The Chinese Orange Mystery

A Gift of Gems

Sergeant Velie, who had been hurriedly superseded in his direction of the search for the dead man’s baggage in order that he might be at hand for the raid on Irene Llewes’s apartment, reported to the Inspector in the lobby of the Chancellor.

“Clear coast, Chief. I had a man — Johnson — in the dame’s apartment after the raid dressed up as a hotel porter fixin’ the plumbing. The maid’s okay, too. She didn’t come in from her afternoon off till just before six.”

“She doesn’t know what happened?” asked the Inspector sharply.

“Not her.”

“How about Irene?”

“She trots in, Johnson says, around half-past six and dressed in doodads, like she’s goin’ on a party. She never even looked for the ice in the wall-safe. Her own stuff — in her jewel-box in the vanity — she did look at, though. Wore some of it.”

“Did she put her wrap on when she left her rooms?” demanded Ellery.

The Sergeant grinned. “But she didn’t leave ’em, Mr. Queen.”

“Is she alone?”

“Not so you could notice it. She’s throwin’ a party for the Kirk crowd — cocktail party, Johnson reports he heard her say. They’re all up there now.”

“Hmm,” said the Inspector. “Well, one place is as good as another. Before we tackle her, though, I want to go up to the twenty-second.”

“Now why on earth,” said Ellery, “do you want to do that?”

“Just a notion.”

The elevator was jammed and they were crushed against the rear bronze wall. The Inspector whispered: “If this Marcella girl’s at the shindig, I’ll kill two birds with one stone and pump her about those books of her old man’s. I don’t know why you told me to lay off the other day.”

“Because I hadn’t quite figured it out,” snapped Ellery.

“Oh, then you know now why she did it?”

“On examination it’s simplicity itself. I was stupid not to have thought of it instantly.”

“Well, why?”

But they had reached the twenty-second floor, and Ellery preceded his father and the Sergeant from the elevator without replying.

Mrs. Shane gulped a frightened, bosom-raising greeting from her desk. But the Inspector ignored her and strode straight to the door of Donald Kirk’s office and opened it without knocking. Sergeant Velie grunted: “Hey, wake up, flattie,” to a uniformed officer who had been drowsing on a chair near the door to the death-room.

Osborne rose from his desk and dropped his stamp-tongs. “Inspector — Mr. Queen! Is anything wrong again?” He was a little pale.

“Yet,” growled the Inspector. “Listen, Osborne. Is there a piece of jewelry in Kirk’s collection known as the Grand Duchess’s Tiara?”

Osborne looked puzzled. “Why, certainly.”

“And one called the Red Brooch?”

“Yes. Why-”

“A beaten-silver lavallière with an emerald pendant?”

“Yes. But what’s happened, Inspector Queen?”

“Don’t you know?”

Osborne looked from the old man’s grim face to Ellery’s, and slowly sank back into his chair. “N-no, sir. I don’t have much to do with Mr. Kirk’s collection of antique jewelry, as he can tell you. He keeps them in a vault at the bank, and only he has access to them.”

“Well,” barked the Inspector, “they’re gone.”

“Gone?” gasped Osborne. He was utterly and sincerely flabbergasted. “The entire collection?”

“Just some choice pieces.”

“Does — does Mr. Kirk know?”

“That,” said the Inspector with a sour smile, “is what I’m going to find out.” He jerked his head at his two companions. “Come on. I just wanted Osborne’s corroboration. Just in case.” He chuckled and started for the door.

“Inspector!” Osborne clutched the sides of his desk. “You’re — you’re not going to question Mr. Kirk now, are you?”

The Inspector stopped short, whirled around, and cocked his head at Osborne with an expression of complete unfriendliness. “And suppose I am, Mister Osborne? What’s it to you?”

“But they’re all — I mean,” said Osborne, licking his pale lips, “Mr. Kirk’s having a little celebration, Inspector. It wouldn’t be nice—”

“Celebration?” The Queens regarded each other. “In the Kirk rooms?”

