The Chinese Orange Mystery

Looking Backward

Mr. Ellery Queen had never set a stage more carefully in the whole of his variegated experience than he did the morning after the great experiment in his living-room. And, for once, he had Inspector Queen with him.

Why they deemed it necessary to be so thoroughly cautious and painstaking about their preparations neither took the trouble to explain to any one. And the only other person who might have been able to account for it was missing. Sergeant Velie, normally the soul of punctuality, had vanished. And again, for once, Inspector Queen accepted his vanishment with equanimity.

When it began it proceeded very smoothly indeed. Early in the morning a grim-faced detective from Headquarters called on each of the persons associated with the case and constituted himself a gratuitous bodyguard thenceforward. There were no explanations or excuses. Beyond a curt: “Orders of Inspector Queen,” each detective remained silent.

Consequently, when 10:00 o’clock rolled round, the anteroom to Donald Kirk’s office — the scene of the crime — began to fill with curious, rather shaken, people. Dr. Hugh Kirk, faintly blustering, was wheeled into the anteroom by a subdued Miss Diversey under the watchful eye of Detective Hagstrom. Donald Kirk and his sister Marcella were marched in by Detective Ritter. Miss Temple, distinctly mauve-complectioned, entered with Detective Hesse. Glenn Macgowan stamped in, furious but unprotesting, under the wing of Detective Johnson. Felix Berne was a reluctantly early comer, prodded along by Detective Piggott, who seemed to have developed an abrasive dislike for his charge. Inspector Queen attended to Irene Sewell himself. Osborne found himself hustled into the anteroom by a brawny policeman. Even Nye, the Chancellor’s manager, and Brummer, the black-browed house-detective, were there in firm if polite custody; as were Mrs. Shane, the floor-clerk, and Hubbell, Kirk’s valet-butler.

When they were all assembled Mr. Ellery Queen briskly shut the door, smiled at the silent seated company, cast a professional eye over the detectives ranged against the wall, nodded to Inspector Queen, who had taken up a silent station before the corridor door, and strode to the center of the room.

Through the windows streamed a pale morning light, sluggishly emanating from an overcast, depressing sky. The coffin-like crate lay before them, its lid loosely on; the contents of this remote sarcophagus had not been revealed to them, and more than one puzzled disturbed glance was directed at it.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” began Mr. Ellery Queen, resting one neat shoe on the crate, “I suppose all of you are wondering at the peculiar character of this morning’s little convention. I shan’t keep you in doubt. We’ve gathered this morning to unmask the murderer of the man who met his death in this room not so long ago.”

They were sitting rigidly, staring at him with a sort of fascinated horror. Then Miss Diversey whispered: “Then you know—” and bit her lip and blushed in confusion.

“Shut up,” snarled Dr. Kirk. “Are we to understand, Queen, that this is to be one of those fantastic exhibitions of crime-nosing you’re reputed to be so addicted to? I must say that—”

“One at a time, please,” smiled Ellery. “Yes, Dr. Kirk, that’s precisely what this is intended to be. Let’s say: a practical demonstration of the invincibility of logic. Mind over matter. The self-taught brain victorious. And as for your question, Miss Diversey: we shall argue certain points of interest and see where they lead us.” He raised his hand. “No, no, no questions, please... Oh, before I begin. I suppose it’s futile to request the murderer of our little corpse to step forward and save us both time and cerebral wear-and-tear?”

He looked at them gravely. But no one replied; every one kept his eyes fixed guiltily before him.

“Very well,” he said in crisp tones. “To work...” He lighted a cigaret and half-closed his eyes. “The crux of this case was the astounding fact that everything on the scene of the crime, including the very clothes of the victim, had been inverted, turned backwards. I say ‘astounding.’ Even in my mind, trained in the observation and diagnosis of just such phenomena, there was a distinct reaction of amazement. I daresay not even the murderer, conceiving the backwards business and carrying it into effect, realized just how amazing it was going to appear.

“After the shock had passed I proceeded to analyze the facts, or rather the fact. Experience has taught me that rarely does a criminal do something positive — as opposed to an unconscious act — without purpose. This was a positive, a conscious act. It required hard work and the expenditure of precious time in the accomplishment. I was justified in saying at once, therefore, that there was reason behind it; that while its manifestations seemed insane its purpose, at the least, must have been rational.”

They were listening with painful attention.

“I will confess,” continued Ellery, “that until yesterday that purpose eluded me. I pursued it mentally with the tenacity of desperation, but for the life of me I couldn’t see why everything had been turned backwards. I assumed, of course, that the backwardness of the crime pointed to something backwards about somebody in the case. It seemed the only possible tack. And yet it enmeshed me in strands of philology, philately, and nomenclature so confused that more than once I was tempted to throw the whole puzzle up. There were all sorts of bewildering questions to be answered. If everything was turned backwards to point to a backwards significance about somebody, then that somebody must have been criminally involved. What was the real backwards significance, then? Whom was it intended to involve criminally? And, more important, who had turned everything backwards in the first place? Who was pointing to whom?”

