew that the door to the apartment had a spring lock that snapped +shut. He had no key, having failed in his effort to get hold of Bernice +Carmody's. He must carry the body out of the apartment. Yet he had much +to do in the apartment afterward—clean up the evidences of blood, +'plant' the shoes and hat, the banque game and cigarets. As a matter of +fact, even if he cleaned up the room and 'planted' the false evidence +before he took the body down, he still needed means of reëntry into +the apartment. He had to pussyfoot through the store for the felt, +the glue, and other paraphernalia needed to fix the book-ends. How +was he to get back into the apartment? He also meant to sleep in the +apartment, apparently—again, how was he to get back? You see, whether +he took the body downstairs before or after he cleaned up, he still +needed a means of reëntry to the apartment....</p> + +<p>"His first thought must have been to insert something between the +door and the floor to keep the springed door from clicking shut. But +what about the watchmen? He must have thought: 'The watchmen make +rounds through this corridor by the hour. They will be sure to notice +a partly open door and investigate.' No, the door had to be closed. +But—a thought! Mrs. French had a key, her own key—the one by which +she herself entered the apartment. He would use that. We can picture +him opening her bag while she lay, bleeding and dead, across the desk, +finding the key, putting it into his own pocket, picking up the corpse +and leaving the apartment, now certain of a means of reëntering it +when he was through with his grisly task.</p> + +<p>"<i>But</i>"—and Ellery smiled grimly—"he had to bring the key back +upstairs with him, obviously, to get into the apartment again. +Therefore we didn't find it on the body. True, he might have gone +upstairs, done his cleaning up, and then taken the key downstairs +again. But—of course that's inane—how would he get back again? +Besides, the danger he would encounter—taking still another chance +of being detected on the main floor getting into the window.... It +was dangerous enough the first time, but that was inescapable. No, he +probably figured that the best thing he could do would be to pocket the +key and dispose of it when he left the building in the morning. True, +he might have left it in the apartment, on the card-table for example. +But the fact that it isn't in the apartment shows that he took it away +with him—he had two alternatives and chose one of them.</p> + +<p>"We find then—" Ellery paused for the merest instant—"that our +criminal committed the murder <i>without accomplices</i>.</p> + +<p>"I see doubt on some faces. But surely it is quite clear. If he had an +accomplice, he wouldn't have been forced to take the key at all!... +He would have carried the body downstairs, and his accomplice would +have remained in the apartment to open the door for him when he was +finished downstairs. Don't you see? The very fact that he had to take +the key shows that it was a one-man job. I might be confronted with +the objection: 'Well, it could have been two people at that, because +both might have carried the body downstairs.' To that I reply with +certainty, 'No!' because it would have involved a double risk—two +people would have been easier to detect by a watchman than one. This +crime is well thought out—the author of it would never have taken +this unnecessary chance of discovery."</p> + +<p>Ellery stopped abruptly and stared down at his notes. No one moved. +When he looked up there was a tightness about his lips that revealed an +inward strain whose cause no one there could guess.</p> + +<p>"I have now reached the point, ladies and gentlemen," he announced in +a calm flat voice, "where I can go to some length in describing our +elusive criminal. Would you care to hear my description?"</p> + +<p>He looked about the room, challenging them with his eyes. Bodies rigid +through excitement sagged in reaction. Every one averted his head. +There was no sound from them.</p> + +<p>"I take it that you would," said Ellery in the same flat voice, which +contained a note of amused menace. "Very well, then!"</p> + +<p>He leaned forward, eyes glittering. "Our murderer is a man. The tactics +employed in putting the shoes and hat into the closet plus the evidence +of the missing blade point to this masculinity. The physical energy +required in disposing of the body and the rest; the mental agility, +with its recurrent traces of hard common sense; the cold-bloodedness, +the unscrupulosity—all these point unerringly to a masculine figure +with, if you will, a fairly heavy beard which requires daily shaving."</p> + +<p>They followed the movements of his lips with bated breaths.</p> + +<p>"Our man worked alone, without accomplices. The deductions from the +missing key, which I have gone into at great length, point to this."</p> + +<p>There was not a tremor of movement in the room.</p> + +<p>"Our lone man is connected with the store. The removal of the body to +the window downstairs and all its attendant complications, which I +have also expounded at some length, prove this."