Dutch Shoe Mystery (22 page)

They stared down at the dead man again. “Dr. Minchen, this wound on the head couldn’t have caused death, could it?”

Minchen gulped. His eyelids were red, his eyes bloodshot. “No,” he said in a low voice. “Prouty’s right. Just stunned him, that’s all. He died—he died of strangulation, Inspector, absolutely.”

They bent over the wire. “Looks like the same kind,” mused Queen. “Thomas, first chance you get, I want you to check up on that.” The giant nodded.

The body was still upright in the chair, as Prouty had left it. The Commissioner muttered something to himself as he carefully studied the face. It was devoid of horror, surprise, or fear. A characteristic blue tinge had crept under the swollen skin, but the features were calm—almost peaceful. The eyes were closed.

“Noticed it too, sir?” said Ellery suddenly, from his chair. “Doesn’t appear like the face of a man violently attacked and murdered, does it?”

The Commissioner faced about, regarding Ellery shrewdly. “Just what I was thinking, young man. You’re Queen’s son, aren’t you?—Strange is the word for it.”

“Exactly.” Ellery sprang from his chair and crossed to the desk to look reflectively at Janney’s face. “And the blunt instrument that Prouty talked about—that’s gone. Murderer must have taken it away. … Notice what Janney was doing when he went West?”

He pointed to the pen in the dead man’s fingers, then to a sheet of white paper on the glass directly at the spot where the hand would rest if the body were leaning forward. The paper was half-covered with close, painstaking script; Janney had obviously stopped writing in the middle of a sentence, for the last word on the page ended with a convulsive jerk in a smear of ink.

“Working on his book when the blow came,” murmured Ellery. “That’s elementary. He and Dr. Minchen here, you know, have been collaborating on a technical work called
Congenital Allergy.”

“What time did he die?” asked Sampson thoughtfully.

“Prouty puts it between 10:00 and 10:05, and John Minchen agrees.”

“Well, this isn’t getting us anywhere,” snapped the Inspector. “Thomas, have the body removed to the morgue downstairs. Don’t forget to go through his clothes thoroughly. And then come back—I want you. Sit down, Commissioner. You, too, Henry … Swanson!”

The ex-surgeon started. His eyes were staring. “I—can’t I go now?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.

“Yes,” said the Inspector gently. “We shan’t be needing you for a while. Thomas, send some one back to Port Chester with Mr. Swanson.”

Velie herded Swanson out of the door. He shuffled from the room without a word or a backward look; he seemed dazed, frightened.

Ellery swiftly roved the room. The Commissioner seated himself with a grunt and commenced a low-voiced conversation with the Inspector and Sampson. Paradise was still huddled in his chair, shaken. Minchen said nothing—merely stared at the bright linoleum.

Ellery stopped before him, looked down quizzically. “What are you looking at—the new linoleum?”

“What?” Minchen licked his dry lips, attempted to smile. “Oh. … How do you know it’s new?”

“Rather obvious, John. Is it?”

“Yes. All these private offices were recovered just a few weeks ago. …”

Ellery resumed his pacing.

The door opened again. Two internes entered with a stretcher. They were both white-faced, brusque in their movements.

As they were lifting the dead body from the chair Ellery paused at the window, frowned, and then looked back at the desk, which was laterally across the room. His eyes narrowed, and he strolled over to stand near the working internes.

As they deposited Janney’s limp form on the stretcher, Ellery wheeled and said sharply—every one looked up startled—“Do you know, there really ought to be a window behind this desk!”

They stared. Inspector Queen said, “What’s buzzing about inside your head now, son?”

Minchen laughed mirthlessly. “Is it getting you, too? Why, there’s never been a window there, Ellery.”

Ellery wagged his head. “An architectural omission that bothers me. … It’s really too bad that poor old Janney didn’t remember the motto on Plato’s ring. How did it read? ‘It is easier to prevent ill habits than to break them. …’”

S
EVERAL HOURS LATER A SMALL
tight-lipped company sat in the dead man’s office, now murky with bluish-grey smoke-haze. From the set faces, the rigid jaws, the wrinkled foreheads it was evident that realization of failure was upon them, that Dr. Janney’s murder was as hopelessly far from explanation as Abigail Doorn’s.

Their numbers had dwindled. The Police Commissioner, his face the color of ashes, had gone. A subdued Harper had left an hour before to communicate certain news of importance to his paper. Sampson, his eyes screwed up with worry, had left the Hospital at the same time to return to his office and the inevitable task of facing the press and the public.

