The French Powder Mystery
- Автор: Куин (Квин) Эллери
- Серия: Ellery Queen #2
- Год: 1930
- Язык: английский
- Год: Frederick A. Stokes
- Жанр: Классические детективы
Электронная книга - «The French Powder Mystery». Краткое содержание книги:
“She was wearing it?” Marion gasped. “I... I can’t understand it. She... she never did that before.” She glanced helplessly at Weaver, shifted her gaze and met Ellery’s eyes.
They looked at each other for a startled moment Ellery saw a slender girl with smoky hair and deep grey eyes. There was an unaccented cleanliness about the lines of her young body that made him feel pleased for Weaver’s sake. She gave the impression of straightforwardness and strength of will — honest eyes, firm lips, small strong hands, a pleasingly cleft chin and a good straight nose. Ellery smiled.
Marion saw a tall athletic man with a suggestion of nascent vigor, startlingly intellectual about the forehead and lips, cool and quiet and composed. He looked thirty, but was younger. There was a hint of Bond Street about his clothes. His long thin fingers clasped a little book and he regarded her out of pince-nez eyeglasses... Then she blushed slightly and her eyes wavered away toward the Inspector.
“When did you last see this scarf, Miss French?” went on the old man.
“Oh, I—” Her tone changed; she took command of herself. “I seem to remember wearing it yesterday,” she said slowly.
“Yesterday? Very interesting, Miss French. Do you recall just where—?”
“I left the house directly after luncheon,” she said, “wearing the scarf under this coat I met a friend at Carnegie Hall and we spent the afternoon at a recital — Pasternak the pianist. We parted after the recital and I took a bus down to the store. I do seem to remember wearing the scarf all day...” Her brow wrinkled prettily. “I don’t remember having it, however, when I returned home.”
“You say you came to the store, Miss French?” interrupted the Inspector politely. “For any special reason?”
“Why — not particularly. I did think I might still catch father. I knew he was leaving for Great Neck, but I didn’t know exactly when, and—”
The Inspector held up a ridiculously tiny white hand. “Just a moment Miss French. You say your father went to Great Neck yesterday?”
“Why, yes. I understood he was to go out there for business. There’s — there’s nothing wrong — about that is there, sir?” She bit her lip.
“No, no — positively no!” said the Inspector, smiling. He turned to Weaver. “Why didn’t you tell me that Mr. French took a little trip yesterday, Mr. Weaver?”
“You didn’t ask me,” retorted Weaver.
The Inspector started, then chuckled. “One on me,” he said. “It’s true enough. When did he return and why did he go?”
Weaver looked compassionately at the limp, oblivious figure of his employer. “He went early yesterday afternoon to confer with Farnham Whitney on Whitney’s estate. A matter of merger, Inspector — the meeting this morning discussed just that. Mr. French told me that he was driven into the city early this morning by Whitney’s chauffeur — arrived at the store at nine o’clock. Anything else?”
“Not just now.” Queen turned to Marion. “Your pardon, my dear, for the interruption... Now where specifically did you go when you came to the store?”
“To my father’s apartment on the sixth floor.”
“Indeed?” muttered the Inspector. “And why, may I ask, did you go to your father’s apartment?”
“I usually go there when I’m at the store, which isn’t often,” exclaimed Marion. “Besides, I was told that Mr. Weaver was there, working, and I thought it might be nice — to pay him a little visit...” She eyed her father apprehensively, but he was insensible to words.
“You went there directly on entering the store? And left immediately from the apartment?”
“Yes.”
“Is it possible,” insinuated the Inspector very gently, “that you may have dropped your scarf in the apartment, Miss French?”
She did not reply immediately. Weaver tried frantically to catch her eye, moving his lips, framing the word “No!” She shook her head.
“Quite possible, Inspector,” she said quietly.
“I see.” The Inspector beamed. “Now, when did you see Mrs. French last?”
“At dinner last night. I had an appointment for the evening and left almost immediately.”
“Did Mrs. French seem herself? Notice anything unusual, abnormal in her speech or actions?”
“Well... She did seem worried about Bernice,” Marion said slowly.
“Ah!” Queen rubbed his hands together. “Then I infer that your — stepsister, is it? — was not at home for dinner?”
“No,” replied Marion after a hesitating silence. “Winifred — my stepmother told me that Bernice had gone out and would not be home for dinner. But she seemed worried nevertheless.”
“She gave no indication of a reason for this worry?”
“None whatever.”
“What is your step-sister’s name? Is it French?”
“No, Inspector. She retains her father’s name of Carmody,” murmured Marion.
“I see. I see.” The Inspector stood plunged in thought. John Gray shifted impatiently, whispered a word to Cornelius Zorn, who shook his head sadly and leaned resignedly against the back of French’s chair. Queen paid no attention to them. He looked up at Marion. Her passive, tired little figure drooped.
“One question more for the moment, Miss French,” he said, “and you may rest... Can you suggest, from anything that you know of Mrs. French’s background of affairs, or from anything that transpired recently — last night, yesterday, perhaps — can you suggest,” he repeated, “a possible explanation for this crime? It’s murder, of course,” he continued hastily, before she could reply, “and I know you are naturally chary of answering. Take your time — think carefully over everything that has occurred lately...” He stopped. “Now, Miss French, can you tell me anything I might wish to hear?”
There was naked silence in the room — a raw pulsing quiet that beat invisibly against the atmosphere. Ellery heard quick breaths drawn, saw bodies tense, eyes sharpen, hand twitch as, to a man, the occupants of the room with the exception of Cyrus French leaned forward, watching Marion French as she stood there, facing them.
But she said, “No,” very matter-of-factly, and the Inspector’s eyes flickered. Everybody relaxed. Someone sighed. Ellery noted that it was Zorn. Trask lit a cigarette nervously and let the fire die. Marchbanks sat frozen to his chair. Weaver made a little movement of despair...
“Then that will be all, Miss French,” returned Inspector Queen, in a tone as casual as the girl’s had been. He seemed pleasantly absorbed in a contemplation of Lavery’s formal cravat. “Please,” he added, just as pleasantly, “do not leave the room... Mr. Lavery, may I have your ear for the moment?”
Marion dropped back and Weaver sprang to her side, dragging a chair with him. She sank into it with a little smile, shading her eyes with a nerveless hand. The other snuggled secretly into Weaver’s eager grasp... Ellery watched them for a moment, then turned his sharp eyes on Lavery.
The Frenchman bowed, waited, fingers riffling his short beard.
11
Loose Ends
“As I understand it, Mr. Lavery, you are responsible for this exhibition of modernistic house-furnishings?” Inspector Queen’s voice took a fresh note.
“That is correct.”
“How long has this exhibition been going on?”
“About a month, I should say.”
“Your main exhibition rooms are where?”
“On the fifth floor.” Lavery spread his fingers. “You see, this is more or less of a pioneer project in New York, Inspector. I was invited to exhibit some of my creations to the American public by Mr. French and his Board, who are very much in sympathy with the movement. Most of the purely enterprising details of the present exhibition emanate from Mr. French, allow me to add.”