“No, sir,” said Osborne eagerly. “In Miss Llewes’s suite on the floor below. You see, she invited them all to a cocktail party when she heard that Mr. Kirk had become engaged. So that’s why I—”

“Engaged!” murmured Ellery. “Will wonders never cease, O Power of Darkness? I take it, Ozzie, that this is a Sino-American alliance?”

“Eh? Oh, yes, sir. Miss Temple. Under the circumstances you couldn’t very well go—”

“The Temple girl, huh?” muttered the Inspector.

“While we’re here,” drawled Ellery. “Ozzie, did you ever hear of a postage stamp—” his eyes swept lazily over the stamp-littered desk — “of Foochow, $1 denomination, ochre and black, with the black erroneously printed on the gum-side of the stamp?”

Osborne sat very still. His weary eyes shifted, and his knuckles became a dirty white. “Why — I can’t — remember any such error,” he muttered.

“Liar,” said Ellery cheerfully. “We know all about it, Ozzie. If I may call you Ozzie...”

“You — know?” said Osborne with difficulty, raising his eyes.

“Oh, certainly. Don Kirk himself told us.”

Osborne took out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead. “I’m sorry, Mr. Queen. I thought—”

“Come on,” snapped the Inspector impatiently. “You, there!” he bellowed at the policeman, who started and went pale. “You see that this man Osborne here doesn’t touch that house ’phone for five minutes. Be good, Osborne... Well, come on, boys. If there’s any fun we might’s well be in on it, too!”

The three rooms of the Llewes suite were directly below the Kirk apartment. The door was opened in response to the Inspector’s ring by an angular maid with cubistic cheeks and an unlovely pointed nose. She began to protest in a weak whining Cockney voice, but then she saw the Sergeant and fell back gaping. The Inspector pushed past her without ceremony and strode through a small reception-foyer into a sitting-room, which was noisy with laughter and conversation. Both ceased magically.

They were all there — Dr. Kirk, Marcella, Macgowan, Berne, Jo Temple, Donald, Irene Llewes; and there were two women and a man whom the Queens had never seen before. One of the strangers was a tall flashing woman of foreign appearance who clung to Felix Berne’s arm with a queer possessiveness. All were in evening attire.

Miss Llewes came swiftly forward, smiling. “Yes?” she said. “Yes? You see, I have guests, Inspector Queen. Perhaps another time...”

Macgowan and Donald Kirk were staring at the silent trio very intently. Dr. Kirk, his old nose purple, wheeled himself furiously forward. “What’s the meaning of this latest intrusion, gentlemen? Can’t decent people ever have protection from meddling busybodies in this confounded madhouse?”

“Take it easy, Dr. Kirk,” said the Inspector mildly. “Sorry, folks, to butt in this way, but business is business. We won’t be but a minute. Uh — Mr. Kirk, I want to see you about something. Miss Llewes, have you another room we can use for a couple of minutes?”

“Is anything wrong, Inspector?” asked Glenn Macgowan quietly.

“No, no; nothing serious. Just go on with your party... Ah, that’s fine, Miss Llewes.”

The woman had led them to a door which opened into a living-room. Donald Kirk, silent and pale, walked in like a prisoner approaching the execution chamber. And tiny Jo Temple followed him with head held high and a firm step. The Inspector frowned and was about to say something when Ellery touched his arm. So the Inspector held his tongue.

Donald did not see Jo until the door of the living-room was shut and Sergeant Velie’s expansive back was set against it.

“Jo,” he said harshly. “You don’t want to be mixed up in this — in anything. Please, dear. Go out and wait with the others.”

“I’ll stay,” she said; and she smiled and squeezed his hand. “After all, what good is a wife — or a near-wife — if she doesn’t share a little of her husband’s responsibilities?”

“Oh,” said Ellery. “Things happen so suddenly these days. May I offer my very sincere congratulations?”

