Dutch Shoe Mystery (9 page)

Janney muttered, “How can I tell?” Nevertheless he wedged himself between the two detectives and fingered the gown. Ellery murmured, “Would it fit you, I wonder?” and the Inspector raised the garment before Janney. It reached to the surgeon’s ankles. “Not mine,” said Janney, distinctly, “Too long.”

The gown was crumpled but unsoiled. It had apparently been freshly laundered.

“It’s not new,” said Ellery. “Look at those frayed hems.”

“The laundry mark. …” The Inspector twisted the garment about suddenly; his fingers sought the inner side of the neckpiece, at the back. Two little punctures testified mutely to the rape of the gown’s laundry mark.

The old man tossed the gown aside.

He picked up a small, biblike linen article with strings at the upper corners. Like the long garment, it was crumpled and unsoiled; it, too, showed unmistakable signs of previous use.

“Might be anybody’s,” volunteered Janney, defensively.

It was a surgeon’s gag.

The next article was a surgeon’s cap; it elicited nothing tangible. Not new, unsoiled, plentifully wrinkled. … Ellery took it from his father’s hand and turned it inside out. Adjusting his
pince-nez
carefully, he brought the headpiece close to his eyes and probed with a fingernail in the minute crevices of the surrounding hems.

With a diffident shrug he replaced the cap on the table. He merely said, “Extremely fortunate for the murderer.”

“You mean—no hair?” demanded Janney quickly.

“Something like that. How alert you are, Doctor. …” Ellery leaned forward to examine the fourth article which Inspector Queen had picked up. The old man held it up to the light. It was a pair of stiffly-starched white duck trousers.

“Here! What’s this?” cried the Inspector. He threw the trousers onto the table, pointed an eager forefinger at the thighs of the garment. On both legs, two inches above the slightly baggy knee, was a broad pleat.

Ellery unaccountably appeared pleased. He removed a silver pencil from his vest-pocket and delicately lifted the sharp edge of one of the pleats. The pencil caught on something. They bent lower and saw that several basting-stitches had been taken in the thighs to hold down the pleats. The stitches were of coarse white thread, and widely separated. On the under side of the trousers similar stitches appeared.

“Evidently our impromptu tailor,” murmured Ellery, “intended his sewing as a purely temporary measure. You see,” he said airily, “basting was sufficient unto the moment. …”

“Thomas!” The Inspector looked about quickly.

Velie loomed at the other end of the table.

“Think you could trace this cotton?”

“Not a chance.”

“Take a stab at it.”

Velie produced a pen-knife and cut off a two-inch length of thread from the pleat of the right leg. He stowed it away in a glassine envelope as carefully as if it were a hair from the murderer’s head.

“Let’s take a look at this on you, Doctor.” The Inspector did not smile. “No, I don’t mean actually on your legs; up against ’em will do.” Janney silently took the trousers and held them up before him, fitting the waistline to his belt. The cuffs fell exactly to his shoetops.

“And with those pleats let out,” ruminated Ellery aloud, “since the pleats take in about four inches of the material. …

What’s your height, Doctor?”

“Five-five.” The surgeon tossed the trousers back to Inspector Queen.

Ellery shrugged. “Not that it signifies anything,” he said, “but the original owner of these trousers is—or was—five feet nine inches tall. But—” he smiled frostily, “that’s hardly a clew. They might have been stolen from any one of the hundreds of hospitals in the City, or from any one of the thousands of physicians, or …”

He stopped short. Inspector Queen had swept aside gown, gag, cap and trousers, and now reverently revealed a pair of white canvas shoes—low-cut oxfords. The old man’s hand shot forward. …

“One moment!” rapped Ellery. “Before you pick them up and handle them, dad. …”

He eyed the shoes in speculative silence. “Ritter.” The detective mumbled in reply. “Did you touch these shoes before you brought them in here?”

“Nope. Just picked up the bundle the way I found it. Felt the shoes inside, in the middle.”

Ellery stooped again and applied his silver pencil. This time he stirred the tip of the white lace on the right shoe.

“Alors
—that’s more like it!” he said, straightening up. “A clew at last.” He whispered into his father’s ear. The old man nodded doubtfully.

On the shoelace at the third set of eyelets there was a half-inch strip of adhesive tape. Its outer surface was perfectly clean. A curious depression in the center of the tape’s width attracted the Inspector. He looked up inquiringly at Ellery.

