The Chinese Orange Mystery

“Jo!” Something apparently happened, for he continued after a moment in a strained voice. “Don’t mind what Felix said. If it doesn’t sell a thousand copies it will still be a swell book, Jo. If¯”

“If it doesn’t sell a thousand copies, Mr. Donald Kirk,” she said demurely, “I shall return to China a wiser but sadder woman. I’m visualizing hundreds of thousands . . . . But what was it you were going to say?”

Macgowan looked uncomfortable, and Ellery shrugged. They both made as if to step noisily through the archway, and they both stopped.

For Kirk was saying in a queer breathless voice: “I’ve fallen in love with you, damn it! I never thought I could. I never thought any woman could make me lose my head¯”

“Not even,” she inquired in a cool voice that trembled strangely in its undertones, “Irene Llewes?”

There was a silence, and Ellery and Macgowan looked at each other, and then they cleared their throats loudly together and stepped into the salon.

Kirk was on his feet, his shoulders sagging. Jo sat in a strained attitude, the tension about her nostrils belying the faint smile on her lips. They both started, and Kirk said quickly: “Uh¯hello, hello. I didn’t know it was you. Come together, eh? Well. Sit down, Queen, sit down. Seen Marcella, Glenn?”

“Marcella,” said Macgowan heavily. “No, I haven’t. Good morning, Miss Temple.”

“Good morning,” she murmured without looking up. The white skin of her throat was no longer white, but scarlet.

“Marcella’s out somewhere. Should be back soon. Always gadding about somewhere, ‘Cella,” chattered Kirk, moving about restlessly. “Well, well, Queen! Something new? Another inquisition?”

Ellery sat down and adjusted his pince-nez in a sober, judicial manner. “I’ve a rather serious question to ask you, Kirk.”

Jo rose swiftly. “I think you men want to be alone. If you’ll excuse me, please¯”

“Question?” echoed Kirk. His face had gone gray.

“Miss Temple,” said Ellery in a grave tone, “I think you had better remain.”

Without a word she reseated herself.

“What kind of question?” asked Kirk, licking his lips. Macgowan was standing by one of the windows, staring motionlessly out, his broad back a silent baffled barrier.

“Why,” said Ellery in a clear voice, “did you instruct a dealer named Avdo Varjian to sell your friend Glenn Macgowan a local stamp rarity of the city of Foochow?”

The tall young man sank into a chair and without looking at any of them said in a cracked voice: “Because I was a fool.”

“Scarcely an informative reply,” said Ellery dryly. And then his eyes narrowed, and he was shocked to observe the expression on Miss Temple’s elfin face. Her pretty candid features were drawn up in a grimace of the most remarkable amazement; she looked quite as if she could not believe her ears. And she was staring at her host with enormous eyes.

“Glenn,” said Kirk in a mutter.

Macgowan did not turn from the window. He said hoarsely: “Well?”

“I didn’t think you’d find out. It wasn’t important. There was the stamp, and I knew that you¯Hell, Glenn, I’d rather have had you get it than any one else in the world. You know that.”

Macgowan wheeled like a tired horse, his eyes stony. “And the fact that it’s backwards didn’t occur to you, I suppose,” he said bitterly.

“Tch, tch,” said Ellery mildly. “Let me handle this, Macgowan. Kirk! Your business affairs are your own concern, and what subtle little nuances may arise from the peculiar nature of the affair are probably none of my business. But the Foochow happens to be an inverted object, you see¯something with that persistent and puzzling backwards significance again. And that is my business.”

“Backwards,” murmured Miss Temple, putting her hand to her mouth and staring at Donald Kirk still.

Ellery could have sworn he saw horror in Donald’s eyes. Was it assumed? He glanced sharply at Macgowan. But the big man had turned back to the window again, and there was something angry and stubborn in the set of his shoulders.

“But I didn’t¯” began Kirk, and stopped dazedly.

“You see,” drawled Ellery, “you have two things to explain, old chap: why you sold the Foochow stamp at this time and in such a surreptitious manner, and where you got it in the first place.”

There was silence as Hubbell stamped across the foyer, darting one unguarded curious glance into the salon as he passed.

Then Kirk said: “I suppose it has to come out,” dully, quite without hope. “And that’s why I said I acted like a fool. I couldn’t have expected¯” He buried his face in his hands momentarily, and a wonderful softness came over Miss Temple’s face, as she watched his boyish despair. He looked up, haggard. “Glenn knows something of my condition. It isn’t what you’d think, seeing this establishment, the way we live. This goes for you, too, Jo. Perhaps I should have told you . . . I’m in rather a tight spot financially at the moment, you see.”

Miss Temple said nothing.