“Sure, Mr. Queen.”
Ellery waited quietly. When Sergeant Velie returned a moment later he had in tow the tall nurse, her face quite pale. She kept her eyes averted from the corpse.
“Here she is, Mr. Queen.”
“Ah, Miss Diversey.” Ellery turned. “You were in this room, I understand, at about five-thirty this evening?”
“Yes, sir,” she said nervously.
“Did you notice this fruit-bowl, by any chance?”
Something startled leaped into her eyes. “Fruit? Why?yes, sir. In fact, I?I helped myself to a piece.”
“Splendid!” smiled Ellery. “That’s better luck than I could have hoped for. And did you notice the tangerines particularly?”
“Tangerines?” She was frightened now. “I?I ate one.”
“Oh.” Disappointment showed plainly on his face. “Then these fragments of rind are from the tangerine you ate?” He indicated the peelings.
Miss Diversey stared at them. “Oh, no, sir. I threw mine, pits and all, out that open window there.”
“Ah!” Disappointment vanished to be replaced by eagerness. “Did you notice how many tangerines were left after you had taken one?”
“Yes, sir. Two.”
“That’s all, Miss Diversey,” murmured Ellery. “You’ve been most helpful. All right, Sergeant.”
Velie grinned vaguely and led the nurse away.
Ellery turned back to stare with remarkable interest at the cluster of whole fruits on the table. There was only one tangerine.
Chapter 5. ORANGES AND SPECULATIONS
Dr. Prouty was saying in a blast of words that shot past the foul black cigar between his teeth: “Well, that’s all I can tell you, Inspector. Can’t add a damn’ thing to what this house doctor told you,” when Ellery stalked up to them and said over the Assistant Medical Examiner’s shoulder: “Dad, get some quiet here, will you?”
The old man stared at him. “What’s buzzing in your bonnet now?” He raised his voice. “Keep still a minute, you men!” Silence fell.
“Gentlemen,” said Ellery in a low voice, “I’m going to ask you a ridiculous question. But I want it answered just the same. Has any one of you taken anything from that bowl of fruit on the table?”
The men gaped. No one replied. The Inspector scuttled to the table and glared down at the orange peelings and the dry pips. “Nobody swiped a tangerine?”
They shook their heads vigorously.
“That’s all,” murmured Ellery. He motioned his father and Dr. Prouty closer. “I’ve been able to establish that there were two tangerines in that bowl only a few minutes before the victim was shown into this room. Now there’s only one. Curious, eh?”
Dr. Prouty took the dead cigar out of his mouth. “Curious? What the devil’s curious about it, Queen?” Then his eyes glittered. “Oh! You mean poison?”
“Heavens, no. Nothing so
“As for instance?”
Ellery shrugged. “We’re not ready for theorizing yet. I suggest, however, that you keep those tangerine peelings in mind.”
“But why, for cripe’s sake?” snorted the Inspector. “You mean you think the murderer stopped for a little snack of orange after he got through cracking the little feller’s head?”
“Possible,” muttered Ellery. “Although it’s much more likely that the little feller stopped for a snack of orange just before the murderer went about the head-cracking business.”
“Easy enough to test that,” said Dr. Prouty, reaching for his bag. “I’ll give you a quick autopsy. If he ate the orange I’ll find it in his tummy?and a nice fat tummy it is, gentlemen! Nicest little tummy I’ve seen in ages . . . . Here’s the order, Inspector. I suppose the Morgue bus’ll be here as soon as the boys get through with their crap game.” He handed the old man an official slip and loped from the room. In the corridor a sudden thought apparently struck him, for he shouted back: “I’ll look for poison anyway, Queen 1” and hurried off, chuckling.
Ellery strolled over to the corpse and stared down thoughtfully. The stout man’s garments were in disarray after Dr. Prouty’s cheerful examination. He had been turned over on his back and now lay staring peacefully up at the ceiling. One of the fingerprint men was straddling the body in the act of dusting the door to the office with grayish powder. “If you could only talk,” sighed Ellery, “you unlucky little devil! Maybe you could throw some light on all this fantastic criminal exhibitionism . . . . Any prints, old chap?” he asked the fingerprint man.
“Don’t look like it, Mr. Queen. There ought to be, though, if the bird that did the job pulled that bolt on the right side of this door. It’s nice and oily, and oil makes swell prints . . . . Nope! All wiped off. Hell, we ain’t got a thing.”
“Nowhere else?”
“I don’t know about Kelly there, but I didn’t get a thing.”
Kelly, working nearby, raised his Irish head and shook it sadly. “Nor me, Mr. Queen. I’d be a damn’ sight better off seein’ a movie.”
Ellery nodded absently. He was roused from his reverie by the sound of Donald Kirk’s voice from the doorway.
“I tell you I don’t know him,” Kirk was crying to the Inspector. Sergeant Velie, colossal Nemesis, tramped behind. “I told Mr. Queen that. I can swear to it. Absolutely a stranger?”
“Well,” said the Inspector in a soft voice, “it won’t hurt to have another squint at him, will it Mr. Kirk? Take it easy. Nobody’s hounding you. Just one good long look.” He shoved the dishevelled young man gently forward.
“Queen!” Kirk lurched toward him. “For God’s sake, Queen, I can’t stand this persecution any longer. You
“Now, now,” murmured Ellery, “you’ve a bad case of nerves, Kirk. There’s no need for panic, and no one, of course, is persecuting you. Stiffen up!”
Kirk made two fists and swallowed. “Right,” he mumbled. Then he went slowly forward and with an effort looked down. The Inspector watched his face with bright inquisitive eyes. The dead man stared up, smiling his benignant smile. Kirk swallowed again and said in a steadier voice: “No.”
“That’s fine, that’s fine,” said the Inspector instantly. “There’s only one other thing, Mr. Kirk. This man asked for you by name as if he knew you pretty well. How do you explain that?”
“I’ve explained all that to the the Sergeant here,” said Kirk in a weary tone, “until I’m sick of it. There are strangers coming to see me at this office all the time. I collect gems, I’m a specializing philatelist; and I receive a good many people on confidential matters relating to The Mandarin. I can explain this fellow’s asking for me by name only on one of these counts.”
“You think, then, he’s probably a dealer or agent in jewelry or stamps?”
The broad shoulders shrugged. “It’s a good possibility. Much better than the book angle. Generally my visitors on publishing business are authors or authors’ representatives. This man is neither, so far as I know.”
“Stamps and gems.” The Inspector sucked the end of his mustache. “Well, that’s something, anyway. Thomas!” The Sergeant tramped forward. “Play those leads. Get a quick print from the photographer of this bird’s pan and see that it goes through all the stamp and jewelry places. Something tells me he’s not going to be easy to identify.” Velie lumbered off. “You know, Mr. Kirk,” continued the Inspector, squinting at the tall young man, “his pockets have been emptied and all possible identifying marks and labels in his clothes scratched out or removed.”
Kirk looked bewildered. “But why?”
“Somebody doesn’t want us to know who the victim is. That’s a new wrinkle to me in a homicide. Generally the killer makes every effort to keep his own identity a secret. Here’s a killer that goes the tribe one better . . . . Well, gentlemen, I don’t think there’s anything more for us here. Mr. Kirk, let’s amble over to your rooms and have a