“Lace broke, I’ll bet a cookie,” muttered the Inspector, “and that dent there is where the two broken ends come together. They don’t fit exactly.”

“Hardly the nucleus of the point,” murmured Ellery. “The tape—the tape! It’s uncommonly dazzling.”

Dr. Janney stared. “Rot!” he said in a loud clear voice. “Don’t see it at all, and I’m accustomed to interpreting phenomena. … Somebody’s merely used adhesive to mend a broken lace. Only thing I’m interested in is the size. Any one can see that’s a smaller shoe than the one I wear.”

“Perhaps. No, don’t touch it!” cried Ellery, as Janney reached forward to grasp one of the shoes. The surgeon shrugged, looked about pleadingly. Then he trudged back to the farther side of the room and sat down, where he waited with stoic eyes.

Ellery raised a tiny corner of the adhesive, felt the underside briefly with the tip of his forefinger. “Well, Doctor,” he called out, “with apologies to you, your skill and your profession, I’m going to supersede you and perform a surgical operation myself. Velie, let’s have your pen-knife.”

He pried the two ends of the strip of tape apart. One edge was curiously jagged. Grasping a corner, he pulled; the adhesive came away with ease. “Still moist,” he said with elation in his voice. “Confirmation—confirmation! Have you noticed, dad—” he hurried on, motioning to Velie “—an envelope, old man!—that it was applied in quite obvious haste? The one edge didn’t even adhere to its brother-surface, and this is powerful stuff.” He deposited the strip of tape in another glassine envelope, which he immediately tucked into the breast-pocket of his coat.

Stooping over the table once more, he pulled on the frayed end of the upper piece of string—it was still in the shoe—and exercising meticulous care not to waste even a quarter-inch, he tied the broken ends together. To do this, he found it necessary to draw in so much of the tip-end that a bare inch of the white lace remained hanging from the topmost eyelet.

“It doesn’t require a necromancer,” he smiled, turning to the Inspector, “to see that if the broken ends had been tied together at the break, not enough would have remained to lace the shoe. Consequently—the adhesive, for which we may thank some nameless but divinely-cast shoelace manufacturer.”

“But Ellery,” protested the Inspector, “what of it? Can’t say that I see much to be gay about.”

“Believe me, sir, my levity was never in more proper order.” Ellery grinned. “Very well, since you’ve asked for it.—Suppose your shoelace broke at any given time—let’s say a particularly awkward moment—and you found that by knotting the torn ends you had so shortened the lace that it was impossible to tie your shoe. What would
you
do?”

“Oh!” The Inspector tugged at his grey mustache. “Well, I guess I’d make shift with something else, just as the murderer did. But even then—”

“That is so sufficient,” said Ellery didactically, “that I
am
beginning to feel the gnawing pangs of interest. …”

Detective Piggott coughed with the obvious purpose of attracting attention. Inspector Queen turned impatiently.

“Well?”

Piggott reddened. “Somethin’ I sort of noticed,” he said shyly. “Where the devil’s the tongues of these here shoes?”

Ellery chuckled explosively. Piggott regarded him with hurt suspicion. But Ellery took off his
pince-nez
and began to scrub at them. “Piggott, you deserve a substantial increase in salary.”

“Eh? What’s that?” The Inspector seemed vaguely displeased. “Poking fun at me?”

Ellery pulled a face. “Now, look here,” he said. “Aside from the lace, the—I might call it the Astounding Mystery of the Missing Tongues—becomes a positively integral part of this investigation. Where are they? When I was examining the shoe before, I discovered—this!”

He grasped the shoe swiftly and poked his finger beneath me laces, far into the forward portion of the vamp, near the toe box. With an effort he scraped at something, and in a moment had pulled out the hidden tongue.

“Here it is,” he said. “And it’s significant that it was pressed, tight and smooth, against the upper wall of the toe box. … And, unless a most promising little theory has gone a-begging. …”

He explored the recesses of the left shoe. Its tongue was also plastered upward and out of sight.

“That’s a queer one,” muttered Inspector Queen. “You’re sure now, Ritter, that you didn’t monkey with these shoes?”

“Johnson’ll tell you,” replied Ritter in an aggrieved tone.

Ellery looked keenly from the Inspector to Ritter; but it was the keenness of introspection. He turned away from the table, head bowed in thought.

“You might be careful of those shoes,” he said absently, striding up and down the Anteroom. He halted. “Dr. Janney.”