Sergeant Velie was still scurrying about in the corridors assembling facts and testimony. The lethal picture-wire had definitely been established as the same type as had been used in the first murder. With little else to go upon, the Sergeant had instituted another search for a possible source—so far without the slightest success.

Only the Inspector, Ellery, Dr. Minchen and Lucille Price, the dead man’s nurse-assistant, were left. The girl had been recruited in the emergency to take stenographic dictation from the Inspector.

Of the four, despite Minchen’s patently dazed condition, Ellery seemed most affected by the second murder. His face was drawn into long lines of suffering and concentration; his eyes were dull, unhappy, even pained. He was huddled in a chair by the lone window, gazing fixedly at the linoleum. …

“All set, Miss Price?” rasped the Inspector.

The nurse, sitting at her small desk in the corner, pad open and pencil poised, looked frightened. She was very pale; her hand trembled; she kept her eyes on the blank stenographic notebook, avoiding the mute desk across the room in which the tragedy had so recently been enacted.

“Take this, then,” began the Inspector. He strode up and down before her with bristling brows, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. “Philip Morehouse. Morehouse found the body.

“Details: Morehouse had called at the Hospital, carrying brief-case, to see Dr. Janney concerning his share of the Doorn will, arriving about 9:45. Entrance seen by Isaac Cobb, doorman; time substantiated. Switchboard operator on duty plugged Janney’s office, transmitted message that M. wished to see the doctor. Voice,
unquestionably Janney’s
—underline that, Miss Price—replied that he was unavoidably busy at the moment; would be free soon; M. was to wait. M. expressed annoyance at the delay, says operator, but decided to wait. Cobb saw him enter Waiting Room from vestibule and sit down. … Am I going too fast?”

“No—no, sir.”

“Add this note,” resumed the Inspector. “In the entire period following, Cobb cannot swear that M. did not leave Waiting Room for a moment. Cobb station in vestibule; another exit from Waiting Room exists off South Corridor, making it possible for occupant of Waiting Room to slip out of said door without being seen if no one is in South Corridor at the time. …

“Details, continued: Morehouse claims to have sat in Waiting Room a half-hour, until approximately 10:15. Then approached switchboard operator again, coming through vestibule door into office, impatiently asked operator to ring Janney once more. Operator rang; no answer. M. furious, impulsively crossed South Corridor and knocked on J.’s door. No answer. Cobb, seeing this action, approached M. to protest. Policeman on duty on steps outside also came in. M. said: ‘Did you see Dr. Janney leave this office in the last half-hour?’ Cobb said: ‘No; but I wasn’t watching all the time.’ M. said: ‘Maybe something has happened to him.’ Cobb scratched his head; policeman tried the door. Moran (patrolman on duty) found door unlocked. Cobb, Morehouse, Moran went in and found J.’s body. Cobb raised alarm at once, Moran got aid of detectives in Hospital, Dr. Minchen entered building at this moment. Minchen took temporary charge until help came. Ellery Queen entered Hospital several minutes later. … Got that, Miss Price?”

“Yes, sir.”

Minchen sat with his legs crossed, sucking at his thumb. Bleak uncomprehending horror was in his eyes.

The Inspector prowled about the room, consulting a scrap of paper. He leveled his arm at the nurse. “Add this to the Morehouse data. Observation: M. has no absolute alibi for danger period. … Now, start a fresh one on Miss Hulda Doorn.

“Hulda Doorn in Hospital. Arrived 9:30, seen by Cobb and Moran. Purpose was to collect personal effects of Abigail Doorn from room she occupied when she had accident Monday and was to be operated on. No one in room with Miss Doorn. Claimed she became suddenly overwhelmed with grief at sight of dead woman’s clothing and did nothing but sit down and think. Was found there weeping on bed at 10:30 by Nurse Obermann. No corroboration of story that she had not left room for even a moment.”

The pencil raced over the page. There was no sound in the death-room except the softly harsh scrape of the graphite.

“Dr. Lucius Dunning and Sarah Fuller.” The Inspector’s lips clamped together over the last syllable; he had fairly crackled the words. “Dunning arrived at Hospital usual early morning hour, attending to routine work. This corroborated by assistants. Sarah Fuller arrived at 9:15 to see Dunning—this brought out by Moran, Cobb, operator. Closeted together for an hour; Sarah Fuller attempted to leave a minute after Dr. Janney’s body was discovered.

