The Chinese Orange Mystery

Ellery grinned suddenly and seized a chaii and dragged it over to the fire and sat down. He leaned over and smacked his father’s knee resoundingly. “Come on, old growler,” he chuckled. “Come out of it. You know you’re putting on an act. I do want to tell you, now that I’m convinced . . . . Or perhaps you’d rather not¯?”

“It’s up to you,” said the Inspector stiffly.

So Ellery put his hands between his knees and squatted and talked.

He talked for an hour. All the while Inspector Queen remained motionless, gazing steadily into the flames, his bird-like little face screwed up and his brows flanking a frown.

And then, all at once, he grinned all over his face and cried: “Well, I’ll be double-damned!”

17. LOOKING BACKWARD

Mr. Ellery Queen had never set a stage more carefully in the whole of his variegated experience than he did the morning after the great experiment in his living-room. And, for once, he had Inspector Queen with him.

Why they deemed it necessary to be so thoroughly cautious and painstaking about their preparations neither took the trouble to explain to any one. And the only other person who might have been able to account for it was missing. Sergeant Velie, normally the soul of punctuality, had vanished. And again, for once, Inspector Queen accepted his vanishment with equanimity.

When it began it proceeded very smoothly indeed. Early in the morning a grim-faced detective from Headquarters called on each of the persons associated with the case and constituted himself a gratuitous bodyguard thenceforward. There were no explanations or excuses. Beyond a curt: “Orders of Inspector Queen,” each detective remained silent.

Consequently, when 10:00 o’clock rolled round, the anteroom to Donald Kirk’s office¯the scene of the crime¯began to fill with curious, rather shaken, people. Dr. Hugh Kirk, faintly blustering, was wheeled into the anteroom by a subdued Miss Diversey under the watchful eye of Detective Hagstrom. Donald Kirk and his sister Marcella were marched in by Detective Rit-ter. Miss Temple, distinctly mauve-complexioned, entered with Detective Hesse. Glenn Macgowan stamped in, furious but unprotesting, under the wing of Detective Johnson. Felix Berne was a reluctantly early corner, prodded along by Detective Piggott, who seemed to have developed an abrasive dislike for his charge. Inspector Queen attended to Irene Sewell himself. Osborne found himself hustled into the anteroom by a brawny policeman. Even Nye, the Chancellor’s manager, and Brummer, the black-browed house-detective, were there in firm if polite custody; as were Mrs. Shane, the floor-clerk, and Hubbell, Kirk’s valet-butler.

When they were all assembled Mr. Ellery Queen briskly shut the door, smiled at the silent seated company, cast a professional eye over the detectives ranged against the wall, nodded to Inspector Queen, who had taken up a silent station before the corridor door, and strode to the center of the room.

Through the windows streamed a pale morning light, sluggishly emanating from an overcast, depressing sky. The coffin-like crate lay before them, its lid loosely on; the contents of this remote sarcophagus had not been revealed to them, and more than one puzzled disturbed glance was directed at it.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” began Mr. Ellery Queen, resting one neat shoe on the crate, “I suppose all of you are wondering at the peculiar character of this morning’s little convention. I shan’t keep you in doubt. We’ve gathered this morning to unmask the murderer of the man who met his death in this room not so long ago.”

They were sitting rigidly, staring at him with a sort of fascinated horror. Then Miss Diversey whispered: “Then you know¯” and bit her lip and blushed in confusion.

“Shut up,” snarled Dr. Kirk. “Are we to understand, Queen, that this is to be one of those fantastic exhibitions of crime-nosing you’re reputed to be so addicted to? I must say that¯”

“One at a time, please,” smiled Ellery. “Yes, Dr. Kirk, that’s precisely what this is intended to be. Let’s say: a practical demonstration of the invincibility of logic. Mind over matter. The self-taught brain victorious. And as for your question, Miss Diversey: we shall argue certain points of interest and see where they lead us.” He raised his hand. “No, no, no questions, please . . . . Oh, before I begin. I suppose it’s futile to request the murderer of our little corpse to step forward and save us both time and cerebral wear-and-tear?”

He looked at them gravely. But no one replied; every one kept his eyes fixed guiltily before him.