The Mystery of the Vanished Victim (2 page)

“Thanks, no, Gully, I’m doing fine. So long.”

Gully had run ahead to hold the door open. “Don’t you worry about a thing. If a case comes along I’ll take down all the facts for you!”

“You do that. Yes, sir, use that notebook, Gully. It’s a detective’s best friend. ’Bye!” And Ellery Queen had hurried down the hall and disappeared into the elevator.

Use that notebook, his famous uncle had said. The very last thing before he had left.

So now Gulliver Queen used it, making his first entry on the blank opening page of the little red book.

He wrote:
Katal! Katal!
, putting in exclamation points because the mynah bird always seemed to exclaim the word.

Gully shut the notebook. Now what?

Well, what would Ellery Queen’s first step have been in such a problem?

Gully’s eyes lit up. He offered his hand to the mynah, and rather to his surprise, the bird obligingly hopped onto it, clutching Gully’s forefinger. Gully hurried into his uncle’s study, which was lined from floor to ceiling with books.

“Katal! Katal!”
the mynah boomed again. Gully set it down on Ellery Queen’s desk, where it began to walk around inquisitively.

He ran over to the shelf of dictionaries. Selecting a French-English dictionary, Gully looked through the entire
K
section. But he could find no word remotely like
katal
. On a sudden thought, he tried the
C
listings, too, even though something told him that the word began with
K
. There was no
catal
, either.

The mynah plodded across the leather-inlaid top of the desk, its yellow wattles bobbing.
“Katal!”
its sharp voice repeated. It almost sounded as if the bird was trying to help.

Gully put the French-English dictionary back and took down a bulky German-English dictionary. Still no luck. He tried the Italian dictionary, the Spanish—all the foreign dictionaries his uncle had. No
katal
or
catal
.

Suddenly a thought struck him. Mynah birds were Asiatic.

Something clicked in Gulliver Queen’s memory. Only this morning he had noticed a photograph in the newspaper …

Gully leaped for the kitchen, where the Queens’ housekeeper was busy peeling potatoes.

“Where’s this morning’s paper, Mrs. Butterly?” Gully yelled. “I left it in the living room.”

“You certainly did, Gulliver,” Mrs. Butterly said grimly. “All over the living room floor.”

“I’m sorry! I was going to pick it up—later. Where is it now, Mrs. Butterly?”

“Under these potato peelings,” the housekeeper replied, “where it’s going to stay. You’re not messing up my nice clean kitchen, too, Gulliver Queen!”

“But I’ve
got
to see it,” Gully pleaded. “It’s important!”

The housekeeper’s hand came down just quickly enough to slap Gully’s hand before he could tug at the paper on the kitchen table.

“Peeling these potatoes for Inspector Queen’s and your dinner is important, too, young man,” Mrs. Butterly said. “Anyway, I only used one piece. The rest is over there, on the chair.”

Gully dashed over to the chair and found what he was looking for staring up at him from the topmost page.

“Thanks, Mrs. Butterly!” He hurried back to the study.

“Have an apple, Gulliver!” Mrs. Butterly called after him, smiling. But Gully was too absorbed in the newspaper story to hear her.

Above a large news photo a headline said:

The picture showed the missing man’s room, with an overturned chair, a smashed vase, and a sizable birdcage of wicker or rattan on a stand which lay on its side on the floor. The door of the cage hung open … and there was no bird inside!

A thrill ran down Gully’s spine at this proof that his memory had not played a trick on him. His uncle would be proud of him … if he was right; check and doublecheck, Uncle Ellery always told him. But something deep inside Gully assured him that he
was
right, and that checking would only prove him so.

He settled back in Ellery Queen’s immense leather chair and read the newspaper story:

His own grandfather was in charge of the case!

Gully eagerly examined the photo of the missing guard’s room again. No question about it—the birdcage was empty, hill mynahs were native to Jaipur and India and other countries in that part of Asia … and here, strutting about on his uncle’s desk, was a lost hill mynah!

There was a simple way to learn if his deduction was correct. Gully seized the Manhattan telephone directory, looked up the Jalpuri embassy, reached for the phone, and swiftly dialed the number.

