Chinese Orange Mystery (29 page)

“But why should the murderer want him to fall
precisely that way
, let alone fall at all?” Ellery drew a long breath. “And, impossible as it seemed, the only logical answer I could give to that question was: The murderer, who had removed the body from another part of the room
to
the door, wanted the dead man to do something
to
that door
in falling
. … The rest was a matter of concentration and experiment. The only thing that can be done to a door which might conceivably be of importance to a criminal would be to lock it; in this case, to bolt it. But why, for heaven’s sake, make a dead man bolt the door when the murderer himself could have bolted it from this room and made his escape by the other door, that one leading to the corridor from this room?”

The cracked voice said: “I—never—thought—”

Ellery said deliberately: “The only possible answer was that the murderer couldn’t or wouldn’t leave this room by that corridor door. The murderer wanted to leave this room by way of
the door to the office
. And he wanted every one to believe that he had left by the corridor door, that the office door had been bolted all the time, that
whoever was in the office and had not appeared in the corridor outside the office therefore could not apparently have been the criminal
!”

James Osborne covered his face with his hands and said: “Yes, I did it. I murdered him.”

“You see,” said Ellery a moment later, regarding the cowering man with pitying eyes as the others, transfixed by horror, stared at Osborne, “the problem resolved itself simply into a logical analysis. The use of the spears and the shifting of the bookcases and the moved body of the dead missionary proved that the murderer must have left the anteroom after the crime by the office door. The murderer, therefore, was in the office directly after the murder. But, by his own admission, Osborne was the only constant tenant of that office during the murder-period! The visitors—Macgowan, Miss Sewell, Miss Temple, Miss Diversey—were eliminated because had one of them been the murderer he or she could have left the scene of the crime by the corridor door from this room and therefore could have bolted the office door from the inside of this room without having to resort to the mechanical method Osborne used. Or, to put it another way, since any one who could have left this room by the corridor door could have bolted the office door without resorting to the mechanical method, then any one who could have used the corridor door, instead of being suspect for the crime, as we had assumed all along, became actually innocent.

“The only one who could not use the corridor door of the anteroom without being seen by Mrs. Shane as he returned to the office was Osborne. You, Osborne, were therefore the only possible suspect, the only one for whom the door trick and the spears were necessary, and the only one who benefited from the creation of the illusion that the criminal had to leave the murder-room via the corridor door. Why didn’t you leave well enough alone—leave that office door unbolted?”

“Because,” choked Osborne, “then I knew I would be the first one suspected. But if it was bolted from the other side, they’d—you’d never suspect me. Even now I can’t see how—”

“I thought so,” murmured Ellery. “The complex mind, Osborne. As to how, it was a matter of trial and error until I hit the winning combination; I simply put myself in your place and figured out what you would have to do. … Now you see, ladies and gentlemen, why it was impossible for Osborne to do the simple thing and get a necktie somewhere to put on the tieless dead man. He couldn’t use his own, of course, and he had no place to get another, because he couldn’t afford to be seen leaving that office of his in sight of Mrs. Shane, even casually. He might have slipped out by the anteroom-corridor door, but then he couldn’t risk all the time required and the almost certain eventuality that he would be seen—if, say, he went downstairs to buy a tie. He couldn’t go to Kirk’s apartment, either, for the same reason. And he didn’t live at the Chancellor—Kirk once told him in my presence to ‘go home’—so he couldn’t secure one of his own ties. … I suppose, Osborne, you took the dead man’s vest and secreted it in the office there somewhere until you could safely burn it with all the other things you took from his clothes?”

“Yes,” sighed Osborne in the queerest, mildest way. And Ellery noted, with a faint perplexity, that Miss Diversey looked like death and seemed about to faint.

