The Chinese Orange Mystery

nosing around, she got a little scared and generously handed Kirk over to his new lady-love. Well, well! So now where are we?”

“As regards the murder?” murmured Ellery.

“Sure.”

Ellery rose and went to the window. “I don’t know,” he said in a puzzled way. “I really don’t. And yet I have a fugitive idea?”

“Sa-a-ay!” The Inspector bounced from his chair, wildly excited. “Oh, what fools we are! Listen to this, El; just listen to this.” He began to trot about the room, hands gripped behind his back, head low. “Just struck me. It all ties in. Swell! Listen. The bird who was bumped off at the Chancellor was Marcella Kirk’s boy- friendl”

Ellery said slowly: “You’ve caught the fugitive. You think so?”

“Well, isn’t it a perfect set-up?” The Inspector waved his spindly arms about. “Here’s a man on his uppers; we can’t trace him here; Marcella’s man hung out in Paris; it’s possible . . . . He came over here to put the screws on Kirk himself, see? Soon as he got off the boat; there was a boat from France that day . . . . He’s desperate, see; he was afraid before, with the girl having a kid, and all that; but he needs money bad, and he’s decided to go back for more. He beats it to the Chancellor to see Kirk . . . . Great!” Then his face fell. “But Kirk should have recognized him, if he’s the one. Maybe?”

“Curiously enough/’ muttered Ellery, “Kirk never met Cullinan. He paid the man off by mail.”

“But then there’s Marcella . . . . She fainted, didn’t you say, when she first got a look at the dead man?”

“Yes, but that may have been merely shock.”

“At the same time, if it was the Parisian guy,” mused the Inspector in a fierce undertone, “she naturally would shut up; naturally wouldn’t admit she knew him. Didn’t the Sewell woman know Cullinan by sight, either?”

“She says she saw him only once, and then under unfavorable circumstances. She can’t be sure of anything, she maintains. Yes, yes, it’s a possibility; no doubt about it.”

“I like it,” said the Inspector with a ferocious grin. “I like it, El. It ties in. First time in this blasted case I’ve got the feeling of co?co?what d’ye call it?”

“Cohesion?”

“That’s it. It’s tightened up, the whole thing. Because now we can establish a strong connection?”

“In theory,” said Ellery dryly.

“Sure. Between this dead palooka and the people, most of ‘em, involved in this thing. Motive’s clear as crystal against almost any of ‘em.”

“As?”

“Well, now take Donald Kirk, poor young squirt. He’s in the hotel that afternoon?I don’t doubt seeing the Sewell animal on her demand for a powwow. He knows in some way that?we’ll call him by the Paris feller’s name- that Cullinan is upstairs waiting, or is coming to see him. He dodges up the stairway from the twenty-first floor, waits for a clear field, sneaks into the anteroom, bumps off Cullinan, goes back . . . . Then there’s Marcella. Ditto for her. And for the old walrus, Dr. Kirk. All had the same reason-to shut Cullman’s mouth. Of course none of ‘em except Donald and Marcella knew that there were two people floating around with knowledge of the affair.”

“And Macgowan?” murmured Ellery, squinting at his smoke.

“Even he’s a possibility,” said the Inspector argumentatively. “Suppose in some way he’d found out Marcella’s story but hadn’t let on? I’ll make it better! Suppose he’d found out through Cullinan himself who, let’s say, read in the papers about Macgowan’s engagement to Marcella and promptly wrote asking blackmail?”

“Superb,” said Ellery.

“So Macgowan brings this bird over from the other side and kills him in?in?”

“In his best friend’s office?” Ellery shook his head. “Doesn’t wash, dad. That’s the last place he would have selected for the job.”

“Well, all right,” grumbled the Inspector, “Macgowan’s out. But Llewes, or Sewell, or whatever the hell her name is, had a motive, too. She showed up in the office after the murder, didn’t she? Well, suppose she did that just as a sort of cover-up? She was certainly on the twenty-second floor that afternoon. Suppose she’d seen Cullinan in the anteroom?suppose she’s lying about not being able to remember what he looked like?suppose she found out from him his plan to blackmail Kirk, or Macgowan, or somebody. So what? So she kills him to cut him out of the gravy, or keep him from spoiling her game. How’s that?”

