Dutch Shoe Mystery (27 page)

The old man grunted, but there was a smile beneath his grey mustache. It was a good sign. He had not seen his son wear such an air of detachment and peace in many moons.

The eventful telephone call came just after the Inspector had reappeared in the apartment after another barren afternoon. Lines of discouragement lengthened his face. They dissolved and his features stiffened into an intent mask as he heard Ellery’s voice from the bedroom.

It was an excited voice—a fresh and joyous voice—such a voice as Ellery employed only at rare intervals.

The Inspector closed the outer door softly and stood listening, scarcely breathing.

“Pete! Where are you?” At first there was a note of anxiety. Then the voice deepened, grew gay. “Marvelous! Marvelous, Pete! Connecticut, eh? Reasonable enough. … Hard time? Well, no matter. … Good man! Guard it with your life. You got the paper? Great! … Well, no. Make a copy and let me have it the moment you return to town—three o’clock in the morning, if necessary. I’ll be waiting up for you. … Right. Hurry!”

The Inspector heard the crash of the receiver and Ellery’s strong voice shouting, “Djuna! It’s over!”

“What’s over?” demanded the old man as Ellery bounded into the living-room.

“Oh, dad!” Ellery grasped his father’s arm and shook it gently. “My case is complete.
Finis.
Pete Harper—”

“Pete Harper, eh?” The Inspector was grim. Lines of fatigue bordered his old mouth. “And if you had work for somebody, why didn’t you let my boys take care of it?”

“Now, dad,” chuckled Ellery, forcing the old man into the armchair, “you should know better than to ask that question. There was a reason—case wasn’t complete. And I didn’t want the official mark on the work Pete did for me. If it hadn’t worked out there would have been a lot of explaining to do. …

“It’s all over but the shouting. When Pete gets here tonight and delivers to me that very interesting document. … A
leetle
more patience, sire.”

“All right, son.” The old man looked tired. He lay back in the chair and closed his eyes. “I’m due for a rest. …” The wise old eyes flew open. “You didn’t seem particularly pleased about these murders twenty-four hours ago.”

Ellery raised his long arms in mock adoration of an invisible idol. “But I wasn’t successful then!” he cried. “And to-day I am. For—to quote the irrepressible Disraeli—‘Success is the child of audacity’—and I have been so audacious in my reasoning, good father, as even you would not believe. … Hereafter I’ll follow as a blessed rule the Gallic precept of
Toujours Audace!”

*
The manuscript of
Murder of the Marionettes,
one of the detective stories Ellery wrote under his own name.—J. J. McC.

A
LWAYS, TOWARD THE CLIMAX
of a case, the tension which the Queens inevitably experienced communicated itself to the atmosphere of their apartment. It was something in the air—an effluvium of excitement which they neither controlled nor concealed, revealing itself in the jumpiness of Djuna, the silent irritability of the Inspector, the vigorous certainty of Ellery.

Ellery had summoned his father’s cronies to solemn conclave. His plans were shrouded in mist and mystery. If during the darkness of Friday night he had confided to his father something of what was in his mind, neither father nor son revealed the confidence. Nor did either refer to the incident of Pete Harper’s nonchalant appearance at their door at 2:30
A.M.
Saturday morning. Perhaps the Inspector was unaware of the reporter’s nocturnal visit; he had been tossing on his bed when Ellery, in dressing-gown and slippers, admitted Harper to the apartment, gave him a stiff drink of whisky and a handful of cigarettes, took from him a slim crackling document and packed him off, bleary-eyed but imperturbable, to his own rooms.

On Saturday afternoon at 2:00 o’clock Inspector Queen and Ellery Queen entertained two guests at luncheon—District Attorney Sampson and Sergeant Velie. Djuna, lips parted, hovered about them.

Sampson’s eyes accused Ellery. “There’s something in the wind.”

“A veritable tornado,” smiled Ellery. “Drink your
café,
Honorable D.A. We are about to embark on a voyage of discovery.”

“You mean—it’s all over?” Sampson was incredulous.

“Nor more nor less.” Ellery turned to Sergeant Velie. “Did you get that report of Kneisel’s contacts during the past day or so?”

“Sure, Mike.” The giant tossed a sheet of paper across the table. Ellery scanned it with half-closed eyes. Then he tossed it back. “Well, it doesn’t matter now.”

He slumped in his chair and rested in his favorite position—on the nape of his neck. He regarded the ceiling dreamily. “It’s been a fascinating chase,” he murmured. “Involved some pretty points—some pretty points indeed. I don’t know when I’ve enjoyed myself more thoroughly—I mean after it was all over.” He grinned.