“Both refused to relate subject of their conversation. Each alibis the other—claims they did not leave Dunning’s office. No third party to confirm this statement.” The Inspector paused, stared at the ceiling. “On insistence of Police Commissioner, both Dunning and Sarah Fuller were then put under arrest, held as material witnesses. Still refused to talk. Bail later set at $20,000 each by immediate action; both released on payment of bail by Attorney Morehouse’s office.”

He went on rapidly. “Edith Dunning. On duty in Social Service Department from 9:00
A.M.
on. In Hospital entire period. Attended social service cases. No absolute check-up on time or movements. No assistant with her long enough to eliminate her from list of possibilities. …

“Michael Cudahy. Still in Room 328, recovering from appendectomy. Guarded by detectives. Impossible for him to have left bed. No communication with outside, as far as detectives know. But this means little, as Cudahy has notoriously effective methods of doing things. …

“Dr. Pennini. Did her regular work in Obstetrical Department. She visited some twenty patients, no check-up on exact movements. Not out of building all morning, according to Cobb, Moran. …

“Moritz Kneisel. In private laboratory all morning, undisturbed, unsubstantiated. Claims Janney visited lab shortly before 9:00, seemed upset by news story of impending arrest, mentioned going to office, seeing no one and working on his book. Discussed progress of experiments briefly, and left. Kneisel noncommittal on this murder, but seems hard hit. … All right, Miss Price?”

“I’ve got it all, Inspector Queen.”

“That’s very good. There’s one more.” The Inspector scanned his scribbled notes and resumed dictation. “Hendrik Doorn. Visited Hospital, arriving at 9:20, as part of regular three-times-weekly ultra-violet ray treatment for nervous condition. Waited in fifth floor ray laboratories until 9:35, finished with treatment 9:50. Lay down to rest in private room on main floor until discovery of body. No corroboration of his being in this room all the time. …

“That’s all, Miss Price. Please type these off immediately. Make two carbons and give the whole batch to Sergeant Velie—the big fellow outside. He’ll be here all afternoon.”

The nurse nodded submissively and began to transcribe her notes on the desk typewriter.

Ellery looked up tiredly. “If you’ve concluded these empty, useless, dithering reports, dad, I vote for home.” He stared unseeingly out of the window.

“In a moment, son. Don’t take it so hard. You can’t hit it all the time.” The Inspector leaned against Janney’s desk and helped himself to a long pinch of snuff. “It just beats the band,” he went on carefully. “I’d have said such a thing was impossible. To think that no one had his eyes on this office-door long enough to see anything, and the place infested with men who ought to know better.” He tossed his head sadly. “Janney seems to have conspired his own death. Shuts himself in his office, tells Miss Price he doesn’t want her this morning—peeved as the deuce, it seems—and just leaves himself wide open for a murderous attack that, as luck would have it, was unwitnessed. Last seen alive by Cobb when he came back from Kneisel’s lab and entered his own office. This was a few minutes after 9:00. And not a soul seems to have spoken to him or seen him except for the time the operator, at 9:45 or so, spoke to him about Morehouse’s visit And the doctors agree that Janney was killed between 10:00 and 10:05, so undoubtedly it was Janney talking at 9:45. …Well!”

“It’s a fearful muddle,” said Ellery slowly, without turning away from the window. “Hulda Doorn, Hendrik Doorn, Dunning, Sarah Fuller, Kneisel, Morehouse—all in the Hospital and unaccounted for.”

Minchen stirred, smiling vaguely. “The only one who couldn’t have done it was this Big Mike Cudahy fellow. And me. You’re sure you don’t suspect me, Inspector? After this, anything is possible. … Oh, God!” He buried his face in his hands.

The typewriter clacked on in the silence.

“Well,” said the old man grimly, “if you did it you’re a spiritualist, Dr. Minchen. Couldn’t be in two places at once. …” They chuckled together; Minchen’s voice held a note of hysteria.

Ellery wrapped his overcoat tightly about him. “Come along,” he said in a sharp tone. “Come along before this damned brain of mine bursts from futile thinking.”

C
HAGRIN AND BAFFLEMENT PURSUED
Ellery Queen from the stricken corridors of the Dutch Memorial Hospital to the interior of his father’s office at Police Headquarters.