</p> + +<p>Ellery relaxed slightly. Again he looked about the room with a little +smile. He applied his handkerchief to his lips, glanced slyly at +Commissioner Welles, who sat perspiring and alert in his chair; at his +father, who was slumped in an attitude of weariness, one fragile hand +shielding his eyes; at the motionless detectives to his left; at Velie, +Crouther, "Jimmy," and Fiorelli to his right. Then he began once more.</p> + +<p>"On one point," he said dryly, "we have as yet reached no definite +conclusion. I refer to the nature of the business which the murderer +considered so imperative as to require special attention Tuesday +morning....</p> + +<p>"Which brings me to the most absorbing subject of the five books which +we discovered on this desk—that interesting mélange of paleontology, +elementary music, commerce of the <i>moyen age</i>, philately, and bad +vaudeville jokes."</p> + +<p>Ellery launched into a short, graphic description of the five strange +volumes, the markings, Weaver's story of Springer's duplicity, the +revelation that the addresses were drug-distributing depots, and +finally the unsuccessful raid on the house at the 98th Street address, +taken from the sixth book in Weaver's possession.</p> + +<p>"When Springer prepared the sixth book," continued Ellery, to his +ever-tensing audience, "we can assume that he had no suspicion that +the book-code was being tampered with or known to an outsider. If he +had, he would not have prepared the book and left it for Mr. Weaver's +investigating fingers. So that, when Springer left the store on Monday +night, followed by Mr. Weaver, he did not know that this sixth book, +<i>Modern Trends in Interior Decoration</i>, by Lucian Tucker, was in our +young amateur detective's possession. And since Springer met and spoke +to no one all evening, even when he arrived at his Bronx apartment +(for we have checked up through the telephone company and found that +he did not make any telephone calls when he got home), he could not +therefore have known that the book-system had been tampered with until, +at the very earliest, the next morning, Tuesday, when he returned +to work. In other words, after the murder. If we presume that not +Springer, but some one else, would have been apprised by an outsider +of the discovery of the code-system, we must not forget that the only +method by which any one could have communicated with another about +the matter from the store would be by telephoning, since he could not +leave the store during the night. And we discovered that the telephone +service at this store is cut off at night, with the exception of +one trunk line leading to O'Flaherty's desk; and this was not used, +according to O'Flaherty's own testimony.</p> + +<p>"Then we are forced to conclude that it was impossible for any one in +the store Monday night and early Tuesday morning to have communicated +with Springer or any one else about the missing sixth book, which +Weaver took away with him."</p> + +<p>Ellery forged ahead rapidly. "The fact that the system of dope +distribution was disorganized the next morning, Tuesday—as it was, for +the sudden abandonment of the 98th Street house on Tuesday afternoon +is clear evidence—could have been due only to some one of the drug +ring discovering during the night that the system was being tampered +with. I repeat here the fact that Springer went ahead on Monday evening +with his regular task of codifying the sixth book, showing that up to +that time the ring considered their system safe. Yet by next morning +they had become alarmed and fled the 98th Street rendezvous, even +before catering to their addict-customers. Again, then, the logical +explanation is that it was during the previous night that some one +discovered something wrong.</p> + +<p>"This discovery could have been caused only by, first, noticing the +absence of the sixth book from its accustomed shelf in the Book +Department Monday night after Weaver left—the last one to check out +of the store; second, finding the five duplicate books on Mr. French's +desk Monday night; or third, both. We must conclude therefore that, +since the disorganization did take place the morning after the crime, +it could have only been ordered by some one who made one or both of +these discoveries Monday night. Some one—to amplify—who must have +been in the store after Springer and Weaver left, and who therefore +could not get out of the store or communicate with any one until at +least nine o'clock Tuesday morning."</p> + +<p>Dawning comprehension shone from several faces before him. Ellery +smiled. "I see that some of you are anticipating the inevitable +conclusion.... Who in the store that night was in a position to make +one or both of these bibliographical discoveries? The answer is: the +murderer, the man who killed Mrs. French in the room in which the five +books were prominently in sight. Is there anything about the murderer's +subsequent actions which proves that he <i>did</i> make the discovery of the +five books in the apartment? Yes, there is. The fact that the murderer +removed the body to the window-room in order to give himself time next +morning to attend to his 'business'—which until this point has been +obscure....