“Masterly,” murmured Ellery, “as are your speculations about the others. In classic terminology you’ve put your finger on probably an epic motive. But there’s just one little element which puts the damper on the boodle of ‘em, especially if the motive is what you claim it to be.”

“What?”

“The fact that the murderer turned everything backwards. I might add,” continued Ellery reflectively, “another. The fact, too, that the murderer thrust those Impi spears up the dead man’s clothes.”

“Well, even so,” said the Inspector irritably, “I don’t see that because we don’t know why the killer did those fool things it cuts out my theory. Might still fit.”

“Conceivable.”

“But you don’t think so?”

Ellery stared out at the sky over 87th Street. “Sometimes I get a furtive glimpse of what might be the last outpost of the truth. It’s the damnedest thing. Keeps eluding me, like a piece of wet soap in the dark. Or like a dream you’ve forgotten but are conscious of. That’s all I can say.”

They were silent for a long time. Djuna made a cheerful clatter at the kitchen-stove. “Oofs!” he cried.

The Inspector said stubbornly: “I can’t trust your glimpses, or whatever y’call ‘em. I’ve got to be sure. El, I tell you this is the first really hot lead we’ve had in this case.” He went to the telephone and dialed Police Headquarters. “Hello. This is Inspector Queen. Get me my deskman . . . . ‘Lo! Billy? Listen, I want you to get a cable off to the Prefect of Police in Paris right away. Take it down. Message: ‘Send me full information Howard Cullinan, American believed in Paris. Telephoto on way for verification.’ Sign my name and rush it . . . . What’s that?”

The Inspector bent over the instrument with a sudden jerk, a startled look springing into his small hard eyes.

Ellery, at the window, turned about with a frown.

The old man listened for what seemed ages. Then he rapped: “Swell. Cut off. I’ve got to work fast.” He broke the connection and feverishly dialed Operator.

“What’s up?” demanded Ellery curiously.

“Hello! Get me the Hotel Chancellor desk . . . . Can’t stop, El. Something big’s broken at last. Better throw your things on. Quick. Into your pants.” Ellery stared, and then without a word ran into the bedroom, throwing off his dressing-gown as he ran. “Hellol Desk-clerk, Chancellor? This is Inspector Richard Queen, Police Headquarters . . . . Sergeant Velie of the Homicide Squad is there, isn’t he? . . . Fine, let me talk to him . . . . Hello! Thomas? Queen. Listen. I just got the flash from h.q. Don’t hold the boy.

. . . No, don’t, you big lummox! Let him finish that little job of his . . . . Don’t ask questions, idiot! Did you check with the local telegraph office to make sure he isn’t a ringer of some kind? . . . Good. Now get this. Give the boy the bag, as if it’s on the level, see? Then let him follow his instructions and take it down to Grand Central, where he’s supposed to meet this party. Follow the boy and nab the one who picks the bag up from the boy. Go easy, Thomas; this may be the wind-up . . . . No, no! Don’t stop to examine the bag. It’ll be safe enough. If you hold the kid up too long this bird’ll get suspicious . . . . Right. Scoot! I’ll be down at Grand Central in less than fifteen minutes.”

The Inspector slammed the receiver and yelled: “Ready?”

“For the love of Peter,” panted Ellery from the bedroom, “what d’ye think I am?a fireman? What is this, anyway?” He appeared in the living-room doorway in unlaced shoes, trousers with hanging suspenders, unbuttoned shirt, necktie in hand. Djuna gaped from the kitchen.

“Grab your hat and coat and finish dressing in the cab!” shouted the Inspector, yanking Ellery toward the foyer. “Come on!” And he dived through the door.

Ellery made a strangled sound and scrambled after, the tongues of his oxfords flapping dismally.