The Chinese Orange Mystery

Ellery scowled out the window without replying.

“Well, you worry about those things. We’ll work along the orthodox lines. I tell you this other tripe doesn’t mean a damn.”

“Everything means something,” cried Ellery, wheeling. “I’ll wager you a good dinner to a thimbleful of bootleg that when we’ve solved this case we’ll find that the backwards business is at its root.” The Inspector looked skeptical. “One thing is certain. Everything was turned backwards to indicate something backwards about something or somebody connected with the dead man. Therefore I’m going to devote my feeble energies to discovering, if I can, everything which possesses a possible backwards interpretation, no matter how trivial or far-fetched it may appear on the surface.”

“Good luck to you,” grunted the Inspector. “I think you’re batty even to bother.”

“And as a matter of fact,” said Ellery, flushing a little, “there are already several items connected with possible backwards interpretations. What d’ye know about that?”

The old gentleman’s fingers paused in the act of raising the lid of his snuff-box. “There are?”

“There are. But you,” said Ellery with a grim smile, “do your job and I’ll do mine. And I do wonder who’ll get there first!”

* * *

Sergeant Velie barged through the Inspector’s door, his derby pushed far back on his leonine head. There was unusual excitement in his hard eyes.

“Inspector! Mornin’, Mr. Queen . . . . Inspector, I got a hot lead!”

“Well, well, Thomas,” said the Inspector quietly. “Found out who the stiff is, I’ll bet.”

Velie’s face fell. “Nah. No such luck. It’s about Kirk.”

“Kirk! Which one?”

“The young ‘un. Know what? He was spotted in the Chancellor at half-past four yesterday afternoon!”

“Seen? Where?”

“In one of the elevators. I dug up an elevator-boy who remembers takin’ Kirk up around that time.”

“To what floor, Velie?” asked Ellery slowly.

“He didn’t remember that. But he was sure it wasn’t the regular floor¯the twenty-second. He’d ‘a’ remembered that, he said.”

“Curious logic,” remarked Ellery in a dry tone. “Walking along Broadway and Fifth Avenue, eh? That’s all, Sergeant?”

“Isn’t that enough?”

“Well, stick to him, Thomas,” said the Inspector with an abstracted look. “We’ll keep that under our hats. Don’t want to scare him. But you check that bird’s pedigree from the day he was weaned. Got the stamp and jewelry leads covered?”

“The boys are still out.”

“Right.”

* * *

When the door had shivered at Sergeant Velie’s parting slam Ellery said with a frown: “And that reminds me. I’d quite forgotten . . . . Have a peep at this.” He pulled a crumpled envelope from his pocket and tossed it to the Inspector.

The Inspector looked at him narrowly. Then he picked up the envelope and smoothed it flat. He slipped his thin fingers inside and extracted a sheet of paper. “Where’d you get this?”

“I stole it.”

“Stole it!”

“Therein hangs a tale.” Ellery shrugged. “I’m rapidly sliding downhill, pater, as far as my morals are concerned. Simply deplorable . . . . When Kirk and I arrived at the office at a quarter of seven Osborne gave Kirk a note which Macgowan had left only minutes before. I thought Kirk looked queer when he read it. He stuffed it into his pocket and then we discovered the dead man.”

“So, so?”

“Later, before dinner, I asked Kirk for the note and he refused to show it to me. Said it was something personal between him and Macgowan, who’s his best friend as well as his intended brother-in-law. Well, sir, in the height of the excitement attending my eviction by the wrathy Dr. Kirk, I managed to spill some excellent Oporto over young Mr. Kirk’s clothes and with ludicrous ease snaggled the envelope from his pocket. What d’ye make of it?”

The note said:

I know now. You’re dealing with a dangerous character. Go easy until I can talk to you aside. Don, watch your step.

Mac.

It was a hurried pencil-scrawl.

The Inspector smiled wolfishly. “The plot, as they say in the movies, thickens. Cripe! I wish he’d been a little more explicit. Have to have those two lads on the carpet after all.”

“Nothing of the kind,” said Ellery quickly. “I tell you that will spoil everything. Here!” He grabbed a memorandum pad and a pencil and scribbled a name. The Inspector goggled. “Try this on that carpet of yours.”

“But who¯”

“See if you can find a person of that name¯the first name may be wrong, remember¯in the files. Might flash it to all police departments in the country.

But I have a snooping suspicion that Scotland Yard or the Surete may be the port-of-call. Cable right off.”

“But who the deuce is it?” demanded the Inspector, reaching for his buzzer. “Somebody in the case? It’s a brand-new name to me¯”

“You’ve been introduced,” said Ellery grimly. And he sank back into the comfortable chair while the Inspector set the wheels moving.

* * *

Dr. Prouty’s cigar preceded him like a black standard as he shambled through the doorway. He paused to eye the Queens critically.