He chuckled. “I see confusion here, and I can’t say I blame you. I found plenty of leads. They performed the function of leading, to be sure, but unfortunately in the direction of obfuscation, not toward a lucid solution of the problem. As for who had done the job, was it the criminal? Was it some one who had inadvertently witnessed the killing? But if it was the criminal pointing to some one else, then that some one was being framed. And yet it was the sorriest frame-up conceivable, since it was so inconclusive, so vague, so really, incomprehensible. If everything was turned backwards by some one who had witnessed the crime, why didn’t that witness come forward with his knowledge instead of taking that hideously tangled, complex method of leaving a clue to the murderer’s identity? You see what I was up against. Wherever I turned I met darkness.

“And then,” murmured Ellery, “I saw how simple it was, how easily I had led myself astray. I had made a mistake. I had misread the facts. My logic had been imperfect. I hadn’t taken into consideration the startling fact that there were two general explanations for the backwardnesses, not one!”

“I can’t say I understand this Ciceronian oration,” said Felix Berne suddenly. “Is this something characteristically esoteric, or do you know what you’re talking about?”

“The gentleman from The Mandarin,” said Ellery, “will please to observe the amenities and preserve the peace. You’ll find out soon enough, Mr. Berne... For you see, I found on reconsideration that there were two possible answers to the riddle. The first I’ve already related: that everything had been turned backwards to point to something backwards about somebody in the case. Its alternative, which had escaped me,” continued Ellery, leaning forward, “was that everything was turned backwards to conceal something backwards about somebody in the case!”

He paused to light a fresh cigaret. Cupping his hands about a match, he scrutinized their faces. But he saw only bewilderment.

“I see expansion is required,” he drawled, puffing away. “The first possibility led away from the crime; the second led to the crime. The first possibility involved revealment; the second concealment. Perhaps I can make it clearer by asking you: By everything about the body and the crime-scene being turned backwards, against whom could concealment have conceivably been directed? What about whom in the case could have been meant to be hidden, camouflaged, disguised?”

“Well, if everything was turned backwards on the body,” ventured Miss Temple in a low voice, “then it must have been the victim about whom something was being concealed, I should think.”

“Brava, Miss Temple. You’ve put your finger on the precise point. There was only one person in the case against whom concealment could have been effected by turning everything backwards. And that was the victim himself. In other words, instead of seeking a backwards significance involving the murderer, or a possible accomplice, or a possible witness to the crime, it was necessary to look for a backwards significance involving the victim.”

“That sounds pat when you say it fast, and all that,” said Berne, “but I fail to see—”

“As Homer said,” murmured Ellery: “‘Give me to see, and Ajax asks no more.’ Classics to the classical, Mr. Berne... The obvious question was: What could this backwards significance be which centers about the victim? Was it something backwards about him literally? Yes, from our theorem something backwards about the victim which the murderer wanted to conceal, to disguise, to cover up. That is to say, if the victim had something, some one thing, backwards about him, then the murderer by turning everything else about him backwards would conceal the backwardness of that one thing! — would make it very difficult indeed to discern what that backwards element about the victim had been to begin with.”

A startled expression sprang into the publisher’s eye, and he sank back with compressed lips. Thereafter he studied Ellery in a new and faintly puzzled way.

“Once I had reached that stage of my cogitations,” continued Ellery with a quizzical look, “I knew I was on solid ground at last. I had something to work on — the most tangible thing in the world: a positive clue. It at once confirmed everything that had gone before and dissipated the fog like magic. For I had merely to ask myself if there was any indication on the victim’s body that pointed to the possible nature of the original backwards phenomenon, the one that was meant to be concealed by the murderer’s turning everything else backwards. No sooner asked than answered. There was.”

“Clue?” muttered Macgowan.

“I saw the body myself,” began Donald Kirk in a wondering voice.

“Please, gentlemen. The hour ageth. What was this indication, this clue? The fact that there was no necktie on the man’s body or on the scene of the crime!”

If Ellery had uttered in a loud voice the word: “Abracadabra!” he could not have evoked a more general expression of dazed inquiry than flickered from the faces of his audience.

“No necktie?” gasped Donald. “But what—”

“Our instinctive presumption,” said Ellery patiently, “was that the victim had worn a necktie, but that the murderer had taken it away because somehow it permitted identification of the victim or traceability. But it was evident to me now that there never was a necktie; that the victim had not worn a tie at all! Remember, when he spoke to Mrs. Shane, and to Mr. Osborne in the presence of Miss Diversey, he wore a scarf bundled closely about his neck. In other words, there was no tie for the murderer to take away!”

“But at best,” protested Dr. Kirk, fascinated despite himself, “that was a pragmatic conclusion, Queen. It was a theory, but not necessarily the truth.”

“A theory, my dear Doctor, resulting inevitably from the argument that the backwards process had been employed to conceal something. But I agree that, as it stood, it was unsatisfactory. Fortunately, a fact existed which offered positive corroboration.” Ellery related briefly the incident of the canvas valise, and listed its contents. “For there were the necessary garments of the victim — everything from a suit to shoes — and yet the only familiar article of apparel missing from the bag was — a necktie. I felt certain then that the reason it was missing was that the owner of the bag habitually did not wear neckties. You see?”

“Hmm,” muttered Dr. Kirk. “Corroboration indeed. A man who didn’t wear neckties...”

“The thing was child’s play after that,” Ellery shrugged, waving his cigaret about. “I asked myself: What type of man never wears a necktie with ordinary street-clothes?”

“A priest!” burst out Marcella. She sank back, blushing.

