The Chinese Orange Mystery

in terms of Queenian syllables?”

“I kind of figured,” drawled the Inspector, dipping into his snuff-box, “that if you were over your fit of hush- mouth, you’d tell without my asking.”

“It’s solved, you know,” said Ellery bashfully.

“Congrats.”

“I know the whole story now, you see. All the essential things. Except the little chap’s name, and that’s not important. But who murdered him, why, and how it was done?especially how it was done?they’re quite settled in my mind.”

The Inspector said nothing; he placed his small hands behind his head and gazed gloomily into the fire.

Ellery grinned suddenly and seized a chaii and dragged it over to the fire and sat down. He leaned over and smacked his father’s knee resoundingly. “Come on, old growler,” he chuckled. “Come out of it. You know you’re putting on an act. I do want to tell you, now that I’m convinced . . . . Or perhaps you’d rather not??”

“It’s up to you,” said the Inspector stiffly.

So Ellery put his hands between his knees and squatted and talked.

He talked for an hour. All the while Inspector Queen remained motionless, gazing steadily into the flames, his bird-like little face screwed up and his brows flanking a frown.

And then, all at once, he grinned all over his face and cried: “Well, I’ll be double-damned!”

17. LOOKING BACKWARD

Mr. Ellery Queen had never set a stage more carefully in the whole of his variegated experience than he did the morning after the great experiment in his living-room. And, for once, he had Inspector Queen with him.

Why they deemed it necessary to be so thoroughly cautious and painstaking about their preparations neither took the trouble to explain to any one. And the only other person who might have been able to account for it was missing. Sergeant Velie, normally the soul of punctuality, had vanished. And again, for once, Inspector Queen accepted his vanishment with equanimity.

When it began it proceeded very smoothly indeed. Early in the morning a grim-faced detective from Headquarters called on each of the persons associated with the case and constituted himself a gratuitous bodyguard thenceforward. There were no explanations or excuses. Beyond a curt: “Orders of Inspector Queen,” each detective remained silent.

Consequently, when 10:00 o’clock rolled round, the anteroom to Donald Kirk’s office?the scene of the crime?began to fill with curious, rather shaken, people. Dr. Hugh Kirk, faintly blustering, was wheeled into the anteroom by a subdued Miss Diversey under the watchful eye of Detective Hagstrom. Donald Kirk and his sister Marcella were marched in by Detective Rit-ter. Miss Temple, distinctly mauve-complexioned, entered with Detective Hesse. Glenn Macgowan stamped in, furious but unprotesting, under the wing of Detective Johnson. Felix Berne was a reluctantly early corner, prodded along by Detective Piggott, who seemed to have developed an abrasive dislike for his charge. Inspector Queen attended to Irene Sewell himself. Osborne found himself hustled into the anteroom by a brawny policeman. Even Nye, the Chancellor’s manager, and Brummer, the black-browed house- detective, were there in firm if polite custody; as were Mrs. Shane, the floor-clerk, and Hubbell, Kirk’s valet- butler.

When they were all assembled Mr. Ellery Queen briskly shut the door, smiled at the silent seated company, cast a professional eye over the detectives ranged against the wall, nodded to Inspector Queen, who had taken up a silent station before the corridor door, and strode to the center of the room.

Through the windows streamed a pale morning light, sluggishly emanating from an overcast, depressing sky. The coffin-like crate lay before them, its lid loosely on; the contents of this remote sarcophagus had not been revealed to them, and more than one puzzled disturbed glance was directed at it.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” began Mr. Ellery Queen, resting one neat shoe on the crate, “I suppose all of you are wondering at the peculiar character of this morning’s little convention. I shan’t keep you in doubt. We’ve gathered this morning to unmask the murderer of the man who met his death in this room not so long ago.”

They were sitting rigidly, staring at him with a sort of fascinated horror. Then Miss Diversey whispered: “Then you know?” and bit her lip and blushed in confusion.