“You see,” he murmured, “if the man was a priest and wore the clerically inverted collar and no necktie, he must also have been wearing the special clerical vest which comes up to the neck. I knew then that the murderer had to take it away with him, since a clerical vest would have given the whole thing away; but I knew it much too late to prove anything by it. The opportunity to search every one had long since gone. … Osborne, why did you kill an inoffensive little man—you, who aren’t the killer type at all? You did it for a poor return, Osborne; you would have had to sell the stamp undercover. But even if you
could
have got fifty thousand—”

“Ozzie—Osborne, for God’s sake,” whispered Donald Kirk, “I didn’t dream—”

“It was for her,” said Osborne in the same queer mild way. “I was a failure. She was the first woman who ever paid any attention to me. And I’m a poor man. She even said that she wouldn’t think of marrying a man who couldn’t provide the—the comforts. … When the opportunity came—” He licked his lips. “It was a temptation. He—he wrote a letter months ago addressed to Mr. Kirk from China. I opened the letter, as I open all—all Mr. Kirk’s mail. He wrote all about the stamp, about resigning from his mission, about coming to New York—he was an American originally—to sell the stamp and retire. I—I saw the opportunity. I knew that the stamp, if what he said was true, would …” Osborne shuddered. No one said anything. “I planned it then, from the beginning. I corresponded with him, using Mr. Kirk’s name. I never told Mr. Kirk a word about him. I didn’t tell her. … We conducted a long correspondence. So I learned that he didn’t have any relatives or friends in this country who could inquire about him if he disappeared. I learned when he was coming, told him when to come, gave him—sort of—advice. I never knew till he actually showed up—till I had killed him, when his scarf fell off—that he was a priest, with no tie, with a turned-around collar. I’d thought he was just a missionary—an ordinary missionary. A Methodist, maybe, or Baptist.”

“Yes?” prompted Ellery gently, as the man fell silent.

“When I let him into this room I went back after a while, told him I hadn’t realized it before, but he must be the man from China, and that I knew all about the stamp, that Mr. Kirk had told me, and all that. Then he got friendly and unbent and said that his brother-missionaries at the Chinese mission knew all about the stamp and that he had gone to America to sell it to Mr. Kirk. So when I killed him I had to make sure nobody could find out who he was.”

“Why?” asked Ellery.

“Because if the police could trace him to that Chinese mission—it was very likely they could if they knew he was a priest and just arrived—they’d learn from the other priests about the stamp and why he had come—and they’d investigate Mr. Kirk and me, and Mr. Kirk really wouldn’t know about the stamp and I’d be accused. … Maybe they’d find some of my letters, and trace the handwriting of the signatures back to me. … I—I couldn’t face all that. I’m not an actor. I knew I’d give way. … So I thought of all that backwards business in a flash. But about the door and the cord and the body and things I—I’d figured out long before and had everything ready. When it was all over and I had him—him dead standing there, I tried to get it to work, but it wouldn’t at first—the cord wasn’t just right—and I tried and tried until finally it worked. I couldn’t get a tie. …” His voice was growing fainter and fainter until it died away entirely. There was a dazed expression on his face; he seemed unable to grasp the horror of his position.

Ellery turned aside, sick at heart. “The woman was Miss Diversey?” he murmured. “If you didn’t tell her, then she couldn’t have had anything to do with this, of course.”

“Oh,” said Miss Diversey, and she fell back in a faint.

It happened before any of them realized his intention. He had been so mild, so dazed, so humble. It was only later that they knew it had been a last desperate, clever pose. … Ellery’s back was turned. The Inspector was standing at the door with Sergeant Velie. The detectives …

Osborne lunged forward like a deer and scrambled past Ellery before he could turn. Inspector Queen and the Sergeant cried out and sprang simultaneously, both missing the man by inches. And Osborne vaulted the sill of the open window and screamed once and vanished.

“Before I go,” drawled Mr. Ellery Queen a half-hour later in the almost deserted anteroom, “I should like to speak to you, Kirk, alone.”

Donald Kirk was still motionless in his chair, hands dangling hopelessly between his knees, staring at the empty open window. Little Miss Temple sat quietly by his side, waiting. The others had gone.

“Yes?” Donald raised heavy eyes. “Queen, I can’t believe it. Old Ozzie … He was always the most loyal, the most honest chap. And he finally came a cropper over a woman.” He shivered.

