“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 fianc6 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 fiancte 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 Mar-cella’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 fiancee, 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 eldty 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.
