Электронная книга - «The French Powder Mystery». Краткое содержание книги:
At crowded noon, in front of Fifth Avenue's most fashionable department store, while hundreds of sidewalk onlookers watch a demonstration of modernistic furniture in the window, the demonstrator touches a button regulating a concealed wall-bed — the bed swings out of the wall — and from its dark recesses tumbles the distorted, crumpled corpse of a beautiful woman... Ellery Queen moves vitally and refreshingly through his own story — a slender, cynical young man with a genius for piercing the veil of commonplaces and arriving at foolproof conclusions. Old Inspector Queen, his father, again takes you through the complicated process of a police investigation, although it is Ellery who is responsible for the solution of one of the most stimulating and baffling detective stories ever written. And the denouement is surprising and yet inevitable.
“Well, I’ll be damned!” exclaimed Weaver. “I didn’t know you went in for this sort of thing so seriously, Ellery.”
“Let the contents of my work-chest convince you,” smiled Ellery. “Here we have two accessory lenses — Zeiss, by the way — for my pocket magnifier; stronger than usual, you see. Here’s a tiny steel tape measure with the automatic recoil, 96-inch length, reverse side in centimeters. Red, blue, and black crayons. Undersize drawing-compass and special pencil. One vial each of black and white fingerprint powder, with camel’s-hair brushes and stamping pad. Packet of glassine envelopes. Small calipers and smaller tweezers. Collapsible probe, adjustable to various lengths. Tempered steel pins and needles. Litmus paper and two tiny test-tubes. Combination knife containing two blades, corkscrew, screwdriver, awl, file, scraper. Specially designed field-compass — and don’t laugh. Not all investigations are conducted in the heart of New York... And that’s not the last by any means. Red, white and green twine of threadlike thinness, but very strong. Sealing-wax. Small ‘lighter’ — made specially for me. Scissors. And, naturally, a stop watch made by one of the world’s best watch-makers — a Swiss in the employ of the German government... How do you like my traveling workcase, Wes?”
Weaver looked incredulous. “Do you mean to tell me all those things are in that ridiculously small aluminum container?”
“Exactly. The entire contraption is some four inches wide by six inches long, and weighs slightly less than two pounds. Thickness of a fair-sized book. Oh, yes! I forgot to mention a crystal mirror embedded in the wall of one of the aluminum sides... But I’d better be getting down to work. Keep your eyes open!”
From one of the leather mats Ellery extracted the tweezers. Adjusting one of the more powerful lenses in his pocket-glass, he carefully placed the first book-end in a fixed position on the desk, held the magnifier to his eye with his left hand, and with his right painstakingly maneuvered the tweezers into the hardened glue which contained the suspicious-looking particles. He instructed Weaver to hold in readiness one of the glassine envelopes and, uprooting the almost invisible grains, placed them carefully in the envelope.
He laid down the glass and the tweezers, and sealed the envelope instantly.
“I think I’ve bagged them all,” he said with satisfaction. “And the ones I’ve missed Jimmy will get... Come!”
It was Detective Piggott. He closed the outer door softly and entered the library with ill-concealed curiosity.
“Sergeant said you wanted me, Mr. Queen,” and his eyes were on Weaver.
“Righto. Just a sec, Piggott, and I’ll tell you what to do.” Ellery scribbled an inky note on the reverse side of the envelope. It read:
“DEAR JIMMY: Analyze powder-grains in envelope. Extract any additional particles in glue-line of book-end marked A, also analyze. Check on book-end marked B for similar grains. After analyzing the grains, and not until then, check both book-ends for fingerprints other than my own. Could bring out a print myself, but if you find any, have it ‘shot’ in the lab and a photoprint immediately made. ’Phone all information to me, personally, as soon as you’ve done. I’m at French apartment in French store. Piggott will tell you.
E. Q.”
Marking the book-ends A and B with his red crayon, he swathed both in absorbent cotton, wrapped them in some paper Weaver found for him in the desk, and handed package and envelope to the detective.
“Take these down to Jimmy at the headquarters laboratory as fast as you can get there, Piggott,” he said insistently. “Don’t let anything stop you. If Velie or my father corners you on the way out, say it’s on business for me. On no account let the Commissioner get wind of what you’re carrying off the premises. Now scoot!”
Piggott left without a word. He was too well trained in the methods of the Queens to ask questions.
And as he slipped out of the door, he saw the shadow of a rising elevator through the frosted glass wall. He turned and sped down the emergency stairs just as the door slid open and Commissioner Welles, Inspector Queen and a small cohort of detectives and policemen stepped out.
18
Scrambled Signs
Within five minutes the private corridor outside French’s sixth floor apartment was crowded with a score of people. Two policemen stood guard at the door. Another stood with his back to the elevator, his eyes on the emergency staircase-door nearby. In the anteroom lounged several detectives smoking cigarets.
Ellery sat smiling behind French’s desk in the library. Commissioner Welles puffed about the room, shouting orders to detectives, opening the doors leading off the library, peering like a myopic owl at things strange to him. Inspector Queen talked with Velie and Crouther near the dormer-window. Weaver stood miserably in a corner, unnoticed. His eyes frequently sought the anteroom door, beyond which he knew was Marion French...
“You say, Mr. Queen,” grunted Welles, out of breath, “that the cigaret stubs and the game of — blast it! what is it again? — banque are the only signs of this Carmody girl’s presence here?”
“Not at all, Commissioner,” said Ellery gravely. “You forget the shoes and hat in the closet. I believe I recounted the housekeeper’s identification—?”
“Yes, yes, of course!” grumbled Welles. He frowned. “Here, you fingerprint men!” he shouted, “have you covered that little room off the cardroom?” Without waiting for a reply, he bellowed an unintelligible order to several photographers who were busy over the table holding the cards and cigaret stubs. Finally, mopping his brow, he beckoned imperiously to Inspector Queen.
“What do you think, Queen?” he demanded. “Looks like a pretty clear case, eh?”
The Inspector sent a sidewise glance at his son, and smiled cryptically. “Hardly, Commissioner. We’ve got to find the girl first, you know... Work’s barely scratched. We haven’t had the time to check a single alibi, for example. Despite these clues pointing to Bernice Carmody, we’re not at all satisfied that there isn’t something deeper...” He shook his head. “At any rate, Commissioner, there’s a heap of work waiting for us. Anybody you’d like to question? We have ’em all outside in the corridor waiting.”
The Commissioner looked fierce. “No! Can’t say I do at this stage...” He cleared his throat. “What’s next on your list? I’ve got to get down to City Hall for a conference with the Mayor and I can’t give this thing the personal attention it deserves. Well?”
“I want to clear up a few moot points,” replied Queen dryly. “Several people out there will stand questioning. French himself—”
“French. Yes, yes. Too bad. Feel sorry for the man. Quite a blow.” Welles looked around nervously and lowered his voice. “By the way Queen, while there is not to be the slightest deviation from the highest considerations of duty, you understand, it might be — ah — wise to allow French to get home to his physician’s care... As for this stepdaughter business, I hope” — he paused uncomfortably — “I might say I have the feeling that this girl has made a complete getaway. You’re to follow her up conscientiously, of course... Too bad. I— Well! I must be going.”
He turned unceremoniously on his heel, and with something like a sigh of relief tramped toward the door, followed by his bodyguard of detectives. He turned in the anteroom and shouted back, “I want a quick solution, Queen — too many unsolved homicides this past month.” And he disappeared with a final quiver of his fat sides.