“Precisely, Miss Kirk. A Catholic priest — or, to be accurate, either a Catholic priest or an Episcopalian clergyman. And then I remembered something else. All three of the witnesses who had seen and spoken with the victim remarked about the peculiar quality of his voice. It had a soft queer timbre, almost unctuous in its sugary tones. And while this was by no means conclusive, or for that matter even a good clue, it did fit with the character of a priest after I’d deduced one. And then there was the very worn breviary in the bag, and the religious tracts... I couldn’t doubt it any longer.

“So here I had the kernel of the entire process of inversion. For to what backwards phenomenon — meant to be obscured, buried among the irrelevant backwardnesses — did the necktie-clue point? And then it struck me like a physical blow that a Catholic or Episcopalian man-of-God wears his collar turned around. Backwards!”

There was a stifling silence. Inspector Queen, at the corridor door, did not stir. He had his eyes fixed oddly upon the door opposite him, the door to the office which stood shut.

“So I had finally smelled out the backwards significance of the crime,” sighed Ellery. “Everything had been turned backwards by the murderer to conceal the fact that his victim was a priest, to conceal the fact that his victim wore no necktie and wore a turned-around collar.”

They erupted all at once, springing into life as if some one had given a signal. But it was Miss Temple’s soft voice which somehow caught on. “There must be something wrong, Mr. Queen. It was an ordinary collar, wasn’t it? Couldn’t the murderer have merely turned the collar around on the dead man’s neck into the usual lay position?”

“Excellent objection,” smiled Ellery. “Naturally that occurred to me, as it certainly occurred to the murderer. I should point out, incidentally, that the cravatless victim must have been a great shock to the murderer. For it is true that no one in this case, including the murderer himself, had ever actually seen that stout little man before he emerged quietly from the elevator on this floor. Muffled up to the chin in the scarf, he was killed before the murderer realized that he was a priest... But to reply to your question. If the murderer had turned the collar around — that is, turned it into the lay position — it would have stood out like a sore thumb. And the missing tie would have only called further attention to the one thing about the victim the murderer wanted to conceal.”

“But why the devil,” objected Macgowan, “didn’t this murderer solve the whole problem by getting a tie somewhere and putting it on the dead man’s neck?”

“Why indeed?” said Ellery, his eyes gleaming. “And that question, too, occurred to me. In fact, it was one of the most important indications in the whole logical structure! I shan’t answer it fully now, but you’ll see later why the murderer couldn’t get a necktie. Of course he couldn’t use his own—” Ellery smiled maliciously, “if he were a man, since he had to meet other people; and if he, so to speak, were a woman he naturally, also so to speak, couldn’t provide one from his own person. But most important, he couldn’t get out of the anteroom, as I’ll show you later. At any rate, take my word for it at this point that his best course was to leave the collar as it was — turned around — and then as a blind to turn everything else on the body and in the room around, thereby concealing the significance of the inverted collar and the lack of a necktie and thereby leading the police astray.” Ellery paused, and continued thoughtfully. “As a matter of fact, at this point in my deductions it was evident that we were dealing with a person of great imagination, even brilliance, and also with a large cranial capacity and a strictly methodical temperament. It took genius of a sort to conceive the idea of inverting all the clothes; and it took brain-power and logic to foresee that to turn only the clothes about was not sufficient, since the very strangeness of the appearance of the clothes would call dangerous attention to them. So he turned the furniture and everything else movable around as well, diverting attention from the clothes and therefore from the collar — the whole thing a perfectly inspired logical chain of reasoning. And it very nearly worked.”

“But even so, even if you knew the victim was a priest—” began Donald.

“Where did it get me?” Ellery grimaced. “It’s true that merely knowing the victim was a priest, while it narrowed the field of search, was hardly vital. But then there was the business of the valise.”

“Valise?”

“Yes. I didn’t visualize baggage myself; Inspector Queen did, to his eternal credit. But the murderer knew all along what he was up against. When he emptied the priest’s pockets he found the baggage-check, bearing the inscription of the Hotel Chancellor itself. Since his main objective was to prevent identification of the victim, it was apparent that he had to get hold of the luggage held by the Chancellor checkroom to prevent its falling into the hands of the police. Yet he was afraid. The Chancellor was under close surveillance. He dillydallied, apprehensive, timid, worried, until it was too late. Then he conceived the scheme of gaining possession of the valise by way of the falsely signed note, the five-dollar bill, and the instructions to the Postal Telegraph office. As it happened, we caught the trail instantly; he was watching and saw the game was spoiled, made no effort to claim the bag in Grand Central, and the bag fell into our hands.

“Now observe what that fatal procrastination of the murderer led to. When the bag was opened we found the dead man’s clothing with Shanghai labels in them. Since the clothes were all fairly new those garments must have been purchased recently in China. I put this together with the fact that despite the most thorough search no trace of the man had been found in this country. Had the priest lived in the United States but was merely returning from a visit to China, I reasoned that some one in this country would have come forward to identify him — a friend, a relative. But no one did. So it was not at all improbable that he had been a permanent resident in the East. But if he was a Catholic priest from China, what did we have? There is only one great class of Christian men-of-God in the land of Buddhism and Taoism.”

“A missionary,” said Miss Temple slowly.

Ellery smiled. “Right again, Miss Temple. I felt convinced that our benevolent-appearing, soft-speaking little corpse with the breviary and religious tracts in his bag had been a Catholic missionary from China!”

