The Chinese Orange Mystery

His astonishment was based upon experience, and the current blasting of it. Mr. Ellery Queen¯who neither toiled nor spun, except within the environs of his mind¯was not the earliest riser in the world; and indeed his lean figure sprawled in innocent sleep upon the second of their twin beds caused the Inspector to erupt, like a patient volcano, each morning in a growling thunder of expostulation. But this morning there he was, his hair still ruffled from sleep, sitting up in pongee pajamas, pince-nez perched on the bridge of his thin nose, gravely reading a fat book at the unheard-of hour of ten o’clock.

“Wipe that smirk off your face, Djuna,” he said absently, without looking up from the page. “Can’t a man get up early one morning?”

Djuna frowned. “What you reading?”

“Somebody’s massive tome on Chinese customs, you heathen. And I can’t say it’s much help.” He flung it aside, yawning, and plopped back on the pillow with a luxurious sigh. “Might rustle me a yard of toast and a liter of coffee, Djun\”

“You better get up,” said Djuna grimly.

“And why had I better get up, young ‘un?” murmured Ellery in a smothered voice from the depths of the pillow.

“ ‘Cause some one’s waiting here to see you.”

Ellery bolted upright, the glasses dangling from his ear. “Well, of all the exasperating¯! Why didn’t you say so before, homunculus? Who is it? How long has he been waiting?” He scrambled out of bed and reached for his dressing-gown.

“It’s a Mr. Macgowan, an’ how’d you know it was a ‘he’?” demanded Djuna with restrained admiration, lounging against the door.

“Macgowan? That’s strange,” muttered Ellery. “Oh, that! Very simple, number one boy. You see, there are only two sexes¯not taking into account certain accidents of nature. So it was at the very least a fifty-fifty guess.”

“G’on,” said Djuna with a disbelieving grin, and vanished. Then he materialized again, sticking his gamin head back into the room, and said: “Got the coffee on the table,” and vanished once more.

When Ellery emerged into the Queens’ living-room he found tall Glenn Macgowan pacing restlessly up and down before the fire that crackled in the grate. He ceased his patrol abruptly. “Ah, Queen. I’m sorry. Had no idea I’d be routing you out of bed.”

Ellery shook his big hand lazily. “Not at all. You did me a service; there’s no telling when I’d have got up. Join me in some breakfast, Macgowan?”

“Had mine, thank you. But don’t let me stop you. I can wait.”

“I hope,” chuckled Ellery, “you’re cultivating what Bishop Heber was pleased to term ‘Swift’s Eighth Beatitude,’ although it’s really Popish in origin.”

“I beg your pardon?” gasped Macgowan.

“Popish advisedly. I meant Pope. In a letter to John Gay he wrote: ‘Blessed is he who expects nothing for he shall never be disappointed.’ I don’t feel in the donative mood this morning . . . . Well, well! I find I’m ravenous, now that I put my mind to it. We can talk while I’m refueling.” Ellery sat down and reached for his orange-juice, leaving Macgowan with a partly open mouth. He observed that one bright young eye was fixed to the crack of the kitchen door¯fixed very curiously upon his visitor. “Sure you won’t join me?”

“Quite.” Macgowan hesitated. “Er¯do you always talk this way before breakfast, Queen?”

Ellery grinned as he gulped. “I’m sorry. It’s a nasty habit.”

Macgowan resumed his pacing. Then he stopped short jerkily and said: “Ah, Queen. Sorry about the other night. Dr. Kirk’s unpredictable. I assure you Marcella and I¯all of us¯felt very badly about the whole dismal business. Of course, the old gentleman’s exercising the prerogative of senility. He’s a tyrant.. And besides, he doesn’t understand the necessities of official investigation¯”

“Quite all right,” said Ellery cheerfully, munching toast. And he said nothing more, seeming content to leave the conversation to his visitor.

“Well.” Macgowan shook his head suddenly and sat down in an armchair by the fire. “I imagine you’re wondering why I’ve come here this morning.”

Ellery raised his cup. “Well, I’m human, I suppose. I can’t say I was precisely prepared for it.”

Macgowan laughed a little gloomily. “Of course, I did want to express my apologies personally. I feel like one of the Kirk family, now that Marcella and I . . . Look here, Queen.”

Ellery sank back with a sigh, dabbing his lips with his napkin. He offered Macgowan a cigaret, which the big man refused, and took one himself. “Therel” he said. “That’s worlds better. Well, Macgowan? I’m looking.”

They studied each other in silence for some time, quite without expression. Then Macgowan began to fumble in his inner breast-pocket. “Y’know, I can’t quite make you out, Queen. I get the feeling that you know a good deal more than you pretend¯”

“I’m like the grasshopper,” murmured Ellery. “Protective coloration. Really, that’s an air cultivated for purposes of my avocation, Macgowan.” He squinted at his cigaret. “I assume you have the murder in mind?”

“Yes.”