Calamity Town

Ellery Smith to the Stand

As Mr. Ellery Queen left his seat, and crossed the courtroom foreground, and took the oath, and sat down in the witness chair, his mind was not occupied with Prosecutor Bradford’s unuttered questions or his own unut-tered answers.

He was reasonably certain what questions Bradford intended to ask, and he was positive what answers he would give. Bradford knew, or guessed, from the scene opened up to him by Frank Lloyd’s delayed recollection, what part the mysterious Mr. ”Smith” had played that bitter night. So one question would lead to another, and suspicion would become certainty, and sooner or later the whole story would have to come out. It never occurred to Ellery that he might frankly lie. Not because he was a saint, or a moralist, or afraid of consequences; but because his whole training had been in the search for truth, and he knew that whereas murder will not necessarily out, the truth must. So it was more practical to tell the truth than to tell the lie. Moreover, people expected you to lie in court, and therein lay a great advantage, if only you were clever enough to seize it.

No, Mr. Queen’s thoughts were occupied with another question altogether. And that was: How turn the truth, so damning to Jim Haight on its face, to Jim Haight’s advantage? That would be a shrewd blow, if only it could be delivered; and it would have the additional strength of unexpectedness, for surely young Bradford would never anticipate what he himself, now, on the stand, could not even imagine.

So Mr. Queen sat waiting, his brain not deigning to worry, but flexing itself, exploring, dipping into its deepest pockets, examining all the things he knew for a hint, a clue, a road to follow.

Another conviction crept into his consciousness as he answered the first few routine questions about his name and occupation and connection with the Wright family, and so on; and it arose from Carter Bradford himself.

Bradford was disciplining his tongue, speaking impersonally; but there was a bitterness about his speech that was not part of the words he was uttering. Cart was remembering that this lean and quiet-eyed man theoretically at his mercy was, in a sense, an author of more than books¯he was the author of Mr. Bradford’s romantic troubles, too.

Patty’s personality shimmered between them, and Mr. Queen remarked it with satisfaction; it was another advantage he held over his inquisitor. For Patty blinded young Mr. Bradford’s eyes and drugged his quite respectable intelligence. Mr. Queen noted the advantage and tucked it away and returned to his work of concentration while the uppermost forces of his mind paid attention to the audible questions.

And suddenly he saw how he could make the truth work for Jim Haight!

He almost chuckled as he leaned back and gave his whole mind to the man before him. The very first pertinent question reassured him¯Bradford was on the trail, his tongue hanging out.

“Do you recollect, Mr. Smith, that we found the three letters in the defendant’s handwriting as a result of Mrs. Haight’s hysterical belief that you had told us about them?”

“Yes.”

“Do you also recall two unsuccessful attempts on my part that day to find out from you what you knew about the letters?”

“Quite well.”

Bradford said softly: “Mr. Smith, today you are on the witness stand, under oath to tell the whole truth. I now ask you: Did you know of the existence of those three letters before Chief Dakin found them in the defendant’s house?”

And Ellery said: “Yes, I did.”

Bradford was surprised, almost suspicious.

“When did you first learn about them?”

Ellery told him, and Bradford’s surprise turned into satisfaction.

“Under what circumstances?” This was a rapped question, tinged with contempt. Ellery answered meekly.

“Then you knew Mrs. Haight was in danger from her husband?”

“Not at all. I knew there were three letters saying so by implication.”

“Well, did you or did you not believe the defendant wrote those letters?”

Judge Martin made as if to object, but Mr. Queen caught the Judge’s eye and shook his head ever so slightly.

“I didn’t know.”

“Didn’t Miss Patricia Wright identify her brother-in-law’s handwriting for you, as you just testified?”

Miss Patricia Wright, sitting fifteen feet away, looked murder at them both impartially.

“She did. But that did not make it so.”

“Did you check up yourself?”

“Yes. But I don’t pretend to be a handwriting expert.”

“But you must have come to some conclusion, Mr. Smith?”

“Objection!” shouted Judge Martin, unable to contain himself. ”His conclusion.”