“Don’t blame Miss Diversey, Kirk. She’s more to be pitied than blamed. Osborne was a victim of circumstances. He was repressed, at the dangerous age. His laboring imagination became excited … and the woman possesses a certain virile attractiveness. Some strain of weakness in his character came to the surface. … Miss Temple, I wonder if you’d understand—Will you leave me alone with your
fiancé
a moment?”

She rose without a word.

But Donald grasped her wrist and pulled her down to him and said: “No, no, Queen. I’ve made up my mind. This is one woman who can’t bring a man anything but luck. I shan’t keep anything from Jo. I think I know—”

“Sensible resolution.” Ellery went to his coat, which was flung over a chair, and dug into one of the pockets. Then he returned with a small packet.

“I gave you,” he smiled, “an engagement gift not so long ago. Now permit me to give you a wedding gift.”

Kirk licked his lips once. “The letters?” Then he swallowed hard, glanced at Miss Temple, set his chin, and said: “Marcella’s letters?”

“Yes.”

“Queen …” He took them and held them tightly. “I never thought I’d get them back. Queen, I’m in your debt so much—”

“Tut, tut. Obviously, a little arson ceremony is called for,” chuckled Ellery. “I suppose it’s
au fait
to confide in your future wife, but I should consign them to the flames and confide in no one else.” He sighed a little. “Well,” he said, reaching for his coat, “that’s over. There’s always a silver lining,
et cetera
. I trust you’ll both be very happy, but I doubt it.”

“Doubt it, Mr. Queen?” murmured Miss Temple.

“Oh,” said Ellery hastily, “don’t take that personally. I was making the usual misogynist’s observation about marriage.”

“You’re a darling, Mr. Queen.” Miss Temple eyed him suddenly. “You’ve been rather regal about all this ghastly business and I fancy I shouldn’t ask too many questions—should be thankful for how everything’s turned out. But I’m curious—”

“With your intellect, my dear, that’s easily understood. Haven’t I made everything clear?”

“Not quite.” She linked her arm in Donald’s and pressed it to her. “You made an unconscionable fuss about that tangerine, Mr. Queen. And here you’ve neglected to mention it at all!”

A shade passed over Ellery’s face; he shook his head. “Strangest thing. I suppose you realize what a monstrous tragedy of errors Osborne’s subtlety bred. I’m sure he had no idea, in leaving all those backwards things, of involving any one. He probably saw no significance in it at all; merely turned everything around as a cover-up for the collar and missing necktie without grasping the implications.

“But fate was unkind to him. It took hold of several unrelated facts and hurled them at me. I looked for significance in everything. But I looked, as I explained, for the wrong kind of significance. The result was that everything backwards, it seemed to me, about anybody at all required investigation. And there were you, Miss Temple,” his gray eyes twinkled, “fresh from China, the abode of the living backwardnesses. Do you blame me for attempting to see significance in the fact that the victim had eaten a tangerine—a Chinese orange—shortly before his death?”

“Oh,” she murmured; she seemed disappointed. “Then his eating of the tangerine meant nothing at all? I was hoping for something very clever.”

“Nothing,” drawled Ellery, “except that he was hungry; and we knew that anyway. I couldn’t even squeeze any light out of the fact that he had selected a Chinese orange to appease his hunger rather than the pears or apples or other fruits in the bowl. I like ’em myself, and
I’ve
never been nearer China than Chicago. … But there’s one thing about the Chinese orange that’s—well, interesting.”

“What’s that?” demanded Kirk. He was holding the packet very tightly.

“It illustrates,” chuckled Ellery, “the capriciousness and whimsicality of fate. Because, you see, while the Chinese orange he ate had nothing to do with the crime, the Chinese Orange he
brought
had everything to do with it, since it inspired the motive!”

“The Chinese orange he brought?” murmured Miss Temple, puzzled.

“With a capital O,” said Ellery. “I mean the stamp. In fact, it makes such a fascinating coincidence that if ever I fictionize the remarkable case of poor Osborne and the smiling little Chinese missionary, I shan’t be able to resist the temptation to entitle it
The Chinese Orange Mystery
!”

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