Chinese Orange Mystery (19 page)

“Clumsy,” sneered the Inspector. “If that’s the passionate letter of a lover asking his Juliet to get hitched, I’m a monkey’s uncle. More like a historical essay. It’s a frame, and I’ll have the truth if I have to sweat it out of you—both of you! Kirk, what the devil hold has this woman over you that would make you write a note like this at her dictation?”

“Dictation?” Miss Llewes frowned. “Donald. This is becoming quite stupid. Please tell them. Talk, Donald.” She stamped her foot. “Talk, I say!”

The young man rose and faced the woman squarely for the first time. There was a veil over his eyes. And although he faced her he addressed the Inspector. “I see no point in continuing this farce,” he said in a voice that rasped from his throat. “I’m in for it and I might as well take my medicine. I lied.” Ellery saw a vast relief flood into the tall woman’s eyes, to be shut out instantly by her lids. “I wrote the note and I gave Miss Llewes—or Miss Sewell, if that’s her real name—the jewels. I didn’t know anything about her past. What’s more, I don’t care. This is a private matter and I see no reason why it should be dragged up now in this—this murder investigation, which hasn’t the least connection with my personal affairs.”

“Donald,” choked Jo, “you—you asked her to marry you?”

Miss Llewes was smiling her faintly triumphant smile. “Don’t be silly, now, my dear. What if he did? I’m not exactly the most hideous object in the world? Put it down to an infatuation. I’m sure that’s all it was; wasn’t it, Donald? At any rate, it’s all over now, and you have him. You’re not going to be provincial about this, are you?”

“Such heroinism,” murmured, Ellery.

“Donald! You—you admit it?”

“Yes,” he said in the same harsh tone. “I admit it. For God’s sake, how long do I have to submit to this torture?” He did not look at the tiny woman from China. “I’m willing to call it all quits if there’s no publicity of any kind. It’s over now—finished, done. Why don’t you let me alone?”

“I see,” said the Inspector frigidly. “And the jewels, Kirk?”

“I gave them to her.”

Jo stepped quietly in front of the tall woman and said: “Of course you’re just the vilest creature. N-not even Donald could really have been taken in …” She whirled on the frozen young man. “Don, you
know
I don’t believe all this—all this mumbo-jumbo! You—I know you so well, darling. You couldn’t have done anything really wrong. Oh, I don’t care about a—a petty affair with a cheap adventuress; it hurts me, I suppose, but … What is it, Don? What has she done to you, darling? Can’t you tell me?”

He said in a queer soft voice: “You’ll have to take me as I am, Jo.”

The tall woman kept smiling. But there was something strong and sure and arrogant in her voice. “I think I’ve been
most
patient. Another woman would have made a scene. As for you, Jo Temple, I’ll overlook that nasty epithet and give you some advice based on very wide experience: Don’t be a silly fool. You have him, and he’s a very nice young man.” Jo ignored her; she still stared at the averted face of the young man. “And now, Inspector, I must insist that you call your dogs off. I won’t have this perpetual persecution. If you persist, I shall leave at once.”

“That’s what
you
think,” said the Inspector sourly. “But you’re not leaving until I give you permission to. If you make the slightest move to get out of the country, I’ll arrest you on suspicion. It’s a swell word, and it’s very elastic. Matter of fact, I could slam you behind bars this minute for being an undesirable character. So you stay put in this apartment of yours, Sewell, and be a nice girl. Don’t try any tricks on
me
.” He squinted at the silent pair before him. “As for you, Kirk, some day you’re going to be mighty sorry you didn’t make a clean breast of the whole miserable mess you’re in. I don’t know what devilment this woman is up to, but she seems to have hooked you good and proper. Bad business, young man. … Come on, boys.”

Ellery sighed, stirring. “But aren’t you going to question Marcella Kirk on that little matter of philology?” he murmured.

He was frankly astounded to see wildest alarm leap into Donald Kirk’s haggard eyes. “You let Marcella alone, do you hear?” the young man shouted, livid. “Don’t drag her into this! Let her alone, I tell you!”

Inspector Queen studied him with a coolly sudden renascence of interest. Then he said gently: “So. I was going to say I’d got a bellyful of the lot of you. But on reconsideration I can stand a little more. Thomas, get Miss Marcella Kirk and her father in here!”

Donald sprang like a released missile toward the door as Velie turned to open it, catching the Sergeant wholly by surprise and shoving him roughly aside. He stood trembling but determined before the door. “No, I tell you. Queen, for God’s sake. Don’t let him do it!”