</p> + +<p>"The deductive chain, ladies and gentlemen," said Ellery in a curiously +triumphant voice, "is too strong and perfectly welded to be anything +but truth. <i>The murderer warned the drug ring Tuesday morning.</i></p> + +<p>"In other words, to add an element to our growing description—our +murderer is a man, who worked alone, who is connected with the store, +and who belongs to a large, well-organized drug ring."</p> + +<p>He paused, fingered the five books on the desk with sensitive fingers. +"Furthermore, we are now in a position to add another qualifying item +to the growing description of the murderer.</p> + +<p>"For had our drug-distributing murderer been present in the French +apartment <i>before</i> the night of the murder—and by 'before' I mean at +any time within five weeks prior to the fatal night—he would have +seen the books on the table, would have become suspicious, would have +at once ordered the cessation of the book-code operations in the +Book Department. And since up to the very night of the murder the +book system was still in effect, it follows most gracefully that the +murderer had not been in the French library for between one and five +weeks before Monday night last.... We have confirmation that it was +the murderer again who saw those books on the desk. For in examining +and later fixing the damaged book-ends, he could scarcely have missed +seeing—and understanding to his horror the significance of—the five +volumes....</p> + +<p>"As a matter of fact," continued Ellery swiftly, "there is no +difficulty in deducing that the murderer, upon seeing the incriminating +books on this desk, immediately stole downstairs to the Book Department +with a flashlight to determine whether the sixth book had been +tampered with also. And of course he would have found it gone—the +climax-capping discovery which would make it imperative for him to +get word to his confederates that the game was up. This is a decently +reasonable conjecture which very soon, I am happy to announce, we shall +be able to check more positively!"</p> + +<p>And with this he stopped short, mopped his forehead with his +handkerchief, and polished the lenses of his pince-nez with absent +fingers. This time a ripple of conversation disturbed the quiet +atmosphere, beginning in a minor cadence that swelled to excited +proportions, only to cease abruptly when Ellery lifted a hand for +silence.</p> + +<p>"To make the analysis complete," he resumed, restoring his glasses +to his nose, "I shall now become perhaps objectionably personal. For +I mean to take up, one by one, each of you and measure you by the +yardstick I have constructed in this analysis!"</p> + +<p>Instantly the room was a babel of exclamations, expressions of anger, +resentment, bewilderment, uncomfortable self-interest. Ellery shrugged +his shoulders, turned toward Commissioner Welles. The Commissioner said +"Yes!" in a decisive tone and glared at the people assembled before +him. They subsided, muttering.</p> + +<p>Ellery turned back to his audience with a half-smile. "Really," he +said, "I have not sprung my greatest surprise by any means. So there is +little cause for protest on the part of any one here—or should I say +nearly any one? At any rate, let's begin this fascinating little game +of elimination.</p> + +<p>"From the first unit on my yardstick—the fact that the murderer is +a man—" he said, "we may at once absolve, even as an intellectual +exercise, Miss Marion French, Miss Bernice Carmody, and Mrs. Cornelius +Zorn.</p> + +<p>"The second unit—that this man worked alone—is irrelevant and useless +to determine identity, so we will proceed to the third unit, which is +that the murderer, a man, is connected with this establishment. And to +the fourth, which is that the murderer has not been in this apartment +within the past five weeks.</p> + +<p>"There is, first, Mr. Cyrus French." Ellery bowed insouciantly to the +feeble old millionaire. "Mr. French is certainly connected with this +establishment. Mr. French, further, could have committed the crime, if +you judge physical possibility a factor. I demonstrated privately not +long ago that, had Mr. French bribed the chauffeur of his host, Mr. +Whitney, to take him into the City from Great Neck on Monday night and +forget about it, he could have arrived at this apartment in sufficient +time to slip through the freight-entrance and into the apartment. He +was not seen again, except by the chauffeur, after he retired to his +room in the Whitney house at nine o'clock Monday night complaining of a +slight indisposition.</p> + +<p>"However—" Ellery smiled at the purpling face of French—"Mr. French +has certainly been in this room within the past five weeks—every day, +in fact, for years. And if this seems inconclusive, Mr. French, rest +easy. For there is another reason, that thus far I have purposely +neglected to mention, which makes your culpability a psychological +impossibility."