The Dutch Shoe Mystery
- Автор: Куин (Квин) Эллери
- Серия: Ellery Queen #3
- Год: 1931
- Язык: английский
- Год: Frederick A. Stokes
- Жанр: Классические детективы
Электронная книга - «The Dutch Shoe Mystery». Краткое содержание книги:
Ellery seemed less impressed than the others. “I should heartily dislike placing myself in the same category with those myopic scoffers who martyrized Galileo and sneered at Pasteur, but as one analyst to another — I should like to be shown. Or words to that effect... The cost so far, Dr. Kneisel?”
“I do not know exactly, although I believe it is well over eighty thousand dollars. Dr. Janney attends to the finances.”
“Naïve little experiment,” murmured Ellery. “So simple... Well, sir, chromium, nickel, aluminum, carbon, molybdenum — surely these ores can’t possibly total such a huge sum unless you order the stuff by the carload. No, Doctor, you’ll have to enlighten me further.”
Kneisel permitted himself a discreet smile. “I see you are not unfamiliar with the experimental ores. You might have mentioned molybdenite, wulfenite, scheelite, molybdite and a few others from which the essential molybdenum is extracted. But I shan’t even admit that I am using molybdenum. I have tackled the problem from an entirely unorthodox angle...
“As to cost, however, you have overlooked some essential items. I refer to the installation of the laboratory, and the purchase of apparatus. Have you any idea of the cost of a special ventilation system, of smelting furnaces, of refining equipment — of turbines, electrolytic apparatus, cathode tubes and the like?”
“My apologies. I’m the veriest layman. Your background, Doctor?”
“Munich in Germany, the Sorbonne in France, M.I.T. in the States. Special laboratory and research work under Jublik of Vienna and the elder Charcot in Paris. Three years at the United States Bureau of Standards in the Department of Metallurgy, after I had obtained my American citizenship. Five years with one of the largest steel-manufacturing companies on the American continent. Interspersed with independent researches during which the idea I am now working on slowly germinated.”
“How did you and Janney meet?”
“We were brought together by a scientific colleague who was slightly in my confidence. I was poor. I required the aid of a man who could secure finances for my experiments as well as assist me in the technical end. And above all a man whom I could trust... Dr. Janney met all my requirements. He became enthusiastic. The rest you can infer.”
Ellery stirred lightly. “Why did Mrs. Doorn decide to stop financing your project?”
A thin white vertical line appeared between Kneisel’s eyes. “She was tired. Two weeks ago she summoned Dr. Janney and me to her home. The six months’ duration of our experiments, which we had originally promised, had stretched to two and a half years and we were still not finished. She had lost interest, she said. In perfect amiability she informed us of this, and nothing we could say would move her to change her decision.
“We left dispiritedly. There was still some money left. We decided to discontinue only when our money was used up, and until then work as if nothing had happened, without stint. In the meantime Dr. Janney would attempt to raise funds elsewhere.”
District Attorney Sampson cleared his throat with a brisk rasp. “When she told you this, did she also tell you that her lawyer was drawing up a new will?”
“Yes.”
Inspector Queen tapped the scientist’s knee. “To your knowledge, was this new will drawn up and signed?”
Kneisel shrugged. “I do not know. I sincerely hope not. It will simplify matters if the first will is still in force.”
Ellery said softly, “And aren’t you curious to know whether the second will was signed?”
“I never allow mundane considerations to interfere with my work.” Kneisel stroked his beard calmly. “I am something of a philosopher as well as a metallurgist. What will be, will be.”
Ellery unslung his length from the chair and got wearily to his feet. “You’re too good to be true, Doctor, really.” He ran his hand through his hair and stared down at Kneisel.
“Thank you, Mr. Queen.”
“And yet I feel that you’re not quite so unemotional as you pretend to be. For example!” Ellery loomed over the little man, resting his hand familiarly on the back of the chair. “I feel sure that, if a cardiometer were to be attached to your scientific carcass at this moment, Doctor, it would register an accelerated pulse-percussion at the following statement: Abigail Doorn was murdered before she could sign the second will...”
“On the contrary, Mr. Queen.” Kneisel’s white teeth glistened in his swarthy face. “I am not at all surprised, since both your method and your motive are so obvious. In fact, I feel morally certain that the innuendo is unworthy of your intellect... Is that all, sir?”
Ellery straightened suddenly. “No. Are you aware of the fact that Dr. Janney is slated for a personal slice of Mrs. Doorn’s estate?”
“Perfectly.”
“Then you may go.”
Kneisel slipped out of his chair and bowed to Ellery with continental grace. He turned to salute the Inspector, the District Attorney, Cronin and Velie, then imperturbably walked out of the Anteroom.
“And there,” groaned Ellery, sinking into the vacated chair, “but for the grace of God goes Ellery Queen... who, incidentally, confesses to having met his match.”
“Oh, tosh!” The Inspector sneezed on a pinch of snuff and irritably jumped up. “The man’s a human test-tube.”
“He’s a fish,” grunted Sampson.
Harper, the newspaperman, had been huddled in a chair at a far corner of the room, his hat pulled low over his eyes. Not once during the examination of Dr. Kneisel had he uttered a sound or shifted his gaze from the face of the scientist.
Now he rose and sauntered across the room. Ellery looked up and they regarded each other in silence.
“Well, old boy,” said Harper finally, “I think you’ve got a hot tip. You don’t mind my mixing metaphors?” He grinned. “A hot tip on a human iceberg.”
“I’m inclined to agree with you, Pete.” Ellery smiled wanly as he stretched his legs. “Evidently you haven’t glossed over the scientific fact that eight-ninths of most icebergs are completely submerged...”
Chapter Thirteen
Administration
Sergeant Velie’s bulky arm rested against the door-jamb as he conversed earnestly with an invisible henchman in the corridor.
Ellery Queen was sitting in a sort of concentrative stupor, communing, from the dark expression on his face, with bitter and unfruitful thoughts.
Huddled together, arms about each other, Inspector Queen, the District Attorney and Timothy Cronin were engaged in a summary discussion of the complex features of the case.
Only Pete Harper, head drooped on his breast, feet entwined about the rungs of his chair, seemed entirely at peace with himself and the world.
This was the vacuous and still-life scene upon which a corps of police photographers and fingerprint experts noisily intruded a few moments later.
The room suddenly filled with officials.
Sampson and Cronin took their overcoats and hats from the chair on which they had been loosely thrown, and stood aside.
The chief photographer muttered some excuse about “another job” and without further conversation the men from headquarters went to work.
They invaded the Amphitheater as well as the Anteroom and Anæsthesia Room; they thronged about the operating-table; two men used the Anteroom lift to descend into the basement for a series of photographs of the dead woman and her wound. Blue-white flashes and muffled explosions punctuated the bedlam all through the main floor of the Hospital. The acrid odor of flashlight powder mingled with the sharp medicinal odor of the halls and rooms in an overpowering stench.