“Thank you,” they both murmured submissively; and both lowered their eyes. Strange lovers! thought Ellery.

“Well, now, look here,” began the Inspector. “I don’t have to tell you, Kirk, that you haven’t been strictly on the level with us. You’ve held back certain information and you’ve acted very funny throughout. I’m going to give you a chance to clear yourself.”

Kirk said very slowly: “I don’t know what you mean, Inspector.” And Jo flung him a sidewise glance that was as puzzled as it was swift.

“Kirk, did you have a robbery recently?” snapped the old gentleman.

“Robbery?” He seemed completely taken by surprise. “Of course not... Oh, I suppose you mean about father’s books. Well, you know they’ve been returned rather mysteriously—”

“I don’t mean about father’s books, Kirk.”

“A robbery?” frowned Kirk. “I can’t— No.”

“You’re sure? Think hard, young man.”

Donald jammed his hands nervously in the pockets of his tuxedo. “But I assure you—”

“Do you own certain pieces of antique jewelry — collectors’ items — known as the Red Brooch, the Grand Duchess’s Tiara, an emerald-pendant lavallière, a Sixteenth Century Chinese jade ring?”

Quick as a flash Kirk said: “No, I’ve sold them.”

The Inspector regarded him calmly for a moment, and then went to the door. Sergeant Velie stepped aside and the old man opened the door and called out: “Miss Llewes. One moment, please.” Then the tall woman was in the room, smiling a little uncertainly, her slender brows inquiring. She was dressed in something long and curved and intimate and clinging, cut so low that the cleft between her breasts narrowed and widened with the slow surge of her breath, perfectly visible, like a crevasse on a tumbled shore uncovered periodically by the action of the surf.

The Inspector said gently: “Don’t you think you’d better step out for a few minutes, Miss Temple?”

Her tiny nose twitched a little, almost humorously. But she said nothing, nor did she release her grip on young Kirk’s hand.

“All right,” sighed the Inspector. He turned on the tall woman and smiled. “We may as well know each other by our right names, my dear. Now why didn’t you tell us that you’re really Irene Sewell?”

Kirk blinked uncomprehendingly; and the tall woman drew herself up and blinked, too, like a green-eyed cat faintly startled. Then she smiled in response, and Ellery thought that it was the fourth-dimensional smile of the Cheshire Cat, remote and disembodied. “I beg your pardon?”

“Hmm,” said the Inspector with a grin of admiration. “Good nerves, Irene. But it won’t do you any good to keep acting. Y’see, we know all about you. My friend Inspector Trench of Scotland Yard informed me only this evening by cable that you and he are old, old buddies. Notorious British confidence-woman, I think he said. But that’s Trench for you; no politeness at all. Did you know that, Kirk?”

Donald licked his lips, regarding the woman apparently through a sick haze. “Confidence-woman?” he faltered. But there was something unconvincing in his hesitation; and Ellery sighed and turned away a little, blushing for the good sense of mankind. The only genuine character in the drama, he reflected, was little Miss Temple; she was being herself, not acting a part. And she was studying the tall woman with a sort of distant horror.

The tall woman said nothing. And while there was something wary in the depths of her green eyes, there was something elusive and mocking in them, too, as if she were indeed the Cheshire Cat having her enigmatic little jest with a faintly bewildered Alice.

“Might’s well come clean, Irene,” murmured the Inspector. “We know you down to the ground. We know, for instance, that you had in your possession a number of valuable pieces of jewelry which came from the collection of Mr. Kirk. Eh, Irene?”

For an instant her guard came down and she flashed a look in the direction of a door at the farther side of the room. Then she bit her lip and smiled again, and this time it was not the smile of the Cheshire Cat at all but the smile of a dying hope.

“Oh, it won’t do you any good to look for ’em in your bedroom wall-safe,” chuckled the Inspector, “because they aren’t there any more. We routed ’em out this afternoon while you were away. Well, Irene, are you going to tell all about it or do I have to put the nippers on you?”