</p> + +<p>French relaxed, a vague smile lifting the corners of his tremulous old +mouth. Marion squeezed his hand. "Now," said Ellery busily, "Mr. John +Gray, donor of the entangled book-ends and close friend to the French +family. You, Mr. Gray," he said gravely, directly addressing the spruce +old director, "are eliminated on a number of counts. Although you are +connected with the store in a very important capacity, and although +your absence on Tuesday morning would have been seriously noticed, +you too have been a frequent visitor to these rooms during the past +five weeks; in fact, you attended a meeting here on Friday, I believe. +And you had an alibi for Monday night which we checked up and found +stronger than even you believe. For not only does the night-man at your +hotel desk confirm your statement that you were talking with him at +eleven-forty Monday night, making it impossible for you to have entered +the store, but another person, unknown to you—a fellow-resident at the +same apartment hotel—saw you enter your suite at eleven-forty-five.... +Even without this we could not seriously have entertained a thought +of your guilt, for we had no reason to believe that your friend the +night-clerk is anything but an honest man. No more reason, in fact, +than that Mr. Whitney's chauffeur, in the case of Mr. French, is +dishonest. In Mr. French's case I merely mentioned the bribe as an +eventuality, improbable but certainly within the realm of possibility."</p> + +<p>Gray sank back with a curious sigh, dug his small hands into the +pockets of his coat. Ellery turned to red-faced, nervous Cornelius +Zorn, who was fumbling with his watch-chain. "Mr. Zorn, your alibi was +weak, and you could have, with perjured testimony on the part of Mrs. +Zorn, committed the murder. But although you are a prominent official +of the store, you too have been in this room at least once weekly for +many months. And you, too, as well as Mr. French and Mr. Gray, are +further absolved by this psychological inadmissibility of which I spoke +before.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Marchbanks," continued Ellery, turning to the heavy-set, lowering +brother of the dead woman, "your story about the automobile trip to +Long Island and staying overnight at your house in Little Neck, unseen +by any one who might vouch for your presence, also made it physically +possible for you to have returned to the city in time to get into +the store and commit the murder. But you needn't have been so irate +yesterday—you are absolved too by this secret point of mine, besides +being eliminated, as a regular attendant here at the directorial +conferences, on the same account as Mr. Zorn.</p> + +<p>"And Mr. Trask—" Ellery's tone hardened slightly—"although you were +drunk and rolling about the streets—" Trask's jaw dropped in vapid +astonishment—"on Monday night and Tuesday morning, you, too, are set +free by my yardstick, as well as by my as yet undivulged item."</p> + +<p>Ellery paused, looked contemplatively at the stony, dark features +of Vincent Carmody. "Mr. Carmody. In many respects you deserve our +apologies and genuine commiserations. You were entirely eliminated from +our speculations by the fact that you are in no way connected with the +store. Had you committed the murder, despite your story of the night +trip to Connecticut, which was unsubstantiated and might have been +false, there would have been no necessity for taking the body of Mrs. +French downstairs to the window-room. Because you could have walked +out of the store at nine o'clock unrestrained by any fear that your +absence might be noticed. You did not belong in the store at all. You, +too, incidentally, are eliminated further by my charming and mysterious +little point.</p> + +<p>"And now," continued Ellery, turning to the disturbed Gallic features +of Paul Lavery, "we come to you. Don't be afraid!" he smiled—"you +didn't commit the crime! I was so certain that I did not even bother +to ask you for a statement of your movements on Monday night. You +have been in this apartment daily for weeks. Besides, you came here +directly from France only a short time ago—it was quite beyond the +area of probability to suspect you, therefore, of being embroiled in +a gang of drug-peddlers operating with intense organization in this +city and country. And you, too, cannot very well be our murderer, since +you do not logically measure up to my last point, still withheld. And, +if I were to be minutely psychiatric, I might add that a man of your +refined and Continental intelligence would never have committed the +regrettable mistakes which got our esteemed mysterioso into trouble. +For I do believe that, out of all of us, you alone would have been +man-of-the-world enough to know how a woman puts her hat into a +hat-box, and how she stores buckled shoes in a shoe-bag....</p> + +<p>"We have now," continued Ellery pleasantly, but there was a feverish +glitter in his eye, "narrowed the field of inquiry considerably. We +might discuss, of course, Mr. MacKenzie, the general manager, who +is an employee of the store. No, no! Mr. MacKenzie, don't rise to +protest—we've eliminated you already. Because of this last point of +ours, which is almost ready for exposition, and because you have +been in this apartment within five weeks. But any of the hundreds +of employees of the store who have <i>never</i> been in this apartment +and whose movements Monday night are unaccounted for, might be the +murderer. We'll come to that in a moment. At this time, ladies and +gentlemen—" Ellery made a sharp sign to Patrolman Bush at the anteroom +door, who immediately bobbed his head and went out, leaving the door +open behind him—"at this time I wish to present to you a gentleman +who until now has been more or less of an unknown quantity; no less +a personage than—" there was a flurry at the outer door; it opened +and Bush entered, followed by a detective who held a white-faced man, +manacled, tightly by the elbow—"Mr. James Springer!"