The Greek Coffin Mystery

Chapter 10. Omen

Now Ellery Queen’s was a curious young soul. He had for hours been disturbed by the merest mental twinge―the vaguest sense of impending events―a dream-like feeling that had no form; in short, an intuition that he was on the verge of a brilliant discovery. He prowled about the library, getting into people’s way, prodding furniture and poking books about and generally making a nuisance of himself. He had passed the tabouret with the percolator on it twice without more than a cursory glance; the third time his nostrils quivered ever so slightly―agitated not by a palpable odour but by the less tangible scent of discord. He stared at it for a moment with wrinkled brow, and then he lifted the lid of the percolator to look inside. Whatever he expected to see there, it was at least nothing bizarre; for all that met his eye was water.

Nevertheless, his eyes were sparkling when he looked up, and he began the musical accompaniment to his thoughts that was to annoy his father. The Inspector’s question was doomed to go unanswered; instead, Ellery addressed Mrs. Simms in his old incisive accents. “Where was this tabouret with the tea-things when you found Khalkis dead last Saturday morning?”

“Where? By the desk, sir, not where it is now. By the desk, where I’d set it down the night before at Mr. Khalkis’s command.”

“Well then,” and Ellery swung about to take them all in, “who moved this tabouret to the alcove after Saturday morning?”

Again it was Joan Brett who replied, and again glances now coloured by the purple of suspicion were directed at her tall slender figure. “I did, Mr. Queen.”

The Inspector was frowning, but Ellery smiled at his father and said: “You did, Miss Brett. When and why, pray?”

Her laughter was a little helpless. “I seem to have done nearly everything . . . You see, there was so much confusion here the afternoon of the funeral, with everyone searching and running about the library looking for the will. The tabouret was in the way, standing by the desk here, and I merely moved it out of the way into the alcove. Surely there’s nothing sinister in that?”

“Surely not,” said Ellery indulgently, and turned to the housekeeper again. “Mrs. Simms, when you fetched the tea-things last Friday night, how many tea-bags did you provide?”

“A handful, sir. There were six, as I recall.”

The Inspector moved quietly forward, as did Pepper, and both men eyed the tabouret with puzzled interest. The tabouret itself was small and old―there was nothing distinguished about it that either could see. On it there was a large silver tray; and on the tray, beside the electric percolator, were three cups and saucers, with spoons; a silver sugar-bowl; a plate with three desiccated, unsqueezed pieces of old lemon; a second plate with three unused tea-bags; and a silver pitcher of curdled, yellowed sweet-cream. In each of the cups there was a dried sediment of tea-fluid, and in each cup a tannic ring near the inside of the rim. Each of the three silver spoons was dull and stained. In each of the three saucers, too, dropped a stained yellowish tea-bag and a dried, squeezed piece of lemon. And nothing more, so far as either the Inspector or Pepper could see.

It was too much for the Inspector, accustomed though he was to his son’s whimsical vagaries. “I don’t see what―”

“By loyal to your Ovid,” chuckled Ellery. “

“Have patience and endure; this unhappiness will one day be beneficial.”” He raised the lid of the percolator again, stared inside, then, removing from his inseparable pocket-kit a tiny glass vial, he drained a few drops of the stale cold water from the percolator-tap, replaced the lid, stoppered the vial and tucked it away in a bulging pocket, whereupon, under an assault of eyes growing more and more bewildered, he lifted the entire tray from the tabouret and carried it to the desk, setting it down with a sigh of satisfaction. A thought struck him; he said sharply to Joan Brett: “When you moved the tabouret last Tuesday, did you touch or change anything on this tray?”

“No, Mr. Queen,” she said submissively.

“Excellent. In fact, I might say perfect.” He rubbed his hands briskly together. “Now, ladies and gentlemen, we have all had a somewhat fatiguing morning. Perhaps some liquid refreshment . . . ?”

“Ellery!” said the Inspector coldly. “After all there’s a limit to everything. This is no time for anything so―so―”

Ellery transfixed him with a mournful eye. “Father! Do you spurn what Colley Cibber took a whole speech to eulogize? “Tea! thou soft, thou sober, sage, and venerable liquid, thou female tongue-running, smile-soothing, heart-opening, wink-tippling cordial!”” Joan giggled, and Ellery made her a little bow. One of Inspector Queen’s detectives, standing in a corner, whispered behind a horny hand to a confederate, “This is one hell of a murder investigation.” The glances of the Queens crossed above the percolator, and the Inspector lost his ill-humour. He retreated very quietly, as if to say, “My son, the world is yours. Do with it what you will.”

Ellery’s ideas seemed definite. He said to Mrs. Simms almost brusquely: “Please fetch three new tea-bags, six clean cups and saucers with spoons, and some fresh lemon and cream. Vitement, Madame la gouvernante! Get a move on!”

The housekeeper gasped, sniffed and sailed out of the room. Ellery cheerfully grappled with the electric attachment of the percolator, walked around the desk looking for something, found it, and plugged the attachment into a socket in the side of the desk. By the time Mrs. Simms returned from the kitchen, the water was bubbling in the glass top of the percolator. In a deathly silence to which he was merrily oblivious, Ellery, without placing tea-bags in the six cups Mrs. Simms had brought, opened the tap and began to fill the cups with boiling water. The percolator ran dry when the fifth cup was almost full, and Pepper, in a puzzled way, said: “But Mr. Queen, that water is stale. It must have been standing there for over a week. You can’t be intending to drink it . . . “

Ellery smiled. “Stupid of me. Of course. Mrs. Simms,” he murmured, “I’ll trouble you to take the percolator away, fill it with fresh water and bring it back with six clean cups.”

Mrs. Simms had quite openly changed her mind about this young man; the glare she directed at his bent head was annihilating. He picked up the percolator and thrust it at her. While she was gone, Ellery with perfect gravity dipped the three yellowed, used tea-bags into three of the cups of steaming stale water. Mrs. Sloane uttered a little exclamation of disgust; surely this amazing young pagan was not intending to―! Ellery proceeded with his mysterious ritual. He allowed the three used tea-bags to soak in their stale-water hot baths, then prodded each one vigorously with one of the stained spoons. Mrs. Simms sallied back into the library, bearing a new tray with a full dozen clean cups and saucers, and the percolator. “I trust and pray,” she said cuttingly, ‘that these are sufficient, Mr. Queen. I’ve quite run out of cups, you know!”

“Perfect, Mrs. Simms. You’re a jewel of the first water.

Happy phrase, eh?” Ellery left off his pushing and prodding long enough to insert the electric attachment into the desk-socket. Then he returned to his pummelling rite. Despite all his efforts the old tea-bags produced no more than the ghost of a tea-solution in the stale hot water. Ellery smiled, nodding his head as if this proved something to him, waited patiently for the fresh water in the percolator to boil, then proceeded to fill the fresh cups Mrs. Simms had furnished. He sighed when the percolator ran dry after the sixth cup, murmuring, “My dear Mrs. Simms, it looks as if you’ll have to refill the percolator again―we’re a goodly company here,” but everyone disdained to join him in a frivolous cup of tea―the Britishers, Joan Brett and Dr. Wardes, included―and Ellery sipped alone, ruefully surveying the top of the desk, which was positively cluttered with tea-cups.

As a matter of cold fact, the glances directed at his composed features told, more eloquently than words, that most of those present considered that he had suddenly sunk to Demmy’s stratum of intelligence.