“Strike out the question,” directed Judge Newbold.

Bradford smiled. ”You also examined the volume belonging to the defendant, Edgcomb’s Toxicology, particularly pages seventy-one and seventy-two, devoted to arsenic, with certain sentences underlined in red crayon?”

“I did.”

“You knew from the red-crayon underlining in the book that if a crime were going to be committed, death by arsenic poisoning was indicated?”

“We could quarrel about the distinction between certainty and probability,” replied Mr. Queen sadly, “but to save argument¯let’s say I knew; yes.”

“It seems to me, Your Honor,” said Eli Martin in a bored voice, “that this is an entirely improper line of questioning.”

“How so, Counsel?” inquired Judge Newbold.

“Because Mr. Smith’s thoughts and conclusions, whether certainties, probabilities, doubts, or anything else, have no conceivable bearing upon the facts at issue.”

Bradford smiled again, and when Judge Newbold asked him to limit his questions to events and conversations, he nodded carelessly, as if it did not matter.

“Mr. Smith, were you aware that the third letter of the series talked about the ‘death’ of Mrs. Haight as if it had occurred on New Year’s Eve?”

“Yes.”

“During the New Year’s Eve party under examination, did you keep following the defendant out of the living room?”

“I did.”

“You were keeping an eye on him all evening?”

“Yes.”

“You watched him mix cocktails in the pantry?”

“Yes.”

“Now do you recall the last time before midnight the defendant mixed cocktails?”

“Distinctly.”

“Where did he mix them?”

“In the butler’s pantry off the kitchen.”

“Did you follow him there from the living room?”

“Yes, by way of the hall. The hall leads from the foyer to the rear of the house. He entered the kitchen and went into the pantry; I was just behind him but stopped in the hall, beside the door.”

“Did he see you?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea.”

“But you were careful not to be seen?”

Mr. Queen smiled. ”I was neither careful nor careless. I just stood there beside the half-open hall door to the kitchen.”

“Did the defendant turn around to look at you?” persisted Bradford.

“No.”

“But you could see /z/m?”

“Clearly.”

“What did the defendant do?”

“He prepared some Manhattan cocktails in a mixing glass. He poured some into each of a number of clean glasses standing on a tray. He was reaching for the bottle of maraschino cherries, which had been standing on the pantry table, when there was a knock at the back door. He left the cocktails and went out into the kitchen to see who had knocked.”

“That was when Miss Lola Wright and the defendant had the conversation just testified to?”

“Yes.”

“The tray of cocktails left in the butler’s pantry were visible to you all during the period in which the defendant conversed with Lola Wright at the kitchen back door?”

“Yes, indeed.”

Carter Bradford hesitated. Then he asked flatly: “Did you see anyone go near those cocktails between the time the defendant left them in the pantry and the time he returned?”

Mr. Queen replied: “I saw no one, because there wasn’t anyone.”

“The pantry remained absolutely empty during that period? “

“Of organic life¯yes.”

Bradford could scarcely conceal his elation; he made a brave but unsuccessful effort. On the mourners’ bench inside the railing the Wrights turned stone-faced.

“Now, Mr. Smith, did you see the defendant return to the pantry after Lola Wright left?”

“I did.”

“What did he do?”

“He dropped a maraschino cherry from the bottle into each cocktail, using a small ivory pick. He picked up the tray in both hands and carefully walked through the kitchen toward the door at which I was standing. I acted casual, and we went into the living room together, where he immediately began distributing the glasses to the family and guests.”

“On his walk from the pantry to the living room with the tray, did anyone approach him except yourself?”

“No one.”

Ellery waited for the next question with equanimity. He saw the triumph gather in Bradford’s eyes.

“Mr. Smith, wasn’t there something else you saw happen in that pantry?”

“No.”

“Nothing else happened?”

“Nothing else.”

“Have you told us everything you saw?”

“Everything.”

“Didn ‘t you see the defendant drop a white powder into one of those cocktails? “

“No,” said Mr. Queen. ”I saw nothing of the sort.”