</p> + +<p>Ellery retreated slightly, a grim smile on his face. The detective +escorted his prisoner to the front of the room, where two chairs were +immediately set by one of the attendant policemen. The two men sat +down, Springer holding his manacled hands limply in his lap, staring +steadfastly at the floor. He was a middle-aged man with sharp features +and grey hair; a livid bruise on his right cheek was mute evidence of a +recent scuffle.</p> + +<p>Everybody in the room stared at him wordlessly. Old French was +speechless with rage at the sight of the employee who had betrayed him. +Weaver and Marion both laid restraining hands on his shaking arm. But +there were no words in that audience—only hot eager glances, and in +one case a frozen steady immutability....</p> + +<p>"Mr. Springer," said Ellery quietly—yet his voice exploded like a +shell in the strained atmosphere of the room—"Mr. Springer has been +kind enough to turn State's evidence. Mr. Springer, who ran away with +the deluded thought that he might successfully evade the police, was +caught the very day he attempted to escape because we were prepared for +it. Mr. Springer's capture has been kept very quiet. Mr. Springer has +cleared up many little items of procedure which we could not possibly +have deduced.</p> + +<p>"For example, that the murderer is his chief in the drug ring, which +even now is being scattered and pursued throughout the country. That +the murderer is the right-hand man of the eloquently termed 'master +mind' of the drug ring in this city. That Miss Bernice Carmody, who we +discovered by investigation was probably a drug addict in an advanced +stage, had come under the influence of the heroin habit, had met by +devious ways the 'master mind,' had been introduced to the code-system, +had become so dependent upon the drug that she willingly solicited +new customers from her social circle, becoming in a way therefore +almost a member of the ring. That Miss Carmody's pernicious addiction +was unsuspected by her family until, as we know, her father, Mr. +Carmody, began to suspect and told his former wife, Mrs. French, what +he suspected; and Mrs. French, observing, saw that it was true. That +Mrs. French, in her assertive way, directly accused her daughter of +addiction and finally broke down the girl's weakened will until she +confessed everything—including the name of the man connected with +the French store who was supplying her directly with her own drugs. +That Mrs. French, who we may suppose did not inform her husband of the +true state of affairs because of his violent aversion to this form +of vice, on Monday took away from Miss Carmody the newly replenished +supply of drugs which she kept in the false bottom of her specially +made lipstick. That Mrs. French further forced her daughter to make +an appointment for her with this man, this employee in her husband's +store, for Monday night at midnight, secretly, to plead with him for +her daughter—to force him, by threats of disclosing to the police +what she now knew about the drug organization, to loose his grip on +her daughter and allow the girl to be cured secretly by her mother. +That this appointment was made on Sunday through Miss Carmody. That +this man immediately reported the alarming state of affairs to his +chief, the ubiquitous 'master mind,' who in his customary cold-blooded +fashion commanded him to kill Mrs. French, who by now, in turn, was in +possession of too much vital information to be allowed to live; and +also to do away with Miss Carmody, who had proved a weak cog in the +machine and must also be disposed of. That this man, under threat of +being killed himself, laid his plans and made his appointment. That +he entered secretly through the freight-door, which as an employee +of the store he knew was open at that exact half-hour each night. +That he waited until midnight in a store lavatory and then made his +way stealthily to the apartment on the sixth floor, knocked, and was +admitted by Mrs. French, who had arrived a few minutes before. That +she stood by the desk, as we deduced, and they argued; that he was +not aware of the heroin-filled lipstick in her bag, or he would have +taken it; that without hesitation he shot and killed Mrs. French, +who bled profusely, the blood staining the book-end; that on bending +over the desk he saw the five books, and realized that some one had +been tampering with the code-system; that he saw the blue memorandum +announcing the arrival next morning at nine of Mr. Weaver and Mr. +French; that he realized he could not communicate with any one of the +ring about this latest unforeseen development, because he was unable +to get out before