Chinese Orange Mystery (15 page)

“But why shouldn’t he have, man, if it’s Chinese?”

“You don’t understand,” said Macgowan irritably. “Except in the case of U.S. collectors—that is, collectors of United States stamps—few specialists in any specific field go in for locals. They’re not considered real philatelic objects. No, that’s a clumsy explanation. Virtually every country in the world went through a period, before the passage of their respective national postage acts, of diversified local issues of stamps—cities, communes, towns issuing their own local stamps. Most American collectors don’t consider these genuine philatelic objects. They want only stamps issued and used nationally—by a whole country. Kirk is like the rest; he’s always collected nationally authorized issues of China exclusively. I’m one of those nuts who go in for the unusual—I collect only locals of all countries. Not interested in the orthodox issues. This Foochow is really a local—there were a number of Chinese Treaty Ports which issued their own stamps. Then how,” Macgowan’s face darkened, “did Donald come to have this Foochow local?”

They were silent for a while as the taxi threaded its way among the pillars of Sixth Avenue.

Then Ellery drawled: “By the way, how valuable is the Foochow?”

“Valuable?” Macgowan repeated absently. “That depends. In all cases of rarities the price is a variable consideration, depending upon how much it has brought at its last sale. The famous British Guiana of 1856—the one-cent magenta listed by Scott’s as Number 13—which is in the possession of the Arthur Hind estate is worth $32,500.00, as I remember it—I may be wrong in my recollection, but it cost Hind that or somewhere around that. It’s catalogued at $50,000.00, which means nothing. It’s worth $32,500.00 because that’s approximately what Hind paid for it at the Ferrary auction in Paris. … This Foochow set me back a cool ten thousand.”

“Ten thousand dollars!” Ellery whistled. “But you’d no idea what it had brought previously, since it’s not been generally known before. So how could you—”

“That’s the figure Varjian set, and stuck to, and that’s the amount I made out my check for. It’s worth the money, although it’s a pretty stiff price. Since, as far as I know, it’s the only one of its kind in existence—and especially considering the peculiar nature of the error—I could probably turn it over for a profit today if I put it up at auction.”

“Then you weren’t victimized, at any rate,” murmured Ellery. “Kirk didn’t try to soak you, if that’s any consolation. … Here we are.”

As they were removing their coats in the foyer of the Kirk suite, they heard Donald Kirk’s voice from the salon. “Jo … I’ve something I want to tell you—ask you.”

“Yes?” said Jo Temple’s voice softly.

“I want you to know—” Kirk was speaking rapidly, eagerly, “that I really think your book is great, swell, Jo. Don’t mind Felix. He’s something of a boor, and he’s an embittered cynic, and when he’s drunk he’s really not responsible for what he says. I didn’t take your manuscript because it—because of
you
…”

“Thank you, sir,” said Jo, still very softly.

“I mean—it wasn’t a question of the—well, the usual nasty implication. I really wanted the book—”

“And not me, Mr. Donald Kirk?”

“Jo!” Something apparently happened, for he continued after a moment in a strained voice. “Don’t mind what Felix said. If it doesn’t sell a thousand copies it will still be a swell book, Jo. If—”

“If it doesn’t sell a thousand copies, Mr. Donald Kirk,” she said demurely, “I shall return to China a wiser but sadder woman. I’m visualizing hundreds of thousands. … But what was it you were going to say?”

Macgowan looked uncomfortable, and Ellery shrugged. They both made as if to step noisily through the archway, and they both stopped.

For Kirk was saying in a queer breathless voice: “I’ve fallen in love with you, damn it! I never thought I could. I never thought any woman could make me lose my head—”

“Not even,” she inquired in a cool voice that trembled strangely in its undertones, “Irene Llewes?”

There was a silence, and Ellery and Macgowan looked at each other, and then they cleared their throats loudly together and stepped into the salon.

Kirk was on his feet, his shoulders sagging. Jo sat in a strained attitude, the tension about her nostrils belying the faint smile on her lips. They both started, and Kirk said quickly: “Uh—hello, hello. I didn’t know it was you. Come together, eh? Well. Sit down, Queen, sit down. Seen Marcella, Glenn?”

“Marcella,” said Macgowan heavily. “No, I haven’t. Good morning, Miss Temple.”

“Good morning,” she murmured without looking up. The white skin of her throat was no longer white, but scarlet.

“Marcella’s out somewhere. Should be back soon. Always gadding about somewhere, ’Cella,” chattered Kirk, moving about restlessly. “Well, well, Queen! Something new? Another inquisition?”

