The Chinese Orange Mystery

“Ah!” Disappointment vanished to be replaced by eagerness. “Did you notice how many tangerines were left after you had taken one?”

“Yes, sir. Two.”

“That’s all, Miss Diversey,” murmured Ellery. “You’ve been most helpful. All right, Sergeant.”

Velie grinned vaguely and led the nurse away.

Ellery turned back to stare with remarkable interest at the cluster of whole fruits on the table. There was only one tangerine.

Chapter 5. ORANGES AND SPECULATIONS

Dr. Prouty was saying in a blast of words that shot past the foul black cigar between his teeth: “Well, that’s all I can tell you, Inspector. Can’t add a damn’ thing to what this house doctor told you,” when Ellery stalked up to them and said over the Assistant Medical Examiner’s shoulder: “Dad, get some quiet here, will you?”

The old man stared at him. “What’s buzzing in your bonnet now?” He raised his voice. “Keep still a minute, you men!” Silence fell.

“Gentlemen,” said Ellery in a low voice, “I’m going to ask you a ridiculous question. But I want it answered just the same. Has any one of you taken anything from that bowl of fruit on the table?”

The men gaped. No one replied. The Inspector scuttled to the table and glared down at the orange peelings and the dry pips. “Nobody swiped a tangerine?”

They shook their heads vigorously.

“That’s all,” murmured Ellery. He motioned his father and Dr. Prouty closer. “I’ve been able to establish that there were two tangerines in that bowl only a few minutes before the victim was shown into this room. Now there’s only one. Curious, eh?”

Dr. Prouty took the dead cigar out of his mouth. “Curious? What the devil’s curious about it, Queen?” Then his eyes glittered. “Oh! You mean poison?”

“Heavens, no. Nothing so outre. I’ll accept your own good word that our friend Mr. Nobody died of a particularly vicious swipe on the skull. But it is curious¯considering certain other complementary facts.”

“As for instance?”

Ellery shrugged. “We’re not ready for theorizing yet. I suggest, however, that you keep those tangerine peelings in mind.”

“But why, for cripe’s sake?” snorted the Inspector. “You mean you think the murderer stopped for a little snack of orange after he got through cracking the little feller’s head?”

“Possible,” muttered Ellery. “Although it’s much more likely that the little feller stopped for a snack of orange just before the murderer went about the head-cracking business.”

“Easy enough to test that,” said Dr. Prouty, reaching for his bag. “I’ll give you a quick autopsy. If he ate the orange I’ll find it in his tummy¯and a nice fat tummy it is, gentlemen! Nicest little tummy I’ve seen in ages . . . . Here’s the order, Inspector. I suppose the Morgue bus’ll be here as soon as the boys get through with their crap game.” He handed the old man an official slip and loped from the room. In the corridor a sudden thought apparently struck him, for he shouted back: “I’ll look for poison anyway, Queen 1” and hurried off, chuckling.

Ellery strolled over to the corpse and stared down thoughtfully. The stout man’s garments were in disarray after Dr. Prouty’s cheerful examination. He had been turned over on his back and now lay staring peacefully up at the ceiling. One of the fingerprint men was straddling the body in the act of dusting the door to the office with grayish powder. “If you could only talk,” sighed Ellery, “you unlucky little devil! Maybe you could throw some light on all this fantastic criminal exhibitionism . . . . Any prints, old chap?” he asked the fingerprint man.

“Don’t look like it, Mr. Queen. There ought to be, though, if the bird that did the job pulled that bolt on the right side of this door. It’s nice and oily, and oil makes swell prints . . . . Nope! All wiped off. Hell, we ain’t got a thing.”

“Nowhere else?”

“I don’t know about Kelly there, but I didn’t get a thing.”

Kelly, working nearby, raised his Irish head and shook it sadly. “Nor me, Mr. Queen. I’d be a damn’ sight better off seein’ a movie.”

Ellery nodded absently. He was roused from his reverie by the sound of Donald Kirk’s voice from the doorway.

“I tell you I don’t know him,” Kirk was crying to the Inspector. Sergeant Velie, colossal Nemesis, tramped behind. “I told Mr. Queen that. I can swear to it. Absolutely a stranger¯”

“Well,” said the Inspector in a soft voice, “it won’t hurt to have another squint at him, will it Mr. Kirk? Take it easy. Nobody’s hounding you. Just one good long look.” He shoved the dishevelled young man gently forward.

“Queen!” Kirk lurched toward him. “For God’s sake, Queen, I can’t stand this persecution any longer. You know I never saw him. I told you so! I¯”

“Now, now,” murmured Ellery, “you’ve a bad case of nerves, Kirk. There’s no need for panic, and no one, of course, is persecuting you. Stiffen up!”