the next morning and could not telephone; that he +therefore decided to hide the body in the exhibition-window, which +would give him ample time next morning to slip away and warn his gang, +for if the body were left in the apartment and discovered at nine, he +would be unable for precautionary reasons to leave the building; and +finally that he disposed of the body where we found it. Also that on +his way back he stopped at the Book Department on the main floor and +confirmed his suspicion that the sixth book was also missing. That +he took Mrs. French's key back with him, having been unsuccessful in +his attempt to get Bernice Carmody's that afternoon by the ruse of +the telephone call. Finally, that he cleaned up the apartment, fixed +the book-end, 'planted' the evidence against Miss Carmody, stayed +overnight, shaved in the morning, broke the blade and took it away +with him; and slipped out shortly after nine, emerging with the early +shoppers only to reënter the building at once through the regular +Employees' Entrance, in order to be checked in officially. And that +he managed soon after to sneak off and warn his gang leader of the +discovery of the book-system...."</p> + +<p>Ellery cleared his throat, went on relentlessly. "Mr. Springer was also +kind enough to clear up the matter of Miss Carmody's abduction. With +the action of Mrs. French on Sunday of taking away her store of the +drug, the girl became desperate and got in touch with the murderer. +This fitted in with his plans—he told her to come to a rendezvous +in the lower part of the city for a new supply. She went on Monday +afternoon and was promptly abducted, being taken by confederates to +a Brooklyn hideaway and murdered. Her clothes were confiscated and +brought back to our murderer, who had as yet committed no capital +crime. These clothes the murderer brought with him to the apartment +Monday night—the hat and shoes, tied up innocently in a small parcel, +but wet a trifle with rain to make the deception perfect.</p> + +<p>"There is only one thing more to explain before proceeding to the +much-wished-for <i>dénouement</i>.... And that is the reason for 'planting' +the banque game, cigarets, shoes and hat to make it appear as if +Bernice herself had been implicated in the crime. And this, too, was +outlined—under protest—by Mr. Springer, who has been just a cog—an +important cog, perhaps—in the vicious wheel....</p> + +<p>"The murderer left evidences of Miss Carmody's presence because she +had necessarily vanished. Since she had been murdered and would be +missing, there was a logical reason for connecting the two events—the +disappearance of the girl and the murder of her mother. It would seem +perhaps as if the girl had committed the crime. Since this was untrue, +the murderer felt that it might confuse the police and put them off +the real track. The murderer did not really hope that the deception +would be successful for long—it was merely another red herring drawn +across the trail, and anything which would lead the scent away from him +in another direction he felt was desirable. And the actual 'framing' +required little enough trouble and work. The cigarets he secured from +Xanthos', Miss Carmody's tobacconist, since she had once told him where +she secured her private supply. The banque he knew about from Miss +Carmody, also. The rest was child's play...."</p> + +<p>They were sitting on the edge of the hard camp-chairs now, straining +forward to catch every syllable. Occasionally they looked at each other +in a puzzled manner, as if unable to see clearly to the end of the +analysis. Ellery brought them back to attention with his next words.</p> + +<p>"Springer!" The name cracked out sharply. The prisoner started, +paled, looked up furtively. His eyes fell at once to the carpet he +had been studiously observing. "Springer, have I given your story +faithfully—and completely?"</p> + +<p>The man's eyes fluttered in a sudden agony, rolled in their sockets, +wildly seeking a face in the swaying crowd before him. When he spoke, +it was in a husky monotone, barely audible to those avid ears.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Very well, then!" exclaimed Ellery, leaning forward, his tone keenly +triumphant. "I have still to expatiate upon that unspoken point which I +termed mysterious a few moments ago....</p> + +<p>"You will recall that I spoke of the book-ends and the few grains of +powder stuck in the glue between the onyx and the new felt. That powder +was ordinary fingerprint powder.</p> + +<p>"From the moment that I was certain of the nature of the powder, the +veils dissipated before my eyes and I sensed the truth. We thought +at first, ladies and gentlemen," he continued, "that the use of +fingerprint powder by the criminal indicated a very superior sort of +murderer—a super-criminal, in fact. One who would use the implements +of the police's own trade—it was a natural thought....</p> + +<p>"But"—and the word lashed into them with deadly emphasis—"there was +another inference to be drawn—an inference which in a fell swoop +eliminated all suspects but one...." His eyes flashed fire; the +hoarseness disappeared from his voice. He leaned forward carefully, +over the desk with its litter of clues, holding them with the magnetism +of his personality. "All suspects—but one...." he repeated slowly.