“Jalpuri Embassy,” a pleasant female voice with the faintest accent said in Gully’s ear.

“My name is Gulliver Queen and I’m trying to find out something,” Gully said, trying to keep the excitement out of his own voice. “Could you tell me if a certain word is a word from the Jalpuri language?”

“One moment, please. I shall connect you with someone who can assist you.”

“Thanks!”

A moment later a man’s voice said, “Yes, please?”

Gully identified himself again and repeated his question.

“There is no Jalpuri language as such,” the man said. “In Jaipur we speak one of the many dialects of Hindi, which is the chief vernacular tongue of most of India and of the peoples of allied origin. What is the word, sir?”

Gully was too tense to feel a thrill at being addressed as “sir.” He said, slowly and distinctly,
“Katal,”
doing his best to pronounce it just as the mynah bird did.

“Katal?”
The man seemed astonished.

“Yes, sir,” Gully said. “Do you recognize it?”

“Certainly. But—”

“Would you please tell me what it means?”

“It means,” the man said gravely, “‘Kill!’”

T
HE
squad car made its way through Manhattan’s midtown traffic, its siren wide open as it wriggled in and out of the long lines of creeping cars. Inspector Richard Queen turned in the front seat, where he was sitting beside the uniformed police driver, to look at his grandson. Gully had the mynah bird perched on the knee of his brown slacks, stroking its dark feathers.

“Gosh, Grandpa, I sure hope I’m not leading you on a wild goose chase,” Gully said, noticing his grandfather’s glance.

“Tame mynah chase, don’t you mean, Gulliver?” Inspector Queen chuckled. He was little and wiry, with a cropped gray mustache and frosty eyes that had chilled many a man twice his size. “My guess is you hope you
are
.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Gully said defensively.

“Don’t you, now! You wouldn’t sort of like to keep that little monster, Gully, would you?”

“I never said—”

“You didn’t have to.” Then Inspector Queen’s eyes frosted again. “My hunch is you won’t have a choice in the matter. Looks to me as if you’ve stumbled onto a real lead in the case of that missing embassy guard, Gully. Anyway, we’ll soon know.”

“Yes, Grandpa,” Gully mumbled.

When they pulled up to a fine-looking four-story marble-front house off Fifth Avenue, Gully clutched the mynah securely and climbed out of the car, trying to appear unconcerned. The Jalpuri UN ambassador’s residence had five wide, curving marble steps that led up to a pair of huge mahogany doors. At one side of the building a driveway ran back to a big private garage.

Inspector Queen mounted the marble steps, Gully and the mynah bird following close behind. His grandfather pressed the bell button. The gleaming brass door-latch immediately clicked.

Swinging open one of the impressive doors, Inspector Queen stepped into a spacious entry hall with a wonderfully deep-piled Indian rug on the tiled floor and the flag of Jaipur hung on the wall behind the receptionist’s desk. Gully shut the door and turned around. The receptionist, a dark-faced woman with a caste mark on her forehead, wearing a beautiful rose costume draped over one shoulder—a
sari
, Gully knew it was called—had risen from the desk and was staring at the mynah bird in Gully’s grasp. She seemed startled.

“I’m Inspector Queen from police headquarters,” Gully’s grandfather said, showing his shield.

“Yes, sir,” the Jalpuri woman said to the inspector, but her dark eyes were still fixed on the mynah. “You wish to see—?”

“The son of that missing guard. Balbir, I think his name is,” the inspector said.

She pressed a buzzer. Almost at once Gully saw a blue turban with a dark face under it pop into view at the bottom of the stairwell leading to the entry hall from downstairs. It was a teenaged face, broad and open, and the boy who was attached to it came leaping up the stairs like a young tiger.

“Balbir!” the woman in the
sari
said. “Inspector Queen of the police wishes to speak to you.”

“Good morning, sir,” the Sikh boy said, bowing. But in the middle of the bow his jet-black eyes caught sight of what Gully was carrying, and he came forward in another rush.

“Rajah! Our mynah!” he cried joyfully. He said something in his native language, and the mynah immediately flew to him. The Sikh boy nuzzled it with delight. The Jalpuri receptionist quietly returned to her work.

“You recognize him, then,” Inspector Queen said to the dark-faced boy.