Some one rapped thunderously on the door against which Inspector Queen’s slender shoulderblades were resting, and the old man turned quickly and opened the door. The visitor was Sergeant Velie, hard-bitten and grim as usual.

Ellery murmured: “I beg your pardon,” and hurried to the door. They watched the three men conferring with open expressions of anxiety and apprehension. The Sergeant was rumbling something ominous-sounding, the Inspector was looking triumphant, and Ellery was nodding vigorously at every murmur. Then something passed from Velie’s beefy hand to Ellery’s, and Ellery turned his back and examined it, and turned and smiled and put what he was holding into his pocket. The Sergeant leaned back against the door, towering beside Inspector Queen.

“I’m sorry about the interruption,” said Ellery placidly, “but Sergeant Velie has made an epochal discovery. Where was I? Oh, yes. I knew then roughly who Donald Kirk’s visitor was. A little thought then convinced me that I had found the key to — as it were the casus belli — to the direct motive which inspired the murderer. It was quite obvious that the priest himself, as a flesh-and-blood personality, was unknown to any one in this room. Yet he had come to visit Donald Kirk, asking for him by name. Only three classes of persons frequent Mr. Kirk’s office here; stamp people, gem people, and people on publishing business, chiefly authors. Yet the priest had refused to tell Mr. Osborne, Kirk’s confidential assistant, anything about his business; not even his name. This did not sound like a publishing contact, and it struck me that it was most probable the point of contact between Kirk and the priest was one of Kirk’s two hobbies: stamps or gems.

“Now I reasoned that, if this was true, the missionary had come either to sell stamps or jewels, or to buy them — the two all-inclusive classifications. The cheapness of the man’s attire, his vocation, the long journey he had made, convinced me that he was not a buyer. Then he was a seller. This fitted well, too, with his general air of secrecy. He had something in a stamp or jewel to sell Donald Kirk, something valuable, to judge from his reticent attitude. It was therefore evident that he must have been murdered for possession of the stamp or jewel he had come all the way from China to sell. It was even possible to infer that, since Kirk is a specialist on stamps of China, the missionary was probably the owner of a Chinese stamp rather than a jewel. This wasn’t certain, but it seemed the better possibility. Ergo, having solved the case in my own way, I instructed Sergeant Velie to ransack the premises of the murderer with an eye to finding this Chinese stamp; although I did tell him to look out for a jewel.” Ellery paused to light another cigaret. “I was right, and the Sergeant reports success. He has found the stamp.”

Some one gasped. But when Ellery searched their faces he met only stubbornly furtive stares.

He smiled and took from his pocket a long manila envelope. From this envelope he took another, smaller envelope of queer foreign appearance, with an address (presumably) in Chinese and a cancelled stamp in one corner. “Messrs. Kirk and Macgowan.” The two men rose uncertainly. “We may as well call upon our two philatelists. What do you make of this?”

They came forward, reluctant but curious. Kirk took the envelope slowly, Macgowan peering over his shoulder. And then, simultaneously, they cried out and began to talk to each other excitedly in undertones.

“Well, gentlemen?” murmured Ellery. “We’re panting for enlightenment. What is it?”

The stamp on the envelope was a small rectangle of thin tough paper printed in a single color, bright orange. Within its rectangular border there was a conventionalized coiled dragon. Its denomination was five candarins. The printing of the stamp was crude, and the envelope itself was ragged and yellow with age. A message in Chinese — the letter — had been written on the inside of the envelope, which was of the old-fashioned type still used in Europe and elsewhere for both address and message, folding up neatly for postage.

“This,” muttered Donald, “is the most remarkable thing I’ve ever seen. To a China specialist it’s a find of monumental proportions. It’s the earliest official postage stamp of China, antedating by many years the accepted first-issue design which is in the standard catalogue. It was an experimental issue of extremely small quantity and was used postally only for a few days. No copy on cover, as we call it, which is to say on the envelope — or off, for that matter — has ever been found. God, what a beauty!”

“It’s not even listed in specialized Chinese catalogues,” said Macgowan hoarsely, eying the envelope with rapacity. “It’s barely mentioned in one old stamp treatise, rather affectionately referred to by color, just as philatelists refer to the first national authorized issue of Great Britain as the One-Penny Black. Lord, it’s beautiful.”

“Would you say,” drawled Ellery, “that this is a valuable piece of property?”

“Valuable!” cried Donald. “Why, man, this should be even more valuable philatelically than the British Guiana! That is, if it’s authentic. It would have to be expertized.”

“It looks genuine,” frowned Macgowan. “The fact that it’s on cover, and the cancellation is clear, and the message is written inside...”

“How valuable would you say?”

“Oh, anything. Anything at all. These things are worth what a collector will pay at top. The Guiana’s listed at fifty thousand.” Donald’s face darkened. “If I were stable financially, I’d probably pay as much as that for it myself. It would make top price for any stamp; but, Lord, there’s nothing like this in the world!”