“I shan’t tell you the answer yet. … Some of my reasoning was complicated, and I want to see what dad, or you, Sampson, or you, Velie, make of it.

“Let’s see what we have in the first murder. Well, in the case of Abigail Doorn, there were two extraordinarily fat clews. And so innocent-appearing! Just a pair of white canvas shoes, for one thing, and a pair of white duck trousers, for the other.”

“What of them?” grumbled Sampson. “They were both interesting, I’ll admit, but to base a whole prosecution on ’em—”

“What of them, indeed?” Ellery closed his eyes completely. “Let’s see what you do with them when I bring out some salient items.

“We found a pair of shoes. There were three significant features in these shoes: the broken lace, the adhesive on the lace, and the tongues smoothed up inside to the top of the toe-box.

“On the surface, the explanation seems elementary. The broken lace connotes an accident, the adhesive connotes a repair, and the back-flapped tongues connote—what?”

Sampson fiercely bunched his brows. Gigantic Velie merely seemed bewildered. The Inspector wore a look of concentration. None of the three uttered a sound.

“No answer? You don’t see the logical reasoning?” Ellery sighed. “Well, we’ll let it go at that. Except to add that it was these three items from the impostor’s shoes which gave me the first—and in its way the most important—indication of the truth.”

“Say,” said Velie hoarsely, “you mean to tell me, Mr. Queen, you knew right then and there who pulled the job?”

“Velie, good and earnest soul,” smiled Ellery, “I aver nothing of the kind. But I do say that from analysis of the shoe-points, and from a most illuminating point gleaned from the trousers, my field of speculation narrowed to a gratifying degree. So amazingly so that I could have told you a good deal about the criminal’s general description.

“As for the trousers, surely it must have struck you how interesting and informative were those basted stitches above the knees, and the very presence of the trousers at all. …”

“Aside from showing that the original owner of the pants, whoever he was,” said the Inspector wearily, “was taller than the impostor who stole ’em—thereby making it necessary for the impostor to shorten the legs—I can’t see anything eye-opening about the trousers.”

Sampson decapitated the head of a cigar, savagely. “I must be the world’s prize cluck,” he said. “I simply can’t see one conclusive theory so far.”

“Miserere,”
murmured Ellery. “And a couple of
Kol Nidres.
To proceed. We reach the second murder, wherein our late and lamented friend the good leech was summarily removed from the ken of men. …

“Here again permit me to be categorical. Before a certain eventuality occurred, there was only one point which stood out. And that was—the
condition
in which Janney was found.”

“Condition?” Sampson was puzzled.

“Yes. The evidence offered by the simple fact of Janney’s posthumous facial appearance. You will recall that he was murdered obviously in the midst of his work—on the
Congenital Allergy
manuscript. The expression of his face was as serene as if he had died in his sleep. No surprise, no horror, no apprehension of death.

“Link this with the wound which stunned him and its specific location on his body—and you have a damnably intriguing situation.

“A situation which grew even more intriguing when the second clew presented itself.”

“It doesn’t intrigue me,” said Sampson. He seemed to be in a disagreeable mood.

“Waived, sir.” Ellery smiled again. “The second clew. … Ah, the second clew! There’s fate for you,
messieurs.
Dr. Minchen’s removal of the filing-cabinet which contained Janney’s case-records—knowledge, light, my case was complete. So beautiful, so snugly mortised! And how closely I came to missing it altogether through Minchen’s overdeveloped sense of property value. …

“Had the second crime never been committed, the murderer of Mrs. Doorn must have gone scot-free. With all humility I submit the confession that if Janney hadn’t met his Maker as he did I should be helpless to-day. Only by solving the mystery of Janney’s demise was I able to retrace the astounding story of how Mrs. Doorn was murdered.”

Inspector Queen dipped his fingers into his snuff-box. “I’m afraid I’m as dense as friend Henry thinks he is,” he said. “As usual when you’re ‘explaining’ a solution without making a darned thing clear, I feel like the feller who’s told a joke, doesn’t see the point, and laughs anyway to save his face. … El, just what is the meaning of that filing-cabinet? From what you say it’s almost as important to you as those shoes, although I can’t see
that
either. Just how does the cabinet clinch the case?”

Ellery chuckled. “Whereupon we embark upon the voyage of discovery which I predicted a moment ago. The time has come, and so on.” He rose and leaned over the table. “I must admit my pulse is far from normal at the prospect. And I can promise all of you a most delightful surprise. … Get your things on, boys, while I call the Hospital.”

