The Chinese Orange Mystery

“Same. Couldn’t possibly tell the laundry-marks. Same on the shirt, too.” Velie’s gargantuan shoulders twitched. “It’s the darbs, like I was telling you, Mr. Queen. Never saw anything like it.”

“Every effort, unquestionably, to keep the victim’s identity untraceable,” muttered Ellery. “And there’s a sticker. Why, in the name of an illogical God? Rips out the labels, inks out identifiable marks on laundry and shoes, removes all contents of the man’s pockets¯”

“If there were any,” grunted the old gentleman.

“Amended. All the clothing is cheap and seems new. Might be a lead there . . . . Ho! What’s this?”

They looked at him, startled. He had snatched off his glasses and was staring incredulously at the dead man. “His necktie¯it’s gone!”

“Oh, that,” shrugged Velie. “Sure. We saw that. Didn’t you?”

“No. I hadn’t noticed it before. That should be important, vitally important!”

“Sure looks it,” said the Inspector, frowning. “With the necktie missing, then the fool or genius or maniac or whatever he is that pulled this job took it away with him. Now why the devil did he do that?”

“You can search me,” said the Sergeant blankly. “I think it’s just screwy, the whole thing. Gimme a good clean simple mob kill!”

“No, no,” said Ellery in an irritable tone, “that’s not the tack at all, Velie. It’s not crazy; it’s clever. It has meaning. Why did he take the tie away? There’s a question.” He mumbled furiously to himself. “Obviously, because even with its label torn out¯to reduce it to its most advantageous terms¯it must still have been identifiable! Traceable.”

“But how could that be?” snorted the Inspector. ‘That doesn’t make sense. How could you trace a cheap tie?”

“Maybe it was made out of a special kind of goods,” suggested the Sergeant hopefully, “that would be easy to trace back.”

“Special kind? That would make it an expensive one.” The Inspector shook his head. “You couldn’t imagine that fat little grampus with his cheap get-up wearing an expensive tie. No, it’s not that.” He threw up his hands. “Well, I don’t know what to make of it. It’s got me sunk . . . . Well, Hesse?”

A detective grunted something and the old gentleman pattered off. Ellery and the Sergeant stood without speaking. When the Inspector returned he was excited.

“Say, he wasn’t smashed near the door at all!” he exclaimed. “We’ve found blood on the floor near that chair.” He thumbed the chair near the table against the wall. “He must have been struck down near the chair.”

“Ah, so you’ve seen that, have you?” drawled Ellery. “Interesting, I must say. Then what the deuce is he doing near the office-door behind that shifted bookcase?”

“The devil!” snarled the old gentleman. “This is getting crazier by the second. Let’s see what Doc Prouty has to say.”

Dr. Prouty was rising and brushing off his knees. His cloth hat was perched at a rakish angle on his bald head, and faint perspiration gleamed on his forehead. The Inspector sprang over to engage him in furious conversation. Sergeant Velie drifted off to talk to a detective stationed at the corridor-door.

Ellery straightened from the sill, his brow puckered like the skin of a gnome. He stood still for a long time. Then he rapped his right temple with a baffled fist and sauntered toward his father and the doctor. Midway he stopped, very suddenly. Something bright had caught his eye. Scattered pieces of brightness on the table . . . . He went to the table. The bowl of fruit, like everything else on the unpolished wood, had been turned upside down. Beside the bowl lay the ragged fragments of the rind of a tangerine, and a few dry pips. Vaguely he recalled seeing them before . . . . He lifted away the overturned bowl and studied the exposed fruits. Pears, apples, grapes . . . .

Without turning he said: “Sergeant.” Velie came lumbering back. “Didn’t you say that the nurse, Miss Diversey, had testified to entering this room a few minutes before the arrival of the¯the devil! the dead man?”

“Why, sure.”

“Fetch her like a good chap. No noise about it. I want to ask her something.”

“Sure, Mr. Queen.”

Ellery waited quietly. When Sergeant Velie returned a moment later he had in tow the tall nurse, her face quite pale. She kept her eyes averted from the corpse.

“Here she is, Mr. Queen.”

“Ah, Miss Diversey.” Ellery turned. “You were in this room, I understand, at about five-thirty this evening?”

“Yes, sir,” she said nervously.

“Did you notice this fruit-bowl, by any chance?”

Something startled leaped into her eyes. “Fruit? Why¯yes, sir. In fact, I¯I helped myself to a piece.”

“Splendid!” smiled Ellery. “That’s better luck than I could have hoped for. And did you notice the tangerines particularly?”

“Tangerines?” She was frightened now. “I¯I ate one.”

“Oh.” Disappointment showed plainly on his face. “Then these fragments of rind are from the tangerine you ate?” He indicated the peelings.

Miss Diversey stared at them. “Oh, no, sir. I threw mine, pits and all, out that open window there.”