“Ah. Thank you, gentlemen.” Ellery returned the envelope to its manila container and tucked it into his pocket. Kirk and Macgowan slowly went back to their seats. No one said anything for a long time. “This Chinese stamp, then,” resumed Ellery at last, “may be characterized as deus ex machina. It brought our friend the missionary all the way from China; I daresay he had made the find in some obscure place, visualized suddenly a wealth which would keep him in luxurious comfort for the rest of his days, lost his grip on the spiritual consolations of his profession, and resigned from the mission. Inquiry in Shanghai would have informed him of the great collectors of Chinese stamps who might be in the market for such a rarity; I suppose it was there, or perhaps in Peiping — more probably Shanghai — that he learned of Mr. Donald Kirk... And it killed the priest, too, for the murder was committed in its name.”

Ellery stopped to look thoughtfully down at the coffin-like crate at his feet. “Having identified the victim, then — except for name, which was unimportant — and come to a satisfactory conclusion about the motive (although this was also unimportant from the logical standpoint), I proceeded to consideration — the supreme consideration — of the murderer’s identity.

“For some time, comparatively speaking, this most essential point escaped me. I knew the answer was there, if only I could spot it. Then I remembered one or two apparently inexplicable phenomena of the crime which no one, including myself, had been able to interpret. An impetus was provided by a chance question of the Inspector’s. And an experiment revealed the whole thing.”

Without warning he stooped and removed the lid of the crate. Sergeant Velie silently stepped forward; and between them they raised the dummy to a sitting position in the crate.

Marcella Kirk uttered a faint shriek and shrank against Macgowan beside her. Miss Diversey gulped noisily. Miss Temple lowered her eyes. Mrs. Shane breathed a prayer and Miss Llewes looked sickish. Even the men had turned pale.

“Don’t be alarmed,” murmured Ellery, rising. “Just a pleasant fancy of mine, and a rather interesting sample of the dummy-maker’s art. Please pay the very closest attention.”

He went to the door leading to the adjoining office, opened it, vanished, and an instant later reappeared with the paper-thin Indian mat which had lain in front of the door on the office side. This he deposited carefully over the threshold, one-third in the anteroom and the other two-thirds in the office. Then he got to his feet, took from his right pocket a coil of thin tough-looking cord, and held it up for their inspection. He nodded, smiled at them, and proceeded to measure off one-third the length of the cord. He then wound the cord at that point about the protruding metal knob of the bolt on the anteroom side of the door. The cord now dangled from the knob — a short length and a long length, held to the metal protrusion by the single winding. There was no knot of any kind, as he demonstrated in pantomime. Ellery took up the short end and passed it through the crack under the door, over the mat into the office beyond. He closed the door without touching the knob. It was shut but unbolted.

They were watching him like children at a puppet-show, wide-eyed, eager, puzzled. No one spoke, and all that could be heard were the soft sounds of Ellery’s movements and the heavy uneven breathing.

Ellery continued his demonstration in the same pregnant silence. He stepped back and surveyed the two sections of bookcase which flanked the doorway. He studied them for a moment, and then sprang forward and began to tug at the case to his right as he faced the door. He pulled the case back along the right-hand wall about four feet. He returned and began to move the bookcase on the left of the doorway, as they saw it. He tugged and shoved until he had it jutting out into the room — pulled toward the door until its left side at the rear touched the hinges of the door, its right side swung outward into the room a short way, the whole bookcase forming an acute angle with the door. Then he stepped back with a nod of satisfaction.

“You will observe,” he said briskly in the silence, “that both bookcases are now exactly as we found them when the body was discovered.”

As if this were a signal, Sergeant Velie stooped and lifted the dummy out of the crate. Despite its weight he carried it as he might have borne a child. They saw now that the dummy was dressed in the dead man’s garments, and that they were on backwards. Ellery said something to the Sergeant in a low voice and Velie set the body upright on its feet. He balanced it erect, grotesquely, with one huge splayed finger.

“Let go, Sergeant,” drawled Ellery.

They stared. Velie withdrew his finger and the body collapsed, sinking vertically until it lay in a heap on the floor where an instant before it had been standing.

“The muscleless inertia of the very dead,” said Ellery cheerfully. “Good work, Sergeant. We assume that rigor mortis has not yet set in. Our demonstration has proved it. Now for the second stage.”

Velie lifted the dummy and Ellery went to the crate and came up with the two Impi spears which had been found on the body. These he thrust up the dummy’s trouser-legs and under the coat until they emerged from behind the head, their wicked blades far above the papier-mâché skull. Then the Sergeant carried the dummy over and propped it up in the angle made by the door and the left-hand bookcase, facing toward the right. It stood erect very stiffly, the two spearheads jutting like horns from the coat. The feet barely rested on the edge of the Indian mat.

Sergeant Velie stepped back with a hard grin on his lips.

Then Ellery proceeded about a curious business. He took the dangling end of the cord — the long end — and began carefully to wind it about the haft of the spear nearer the door, just below the blade. He wound it about the spear twice. They saw then that there was a slight slack in the length leading from the spear to the bolt of the door — a graceful dip in the suspended cord.

“Observe, please, that there is no knot or noose in the cord about the spear,” said Ellery. Then he stooped and pushed the remaining end now dangling from the spear — pushed it, as he had pushed the short end some time before — through the crack between the mat on the threshold and the bottom of the door until its end vanished into the office.

“Don’t move, any one,” snapped Ellery, rising. “Just keep your eyes on that dummy and the door.”

He reached over, grasped the knob, and gently pulled the door to him. As he pulled, the slack in the cord grew looser. When the door was sufficiently ajar, Ellery very cautiously stooped, wriggled under the cord, and squeezed through the narrow opening, disappearing from view. Then the door softly clicked back — shut but unbolted.

