The Chinese Orange Mystery

“All right,” said the Inspector, dropping his arms wearily. “I give up. Go the whole hog. Go puzzlin’ your brains about Chinese oranges and Mexican tamales and alligator pears and Spanish onions and English muffins, for all I care! All I say is¯can’t a man eat an orange without some crackpot like you reading a mystery into it?”

“Not when it’s a Chinese orange, honorable ancestor. Not,” snapped Ellery suddenly with a surge of temper, “when there’s a novelist from China in the cast and a collector of postage stamps who specializes in China and everything’s backwards about the crime and . . . “ He stopped suddenly, as if he felt that he had said too much. A look of remarkable intelligence came into his eye. He stood that way, stockstill for a moment, then he clapped his hat on, tapped his father’s shoulder absently, and hurried out.

Chapter 8. TOPSY-TURVY LAND

Hubbell opened the door of the Kirk suite and seemed faintly startled at seeing Mr. Ellery Queen standing there, Homberg in hand, stick compan-ionably raised, smiling with an air of good-fellowship.

“Yes, sir?” whined Hubbell, without stirring.

“I’m a bounder,” said Ellery cheerfully, thrusting the ferrule of his stick over the sill. “That is, I bound. Or perhaps I should say that I’m a rebounder, Hubbell. Yes, yes; I rebound after I’m thrown. Thrown out. May I¯?”

Hubbell seemed distressed. “I’m very sorry, sir, but¯”

“But what?”

“I’m sorry, sir, but there’s no one at home.”

“That same dear old trite observation.” Ellery looked sad. “Hubbell, Hubbell, boil and bubble, or is it toil and trouble . . . . How does the witches’ chant go? But the point is I’m not wanted, I take it?”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“Nonsense, man,” murmured Ellery, pushing gently past the fellow, “that sort of ukase is evoked only against unwanted guests. I’m here in an official capacity, you see, so you can’t keep me out. Dear, dear; life must be complicated for the great serving class.” He stopped short on the threshold of the salon. “Don’t tell me, Hubbell, that you spoke the truth!” The salon was empty.

Hubbell blinked. “Whom did you want to see, Mr. Queen?”

“I’m not particular, Hubbell. Miss Temple will do. I scarcely think I could conduct a reasonably amiable conversation with Dr. Kirk at the moment, you know. I’m fearfully sensitive about being kicked out of places. Miss Temple, old fellow. She’s in, I trust?”

“I’ll see, sir.” And Hubbell said: “Your coat and stick, sir?”

“Official, I said,” drawled Ellery, wandering about. “That means you keep your coat on. And your hat, if you’re a second-grade detective. Excellent Matisse, that. If it is Matisse . . . Hubbell, for heaven’s sake, stop gawping and fetch Miss Temple!”

The tiny woman came in very quickly. She was dressed in something cool and gentle.

“Good morning, Mr. Queen. Why so formal? You haven’t brought your handcuffs, I trust? Take your coat off, do. Sit down.” They shook hands gravely. Ellery sat down, but he did not take his coat off. Jo Temple continued in a swift breathlessness: “May I apologize, Mr. Queen, for that horrid scene last night? Dr. Kirk is¯”

“Dr. Kirk is an old man,” said Ellery with a wry smile, “and I’m a damned fool for being angry with his senilities. May I compliment you, Miss Temple, upon your choice of gown? It reminds me of a hydrangea or something, if that’s what they have in China.”

She laughed. “You mean the lotus blossom, I presume? Thank you, sir; that’s the prettiest compliment I’ve had since I came West. Occidentals haven’t much imagination when it comes to flattering women.”

“I wouldn’t know about that,” said Ellery, “since I’m a misogynist anyway,” and they grinned together. Then they both fell silent, and nothing could be heard except the stiff stalk of Hubbell across the foyer.

Jo folded her small hands in her lap and eyed Ellery steadily. “And what’s on your mind, Mr. Queen?”

“China.”

He said it so suddenly that she gave a slight start; and then she sank back with her lips compressed. “China, Mr. Queen? And why is China on that clever mind of yours?”

“Because it annoys me, Miss Temple. Annoys me dreadfully. I never thought a mere five-letter word could annoy rne so much. I had nightmares about it all last night.”

She continued to regard him with unwavering eyes as she reached out to an end-table and fetched a cigaret box and opened it and offered him a cig-aret. Neither said anything while the smoke curled cosily.

“So you couldn’t sleep last night?” she said at last. “Odd, Mr. Queen. Neither could I. That poor little man kept haunting my pillow. He smiled at me for four solid hours out of the darkness.” She shivered lightly. “Well, Mr. Queen?”

“From all I’ve heard,” drawled Ellery, “to return to the original subject, China is a sadly backward country.”

She sat up at that, frowning. “Come, come, Mr. Queen, let’s stop this idiotic fencing. Just what do you mean by that?”