Chapter 10. THE QUEER THIEF
Macgowan seemed utterly crushed. For most of the journey by taxicab from Varjian’s to the Hotel Chancellor he sat slumped against the cushions, silent and white. Ellery said nothing, but he was thinking with a furious frown.
“Kirk,” he muttered at last. “Hmm. Some things pass comprehension. In most cases one is able to apply at least a normal knowledge of human psychology to the activities of the cast. People?all people?do things from an inner urge. All you have to do is keep your eyes open and gauge the psychological possibilities of the puppets around you. But Kirk . . . Incredible!”
“I can’t understand it,” said Macgowan in a low dreary tone. “There must be some mistake, Queen. For Donald to do anything like that . . . to me! It’s?it’s unthinkable. It’s not like him. Deliberately to involve me. I’m his best friend, Queen, perhaps the only real friend he has in the world. I’m to marry his sister, and he loves her. Even if he was angry with me, if he had something against me . . . he knows that to hurt me would hurt her, too?terribly. I can’t understand it, that’s all.”
“There’s nothing for it but to wait,” said Ellery absently. “It is strange. By the way, Macgowan, how is it you didn’t know he had that Foochow in his collection? I thought you birds hung together.”
“Oh, Donald’s always been rather uncommunicative about his stuff, particularly with me. You see, in a sense we’re rivals; it’s not the only instance of friends sharing everything except their mutual hobbies. We go everywhere together, for instance?or we did, before I became engaged to Marcella?but to stamp-auctions and to stamp-dealers . . . . Naturally, since I’m a collector myself I’ve never intruded on his secrets. Once in a while he, or Osborne, shows me a choice item. But I never saw that one before. A local rarity like this?” He stopped short so suddenly that Ellery looked at him with sharp wonder.
“Yes? You were going to say?”
“Eh? Oh, nothing.”
“Nothing my aunt’s foot, as dear Reggie would say. What’s so strange about Donald Kirk’s owning a local rarity? It’s Chinese, isn’t it, and he’s a specialist on China, isn’t he?”
“Yes, but . . . Well, he’s never had any before to my knowledge,” mumbled Macgowan. “I’m sure he hasn’t.”
“But why shouldn’t he have, man, if it’s Chinese?”
“You don’t understand,” said Macgowan irritably. “Except in the case of U. S. collectors?that is, collectors of United States stamps?few specialists in any specific field go in for locals. They’re not considered real philatelic objects. No, that’s a clumsy explanation. Virtually every country in the world went through a period, before the passage of their respective national postage acts, of diversified local issues of stamps?cities, communes, towns issuing their own local stamps. Most American collectors don’t consider these genuine philatelic objects. They want only stamps issued and used nationally?by a whole country. Kirk is like the rest; he’s always collected nationally authorized issues of China exclusively. I’m one of those nuts who go in for the unusual?I collect only locals of all countries. Not interested in the orthodox issues. This Foochow is really a local?there were a number of Chinese Treaty Ports which issued their own stamps. Then how,” Macgowan’s face darkened, “did Donald come to have this Foochow local?”
They were silent for a while as the taxi threaded its way among the pillars of Sixth Avenue.
Then Ellery drawled: “By the way, how valuable is the Foochow?”
“Valuable?” Macgowan repeated absently. “That depends. In all cases of rarities the price is a variable consideration, depending upon how much it has brought at its last sale. The famous British Guiana of 1856?the one-cent magenta listed by Scott’s as Number 13?which is in the possession of the Arthur Hind estate is worth $32,500.00, as I remember it?I may be wrong in my recollection, but it cost Hind that or somewhere around that. It’s catalogued at $50,000.00, which means nothing. It’s worth $32,500.00 because that’s approximately what Hind paid for it at the Ferrary auction in Paris . . . . This Foochow set me back a cool ten thousand.”
“Ten thousand dollars!” Ellery whistled. “But you’d no idea what it had brought previously, since it’s not been generally known before. So how could you?”
“That’s the figure Varjian set, and stuck to, and that’s the amount I made out my check for. It’s worth the money, although it’s a pretty stiff price. Since, as far as I know, it’s the only one of its kind in existence?and especially considering the peculiar nature of the error?I could probably turn it over for a profit today if I put it up at auction.”
“Then you weren’t victimized, at any rate,” murmured Ellery. “Kirk didn’t try to soak you, if that’s any consolation . . . . Here we are.”
* * *
As they were removing their coats in the foyer of the Kirk suite, they heard Donald Kirk’s voice from the salon. “Jo . . . I’ve something I want to tell you?ask you.”
“Yes?” said Jo Temple’s Voice softly.
“I want you to know?” Kirk was speaking rapidly, eagerly, “that I really think your book is great, swell, Jo. Don’t mind Felix. He’s something of a boor, and he’s an embittered cynic, and when he’s drunk he’s really not responsible for what he says. I didn’t take your manuscript because it?because of you . . . “
“Thank you, sir,” said Jo, still very softly.
“I mean?it wasn’t a question of the?well, the usual nasty implication. I really wanted the book?”
“And not me, Mr. Donald Kirk?”
“Jo!” Something apparently happened, for he continued after a moment in a strained voice. “Don’t mind what Felix said. If it doesn’t sell a thousand copies it will still be a swell book, Jo. If?”
“If it doesn’t sell a thousand copies, Mr. Donald Kirk,” she said demurely, “I shall return to China a wiser but sadder woman. I’m visualizing hundreds of thousands . . . . But what was it you were going to say?”
Macgowan looked uncomfortable, and Ellery shrugged. They both made as if to step noisily through the archway, and they both stopped.
For Kirk was saying in a queer breathless voice: “I’ve fallen in love with you, damn it! I never thought I could. I never thought any woman could make me lose my head?”
“Not even,” she inquired in a cool voice that trembled strangely in its undertones, “Irene Llewes?”
There was a silence, and Ellery and Macgowan looked at each other, and then they cleared their throats loudly together and stepped into the salon.
Kirk was on his feet, his shoulders sagging. Jo sat in a strained attitude, the tension about her nostrils belying the faint smile on her lips. They both started, and Kirk said quickly: “Uh?hello, hello. I didn’t know it was you. Come together, eh? Well. Sit down, Queen, sit down. Seen Marcella, Glenn?”