“Shut up,” snarled Dr. Kirk. “Are we to understand, Queen, that this is to be one of those fantastic exhibitions of crime-nosing you’re reputed to be so addicted to? I must say that?”

“One at a time, please,” smiled Ellery. “Yes, Dr. Kirk, that’s precisely what this is intended to be. Let’s say: a practical demonstration of the invincibility of logic. Mind over matter. The self-taught brain victorious. And as for your question, Miss Diversey: we shall argue certain points of interest and see where they lead us.” He raised his hand. “No, no, no questions, please . . . . Oh, before I begin. I suppose it’s futile to request the murderer of our little corpse to step forward and save us both time and cerebral wear-and-tear?”

He looked at them gravely. But no one replied; every one kept his eyes fixed guiltily before him.

“Very well,” he said in crisp tones. “To work . . . .” He lighted a cigaret and half-closed his eyes. “The crux of this case was the astounding fact that everything on the scene of the crime, including the very clothes of the victim, had been inverted, turned backwards. I say ‘astounding/ Even in my mind, trained in the observation and diagnosis of just such phenomena, there was a distinct reaction of amazement. I daresay not even the murderer, conceiving the backwards business and carrying it into effect, realized just how amazing it was going to appear.

“After the shock had passed I proceeded to analyze the facts, or rather the fact. Experience has taught me that rarely does a criminal do something positive?as opposed to an unconscious act?without purpose. This was a positive, a conscious act. It required hard work and the expenditure of precious time in the accomplishment. I was justified in saying at once, therefore, that there was reason behind it; that while its manifestations seemed insane its purpose, at the least, must have been rational.”

They were listening with painful attention.

“I will confess,” continued Ellery, “that until yesterday that purpose eluded me. I pursued it mentally with the tenacity of desperation, but for the life of me I couldn’t see why everything had been turned backwards. I assumed, of course, that the backwardness of the crime pointed to something backwards about somebody in the case. It seemed the only possible tack. And yet it enmeshed me in strands of philology, philately, and nomenclature so confused that more than once I was tempted to throw the whole puzzle up. There were all sorts of bewildering questions to be answered. If everything was turned backwards to point to a backwards significance about somebody, then that somebody must have been criminally involved. What was the real backwards significance, then? Whom was it intended to involve criminally? And, more important, who had turned everything backwards in the first place? Who was pointing to whom?”

He chuckled. “I see confusion here, and I can’t say I blame you. I found plenty of leads. They performed the function of leading, to be sure, but unfortunately in the direction of obfuscation, not toward a lucid solution of the problem. As for who had done the job, was it the criminal? Was it some one who had inadvertently witnessed the killing? But if it was the criminal pointing to some one else, then that some one was being framed. And yet it was the sorriest frameup conceivable, since it was so inconclusive, so vague, so really incomprehensible. If everything was turned backwards by some one who had witnessed the crime, why didn’t that witness come forward with his knowledge instead of taking that hideously tangled, complex method of leaving a clue to the murderer’s identity? You see what I was up against. Wherever I turned I met darkness.

“And then,” murmured Ellery, “I saw how simple it was, how easily I had led myself astray. I had made a mistake. I had misread the facts. My logic had been imperfect. I hadn’t taken into consideration the startling fact that there were two general explanations for the backwardnesses, not onel”

“I can’t say I understand this Ciceronian oration,” said Felix Berne suddenly. “Is this something characteristically esoteric, or do you know what you’re talking about?”

“The gentleman from The Mandarin,” said Ellery, “will please to observe the amenities and preserve the peace. You’ll find out soon enough, Mr. Berne . . . . For you see, I found on reconsideration that there were two possible answers to the riddle. The first I’ve already related: that everything had been turned backwards to point to something backwards about somebody in the case. Its alternative, which had escaped me,” continued Ellery, leaning forward, “was that everything was turned backwards to conceal something backwards about somebody in the easel”

He paused to light a fresh cigaret. Cupping his hands about a match, he scrutinized their faces. But he saw only bewilderment.

“I see expansion is required,” he drawled, puffing away. “The first possibility led