They watched.

For thirty seconds nothing happened.

And then the mat under the door moved. It was being jerked out of the anteroom into the office beyond the door.

It caught them completely off guard. Their mouths opened and remained open. They strained to see what was apparently a miracle. It happened so quickly that it was over almost before they could realize the significance of the process.

For with the jerk of the mat several things occurred simultaneously. The dummy trembled, began to topple, and its stiffly speared body began to slide along the top edge of the jutting bookcase in the direction of and a little outward from the door. But a split-second later something happened to correct the sideward slip. The slack in the cord from the spear to the bolt tightened and pulled the dummy back, halting it. For a moment it swayed, then started to fall rigidly forward on its face parallel with the door. The slack in the cord from the spear to the bolt diminished until the head was about a foot from the floor. At this point the cord became taut and the miracle occurred. With the tightening, the pull of the dummy’s weight exerted as the dummy fell forward caused the bolt to slide in the same direction, from left to right as they viewed it, into the catch on the jamb!

The door was securely bolted.

And while they gaped, incredulous, they saw something else that was in itself almost as profound a miracle. They saw the short end of the cord begin to move, as if it were being pulled from the other side of the door. There was a moment of resistance at the coil about the bolt-knob, and then the cord broke at the point of resistance. Since there was no knot there, the broken piece — still attached to the spear — fell dangling to the floor between the dummy and the door. The remaining piece, whose end had been jerked, vanished under the door as it was pulled from the other side.

And then they saw the other length — the two-thirds length wound about the spear — tighten about the haft of the spear for a moment and then very smoothly begin to slide around, the dangling end which had just broken off from the knob of the bolt growing shorter and shorter as the same invisible hand pulled the two-thirds length into the office from the other side of the door. And finally the dangling end reached the haft, and glided around, and fell free, and in its turn vanished through the crack under the door. A moment later the mat which had caused the body to fall in the first place also vanished.

And the dummy lay just as the body had lain, and the door was bolted, and nothing remained but the bookcases and the spears and the position of the body to show how it was possible for a door to have been bolted from its other side.

Ellery came running back and dashed into the anteroom from the corridor. They were still glaring at the dummy and the door.

The detectives stood against the wall. The Inspector had his hand near his hip-pocket.

Some one had risen, pale as the sullen morning sky through the window, and was whispering in a cracked voice: “But I — don’t see — how you — could have known.”

“The spears told me,” said Ellery in the stupefied silence. “The spears and the position of the two bookcases flanking the doorway to the office. When I assembled the facts I saw the truth. The missionary was murdered not where we found him but in another part of the room; that was established very early by the traces of blood on the floor. So the question arose: Why had the murderer moved the body to the door? Obviously because he had a use for the body at that point. The next question was: Why had the murderer shoved the right-hand bookcase along the right-hand wall farther away from the door? The answer to that could only be: to make room in front of the right-hand wall near the door. The third question was: Why had the murderer moved the left-hand bookcase up to the hinge-side of the door and pulled the right side out into the room, making an acute angle with the door? And the answer to that puzzled me until I remembered the spears...

“The spears were stuck through the victim’s clothes from shoes to head. They are solid wood; they made the body almost like an animal’s corpse strung on stout poles. They stiffened the body; they produced, in a way, artificial rigor mortis. A dead man falling from an upright position would crumple in sections to land in a shapeless heap. This dead man, with the spears to stiffen his limp corpse into one piece, would fall in one piece, rigidly. But the right-hand bookcase had been moved back to leave space on the right of the door. Then the dead man was intended to fall before the door, at least part of him coming to rest in that cleared space. And he was intended to fall parallel with the door, otherwise there would have been no necessity for clearing a space to the side of the door. What was the left-hand bookcase moved for? Why that angle, patently deliberately made? I saw then that if the dead man had been set on his feet in that angle he would, if something occurred to move his body, have had to fall roughly toward that cleared space on the other side of the doorway!

“But why should the murderer want him to fall precisely that way, let alone fall at all?” Ellery drew a long breath. “And, impossible as it seemed, the only logical answer I could give to that question was: The murderer, who had removed the body from another part of the room to the door, wanted the dead man to do something to that door in falling... The rest was a matter of concentration and experiment. The only thing that can be done to a door which might conceivably be of importance to a criminal would be to lock it; in this case, to bolt it. But why, for heaven’s sake, make a dead man bolt the door when the murderer himself could have bolted it from this room and made his escape by the other door, that one leading to the corridor from this room?”

The cracked voice said: “I — never — thought—”

Ellery said deliberately: “The only possible answer was that the murderer couldn’t or wouldn’t leave this room by that corridor door. The murderer wanted to leave this room by way of the door to the office. And he wanted every one to believe that he had left by the corridor door, that the office door had been bolted all the time, that whoever was in the office and had not appeared in the corridor outside the office therefore could not apparently have been the criminal!”

James Osborne covered his face with his hands and said: “Yes, I did it. I murdered him.”