“Why, you cocky little weasel—” the Sergeant began to growl, lunging forward.

“Whoa, Velie,” said Ellery in a drawl. “Why the dramatics, Kirk, old fellow? No one means to hurt your sister. It’s a little misunderstanding that must be cleared up. That’s really all.” He stepped forward and put his arm in friendly fashion about Kirk’s rigid shoulders. “Let Miss Temple take you upstairs, Kirk. You’re sadly in need of a drink and some rest for those jumpy nerves of yours.”

“Queen, you won’t—” There was something pathetic in his voice.

“Of course not,” said Ellery soothingly. He glanced at the tiny woman, and she sighed and went to the young man and took, his hand and said something to him in a soft murmur. Ellery felt Kirk’s muscles go limp. The Sergeant, scowling, opened the door and permitted the pair to leave. Staring eyes met them from the other room.

“You too, Irene,” said the Inspector with curt emphasis. She shrugged and sauntered after Kirk and Jo. But there was something wary about the set of her handsome shoulder-blades, quite as if she were steeling herself against a blow from behind. Sergeant Velie followed her.

“What the devil’s eating the youngster?” muttered the Inspector, staring after them.

Ellery started. “Eh? Oh—Kirk.” He produced a cigaret and slowly struck a match. “Very interesting. I just caught a glimmer. The barest glimmer … Here they are.”

It was not two who came in, but three. Sergeant Velie glowered fiercely.

“This Macgowan guy wouldn’t stay put,” he rasped. “Shall I kick him in the pants, Inspector?”

“I shouldn’t advise the attempt, Sergeant,” said Ellery with an amused smile, glancing at Macgowan’s formidable bulk.

“Well, if he wants to get the works,” growled the Inspector, “that’s his funeral. Listen, sister—”

Marcella Kirk stood slim and breathlessly quiet between her
fiancé
and her father, who leaned heavily on her arm. The old man was shrunken within the dry bones of his gaunt frame, strangely quiescent and unlike his usual belligerent self. There was a furtive gleam in his old eyes.

Macgowan said softly: “Take it easy, Inspector. My
fiancée
happens to be a sensitive young lady. And I’m not sure I’d be able to stand your strong-arm stuff myself. What’s on your mind besides breaking up a perfectly respectable cocktail party?”

“That’ll be enough out of you, Mr. Macgowan—”

Dr. Kirk quavered: “What have you done to Donald, damn you?”

“He looked—” whispered Marcella.

“I’ll do the asking,” said Inspector Queen grimly. “Dr. Kirk, the other day you reported the return of your stolen Hebrew books. Is that correct?”

“Well?” The old scholar’s voice was cracked.

“They were
all
returned?”

“Certainly. I told you I wanted no fuss made. I have my books back, which is the only consideration.” He stroked his daughter’s bare arm with his bony fingers, absently. “Why, have you discovered who—took them?”

“You bet your sweet life.”

Marcella Kirk sighed. Her lips were very red against her skin.

Macgowan opened his mouth to speak, changed his mind, and glanced from the face of the girl to the face of his future father-in-law. And he, too, went pale under his tan; and he bit his lip and tightened his grip on Marcella’s hand.

“If I may,” murmured Ellery. They stared at him, three pairs of fearful eyes. “I think we’re all reasonably adult people. Miss Kirk, may I say first of all that I have nothing but admiration for you?”

She swayed suddenly, closing her eyes.

“What do you mean?” said Macgowan hoarsely.

“Your
fiancée
, Macgowan, is a brave, loyal girl. I know precisely what her mental processes were. … I had been harping on the strange backwards nature of the crime. There leaped into her mind an instant panoramic picture—her father … you, Doctor … poring over—” Ellery paused—“Hebrew books. A language whose prime characteristic, she knew, is its literal backwardness. And so—”

“I stole them,” she said with a strangled sob. “Oh, I was afraid—”

Dr. Kirk’s face altered strangely. “Marcella, my dear,” he said in a soft voice. And he pressed her arm and drew himself a little straighter.

“And you forgot, Miss Kirk,” Ellery went on, “that Chinese, which is represented in your father’s library by many manuscripts, is also a backwards language, so to speak. Isn’t that so?”

“Chinese?” she gasped, her eyes widening.

“I thought so. Dad, there’s no need to go into this thing any more fully. It’s basically my fault. Perfectly understandable, Miss Kirk’s reaction to my oral cogitations about the backwardness of the crime. Now that it’s cleared up I think it’s best we all forget it.”