Ellery sat down and adjusted his
pince-nez
in a sober, judicial manner. “I’ve a rather serious question to ask you, Kirk.”

Jo rose swiftly.” “I think you men want to be alone. If you’ll excuse me, please—”

“Question?” echoed Kirk. His face had gone gray.

“Miss Temple,” said Ellery in a grave tone, “I think you had better remain.”

Without a word she reseated herself.

“What kind of question?” asked Kirk, licking his lips. Macgowan was standing by one of the windows, staring motionlessly out, his broad back a silent baffled barrier.

“Why,” said Ellery in a clear voice, “did you instruct a dealer named Avdo Varjian to sell your friend Glenn Macgowan a local stamp rarity of the city of Foochow?”

The tall young man sank into a chair and without looking at any of them said in a cracked voice: “Because I was a fool.”

“Scarcely an informative reply,” said Ellery dryly. And then his eyes narrowed, and he was shocked to observe the expression on Miss Temple’s elfin face. Her pretty candid features were drawn up in a grimace of the most remarkable amazement; she looked quite as if she could not believe her ears. And she was staring at her host with enormous eyes.

“Glenn,” said Kirk in a mutter.

Macgowan did not turn from the window. He said hoarsely: “Well?”

“I didn’t think you’d find out. It wasn’t important. There was the stamp, and I knew that you—Hell, Glenn, I’d rather have had you get it than any one else in the world. You know that.”

Macgowan wheeled like a tired horse, his eyes stony. “And the fact that it’s backwards didn’t occur to you, I suppose,” he said bitterly.

“
Tch, tch
” said Ellery mildly. “Let me handle this, Macgowan. Kirk! Your business affairs are your own concern, and what subtle little nuances may arise from the peculiar nature of the affair are probably none of my business. But the Foochow happens to be an inverted object, you see—something with that persistent and puzzling backwards significance again. And that is my business.”

“Backwards,” murmured Miss Temple, putting her hand to her mouth and staring at Donald Kirk still.

Ellery could have sworn he saw horror in Donald’s eyes. Was it assumed? He glanced sharply at Macgowan. But the big man had turned back to the window again, and there was something angry and stubborn in the set of his shoulders.

“But I didn’t—” began Kirk, and stopped dazedly.

“You see,” drawled Ellery, “you have two things to explain, old chap: why you sold the Foochow stamp at this time and in such a surreptitious manner, and where you got it in the first place.”

There was silence as Hubbell stamped across the foyer, darting one unguarded curious glance into the salon as he passed.

Then Kirk said: “I suppose it has to come out,” dully, quite without hope. “And that’s why I said I acted like a fool. I couldn’t have expected—” He buried his face in his hands momentarily, and a wonderful softness came over Miss Temple’s face as she watched his boyish despair. He looked up, haggard. “Glenn knows something of my condition. It isn’t what you’d think, seeing this establishment, the way we live. This goes for you, too, Jo. Perhaps I should have told you … I’m in rather a tight spot financially at the moment, you see.”

Miss Temple said nothing.

“Oh,” said Ellery. Then he said cheerfully: “Well! That’s scarcely an uncommon state of affairs these hectic days, Kirk. The Mandarin is shaky?”

“It’s bad enough. Credits, collections, bookstores going out of business by the score. …” Donald shook his head. “We have a terrific amount of money outstanding. For a long time now I’ve been feeding the business cash, in a desperate attempt to save it. Berne’s broke, of course; I don’t know where he spends his money, but he never has any. Things can’t go on this way; business must get better, and when it does we’ll pull out all right, because we’ve got a solid list, thanks chiefly to Berne’s genius for picking winners. But meanwhile—” He shook his shoulders in a curious bodily expression of despair.

“But the stamp,” said Ellery gently.

“I’ve been forced to turn a few items from my collection recently into cash. That’s how it came about that—”

Macgowan turned about and said in metallic tones: “I see all that, Donald, but what I still don’t see is why you sold it under cover that way, putting me in the rotten position of seeming to have … Why didn’t you come to me, Donald, for God’s sake?”

“Again?” said the young man laconically.