“Nippers?” she murmured, frowning.

“Now, now, Irene. That’s what they call ’em in your country, and I don’t doubt but that you’ve had ’em on your pretty wrists more than once in the past.” He lost patience with her suddenly. “You stole those gems!”

“Ah,” she said; and this time she was smiling broadly, the hope miraculously revived. “Really, Inspector, you speak such an incomprehensible jargon! You’re quite sure they belong to Mr. Kirk?”

“Sure?” The Inspector stared. “What’s your game now?”

“If they do, why do you insist there’s a crime involved, Inspector? Is it a crime for a gentleman to present a lady with gifts of jewelry? For a moment I thought you meant that Mr. Kirk had stolen them. Heavens!”

There was a moment of thick silence. Then Ellery said swiftly: “Well, Kirk?”

Jo Temple was wrinkling her tiny nose in the most complete puzzlement. She tightened her grip on Donald’s arm. “Donald. Did you give her — those things?”

Kirk stood still, and yet Ellery got the impression that inside he was a caldron of seething little feelings twining about and grappling with one another like a miniature snake enveloping the miniature sons of Laocoön. There was no color whatever in his normally tanned face; it looked washed out, gray.

Almost absently he lifted Jo’s hand from his arm and said. “Yes.” He had not once looked directly at Irene Llewes.

“There!” cried Miss Llewes gaily. “You see? Much ado about nothing. I trust you, Inspector, to return my jewels at once. I’ve heard the most shocking stories about the dishonesty of the American police that—”

“Stop it,” said the Inspector curtly. “Kirk, what is this? You mean to say that you actually made a gift of those expensive pieces to this woman?”

His control collapsed like a stuck balloon. Under the steady eyes of Jo he sank into the nearest chair and buried his face in his hands. His voice came muffled, miserable. “Yes. No... I don’t know what I did.”

“No?” said Irene Llewes swiftly. “Ah, Donald. You’ve such a poor memory,” and without a further word she hurried into her bedroom. The Sergeant, scowling, relaxed at the Inspector’s head-shake. In a moment she was back, bearing a sheet of notepaper. “I’m sure Donald didn’t realize what he was saying, Inspector Queen. I don’t care, as a rule, to display these intimate — things, but then I’ve no choice, have I, Inspector? Donald, shame on you!”

The Inspector stared at her, hard; and then took the note from her fingers and read it aloud:

Miss Temple quivered perceptibly. “What,” she asked in a cold voice, “is the date on that — that piece of erotica, Inspector Queen?”

“You poor dear,” murmured Miss Llewes. “I know exactly how you feel, darling. But you can see for yourself that Donald wrote me that before you came to the city, before he knew you. When he met you...” She shrugged her magnificent bare shoulders. “C’est la guerre, et j’y tomba victime. I harbor no ill feeling, I assure you. Certainly my invitation to you and Donald tonight is proof of that?”

“Clumsy,” sneered the Inspector. “If that’s the passionate letter of a lover asking his Juliet to get hitched, I’m a monkey’s uncle. More like a historical essay. It’s a frame, and I’ll have the truth if I have to sweat it out of you — both of you! Kirk, what the devil hold has this woman over you that would make you write a note like this at her dictation?”

“Dictation?” Miss Llewes frowned. “Donald. This is becoming quite stupid. Please tell them. Talk, Donald.” She stamped her foot. “Talk, I say!”

The young man rose and faced the woman squarely for the first time. There was a veil over his eyes. And although he faced her he addressed the Inspector. “I see no point in continuing this farce,” he said in a voice that rasped from his throat. “I’m in for it and I might as well take my medicine. I lied.” Ellery saw a vast relief flood into the tall woman’s eyes, to be shut out instantly by her lids. “I wrote the note and I gave Miss Llewes — or Miss Sewell, if that’s her real name — the jewels. I didn’t know anything about her past. What’s more, I don’t care. This is a private matter and I see no reason why it should be dragged up now in this — this murder investigation, which hasn’t the least connection with my personal affairs.”

