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:
“We’ve struck oil, Inspector,” he said in his calm bass. “Managed to trace the cab that picked up Mrs. French last night almost at once. It was a Yellow that patrols this neighborhood regularly. Got the driver and he remembered his fare without any trouble.”
“And I suppose—” began the Inspector gloomily.
Velie shrugged. “Nothing to brag about. He picked her up right in front of the house here at about twenty after eleven last night. She told him to take her down Fifth. He followed orders. At 39th Street she told him to pull up, and then she got out. Paid him and he beat it. He did see her cross the street toward the department store. That’s all.”
“Not so much,” murmured Ellery, “to be sure. Did he stop at all on the trip downtown — did she communicate with any one on the way?”
“I asked him that. Nothing doing, Mr. Queen. She didn’t give him another order until they reached 39th Street. Of course, he did say that there was heavy traffic, and he had to stop a number of times. It’s possible that somebody might have hopped in and out of the cab during a traffic wait. But the driver says no, he didn’t see anything wrong.”
“And if he’s alert, he would have, naturally,” said the Inspector, sighing.
A maid took their hats and coats, and immediately afterward Marion French appeared. She squeezed Weaver’s hand, smiled wanly at the Queens, and placed herself at their disposal.
“No, Miss French, there’s nothing we can do with you now,” said the Inspector. “How is Mr. French?”
“Loads better.” She made a little moue of apology. “I did act frightfully at the apartment, Inspector Queen. I know you’ll forgive me — seeing father faint made me lose control of myself.”
“Nothing to forgive, Marion,” growled Weaver, “if I do take the words out of the Inspector’s mouth. I don’t think Inspector Queen quite realized how ill your father really was.”
“Now, now, Mr. Weaver,” said the Inspector mildly. “Miss French, do you think Mr. French will be able to see us in a half hour or so?”
“Well... If the doctor says so, Inspector. But goodness! Won’t you sit down? I’ve been so upset by all this — confusion...” A shadow darkened her face. The men accepted chairs. “You see, Inspector,” continued Marion, “there’s a nurse with daddy, and the doctor’s still here. An old friend. Mr. Gray, too. Shall I see?”
“If you will, my dear. And would you mind having Miss Hortense Underhill come in for a moment?”
When Marion had left the room, Weaver excused himself and hurried after her. Her startled “Why, Westley!” could just be heard from the main hall a moment later. There was a sudden silence, then a suspiciously soft sound, and finally retreating footfalls.
“I think,” said Ellery soberly, “that that was a luscious salute to the Venerian goddess... I wonder why old Cyrus frowns upon Westley as a prospective son-in-law. Wants wealth and position, I suppose.”
“Does he?” asked the Inspector.
“I gather so.”
“Well, that’s neither here nor there.” The Inspector delicately took snuff. “Thomas,” he said, “what have you done about Bernice Carmody? Any traces?”
Velie pulled a longer face than usual. “Just one, and it barely helps us to a start. The Carmody girl was seen yesterday afternoon leaving this house by a day watchman — special officer — who’s privately employed to patrol the neighborhood. He knows the girl by sight. He saw her walk quickly down towards 72nd Street — straight down the Drive. She didn’t meet any one, apparently, and was headed for a definite place, because she seemed in a hell of a hurry. He had no reason to give her more than a casual glance or two, and so he couldn’t tell me just how far down the Drive she went or whether she turned down a side street.”
“Worse and worse.” The Inspector grew thoughtful. “That girl is almighty important, Thomas,” he sighed. “Put extra men on her trail if you think it’s necessary. We’ve got to find her. I suppose you’ve got a complete description, clothes and all?”
Velie nodded. “Yes, and four men on her already. If there’s anything at all, Inspector, we’ll find it.”
Hortense Underhill clumped into the room.
Ellery sprang to his feet. “Dad, this is Miss Underhill, the housekeeper. This is Inspector Queen, Miss Underhill. The Inspector has a few questions to ask you.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” said the housekeeper.
“Um,” said the Inspector, eying her keenly. “My son tells me, Miss Underhill, that Miss Bernice Carmody left this house yesterday afternoon against her mother’s wishes — in fact, sneaked out behind her back. Is that correct?”
“That’s correct,” snapped the housekeeper, with a malevolent glance toward Ellery, who was smiling. “Though what that has to do, with it, I can’t see.”
“No doubt,” said the old man. “Was that Miss Carmody’s usual procedure — to run away from her mother?”
“I haven’t the faintest notion of what you’re driving at, Mr. Inspector,” said the housekeeper coldly. “But if you’re aiming to implicate that girl... Well! Yes, she did that a few times a month. Slipped out of the house without a word and was gone usually about three hours. There was always a scene with Mrs. French when she returned.”
“I don’t suppose you know,” asked Ellery slowly, “where she went at such times? Or what Mrs. French said to her when she returned?”
Hortense Underhill clicked her teeth disagreeably. “No. Neither did her mother. That’s why they had a scene. And Bernice would never tell. Just sit calmly and let her mother rave... Except, of course, last week. Then they did have a scene.”
“Oh, something extraordinary a week ago, eh?” said Ellery. “And I gather that Mrs. French did know then?”
The housekeeper permitted an expression of surprise to flick across her hard features. “Yes, I think she did,” she said more quietly than before. She favored Ellery with a suddenly interested glance. “But what it was I don’t know. I think she found out where Bernice was going, and they quarreled about it.”
“Just when was this, Miss Underhill?” asked the Inspector.
“A week ago Monday.”
Ellery whistled softly to himself. He and the Inspector exchanged glances.
The Inspector leaned forward. “Tell me, Miss Underhill — these days on which Miss Carmody generally disappeared — do you recall whether they were all the same, or different days?”
Hortense Underhill looked from father to son, began to speak, thought for an instant, looked up again. “Now that I think of it,” she said slowly, “they weren’t always Mondays. I remember a Tuesday, a Wednesday, and a Thursday... I do believe she went every week on consecutive days! Now, what could that mean?”
“More, Miss Underhill,” replied Ellery, frowning, “than you can guess — or I, for that matter... Have the bedrooms of Mrs. French and Miss Carmody been disturbed since this morning?”
“No. When I heard about the murder at the store I locked up both bedrooms. I didn’t know but that—”
“That it might have been important, Miss Underhill?” said Ellery. “That was clever of you... Will you please lead the way upstairs?”
The housekeeper rose without a word and walked out into the main hall and up the broad central staircase, the three men following. She stopped on the second floor and opened a door with a key from a bunch in her black silk apron-pocket.
“This is Bernice’s room,” she announced, and stepped aside.
They entered a large green-and-ivory bedroom, ornately furnished with period furniture. A huge canopied bed dominated the room. Despite the mirrors and colors and exotic pieces, the room was unaccountably depressing. It looked cold. The sunbeams that streamed in through the three wide windows, far from lending warmth to the ensemble, in some grotesque way only heightened the general effect of cheerlessness.