They shook their heads at each other as Ellery strode into the bedroom. They heard him call the number of the Hospital.

“Dr. Minchen. … John? This is Ellery Queen. I’m going to conduct a little laboratory experiment, and I require the wherewithal. … Yes, a little job for you. … Fine! Have Dr. Janney’s filing-cabinet restored to his office. And placed in precisely its old and accustomed position. … Is that clear? … Yes, at once. I’m leaving for your sacred stamping-ground with a small but distinguished party in two shakes of a whisker. Good-bye!”

D
R. JOHN MINCHEN, PALE
and curious, was waiting at the door of Dr. Janney’s office—a policeman on stolid guard at his side—when Ellery, Inspector Queen, the District Attorney, Sergeant Velie and, incredibly, a trembling hot-eyed Djuna walked rapidly into the Dutch Memorial Hospital.

For all of Ellery’s vaunted suavity, he was patently the most excited of the group, Djuna not excepted. Two red spots burned in his dark cheeks, and his eyes glittered—liquid and lively.

He herded them into the office impatiently, pushing the muscular policeman out of his way with scant ceremony and, as an afterthought, a clipped apology.

Minchen, quiet, sad, introspective, merely looked at his friend.

Ellery gripped the physician’s biceps. “John! I need some one to take a bit of stenographic dictation. Who … ? Oh, yes. That nurse. Dr. Janney’s assistant. Lucille Price. Get her for me immediately, there’s a good fellow.”

He dashed into the office as Minchen hurried away.

The Inspector was rooted in the center of the room, hands folded behind his back. “What now, you stage manager?” he asked mildly. There was a rueful gleam far back in his eyes. “I can’t see the cabinet’s made any difference.”

Ellery glanced over at the corner of the room behind the dead surgeon’s desk. A single green-steel filing-cabinet now stood directly behind it, across the right-angle made by the meeting walls. In this way it was exactly parallel to the desk.

“Velie,” drawled Ellery, “you’re the only one of us, to my knowledge, who was in the room
before
the murder of Dr. Janney. Remember? It was during the preliminary examination of Mrs. Doorn’s death, and you came here to search Janney’s office for his address-book. On the Swanson trail.”

“That’s right, Mr. Queen.”

“Do you recall seeing this cabinet?”

The giant rumbled reproachfully, “Sure do. It’s my business, Mr. Queen. Even tried to open the drawers, thinkin’ the address-book might be in the cabinet. But it was locked. I didn’t mention it, anyway, because these drawers were marked with cards—they’re there now, I see—tellin’ what’s in each one. Didn’t look likely that book was there.”

“Very naturally.” Ellery lit a cigarette with flying fingers. “And was the cabinet in
exactly
the position it’s in now?”

“Yep.”

“Were the corners of the desk as close to the wall as they are now?”

“That’s the ticket, Mr. Queen. I remember the corners were so near the wall over on that side that I could only get behind the desk on the side nearer the window. Even then it was a tight squeeze.”

“Excellent! That checks. I might say, Velie,” said Ellery with an unoffending grin, “that by omitting to mention the existence and position of the cabinet you missed your great opportunity for undying fame. Of course, you couldn’t have known. … Ah, come in, John. Come in, Miss Price.”

Dr. Minchen stepped aside to allow the trimly uniformed Lucille Price to enter. When they had both stepped over the threshold Ellery crossed the room quickly and closed the door.

“Nous commençons,”
he said in a cheerful voice. He returned to the center of the room, rubbing his hands. “Miss Price, I want you to sit at your desk and take more notes for us. That’s right” The nurse sat down and, unlocking the top drawer of her small desk, extracted a notebook and a pencil; she waited quietly.

Ellery waved at his father. “Dad, I’d be obliged if you will sit in Dr. Janney’s swivel-chair.” The Inspector obeyed with a faint smile. Ellery clapped the big sergeant’s back with vigor, motioning him to take his stand by the door. “Sampson, you might sit—here.” Ellery pulled a chair forward from the west wall and the District Attorney seated himself without a word. “Djuna, old son.” The boy was breathing hard with excitement. “You’re naturally in on this. You stand over by the bookcase, where you’ll be close to Sergeant Velie’s huge and protective wings.” Djuna scuttled across the room and stood in precisely the spot indicated, as if by standing one inch farther to the right he would have completely upset Ellery’s plans. “John. You might sit down beside District Attorney Sampson.” The physician obeyed. “And now we’re ready. The stage is set. Old spider’s waiting with figuratively dripping jaws, and if I’m not mistaken we’ll have the unsuspecting fly quicker than quick!”