“Donald,” choked Jo, “you — you asked her to marry you?”

Miss Llewes was smiling her faintly triumphant smile. “Don’t be silly, now, my dear. What if he did? I’m not exactly the most hideous object in the world? Put it down to an infatuation. I’m sure that’s all it was; wasn’t it, Donald? At any rate, it’s all over now, and you have him. You’re not going to be provincial about this, are you?”

“Such heroinism,” murmured, Ellery.

“Donald! You — you admit it?”

“Yes,” he said in the same harsh tone. “I admit it. For God’s sake, how long do I have to submit to this torture?” He did not look at the tiny woman from China. “I’m willing to call it all quits if there’s no publicity of any kind. It’s over now — finished, done. Why don’t you let me alone?”

“I see,” said the Inspector frigidly. “And the jewels, Kirk?”

“I gave them to her.”

Jo stepped quietly in front of the tall woman and said: “Of course you’re just the vilest creature. N-not even Donald could really have been taken in...” She whirled on the frozen young man. “Don, you know I don’t believe all this — all this mumbo-jumbo! You — I know you so well, darling. You couldn’t have done anything really wrong. Oh, I don’t care about a — a petty affair with a cheap adventuress; it hurts me, I suppose, but... What is it, Don? What has she done to you, darling? Can’t you tell me?”

He said in a queer soft voice: “You’ll have to take me as I am, Jo.”

The tall woman kept smiling. But there was something strong and sure and arrogant in her voice. “I think I’ve been most patient. Another woman would have made a scene. As for you, Jo Temple, I’ll overlook that nasty epithet and give you some advice based on very wide experience: Don’t be a silly fool. You have him, and he’s a very nice young man.” Jo ignored her; she still stared at the averted face of the young man. “And now, Inspector, I must insist that you call your dogs off. I won’t have this perpetual persecution. If you persist, I shall leave at once.”

“That’s what you think,” said the Inspector sourly. “But you’re not leaving until I give you permission to. If you make the slightest move to get out of the country, I’ll arrest you on suspicion. It’s a swell word, and it’s very elastic. Matter of fact, I could slam you behind bars this minute for being an undesirable character. So you stay put in this apartment of yours, Sewell, and be a nice girl. Don’t try any tricks on me.” He squinted at the silent pair before him. “As for you, Kirk, some day you’re going to be mighty sorry you didn’t make a clean breast of the whole miserable mess you’re in. I don’t know what devilment this woman is up to, but she seems to have hooked you good and proper. Bad business, young man... Come on, boys.”

Ellery sighed, stirring. “But aren’t you going to question Marcella Kirk on that little matter of philology?” he murmured.

He was frankly astounded to see wildest alarm leap into Donald Kirk’s haggard eyes. “You let Marcella alone, do you hear?” the young man shouted, livid. “Don’t drag her into this! Let her alone, I tell you!”

Inspector Queen studied him with a coolly sudden renascence of interest. Then he said gently: “So. I was going to say I’d got a bellyful of the lot of you. But on reconsideration I can stand a little more. Thomas, get Miss Marcella Kirk and her father in here!”

Donald sprang like a released missile toward the door as Velie turned to open it, catching the Sergeant wholly by surprise and shoving him roughly aside. He stood trembling but determined before the door. “No, I tell you. Queen, for God’s sake. Don’t let him do it!”

“Why, you cocky little weasel—” the Sergeant began to growl, lunging forward.

“Whoa, Velie,” said Ellery in a drawl. “Why the dramatics, Kirk, old fellow? No one means to hurt your sister. It’s a little misunderstanding that must be cleared up. That’s really all.” He stepped forward and put his arm in friendly fashion about Kirk’s rigid shoulders. “Let Miss Temple take you upstairs, Kirk. You’re sadly in need of a drink and some rest for those jumpy nerves of yours.”

