The Chinese Orange Mystery

The house doctor, a broad squat cold-eyed man, got to his feet with amazement written all over his stony face. Nye, the manager, an elegant creature in a cutaway with a gardenia in his lapel as depressed-looking as himself, was biting his lips beside Ellery at the door. Brummer, the burly house detective, scraped his blue jaws rather pathetically at the open window.

“Well, Doctor?” said Ellery abruptly.

The man started. “Oh, yes. You want to know, I suppose, how long he’s been dead. I should say he died at about six¯a little over an hour ago.”

“From the effects of the blow on his head?”

“Unquestionably. The poker shattered the skull, causing instant death.”

“Ah,” said Ellery. “That’s a most vital point, Doctor¯”

“Generally is,” said the doctor with a grim smile.

“Ha, ha. There’s no doubt in your mind about death having been instantaneous?”

“My dear sir!”

“I beg your pardon, but we must be sure. And the bruise on his face?”

“Caused by his fall, Mr. Queen. He was dead when he struck the floor.” Ellery’s eyes flickered, and the physician moved toward the door. “I’ll be glad, of course, to repeat my opinion to your Medical Examiner¯”

“Scarcely necessary. By the way, there couldn’t be a different cause of death, I suppose?”

“Nonsense,” said the squat man with asperity. “I can’t say without a physical examination and autopsy what other signs of violence exist, but death occurred from the effects of the cranial blow, take my word for it. All the external indications¯” Something gleamed in his cold eyes. “See here, you mean that the blow on the skull may have been inflicted after death from a different cause?”

“Some such idiotic notion,” muttered Ellery, “was in my mind.”

“Then get it out of your mind.” The physician hesitated, struggling with an ingrained professional reticence. Then he shrugged. “I’m not a detective,

Mr. Queen, and this sort of thing is decidedly out of my line. But if you’re looking for something odd, may I point out the condition of this man’s clothing?”

“Clothing? Yes, yes, point it out, by all means. I can’t say, at this stage of the game, that I should disdain the viewpoint of even a layman.”

The doctor eyed him sharply. “Of course,” he said in a steel-barbed rasp, “with all your experience¯I’ve heard of you, Queen¯I suppose the condition of this man’s clothing and its possible significance is childishly clear. But to my infantile mind it seems rather remarkable that¯he’s got all his clothes on backwardsJ”

“Backwards?” said Nye with a groan. “Oh, good Lord.”

“Didn’t you notice, Mr. Nye?” rumbled Brummer, scowling. “Damnedest thing I ever saw.”

“Please, gentlemen,” murmured Ellery. “Specifically, Doctor?”

“His coat is on as if he’d got into it the wrong way, as if somebody held it open facing him and he wriggled into the sleeves and then buttoned himself up the back.”

“Masterly! Although not necessarily an exclusive diagnosis. Go on, sir.”

Brummer said peevishly: “Why in hell should a man put his coat on backwards? It’s nuts.”

“A strong word, Brummer, but inept. ‘Improbable’ would be more to the point. Did you ever try to put your coat on backwards?”

“I don’t see¯” began the detective belligerently.

“Apparently not. I should explain that the improbability lies not in the donning of the coat, but in the buttoning.”

“How d’ye figure that?”

“Do you think you could put your coat on backwards and button it up yourself, with the buttons studding the vertebrae along your spinal column? And the inverted, wrongly placed sleeves hampering the elevating possibilities of your arms?”

“I got you. Sure I could.”

“Well, perhaps so,” sighed Ellery. “Proceed, Doctor. Pardon the aside.”

“You’ll have to excuse me,” said the doctor abruptly. “I merely wished to call your attention¯”

“But I assure you, Doctor¯”

“If the police want me,” continued the cold-eyed man with a faint emphasis on the third word, “I shall be in my office. Good evening!” And he stumped past Ellery out of the room.

“A clear case of the frustration psychosis,” said Ellery. “Fool!”

The door clicked behind the physician in a dismal silence. They regarded the corpse with varying expressions¯Nye glassily, Brummer gloomily, and Ellery with a furious frown. The pervading impression of unreality persisted. Not only was the dead man’s coat on backwards, but his trousers were inverted and buttoned up behind as well. As were his white madras shirt and vest. His narrow stiff collar similarly was turned about, clamped with a shiny gold collar-button at the nape. His undergarments apparently exhibited the same baffling inversion. Of all his clothing only his shoes remained in the orthodox position.