Macgowan bit his lip. “There was no necessity of—saying that, Donald. I didn’t mean to—”

“But there is.” Kirk rose and faced them tensely. “For some time, Queen—since I’ve got to clear my conscience and get the record straight—I’ve been touching Glenn for money. Substantial loans, you understand. Father’s no money of his own; he doesn’t know … I haven’t wanted to bother him about—well, about the mess I’m in. My own fortune has dwindled to the point where it’s impossible for me to raise any more cash. The bulk of it is tied up in frozen assets. They’re quite the most Arctic assets in the world, I suspect.” He grinned without humor. “So—I’ve been borrowing from Glenn, who’s been more than generous. There’s nothing wrong in that, although I’ve wished a thousand times that I hadn’t been forced to do it. Of course, Glenn has known about my fix all along. … But the drain’s terribly severe, Queen—terribly. And suddenly I needed a lot of cash again—for various things.” His eyes were half-closed. “The most valuable stamp in my collection was the Foochow, strangely enough. I felt that I couldn’t offer it to Glenn openly for cash when I already owed him so much, and it was the cash I needed. So I used Varjian to sell it to Glenn under cover, since I really wanted him to have it if I couldn’t. That’s all.”

He sat down very abruptly. Miss Temple was studying him with the strangest, serenest, softest interest.

Macgowan muttered: “I see it now, Don. I’m sorry about—But how about the fact,” he cried, “that the Foochow illustrates one of those damned backwards significances of Queen’s, Donald? Didn’t it occur to you that by making me buy the stamp at this time you were laying me open to all sorts of nasty accusations?”

Donald raised red-rimmed eyes. “Glenn, I give you my word. … It never occurred to me. Not for an instant. Oh, Lord, Glenn, do you really think I’d have done that deliberately? Maliciously? You can’t think that. Or you, Queen. It wasn’t until you mentioned it that I realized …”

He slumped back, exhausted. Macgowan hesitated, his face a study in conflicting emotions, and then went to Kirk and thumped his shoulder and growled: “Forget it, Don. It’s I who’ve been the fool. I’ve been a chump throughout. Forget it. You know if there’s anything I can do—”

“Hmmm,” said Ellery. “And now that that’s settled, Kirk, how about the second of my queries?”

“Second?” asked Kirk, blinking.

“Yes. Where did you get the stamp in the first place?”

“Oh!” said the young man instantly. “I bought it. A long time ago.”

“From whom?”

“Some dealer or other. I’ve forgotten.”

“Liar,” said Ellery amiably, and he cupped his hands over a match.

Kirk sank back, scarlet. Big Macgowan was staring from his friend to Ellery, obviously struggling between loyalty and a renascence of suspicion. Miss Temple twisted her handkerchief into a limp ball.

“I don’t know,” said Kirk with difficulty, “what you mean, Queen.”

“Come, come, Kirk,” drawled Ellery, blowing smoke, “you’re lying. Where did you get that Foochow?”

Miss Temple dropped the ball and said: “Mr. Queen—”

Kirk sprang to his feet. “Jo—don’t!”

“It’s all right, Donald,” she said quietly. “Mr. Queen, Mr. Kirk is being very chivalrous. It’s quite like the old times. He’s a dear to do it, but it’s really unnecessary. No, Donald, I’ve nothing to conceal. You see, Mr. Queen, Donald got the Foochow from
me
.”

“Ah,” said Ellery with a smile, “that’s better. That’s ever so much better. May I point out sententiously that the truth always pays in the long run? I suspected some such situation when I came here. Kirk, you’re a gentleman and a scholar. And now, Miss Temple, suppose you enlighten us further.”

“You don’t really have to, you know, Jo,” said Kirk quickly. “There’s no compulsion. …”

Macgowan touched his friend’s arm. “Quiet, Don. It’s really better this way. Queen’s right.”

“Indeed he is,” murmured Miss Temple cheerfully. “My father, who as I’ve said on other occasions was in the American diplomatic service in China, was also—something I neglected to mention to any one but Mr. Kirk, since he seemed the only one interested—a small collector of sorts. Nothing showy, like Donald or Mr. Macgowan. He hadn’t enough income to go in for really expensive things, you see.”

“Jo, don’t you think—”

“No, Donald. It may as well come out now. I can’t see that it will help matters to suppress it. And since I’m a babe in the woods, I’m sure justice will—er—triumph.” She grinned elfishly, and even Kirk smiled in response. “Father picked up a stamp in Foochow years and years ago from some furtive little Eurasian or other—I never did get straight how the creature had got hold of the stamp. I suppose he was in the local postal service. At any rate, father bought the stamp for a ridiculously small price, and it was in his collection until he died.”

“Lord, what luck!” cried Macgowan, his eyes shining.