“Oh, yes, sir! He is my father’s pet.” Balbir Singh looked up anxiously. “Where did you find him, sir? Where is my father? Please, sir!”

“My grandson here found him,” the inspector said. “As to where your father is, Balbir, I wish I could tell you. We’ve found no trace of him yet. I’m hoping that this bird may help us locate him. Oh! My grandson, Gulliver Queen. Balbir Singh, Gully.”

The two boys shook hands. Gully was pleased at Balbir’s grip—it was strong and sure.

“I am honored to meet the grandson of such a distinguished grandfather,” the Sikh boy said solemnly.

“Well, thanks,” Gully said. “And I’m awfully sorry about your father, Balbir. I’m sure he’s all right.”

“I can only pray that he is,” Balbir said. “Where did you find Rajah, Mr. Queen?”

“I’ll tell you the whole story. But please call me Gully, Balbir. That’s what my friends call me.” And Gully told the turbaned young Sikh how the bird had come into his possession. When he mentioned the Hindi word that had led him to the Jalpuri embassy residence, the mynah bird promptly echoed,
“Katal!”

Balbir’s dark skin paled. “
Katal?
But that means—”

“We know what it means, Balbir,” Inspector Queen said gently. “Then your father’s mynah isn’t in the habit of using the word?”

“Sir, I have never heard Rajah utter that word before!” The boy was frightened. “Is it possible that …?”

The inspector skillfully steered him away from the word. “Lucky he said it, or Gulliver here mightn’t have figured out where he came from. Takes after his Uncle Ellery as a detective, Gully does.”

“Gosh, Grandpa,” Gully said, “I wish I did.”

“Ellery? Ellery Queen, the famous detective? Is Ellery Queen your
uncle
, Gulliver?” Balbir’s black eyes were wide with awe.

“Gully,” Gully corrected him. “Yes, Balbir, he is. You mean you’ve heard of Ellery Queen even in Jaipur?”

“Yes, I have read many of your uncle’s books,” Balbir said excitedly. “Are you going to be a—a private eye, too, Gully?”

“I don’t think so,” Gully said. “I’d like to be an engineer like my father. In fact, Dad is working on a UN project overseas right now. No, I won’t be a detective.”

“’Tective, ’tective!” Rajah echoed.

“He picks up words fast, doesn’t he?” Inspector Queen said thoughtfully.

“’Tective!” the mynah boomed again.

The turbaned boy uttered a sharp word in Hindi, and the bird tucked his head under a wing and went to sleep.

“But your own grandfather, a police inspector, says you are a good detective, Gully,” Balbir said earnestly. “Perhaps you will help to find my father?”

“I’m just along to take notes on interesting cases for Uncle Ellery while he’s away,” Gully said. “Anyway, Balbir, with my grandfather in charge, you’ve nothing to worry about.”

“Yes,” Balbir sighed. “I am most grateful. And now I am hopeful, too. Rajah’s return—that is a good omen. Yes, you will find my father safe and well, sir.”

“I am quite sure of it, Balbir,” a clear, cultured voice behind them said.

They all turned. A man as short and wiry as Inspector Queen was coming down the beautiful marble staircase that led to the upper floors. He was dressed in a quiet gray American suit that brought out the rich color of his skin and matched the thick streaks of gray in his glossy black hair. He walked quickly over to Inspector Queen, extending his hand.

“I believe you are Inspector Queen? I am Sujit Jind, Inspector. I am sorry I was not here when your detectives came yesterday. I am most concerned about Balbir’s father. Shamshir Singh has long been in my service. He is a loyal and trusted friend as well as employee, and he must be found quickly.”

“We’re doing our best, Mr. Ambassador—”

“No, no, that is for official places and occasions,” the Jalpuri UN ambassador said with a quick smile. “Please address me as Dr. Jind.”

“Me, too?” a girl’s mischievous voice called from just out of sight around the curve of the staircase.

“Come down, Prema,” sighed the ambassador. “You must forgive my daughter, Inspector Queen. She cannot quite decide between the submissive tradition of Jalpuri girls, in which she was brought up, and the freedom your teenagers enjoy in this country. She has been attending one of your American schools for some time now.”