“Queen, you won’t—” There was something pathetic in his voice.

“Of course not,” said Ellery soothingly. He glanced at the tiny woman, and she sighed and went to the young man and took, his hand and said something to him in a soft murmur. Ellery felt Kirk’s muscles go limp. The Sergeant, scowling, opened the door and permitted the pair to leave. Staring eyes met them from the other room.

“You too, Irene,” said the Inspector with curt emphasis. She shrugged and sauntered after Kirk and Jo. But there was something wary about the set of her handsome shoulder-blades, quite as if she were steeling herself against a blow from behind. Sergeant Velie followed her.

“What the devil’s eating the youngster?” muttered the Inspector, staring after them.

Ellery started. “Eh? Oh — Kirk.” He produced a cigaret and slowly struck a match. “Very interesting. I just caught a glimmer. The barest glimmer... Here they are.”

It was not two who came in, but three. Sergeant Velie glowered fiercely.

“This Macgowan guy wouldn’t stay put,” he rasped. “Shall I kick him in the pants, Inspector?”

“I shouldn’t advise the attempt, Sergeant,” said Ellery with an amused smile, glancing at Macgowan’s formidable bulk.

“Well, if he wants to get the works,” growled the Inspector, “that’s his funeral. Listen, sister—”

Marcella Kirk stood slim and breathlessly quiet between her fiancé and her father, who leaned heavily on her arm. The old man was shrunken within the dry bones of his gaunt frame, strangely quiescent and unlike his usual belligerent self. There was a furtive gleam in his old eyes.

Macgowan said softly: “Take it easy, Inspector. My fiancée happens to be a sensitive young lady. And I’m not sure I’d be able to stand your strong-arm stuff myself. What’s on your mind besides breaking up a perfectly respectable cocktail party?”

“That’ll be enough out of you, Mr. Macgowan—”

Dr. Kirk quavered: “What have you done to Donald, damn you?”

“He looked—” whispered Marcella.

“I’ll do the asking,” said Inspector Queen grimly. “Dr. Kirk, the other day you reported the return of your stolen Hebrew books. Is that correct?”

“Well?” The old scholar’s voice was cracked.

“They were all returned?”

“Certainly. I told you I wanted no fuss made. I have my books back, which is the only consideration.” He stroked his daughter’s bare arm with his bony fingers, absently. “Why, have you discovered who — took them?”

“You bet your sweet life.”

Marcella Kirk sighed. Her lips were very red against her skin.

Macgowan opened his mouth to speak, changed his mind, and glanced from the face of the girl to the face of his future father-in-law. And he, too, went pale under his tan; and he bit his lip and tightened his grip on Marcella’s hand.

“If I may,” murmured Ellery. They stared at him, three pairs of fearful eyes. “I think we’re all reasonably adult people. Miss Kirk, may I say first of all that I have nothing but admiration for you?”

She swayed suddenly, closing her eyes.

“What do you mean?” said Macgowan hoarsely.

“Your fiancée, Macgowan, is a brave, loyal girl. I know precisely what her mental processes were... I had been harping on the strange backwards nature of the crime. There leaped into her mind an instant panoramic picture — her father... you, Doctor... poring over—” Ellery paused — “Hebrew books. A language whose prime characteristic, she knew, is its literal backwardness. And so—”

“I stole them,” she said with a strangled sob. “Oh, I was afraid—”

Dr. Kirk’s face altered strangely. “Marcella, my dear,” he said in a soft voice. And he pressed her arm and drew himself a little straighter.

“And you forgot, Miss Kirk,” Ellery went on, “that Chinese, which is represented in your father’s library by many manuscripts, is also a backwards language, so to speak. Isn’t that so?”

“Chinese?” she gasped, her eyes widening.

“I thought so. Dad, there’s no need to go into this thing any more fully. It’s basically my fault. Perfectly understandable, Miss Kirk’s reaction to my oral cogitations about the backwardness of the crime. Now that it’s cleared up I think it’s best we all forget it.”

