The French Powder Mystery

“There are two possibilities, either or both of which may be correct. First: to keep attention away from the real scene of the crime, which is undoubtedly the apartment. Second, and more logically, to prevent the body from being discovered before noon. The dead certainty of the daily demonstration time — which you have reasoned, of course, was common knowledge to all New York — tenons much too snugly.”

“But why, Ellery?” objected Inspector Queen. “Why delay the body’s discovery until noon?”

“If only we knew that!” murmured Ellery, with a shrug. “But in a general way it seems reasonable that if the murderer left the body to be discovered — and he knew it with certainty — at twelve-fifteen, then he had something to do before noon which the discovery of the body prematurely would have made dangerous or impossible. Do you follow me?”

“But what on earth—”

“Yes, what on earth,” replied Ellery sadly. “What did the murderer have to do on the morning of the crime? I don’t know.”

“We’re just stumbling in the dark Ellery,” said the Inspector with a faint groan. “Just staggering from premise to conclusion without a ray of light anywhere... For example, why couldn’t the murderer have done what he had to do last night, in the building? There are telephones, you know, if he had to communicate with some one...”

“Are there? But — we’ll have to check up on that later.”

“I’ll do that right away—”

“Just a second, dad,” interrupted Ellery. “Why not send Velie out to that private elevator to look for traces of blood?”

The Inspector stared at him, made a fist. “Goodness! How stupidly I’ve managed things!” he cried. “Of course! Thomas!”

Velie stalked across the room, received an inaudible instruction, and immediately left.

“I should have thought of that before,” growled the Inspector, turning back to Ellery. “Naturally, if the murder was committed in the apartment, the body had to be brought down here from the sixth floor.”

“Probably find nothing” commented Ellery. “I’d pick the staircase, myself... But look here, dad. I want you to do something for me. — Welles will be here any moment now. To all intents and purposes this window is the scene of the crime. He’ll want to hear all the testimony all over again, anyway. Keep him down here — give me an hour upstairs alone with Wes Weaver, won’t you? I must see that apartment at once. Nobody has been in it since the meeting broke up — it’s been watched all the time — there must be something there... Will you?”

The Inspector wrung his hands helplessly. “Of course son — anything you say. You can certainly tackle it with a fresher mind than I can. I’ll keep Welles down here. Want to examine that Employees’ Entrance office, the freight room, and that whole section of the main floor, anyway... But why are you taking Weaver?” His voice sank lower. “Ellery — aren’t you playing a dangerous game?”

“Why, dad!” Ellery’s eyes opened wide in honest astonishment. “What do you mean? If you’ve any suspicion of poor Wes, disabuse your mind of it right now. Wes and I were bunkies at school; remember that summer during which I stayed with a chum in Maine? That was Westley’s father’s place. I know the poor boy as well as I know you. Father’s a clergyman, mother’s a saint. Background clean, life’s always been an open book. No secrets, no past...”

“But you don’t know what he’s bumped into in the city here, Ellery” objected the Inspector. “You haven’t seen him for years.”

“Look here, dad,” said Ellery gravely. “You’ve never made a mistake following my judgment, have you? Follow it now. Weaver’s as innocent of this crime as a lamb. His nervousness is plainly connected with Marion French... There! The photographer wants to talk to you.”

They turned back to the group. Inspector Queen spoke to the police photographer for a few moments. Then dismissing the man, he resolutely beckoned the Scotch store manager.

“Mr. MacKenzie, tell me—” he asked abruptly, “what is the condition of your telephone service after shopping hours?”

MacKenzie said: “All ’phones except on one trunk line are cut off at six o’clock. That line is connected with O’Flaherty’s desk at the night exit. If there are any incoming calls, he takes them. Otherwise there is no telephone service at night.”

“I see by O’Flaherty’s time-sheet and report-sheet that there were no incoming or outgoing calls last night,” remarked the Inspector, consulting the chart.

“You can rely on O’Flaherty, Inspector.”

“Well,” pursued Queen, “suppose some department is working overtime? ’Phone service kept open?”

“Yes,” replied MacKenzie. “But only on written request of the head of the department. — I should add that we have very little of that sort of thing here, sir. Mr. French has always insisted that the closing hour be kept more or less strictly. Of course, there are exceptions every once in a while. If there is no record on O’Flaherty’s chart of such a request, you may be sure no lines were open last night.”