The Chinese Orange Mystery

She turned a little pale. “Yueng,” she said in a small voice. “A friend of mine. He’s been studying at Columbia University, as so many Chinese in this city do. He’s the son of one of Canton’s richest native importers. And he has a perfectly remarkable water-color genius. We’d been looking for someone to do the jacket illustration for my book¯the one Mr. Kirk is publishing¯and I just happened at that moment to think of Yueng. So I dashed in¯”

“Yes, yes,” said Ellery. “I see. And where is this Yueng, Miss Temple? Where can I locate him?”

“On the Pacific.”

“Eh?”

“When I found that Donald¯that Mr. Kirk wasn’t in, I went back to the suite here and telephoned the University.” She sighed. “But they told me he had suddenly decided to return to China a week and a half ago¯I think his father died, and that would be an unspoken command, of course, to return. The Chinese take their fathers very seriously, you know. So I suppose poor Yueng’s on the high seas now.”

Ellery’s face fell. “Well,” he muttered, “there couldn’t be anything in that direction, anyway. Although . . . “ When he spoke again he was smiling. “By the way, didn’t I hear you say yesterday that your father’s in the American diplomatic service?”

“Was,” she said quietly. “He died last year.”

“Oh! I’m sorry. You were, I suppose, raised in a Western home?”

“Not at all. Father observed the Western customs for official purposes, but I had a Chinese nurse and I was brought up in almost a pure Chinese atmosphere. My mother died, you see, when I was a child; and father was so busy . . . “ She rose, and despite her tininess she gave an impression of height. “And is that all, Mr. Queen?”

Ellery picked up his hat. “You’ve really been very helpful, Miss Temple. My undying gratitude, and all that. I’ve learned¯”

“That I’m the person involved in this affair,” she said in a soft voice, “who expresses backwardness, as it were, more clearly than any one else?”

“Oh, but I didn’t say that¯”

“Because I’ve been brought up in a country in which backwardness, from the Western point of view, is the rule, Mr. Queen?”

Ellery flushed. “There are some things, Miss Temple, that are forced upon a man when he’s investigating¯”

“I suppose you realize what nonsense this all is?”

“I’m afraid,” said Ellery ruefully, “that you don’t like me today as much as you did yesterday, Miss Temple.”

“Sensible woman,” said a curt voice, and they both turned quickly to find Felix Berne surveying them coolly from the archway of the foyer. Donald Kirk was behind him.

* * *

Donald looked as if he had slept in his clothes. It was the same dowdy tweed, and it was fearfully crumpled, and his necktie was askew and his hair drooped over his eyes and his eyes were rimmed with red circles and he was badly in need of a shave. Berne’s slight figure was immaculate, but there was a faint unsteadiness in the pose of his head.

“Hello,” said Ellery, picking up his stick. “I was just going.”

“Seems to be a habit with you,” said Berne with a mirthless grin. He regarded Ellery with calm bitter eyes.

Ellery started to say something, then saw the look in Donald Kirk’s eye and refrained.

“Shut up, will you, Felix,” said Donald hoarsely, coming forward. “Glad I found you, Queen. Gives me the opportunity to apologize for father’s rotten manners last night.”

“Nonsense,” said Ellery quickly. “Not another word. I daresay I got what I deserved.”

“Each man to his own reward,” drawled Berne. “One good feature about you, Queen, at any rate.” He turned deliberately to Jo. “I stopped in, Miss Temple, to discuss the title of your book with you. It seems that Donald here has some obscene notion of aping the Buck titles and employing something like Second Cousins or Half-Brothers or The Good Grandfather. Now I¯”

“Now I,” said Jo evenly, “think that you’re being despicable, Mr. Berne.”

A brown tide began to spread under Berne’s skin. “Look here, you¯”

“You know perfectly well that Mr. Kirk had no such idea. And certainly it was furthest from my mind. You’ve been abominably uncivil since I met you, Mr. Berne. If it isn’t possible for you to be reasonably a gentleman, I’ll be forced to refuse to discuss my book with you at all!”

“Jo,” cried Kirk. He glared at his partner. “I can’t understand what in the name of God’s come over you, Felix!”

“Damned impertinence,” said Berne thickly.

“There’s no compulsion on the part of The Mandarin Press, you know,” continued Jo in the same even, unhurried voice, “to publish my book. I’m perfectly willing to tear up my contract, Mr. Berne. Is that what you want?”