The Chinese Orange Mystery

“I thought so,” murmured Ellery. “The complex mind, Osborne. As to how, it was a matter of trial and error until I hit the winning combination; I simply put myself in your place and figured out what you would have to do . . . . Now you see, ladies and gentlemen, why it was impossible for Osborne to do the simple thing and get a necktie somewhere to put on the tieless dead man. He couldn’t use his own, of course, and he had no place to get another, because he couldn’t afford to be seen leaving that office of his in sight of Mrs. Shane, even casually. He might have slipped out by the anteroom-corridor door, but then he couldn’t risk all the time required and the almost certain eventuality that he would be seen¯if, say, he went downstairs to buy a tie. He couldn’t go to Kirk’s apartment, either, for the same reason. And he didn’t live at the Chancellor¯Kirk once told him in my presence to ‘go home’¯so he couldn’t secure one of his own ties . . . . I suppose, Osborne, you took the dead man’s vest and secreted it in the office there somewhere until you could safely burn it with all the other things you took from his clothes?”

“Yes,” sighed Osborne in the queerest, mildest way. And Ellery noted, with a faint perplexity, that Miss Diversey looked like death and seemed about to faint.

“You see,” he murmured, “if the man was a priest and wore the clerically inverted collar and no necktie, he must also have been wearing the special clerical vest which comes up to the neck. I knew then that the murderer had to take it away with him, since a clerical vest would have given the whole thing away; but I knew it much too late to prove anything by it. The opportunity to search every one had long since gone . . . . Osborne, why did you kill an inoffensive little man¯you, who aren’t the killer type at all? You did it for a poor return, Osborne; you would have had to sell the stamp under cover. But even if you could have got fifty thousand¯”

“Ozzie¯Osborne, for God’s sake,” whispered Donald Kirk, “I didn’t dream¯”

“It was for her,” said Osborne in the same queer mild way. “I was a failure. She was the first woman who ever paid any attention to me. And I’m a poor man. She even said that she wouldn’t think of marrying a man who couldn’t provide the¯the comforts . . . . When the opportunity came¯” He licked his lips. “It was a temptation. He¯he wrote a letter months ago addressed to Mr. Kirk from China. I opened the letter, as I open all¯all Mr. Kirk’s mail. He wrote all about the stamp, about resigning from his mission, about coming to New York¯he was an American originally¯to sell the stamp and retire. I¯I saw the opportunity. I knew that the stamp, if what he said was true, would . . . “ Osborne shuddered. No one said anything. “I planned it then, from the beginning. I corresponded with him, using Mr. Kirk’s name. I never told Mr. Kirk a word about him. I didn’t tell her . . . . We conducted a long correspondence. So I learned that he didn’t have any relatives or friends in this country who could inquire about him if he disappeared. I learned when he was coming, told him when to come, gave him¯sort of¯advice. I never knew till he actually showed up¯till I had killed him, when his scarf fell off¯that he was a priest, with no tie, with a turned-around collar. I’d thought he was just a missionary¯an ordinary missionary. Methodist, maybe, or Baptist.”

“Yes?” prompted Ellery gently, as the man fell silent.

“When I let him into this room I went back after a while, told him 1 hadn’t realized it before, but he must be the man from China, and that I knew all about the stamp, that Mr. Kirk had told me, and all that. Then he got friendly and unbent and said that his brother-missionaries at the Chinese mission knew all about the stamp and that he had gone to America to sell it to Mr. Kirk. So when I killed him I had to make sure nobody could find out who he was.”

“Why?” asked Ellery.

“Because if the police could trace him to that Chinese mission¯it was very likely they could if they knew he was a priest and just arrived¯they’d learn from the other priests about the stamp and why he had come¯and they’d investigate Mr. Kirk and me, and Mr. Kirk really wouldn’t know about the stamp and I’d be accused . . . . Maybe they’d find some of my letters, and trace the handwriting of the signatures back to me . . . . I¯I couldn’t face all that. I’m not an actor. I knew I’d give way . . . . So I thought of all that backwards business in a flash. But about the door and the cord and the body and things I¯I’d figured out long before and had everything ready. When it was all over and I had him¯him dead standing there, I tried to get it to work, but it wouldn’t at first¯the cord wasn’t just right-and I tried and tried until finally it worked. I couldn’t get a tie . . . .” His voice was growing fainter and fainter until it died away entirely. There was a dazed expression on his face; he seemed unable to grasp the horror of his position.