“But Hebrew
is
backwards—”

“Alas,” sighed Ellery. “And a great lack.
I
don’t know what any of it means. And am I my brother’s keeper?” He grinned at Marcella and Macgowan. “Go, and sin no more.”

“Oh, all right,” growled the Inspector. “Let ’em out, Thomas.”

The Sergeant stood aside as the three passed by—all very quiet, and Macgowan hiding something behind his eyelids.

“While we’re here,” muttered the Inspector, “I might as well clean up one more thing.”

“What now?” murmured Ellery.

“This bird Felix Berne. Thomas—”

“Berne?” Ellery’s eyes narrowed. “What about Berne?”

“We finally got a check-up on his movements the day of the murder. There’s one element … Thomas, get Mr. Berne in here, and also that foreign-looking dame who was hanging on his arm when we came in. If my hunch is correct, she’s got something to do with this.”

“With what?” asked Ellery swiftly as the Sergeant tramped out.

The Inspector shrugged. “That’s what I don’t know.”

Berne was very drunk. He lurched in, his bitter eyes inflamed and a sneer on his sharp keen features. The woman with him looked frightened. She was a tall supple brunette with a body that leaped with life. She pressed her full breasts against Berne’s black-sleeved arm as if she were afraid to release it.

“Well?” drawled Berne, his thin lips writhing humorously. “What is it tonight—the
sjambok
, the
bastinado
, or the bed of Procrustes?”

“Good evening, Berne,” murmured Ellery. “I will say that detective work is broadening. Pleasure to meet such cultured people.
Sjambok
, did you say? Sounds faintly African-Dutch. What is it?”

“It’s a whip made out of rhinoceros hide,” said Berne with the same fixed drunken smile, “and if I had you on the South African
veldt
, my dear Queen, I’d like nothing better than to give you a taste of it. I dislike you intensely. I don’t know when I’ve disliked a fellow-creature more. Go to hell. … Well, you vest-pocket Lucifer,” he snapped suddenly at Inspector Queen, “what’s on your mind? Speak up, man! I haven’t all night to waste answering idiotic questions.”

“Idiotic questions, hey?” growled the Inspector. “One more crack like that out of you, wise guy, and I’ll sick the Sergeant here on you, and what he’ll do to that pan of yours I’ll leave to your own imagination.” He whirled on the woman. “You. What’s your name?”

She pressed closer to the publisher and looked up at him with a childlike faith.

Berne drawled: “Tell him,
cara mia
. He looks bad, but he’s harmless.”

“I—am,” said the woman with difficulty, “Lucrezia Rizzo.” She spoke with a strong Italian accent.

“Where d’ye come from?”

“
Italia
. My home—it is—in Firenze.”

“Florence, eh?” murmured Ellery. “For the first time I grasp the essential inspiration behind the vigor of Botticelli’s women. You are very lovely, and you come from a lovely city,
ma donna
.”

She flashed him a long low look that had nothing in common with the fear that had filled her eyes a moment before. But she said nothing, and continued to cling to Berne’s arm.

“Listen, I’m in a hurry,” barked Inspector Queen. “How long you been in New York,
Signora
?”

Again she glanced at Berne, and he nodded. “It is—a week or so, I think,” she said, her sibilants soft and warm.

“Why do you ask?” drawled Berne. “Thinking of pulling
Signorina Rizzo
into the well-known can on a charge of murder, Inspector? And I might also point out that you either leap to conclusions or else possess a shocking ignorance of the simplest Italian. My friend Lucrezia is unmarried.”

“Married or not,” snarled the Inspector, “I want to know what she was doing in that bachelor apartment of yours on East Sixty-fourth Street the day of the murder!”

Ellery started slightly, but Berne did not. The publisher showed his teeth in the same fixed drunken smile. “Ah, our metropolitan police now flourish the banner of moral purity! What d’ye think she was doing? You must have a good notion or you wouldn’t be asking. … Always incomprehensible to me, this stupid habit of asking questions you know the answers to. You didn’t think I’d deny it, did you?”

The Inspector’s bird-like face was growing redder with every passing instant. He glared at Berne and said: “I’m mighty interested in your movements that day, Berne, and don’t think you’ll pull the wool over my eyes with that gab of yours. I know that this woman came over on the
Mauretania
with you, and that you cabbed straight from the boat to your apartment with her. That was before noon that day. How’d you spend the rest of the day before you turned up at the Kirk layout upstairs?”