“But Hebrew is backwards—”

“Alas,” sighed Ellery. “And a great lack. I don’t know what any of it means. And am I my brother’s keeper?” He grinned at Marcella and Macgowan. “Go, and sin no more.”

“Oh, all right,” growled the Inspector. “Let ’em out, Thomas.”

The Sergeant stood aside as the three passed by — all very quiet, and Macgowan hiding something behind his eyelids.

“While we’re here,” muttered the Inspector, “I might as well clean up one more thing.”

“What now?” murmured Ellery.

“This bird Felix Berne. Thomas—”

“Berne?” Ellery’s eyes narrowed. “What about Berne?”

“We finally got a check-up on his movements the day of the murder. There’s one element... Thomas, get Mr. Berne in here, and also that foreign-looking dame who was hanging on his arm when we came in. If my hunch is correct, she’s got something to do with this.”

“With what?” asked Ellery swiftly as the Sergeant tramped out.

The Inspector shrugged. “That’s what I don’t know.”

Berne was very drunk. He lurched in, his bitter eyes inflamed and a sneer on his sharp keen features. The woman with him looked frightened. She was a tall supple brunette with a body that leaped with life. She pressed her full breasts against Berne’s black-sleeved arm as if she were afraid to release it.

“Well?” drawled Berne, his thin lips writhing humorously. “What is it tonight — the sjambok, the bastinado, or the bed of Procrustes?”

“Good evening, Berne,” murmured Ellery. “I will say that detective work is broadening. Pleasure to meet such cultured people. Sjambok, did you say? Sounds faintly African-Dutch. What is it?”

“It’s a whip made out of rhinoceros hide,” said Berne with the same fixed drunken smile, “and if I had you on the South African veldt, my dear Queen, I’d like nothing better than to give you a taste of it. I dislike you intensely. I don’t know when I’ve disliked a fellow-creature more. Go to hell... Well, you vest-pocket Lucifer,” he snapped suddenly at Inspector Queen, “what’s on your mind? Speak up, man! I haven’t all night to waste answering idiotic questions.”

“Idiotic questions, hey?” growled the Inspector. “One more crack like that out of you, wise guy, and I’ll sick the Sergeant here on you, and what he’ll do to that pan of yours I’ll leave to your own imagination.” He whirled on the woman. “You. What’s your name?”

She pressed closer to the publisher and looked up at him with a childlike faith.

Berne drawled: “Tell him, cara mia. He looks bad, but he’s harmless.”

“I — am,” said the woman with difficulty, “Lucrezia Rizzo.” She spoke with a strong Italian accent.

“Where d’ye come from?”

“Italia. My home — it is — in Firenze.”

“Florence, eh?” murmured Ellery. “For the first time I grasp the essential inspiration behind the vigor of Botticelli’s women. You are very lovely, and you come from a lovely city, ma donna.”

She flashed him a long low look that had nothing in common with the fear that had filled her eyes a moment before. But she said nothing, and continued to cling to Berne’s arm.

“Listen, I’m in a hurry,” barked Inspector Queen. “How long you been in New York, Signora?”

Again she glanced at Berne, and he nodded. “It is — a week or so, I think,” she said, her sibilants soft and warm.

“Why do you ask?” drawled Berne. “Thinking of pulling Signorina Rizzo into the well-known can on a charge of murder, Inspector? And I might also point out that you either leap to conclusions or else possess a shocking ignorance of the simplest Italian. My friend Lucrezia is unmarried.”

“Married or not,” snarled the Inspector, “I want to know what she was doing in that bachelor apartment of yours on East Sixty-fourth Street the day of the murder!”

Ellery started slightly, but Berne did not. The publisher showed his teeth in the same fixed drunken smile. “Ah, our metropolitan police now flourish the banner of moral purity! What d’ye think she was doing? You must have a good notion or you wouldn’t be asking... Always incomprehensible to me, this stupid habit of asking questions you know the answers to. You didn’t think I’d deny it, did you?”

