The Chinese Orange Mystery

Ellery turned aside, sick at heart. “The woman was Miss Diversey?” he murmured. “If you didn’t tell her, then she couldn’t have had anything to do with this, of course.”

“Oh,” said Miss Diversey, and she fell back in a faint.

It happened before any of them realized his intention. He had been so mild, so dazed, so humble. It was only later that they knew it had been a last desperate, clever pose . . . . Ellery’s back was turned. The Inspector was standing at the door with Sergeant Velie. The detectives . . .

Osborne lunged forward like a deer and scrambled past Ellery before he could turn. Inspector Queen and the Sergeant cried out and sprang simultaneously, both missing the man by inches. And Osborne vaulted the sill of the open window and screamed once and vanished.

* * *

“Before I go,” drawled Mr. Ellery Queen a half hour later in the almost deserted anteroom, “I should like to speak to you, Kirk, alone.”

Donald Kirk was still motionless in his chair, hands dangling hopelessly between his knees, staring at the empty open window. Little Miss Temple sat quietly by his side, waiting. The others had gone.

“Yes?” Donald raised heavy eyes. “Queen, I can’t believe it. Old Ozzie . . . He was always the most loyal, the most honest chap. And he finally came a cropper over a woman.” He shivered.

“Don’t blame Miss Diversey, Kirk. She’s more to be pitied than blamed. Osborne was a victim of circumstances. He was repressed, at the dangerous age. His laboring imagination became excited . . . and the woman possesses a certain virile attractiveness. Some strain of weakness in his character came to the surface . . . . Miss Temple, I wonder if you’d understand¯Will you leave me alone with your fiance a moment?”

She rose without a word.

But Donald grasped her wrist and pulled her down to him and said: “No, no, Queen. I’ve made up my mind. This is one woman who can’t bring a man anything but luck. I shan’t keep anything from Jo. I think I know¯”

“Sensible resolution.” Ellery went to his coat, which was flung over a chair, and dug into one of the pockets. Then he returned with a small packet.

“I gave you,” he smiled, “an engagement gift not so long ago. Now permit me to give you a wedding gift.”

Kirk licked his lips once. “The letters?” Then he swallowed hard, glanced at Miss Temple, set his chin, and said: “Marcella’s letters?”

“Yes.”

“Queen . . . “ He took them and held them tightly. “I never thought I’d get them back. Queen, I’m in your debt so much¯”

“Tut, tut. Obviously, a little arson ceremony is called for,” chuckled Ellery. “I suppose it’s au fait to confide in your future wife, but I should consign them to the flames and confide in no one else.” He sighed a little. “Well,” he said, reaching for his coat, “that’s over. There’s always a silver lining, et cetera. I trust you’ll both be very happy, but I doubt it.”

“Doubt it, Mr. Queen?” murmured Miss Temple.

“Oh,” said Ellery hastily, “don’t take that personally. I was making the usual misogynist’s observation about marriage.”

“You’re a darling, Mr. Queen.” Miss Temple eyed him suddenly. “You’ve been rather regal about all this ghastly business and I fancy I shouldn’t ask too many questions¯should be thankful for how everything’s turned out. But I’m curious¯”

“With your intellect, my dear, that’s easily understood. Haven’t I made everything clear?”

“Not quite.” She linked her arm in Donald’s and pressed it to her. “You made an unconscionable fuss about that tangerine, Mr. Queen. And here you’ve neglected to mention it at all!”

A shade passed over Ellery’s face; he shook his head. “Strangest thing. I suppose you realize what a monstrous tragedy of errors Osborne’s subtlety bred. I’m sure he had no idea, in leaving all those backwards things, of involving any one. He probably saw no significance in it at all; merely turned everything around as a cover-up for the collar and missing necktie without grasping the implications.

“But fate was unkind to him. It took hold of several unrelated facts and hurled them at me. I looked for significance in everything. But I looked, as I explained, for the wrong kind of significance. The result was that everything backwards, it seemed to me, about anybody at all required investigation. And there were you, Miss Temple,” his gray eyes twinkled, “fresh from China, the abode of the living backwardnesses. Do you blame me for attempting to see significance in the fact that the victim had eaten a tangerine¯a Chinese orange¯shortly before his death?”

“Oh,” she murmured; she seemed disappointed. “Then his eating of the tangerine meant nothing at all? I was hoping for something very clever.”