The surgeon closed his eyes. “Well.”

“What size shoe do you wear?”

Janney instinctively stole a downward glance at his canvas shoes—apparently exact duplicates of the shoes on the table. “Guess I’m lucky,” he drawled. He rose suddenly, like a Jack-in-the-box. “Still hot on the scent?” he snarled, thrusting his face close to Ellery’s and glaring into his eyes. “Well, Queen, you’re off your trail this time. I wear size 6 ½.”

“Rather small at that,” reflected Ellery. … “But you see, these shoes are only size 6!”

“Size 6 it is,” interrupted the Inspector. “But—”

“Hush!” smiled Ellery. “You can’t know how satisfied I feel to find that the murderer wore these shoes—as they are. … And my satisfaction has little, Doctor, to do with you. … Ritter, where did you find these clothes?”

“Lyin’ on the floor of the telephone booth at the corner of the South and East Corridors.”

“So!” Ellery pulled at his lip, frowning for a long moment. “Dr. Janney, you saw the strip of adhesive I took from this shoe. Is it the same brand as the tape used here?”

“Certainly. What of it? It’s the brand used by practically every hospital in the City.”

“I can’t say I’m drooping with disappointment,” said Ellery. “It was too much to expect that. … Of course, Doctor, none of these articles is yours?”

Janney spread his hands. “Oh, what the devil good will it do me to say yes or no? They don’t look it. But I’ll have to check over my locker to make sure.”

“Cap and gag might be yours, eh?”

“Might be anybody’s!” Janney tore at the tight neckband of his gown. “You saw the gown was too long. As for the trousers—just a clumsy disguise. And I’m certain the shoes aren’t mine.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” said the Inspector belligerently. “At least we’ve no proof they aren’t.”

“Oh, but we have, dad,” said Ellery in his gentlest voice. “Look here.”

He turned both shoes over and pointed to the heels. They were of black rubber. The shoes showed signs of long usage and the heels had been rubbed smooth by the friction of walking. On the right shoe the heel was considerably worn down on the right side. On the left shoe the heel was similarly worn down on the left side. Putting the shoes close together, Ellery pointed to the heels.

“You’ll observe,” he drawled, “that each heel has been rubbed away to approximately the same depth. …”

The Inspector’s glance strayed floorward, to the little surgeon’s left foot. Janney’s weight rested on the other.

“Dr. Janney,” continued Ellery, “is quite right. These shoes are not his!”

D
R. JOHN MINCHEN’S ORDERLY
soul received blow after blow during the hectic morning of Abigail Doorn’s death. His Hospital was disorganized. His internes were stewing about the corridors, smoking in flagrant violation of the rules and discussing the murder in lively professional conversation. The feminine contingent seemed to feel that the tragedy suspended all regulations; they giggled and chattered among themselves until the senior nurses, scandalized, herded them back to their wards and private rooms.

The main floor was crowded with detectives and policemen. Minchen, scowling, weaved his way through the groups which dotted the corridors until he came to the door leading into the Anteroom. He rapped and was admitted by a tobacco-chewing detective.

In a quick glance he encompassed the tableau—Janney, his face pale and set, standing as if at bay in the center of the room; Inspector Queen confronting him, lines of perplexity and irritation on his smooth old face; Ellery Queen leaning against the wheel-table, fingering a white canvas shoe; plain-clothesmen scattered about, silent and watchful.

He coughed. The Inspector pivoted on his heel and walked across the room to the table. A little color came into Janney’s cheeks; his body sagged like an empty sack into a chair.

Ellery smiled. “Yes, John?”

“Sorry to interrupt.” Minchen was nervous. “But things have taken a slightly serious turn in the Waiting Room and I thought—”

“Miss Doorn?” asked Ellery quickly.

“Yes. She’s on the verge of collapse. Really ought to be taken home. Do you think you could possibly—?”

Ellery and the Inspector conferred in low tones. The Inspector looked anxious. “Dr. Minchen, is it really your opinion that the young lady needs …” He chopped his thought abruptly. “Who is her closest kin?”

“Mr. Doorn—Hendrik Doorn. He’s her uncle—Abigail Doorn’s only brother. I would also suggest that a woman accompany her—perhaps Miss Fuller. …”

“Mrs. Doorn’s companion?” said Ellery slowly. “No, I think not. Not just yet. … John, are Miss Doorn and Miss Dunning chums?”