The Inspector’s bird-like face was growing redder with every passing instant. He glared at Berne and said: “I’m mighty interested in your movements that day, Berne, and don’t think you’ll pull the wool over my eyes with that gab of yours. I know that this woman came over on the Mauretania with you, and that you cabbed straight from the boat to your apartment with her. That was before noon that day. How’d you spend the rest of the day before you turned up at the Kirk layout upstairs?”

Berne continued to smile. There was a glassy calm in his inflamed eyes that fascinated Ellery. “Oh, you don’t know, do you, Inspector?”

“Why, you-”

“Because obviously, if you did know,” murmured Berne, “you wouldn’t have put the question that way. Amusing, very amusing. Eh, cara? The naughty policeman who protects our wives and homes and civic honor doesn’t know, and, simple soul that he is, apparently doesn’t even suspect. Oh, perhaps I’m being faintly astigmatic; he does suspect, let us say, but he hasn’t been able to find out definitely.” The woman was staring up at him with bewildered, adoring eyes. It was evident that the rapid interchange of English had taxed her simple knowledge of the language. “And, putting his faith in the comfortable labyrinth of our Anglo-Saxon laws, he realizes that without evidence he is like a child without its mother, or,” Berne drawled, “a lovely piece of feminine Italian flesh without a chaperon. Eh, Inspector?”

A deadly quiet settled over the room with the extinction of Berne’s last word. Ellery, glancing at his father, felt uncomfortably aware of the possibilities. The old gentleman’s face had turned to marble, and there was a pinched look about his little nostrils that made his face seem even smaller and harder than it was. There was danger, too, from the direction of Sergeant Velie; his huge shoulders were hunched pugilistically and he was glaring at the publisher with a candid menace that startled Ellery.

Then the moment passed, and the Inspector said in almost a matter-of-fact voice: “Then your story is that you spent the whole day in your apartment with this woman?”

Berne, coolly indifferent to the threatening atmosphere, shrugged. “Where did you think a man would spend the day with this enchanting morsel to keep him company?”

“I’m asking you,” said the Inspector quietly.

“Well, then the answer is sweetly in the affirmative.” Berne smiled the old ghastly smile and said: “The inquisition is over, Inspector? I may go with lovely Lucrezia to bear me company? La politesse calls. Mustn’t keep our hostess waiting, you know.”

“Go on,” said the Inspector. “Beat it. Beat it before I choke the ugly smile off your face with my own hands.”

“Bravo” drawled Berne. “Come, my dear; it seems that we’re no longer wanted.” And he drew the bewildered woman closer to him and swung her gently about and steered her toward the door.

“But, Felicio,” she murmured, “what — is—”

“Don’t Italianate me, my dear,” said Berne. “Felix to you.” And then they were gone.

None of the three men said anything for some time. The Inspector remained where he was, staring expressionlessly at the door. Sergeant Velie was drawing deep breaths, as if he had been laboring under tremendous strain.

Then Ellery said gently: “Oh, come, dad. Don’t let that drunken boor get the best of you. He does raise the hackles, I confess. I’ve felt, myself, a prickling at the nape of my neck that’s as old as man’s enemies... Get that look off your face, dad, please.”

“He’s the first man,” said the Inspector deliberately, “in twenty years who has made me feel like committing murder. The other one was the bird who raped his own daughter; and at least he was crazy.”

Sergeant Velie said something venomous to himself in a soft mutter.

Ellery shook his father’s arm. “Now, now! I want you to do something for me, dad.”

Inspector Queen turned to him with a sigh. “Well, what is it now?”

“Can you hale that Sewell woman downtown late tonight on some pretext or other? And get her maid out of the way?”

“Hmm, What for?” said the Inspector with a sudden interest.

“I have,” murmured Ellery, sucking thoughtfully on a cigaret, “an idea based on that phantom glimmer I mentioned a few moments ago.”