“You see,” said Ellery a moment later, regarding the cowering man with pitying eyes as the others, transfixed by horror, stared at Osborne, “the problem resolved itself simply into a logical analysis. The use of the spears and the shifting of the bookcases and the moved body of the dead missionary proved that the murderer must have left the anteroom after the crime by the office door. The murderer, therefore, was in the office directly after the murder. But, by his own admission, Osborne was the only constant tenant of that office during the murder-period! The visitors — Macgowan, Miss Sewell, Miss Temple, Miss Diversey — were eliminated because had one of them been the murderer he or she could have left the scene of the crime by the corridor door from this room and therefore could have bolted the office door from the inside of this room without having to resort to the mechanical method Osborne used. Or, to put it another way, since any one who could have left this room by the corridor door could have bolted the office door without resorting to the mechanical method, then any one who could have used the corridor door, instead of being suspect for the crime, as we had assumed all along, became actually innocent.

“The only one who could not use the corridor door of the anteroom without being seen by Mrs. Shane as he returned to the office was Osborne. You, Osborne, were therefore the only possible suspect, the only one for whom the door trick and the spears were necessary, and the only one who benefited from the creation of the illusion that the criminal had to leave the murder-room via the corridor door. Why didn’t you leave well enough alone — leave that office door unbolted?”

“Because,” choked Osborne, “then I knew I would be the first one suspected. But if it was bolted from the other side, they’d — you’d never suspect me. Even now I can’t see how—”

“I thought so,” murmured Ellery. “The complex mind, Osborne. As to how, it was a matter of trial and error until I hit the winning combination; I simply put myself in your place and figured out what you would have to do... Now you see, ladies and gentlemen, why it was impossible for Osborne to do the simple thing and get a necktie somewhere to put on the tieless dead man. He couldn’t use his own, of course, and he had no place to get another, because he couldn’t afford to be seen leaving that office of his in sight of Mrs. Shane, even casually. He might have slipped out by the anteroom-corridor door, but then he couldn’t risk all the time required and the almost certain eventuality that he would be seen — if, say, he went downstairs to buy a tie. He couldn’t go to Kirk’s apartment, either, for the same reason. And he didn’t live at the Chancellor — Kirk once told him in my presence to ‘go home’ — so he couldn’t secure one of his own ties... I suppose, Osborne, you took the dead man’s vest and secreted it in the office there somewhere until you could safely burn it with all the other things you took from his clothes?”

“Yes,” sighed Osborne in the queerest, mildest way. And Ellery noted, with a faint perplexity, that Miss Diversey looked like death and seemed about to faint.

“You see,” he murmured, “if the man was a priest and wore the clerically inverted collar and no necktie, he must also have been wearing the special clerical vest which comes up to the neck. I knew then that the murderer had to take it away with him, since a clerical vest would have given the whole thing away; but I knew it much too late to prove anything by it. The opportunity to search every one had long since gone... Osborne, why did you kill an inoffensive little man — you, who aren’t the killer type at all? You did it for a poor return, Osborne; you would have had to sell the stamp undercover. But even if you could have got fifty thousand—”

“Ozzie — Osborne, for God’s sake,” whispered Donald Kirk, “I didn’t dream—”

“It was for her,” said Osborne in the same queer mild way. “I was a failure. She was the first woman who ever paid any attention to me. And I’m a poor man. She even said that she wouldn’t think of marrying a man who couldn’t provide the — the comforts... When the opportunity came—” He licked his lips. “It was a temptation. He — he wrote a letter months ago addressed to Mr. Kirk from China. I opened the letter, as I open all — all Mr. Kirk’s mail. He wrote all about the stamp, about resigning from his mission, about coming to New York — he was an American originally — to sell the stamp and retire. I–I saw the opportunity. I knew that the stamp, if what he said was true, would...” Osborne shuddered. No one said anything. “I planned it then, from the beginning. I corresponded with him, using Mr. Kirk’s name. I never told Mr. Kirk a word about him. I didn’t tell her... We conducted a long correspondence. So I learned that he didn’t have any relatives or friends in this country who could inquire about him if he disappeared. I learned when he was coming, told him when to come, gave him — sort of — advice. I never knew till he actually showed up — till I had killed him, when his scarf fell off — that he was a priest, with no tie, with a turned-around collar. I’d thought he was just a missionary — an ordinary missionary. A Methodist, maybe, or Baptist.”

“Yes?” prompted Ellery gently, as the man fell silent.

“When I let him into this room I went back after a while, told him I hadn’t realized it before, but he must be the man from China, and that I knew all about the stamp, that Mr. Kirk had told me, and all that. Then he got friendly and unbent and said that his brother-missionaries at the Chinese mission knew all about the stamp and that he had gone to America to sell it to Mr. Kirk. So when I killed him I had to make sure nobody could find out who he was.”

“Why?” asked Ellery.

“Because if the police could trace him to that Chinese mission — it was very likely they could if they knew he was a priest and just arrived — they’d learn from the other priests about the stamp and why he had come — and they’d investigate Mr. Kirk and me, and Mr. Kirk really wouldn’t know about the stamp and I’d be accused... Maybe they’d find some of my letters, and trace the handwriting of the signatures back to me... I–I couldn’t face all that. I’m not an actor. I knew I’d give way... So I thought of all that backwards business in a flash. But about the door and the cord and the body and things I–I’d figured out long before and had everything ready. When it was all over and I had him — him dead standing there, I tried to get it to work, but it wouldn’t at first — the cord wasn’t just right — and I tried and tried until finally it worked. I couldn’t get a tie...” His voice was growing fainter and fainter until it died away entirely. There was a dazed expression on his face; he seemed unable to grasp the horror of his position.