</p> + +<p>After a pregnant moment he said: "That one is the man who was employed +by this store; who had not been in this room for at least five +weeks; who attempted to put us off the track of himself by getting +an accomplice without a record to give false information about the +'movements' of Bernice Carmody, who was already dead, in fact; who at +the same time was clever enough to say, when he saw that we believed +Miss Carmody to have been 'framed,' that he thought so, too, despite +the fact that he himself had done the framing; who was present—the +only suspect to be present, by the way—when the full story of the +codified books and the culpability of Springer was told, and who took +the very first opportunity of warning Springer to flee, realizing +that, with Springer caught, he himself was in serious danger; <i>who, +most important of all, was the only personality connected with this +investigation to whom the use of fingerprint powder was natural and +thoroughly logical</i>...."</p> + +<p>He stopped abruptly, eyes fixed with interest, expectancy, the +eagerness of the chase, upon one corner of the room.</p> + +<p>"<i>Watch him, Velie!</i>" he cried suddenly, in a piercing voice.</p> + +<p>Before they could turn, before they could grasp the significance of +the scene enacted before them so swiftly and vitally, there came the +sounds of a short violent struggle, a bull-like bellow of rage, the +hoarse panting of breaths, and finally one sharp stupendous deafening +report....</p> + +<p>Ellery stood limply, wearily in his fixed position at the desk. He did +not move while they rushed concertedly from all sides of the room to +the quiet spot where the body of a man lay, already stiff in death, in +a pool of blood.</p> + +<p>It was Inspector Queen who reached that contorted body first, by a +lightning leap; who knelt quickly on the carpet, motioning aside the +red-faced, heaving figure of Sergeant Velie; who turned the convulsed +corpse of the suicide over; who muttered in words inaudible even to the +nearest spectator:</p> + +<p>"No legal evidence—and the bluff worked!... Thank God for a son...."</p> + +<p>The face was the face of the head store detective, Thomas Crouther.</p> + + +<p class="ph2">THE END</p> + +<hr class="chap"> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_1" href="#FNanchor_1" class="label">[1]</a> The success of this device in his recent novel (<i>The Roman +Hat Mystery</i>) has encouraged Mr. Queen to repeat it here. It was found +useful by many of Mr. Queen's readers in keeping the <i>dramatis personæ</i> +compactly before them.—<span class="smcap">The Editor.</span></p> + +</div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_2" href="#FNanchor_2" class="label">[2]</a> <i>The Roman Hat Mystery</i>, by Ellery Queen; published by +Frederick A. Stokes Company, 1929.</p> + +</div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_3" href="#FNanchor_3" class="label">[3]</a> It is interesting to note that "Ellery Queen" published +many detective novels during his father's Inspectorship, but under his +real name, which is of course not Queen. These unrevealed stories, +however, should not be confused with the stories published under the +name of Ellery Queen, of which <i>The French Powder Mystery</i> is the +second. These latter are taken practically untouched from actual +investigations undertaken by the author and his father; which accounts +both for the <i>nom de plume</i> and the secrecy shrouding the identity of +the Queens.</p> + +</div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_4" href="#FNanchor_4" class="label">[4]</a> See "<i>The Roman Hat Mystery</i>."</p> + +</div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_5" href="#FNanchor_5" class="label">[5]</a> I had been brushing up on my Xenophon, and when I ran +across the passage relating to the Retreat of the Ten Thousand through +ancient Armenia, the shoe reference gave me an idea for a short story. +The incident is ridiculous in retrospect, although at the time I was +quite oblivious to its humor.—E. Q.</p> + +</div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_6" href="#FNanchor_6" class="label">[6]</a> See diagram at frontispiece.</p> + +</div> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78823 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/78823-h/images/cover.jpg b/78823-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..5974afd --- /dev/null +++ b/78823-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/78823-h/images/illus1.jpg b/78823-h/images/illus1.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..26d0766 --- /dev/null +++ b/78823-h/images/illus1.jpg diff --git a/78823-h/images/illus2.jpg b/78823-h/images/illus2.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..c06a460 --- /dev/null +++ b/78823-h/images/illus2.jpg diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6c72794 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This book, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. 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