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:
There was silence for several seconds after the anteroom door closed. Then the Inspector shrugged his shoulders lightly and crossed the room to Ellery’s side. Ellery dragged a chair over for his father and they held a whispered conversation for many minutes. The word “razor-blade,”... “book-ends,”... “books”... and “Bernice”... recurred at intervals. The old man’s face grew longer and longer as Ellery talked. Finally, he shook his head in despair and rose.
An altercation beyond the anteroom door brought up the heads of all the men in the library. A woman’s passionate voice and the gruff tones of a man intermingled. Weaver’s nostrils quivered and he dashed across the room and flung open the door.
Marion French was endeavoring frantically to push past the burly figure of a detective in the anteroom.
“But I must see Inspector Queen!” she cried. “My father— Please don’t touch me!”
Weaver grasped the detective’s arm and violently pushed him aside.
“Get your hands off her!” he growled. “I’ll teach you to handle a lady that way...”
He would have attacked the amused detective if Marion had not thrown her arms around him. By this time the Inspector and Ellery had hurried up.
“Here! Ritter, stand aside!” said the Inspector. “What’s the trouble, Miss French?” he asked gently.
“My... my father,” she gasped. “Oh, it’s cruel, inhuman... Can’t you see he’s ill, out of his mind? For God’s sake, let us take him home! He’s just fainted!”
They pushed into the hallway. A crowd of people were stooping over Cyrus French, who had collapsed and lay, white-faced, still, on the marble floor. The store physician, small and dark, bent over him in distress.
“Out?” asked the Inspector with some concern.
The physician nodded. “Should be in his bed right now, sir. In a dangerous state of collapse.”
Ellery whispered to his father. The old man clucked worriedly, shook his head. “Can’t take a chance, Ellery. The man is ill.” He signed to two detectives and Cyrus French, arms hanging limply, was carried into the apartment and laid on one of the beds. He regained consciousness a moment later, groaning.
John Gray wriggled his way past a policeman and stormed into the bedroom.
“You can’t get away with this sort of thing, Inspector or no Inspector!” he cried in his high-pitched voice. “I demand that Mr. French be sent home immediately”
“Keep your shirt on, Mr. Gray,” admonished the Inspector mildly. “He’s going in a moment.”
“And I’m going with him,” squeaked Gray. “He’ll want me, he will. I’ll take this up with the Mayor, sir. I’ll—”
“Shut up, sir!” roared Queen, his face scarlet. He whirled on Detective Ritter. “Get a cab.”
“Miss French.” Marion looked up, startled. The Inspector irritably took a pinch of snuff. “You may leave with your father and Mr. Gray. But please remain at home until we call this afternoon. We will want to look over the premises and perhaps question Mr. French, if he’s in a condition to see us. And... I’m sorry, my dear.”
The girl smiled through wet lashes. Weaver moved stealthily to her side, drew her a little apart.
“Marion dear — I’m awfully sorry I didn’t lam that brute for you,” he stammered. “Did he hurt you?”
Marion’s eyes widened, softened. “Don’t be silly, darling,” she whispered. “And don’t be getting mixed up with the police, I’ll help Mr. Gray get father home, and stay there just as Inspector Queen ordered me to... You won’t be — in any trouble, dear?”
“Who? I?” Weaver laughed. “Now don’t be worrying your pretty head about me. — And as for the store, I’ll keep an eye on everything. Tell your father that when he can understand... Do you love me?”
There was no one looking. He bent swiftly and kissed her. Her eyes glowed in answer.
Five minutes later Cyrus French, Marion French and John Gray had left the building under a police escort.
Velie lumbered over. “Got two of the boys on the trail of this Carmody girl,” he reported. “Didn’t want to tell you before with the Commissioner around — busy and all that.”
Queen frowned, then chuckled. “All my boys are turning traitor to the City,” he said. “Thomas, I want you to send somebody out on the trail of Mrs. French after she left her house last night. She walked out about eleven-fifteen. Probably took a cab, because she got here at eleven-forty-five, which would make it about right in the after-theater traffic. Got it?”
Velie nodded and disappeared.
Ellery sat at the desk again, whistling softly to himself, a faraway look in his eyes.
The Inspector had MacKenzie, the store manager, brought to the library.
“Have you checked the employees, Mr. MacKenzie?”
“A report came through from my assistant a few moments ago.” Ellery listened avidly. “So far as we have been able to determine,” continued the Scotchman, referring to a paper in his hand, “all employees who checked in both yesterday and today were at their posts. As for today, everything seems perfectly regular in that connection. There is, of course, a list of absentees, which I have here. If you would like to follow up on these employees, here’s the list.”
“We’ll have a peep at it,” said the Inspector, taking the list from MacKenzie. He turned it over to a detective with a command. “Now, MacKenzie, you may start the ball rolling again. Store’s routine is to go on as usual, but be careful that you say nothing at all of this whole business in your publicity. Have that window on Fifth Avenue kept closed and guarded until further orders. We’ll have to seal it up anyway for a time. That’s all. You’re free to go.”
“I’d like to ask the remaining directors a question, dad, if you haven’t anything to quiz them about,” said Ellery, after MacKenzie had left.
“I haven’t a thought in my head about them — that I could turn to account,” answered Queen. “Hesse, bring in Zorn, Marchbanks and Trask. Let’s have another try at ’em.”
The detective returned shortly with the three directors. They looked peaked and ragged; Marchbanks was chewing savagely at a frayed cigar. The Inspector waved his hand at Ellery and retreated a step.
Ellery rose. “Just one question, gentlemen, and then I think Inspector Queen will permit you to go about your business.”
“High time,” muttered Trask, biting his lip.
“Mr. Zorn,” said Ellery, ignoring the attenuated and foppish Trask, “is there a regular meeting-time for your Board of Directors?”
Zorn juggled his heavy gold watch-chain nervously. “Yes — yes, of course.”
“If I’m not too inquisitive, when is that meeting-time?”
“Every other Friday afternoon.”
“This is routine, strictly adhered to?”
“Yes... yes.”
“How is it that there was a meeting this morning — on a Tuesday?”
“That was a special meeting. Mr. French calls them as the occasion demands.”
“But the semi-monthly meetings are held regardless of special meetings?”
“Yes.”
“I take it, then, that there was a meeting on Friday last?”
“Yes.”
Ellery turned to Marchbanks and Trask. “Is Mr. Zorn’s testimony substantially correct, gentlemen?”
Both nodded their heads sullenly. Ellery smiled, thanked them, and sat down. The Inspector smiled, thanked them, and told them politely that they were free to leave. He escorted them to the door and whispered to the policeman on guard an inaudible instruction. Zorn, Marchbanks and Trask left the private corridor immediately.
“There’s an interesting feller outside, El,” remarked the Inspector. “Vincent Carmody, Mrs. French’s first husband. Think I’ll tackle him next. — Hesse, bring in Mr. Carmody in about two minutes.”