Ellery turned aside, sick at heart. “The woman was Miss Diversey?” he murmured. “If you didn’t tell her, then she couldn’t have had anything to do with this, of course.”

“Oh,” said Miss Diversey, and she fell back in a faint.

It happened before any of them realized his intention. He had been so mild, so dazed, so humble. It was only later that they knew it had been a last desperate, clever pose... Ellery’s back was turned. The Inspector was standing at the door with Sergeant Velie. The detectives...

Osborne lunged forward like a deer and scrambled past Ellery before he could turn. Inspector Queen and the Sergeant cried out and sprang simultaneously, both missing the man by inches. And Osborne vaulted the sill of the open window and screamed once and vanished.

“Before I go,” drawled Mr. Ellery Queen a half-hour later in the almost deserted anteroom, “I should like to speak to you, Kirk, alone.”

Donald Kirk was still motionless in his chair, hands dangling hopelessly between his knees, staring at the empty open window. Little Miss Temple sat quietly by his side, waiting. The others had gone.

“Yes?” Donald raised heavy eyes. “Queen, I can’t believe it. Old Ozzie... He was always the most loyal, the most honest chap. And he finally came a cropper over a woman.” He shivered.

“Don’t blame Miss Diversey, Kirk. She’s more to be pitied than blamed. Osborne was a victim of circumstances. He was repressed, at the dangerous age. His laboring imagination became excited... and the woman possesses a certain virile attractiveness. Some strain of weakness in his character came to the surface... Miss Temple, I wonder if you’d understand— Will you leave me alone with your fiancé a moment?”

She rose without a word.

But Donald grasped her wrist and pulled her down to him and said: “No, no, Queen. I’ve made up my mind. This is one woman who can’t bring a man anything but luck. I shan’t keep anything from Jo. I think I know—”

“Sensible resolution.” Ellery went to his coat, which was flung over a chair, and dug into one of the pockets. Then he returned with a small packet.

“I gave you,” he smiled, “an engagement gift not so long ago. Now permit me to give you a wedding gift.”

Kirk licked his lips once. “The letters?” Then he swallowed hard, glanced at Miss Temple, set his chin, and said: “Marcella’s letters?”

“Yes.”

“Queen...” He took them and held them tightly. “I never thought I’d get them back. Queen, I’m in your debt so much—”

“Tut, tut. Obviously, a little arson ceremony is called for,” chuckled Ellery. “I suppose it’s au fait to confide in your future wife, but I should consign them to the flames and confide in no one else.” He sighed a little. “Well,” he said, reaching for his coat, “that’s over. There’s always a silver lining, et cetera. I trust you’ll both be very happy, but I doubt it.”

“Doubt it, Mr. Queen?” murmured Miss Temple.

“Oh,” said Ellery hastily, “don’t take that personally. I was making the usual misogynist’s observation about marriage.”

“You’re a darling, Mr. Queen.” Miss Temple eyed him suddenly. “You’ve been rather regal about all this ghastly business and I fancy I shouldn’t ask too many questions — should be thankful for how everything’s turned out. But I’m curious—”

“With your intellect, my dear, that’s easily understood. Haven’t I made everything clear?”

“Not quite.” She linked her arm in Donald’s and pressed it to her. “You made an unconscionable fuss about that tangerine, Mr. Queen. And here you’ve neglected to mention it at all!”

A shade passed over Ellery’s face; he shook his head. “Strangest thing. I suppose you realize what a monstrous tragedy of errors Osborne’s subtlety bred. I’m sure he had no idea, in leaving all those backwards things, of involving any one. He probably saw no significance in it at all; merely turned everything around as a cover-up for the collar and missing necktie without grasping the implications.

“But fate was unkind to him. It took hold of several unrelated facts and hurled them at me. I looked for significance in everything. But I looked, as I explained, for the wrong kind of significance. The result was that everything backwards, it seemed to me, about anybody at all required investigation. And there were you, Miss Temple,” his gray eyes twinkled, “fresh from China, the abode of the living backwardnesses. Do you blame me for attempting to see significance in the fact that the victim had eaten a tangerine — a Chinese orange — shortly before his death?”

“Oh,” she murmured; she seemed disappointed. “Then his eating of the tangerine meant nothing at all? I was hoping for something very clever.”

“Nothing,” drawled Ellery, “except that he was hungry; and we knew that anyway. I couldn’t even squeeze any light out of the fact that he had selected a Chinese orange to appease his hunger rather than the pears or apples or other fruits in the bowl. I like ’em myself, and I’ve never been nearer China than Chicago... But there’s one thing about the Chinese orange that’s — well, interesting.”

“What’s that?” demanded Kirk. He was holding the packet very tightly.

“It illustrates,” chuckled Ellery, “the capriciousness and whimsicality of fate. Because, you see, while the Chinese orange he ate had nothing to do with the crime, the Chinese Orange he brought had everything to do with it, since it inspired the motive!”

“The Chinese orange he brought?” murmured Miss Temple, puzzled.

“With a capital O,” said Ellery. “I mean the stamp. In fact, it makes such a fascinating coincidence that if ever I fictionize the remarkable case of poor Osborne and the smiling little Chinese missionary, I shan’t be able to resist the temptation to entitle it The Chinese Orange Mystery!”