“Then on the trip from the pantry to the living room?”

“Both Mr. Haight’s hands were busy holding the tray. He dropped no foreign substance of any kind into any of the cocktails at any time during their preparation or while he carried the tray into the living room.”

And then there was an undercurrent jabber in the room, and the Wrights glanced at one another with relief while Judge Martin wiped his face and Carter Bradford sneered almost with sound.

“Perhaps you turned your head for two seconds?”

“My eyes were on that tray of cocktails continuously.”

“You didn’t look away for even a second, eh?”

“For even a second,” said Mr. Queen regretfully, as if he wished he had, just to please Mr. Bradford.

Mr. Bradford grinned at the jury¯man to man¯and at least five jurors grinned back. Sure, what could you expect? A friend of the Wrights’. And then everybody in town knew why Cart Bradford had stopped seeing Pat Wright. This Smith bird had a case on Patty Wright. So . . .

“And you didn’t see Jim Haight drop arsenic into one of those cocktails?” insisted Mr. Bradford, smiling broadly now.

“At the risk of seeming a bore,” replied Mr. Queen with courtesy, “no, I did not.” But he knew he had lost with the jury; they didn’t believe him.

He knew it, and while the Wrights didn’t know it yet, Judge Martin did; the old gentleman was beginning to sweat again. Only Jim Haight sat unmoved, unchanged, wrapped in a shroud.

“Well, then, Mr. Smith, answer this question: Did you see anyone else who had the opportunity to poison one of those cocktails?”

Mr. Queen gathered himself; but before he could reply, Bradford snapped: “In fact, did you see anyone else who did poison one of those cocktails¯anyone other than the defendant?”

“I saw no one else, but¯”

“In other words, Mr. Smith,” cried Bradford, “the defendant James Haight was not only in the best position, but he was in the only position, to poison that cocktail?”

“No,” said Mr. Smith. And then he smiled.

You asked for it, he thought, and I’m giving it to you. The only trouble is, I’m giving it to myself, too, and that’s foolishness. He sighed and wondered what his father, Inspector Queen, no doubt reading about the case in the New York papers and conjecturing who Ellery Smith was, would have to say when he discovered Mr. ”Smith’s” identity and read about this act of puerile bravado.

Carter Bradford looked blank. Then he shouted: “Are you aware that this is perjury, Smith? You just testified that no one else entered the pantry! No one approached the defendant while he was carrying the cocktails into the living room! Allow me to repeat a question or two. Did anyone approach the defendant during his walk to the living room with the tray?”

“No,” said Mr. Queen patiently.

“Did someone else enter the pantry while the defendant was talking to Lola Wright at the back door?”

“No.”

Bradford was almost speechless. ”But you just said¯! Smith, who but James Haight could have poisoned one of those cocktails, by your own testimony?”

Judge Martin was on his feet, but before he could get the word “Objection” out of his mouth, Ellery said calmly: “I could.”

There was a wholesale gasp before him and then a stricken silence. So he went on: “You see, it would have been the work often seconds for me to slip from behind the door of the hall, cross the few feet of kitchen to the pantry unobserved by Jim or Lola at the back door, drop arsenic into one of the cocktails, return the same way . . . ”

And there was Babel all over again, and Mr. Queen looked down upon the noisemakers from the highest point of his tower, smiling benignly.

He was thinking: It’s full of holes, but it’s the best a man can do on short notice with the material at hand.

* * *

Over the shouting, and Judge Newbold’s gavel, and the rush of reporters, Carter Bradford bellowed in triumph: “Well, DID you poison that cocktail, Smith? “

There were several instants of quiet again, during which Judge Martin’s voice was heard to say feebly: “I object¯” and Mr. Queen’s voice topped the Judge’s by adding neatly: “On constitutional grounds¯”

Then hell broke loose, and Judge Newbold broke his gavel off at the head, and roared to the bailiff to clear the damn courtroom, and then he hog-called a recess until the next morning and practically ran into his chambers, where it is presumed he applied vinegar compresses to his forehead.