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:
You might expect, therefore, that the Queens lived on the top floor of this sprawling old mansion, and that the door was of time-softened oak (on which appeared their only concession to expediency — a placard labeled “The Queens”), and that when you were admitted by gypsy-blooded Djuna, an odor redolent of old leather and masculinity would assail the nostrils.
There was an anteroom hung with a vast tapestry (the gift of the Duke of — in return for the Inspector’s services in a matter preserved in silence). The anteroom was opulently Gothic, and it was Ellery’s will again which prevented the Inspector from consigning it, period furniture and all, to the auction rooms.
And there was the living-room and library. Dotted with books, massed with books. Oak-ribbed ceiling — huge natural fireplace with a broad oak mantel and curious old ironwork — the Nuremberg swords crossed martially above — old lamps, brasswork, massive furniture. Chairs, divans, foot-stools, leather cushions, ashstands — a veritable fairyland of easy bachelordom.
Off the living-room was the bedroom, a chaste and comfortable rest-place.
The whole was presided over by small, volatile Djuna, the orphan boy adopted by Inspector Queen during his lonely years when Ellery was attending the University. Djuna’s world was limited to his beloved patron and their common dwelling-place. Valet, cook, housekeeper and on occasion confidant...
At nine o’clock of the morning of Wednesday, the twenty-fifth of May — the day after the discovery of Mrs. Winifred French’s lifeless body in the French establishment — Djuna was setting the table in the living-room for a late breakfast. Ellery was conspicuous by his absence from the room. The Inspector sat grumpily in his favorite armchair, staring at Djuna’s twinkling brown hands.
The telephone bell rang. Djuna grasped the instrument.
“For you, Dad Queen,” he announced pompously. “It’s the District Attorney.”
The old man plodded across the room to the telephone.
“Hello! Hello, Henry... We-e-ell, a little progress. Something tells me Ellery is on the scent. In fact, he told me so himself... What?... Yes, as far as I’m concerned it’s a devil’s brew. Can’t make head or tail of it... Oh, go on with your blarney, Henry! I’m talking straight... The situation is briefly this.”
The Inspector spoke for a long time in a voice fluctuating between despair and excitement. District Attorney Henry Sampson listened carefully.
“And that,” concluded the Inspector, “is where it stands at this moment. Something tells me Ellery is up to one of his familiar tricks. He was up half the night poring over those infernal books... Yes, certainly, I’ll keep you posted. May need you soon at that, Henry. Ellery performs miracles at times, although I’d wager my next year’s pay that — Oh, go on back to your work, you ferret!”
He hung up the receiver in time to greet a prodigiously yawning Ellery who fumbled with his necktie and endeavored to keep the folds of his dressing-gown together simultaneously.
“So!” growled the Inspector, plumping into his chair. “What time did you get to bed, young man?”
Ellery finished the delicately dual operation and reached for a chair, digging Djuna surreptitiously in the ribs.
“No scolding now,” he said, reaching for a piece of toast. “Have breakfast yet? No? Waiting for the sluggard? Regale yourself with this Olympian coffee — we can talk as we eat.”
“What time?” repeated the Inspector inexorably, sitting down at the table.
“To be temporal,” said Ellery, his mouth full of coffee, “It was three-twenty A.M.”
The old man’s eyes softened. “Shouldn’t do that,” he mumbled, reaching for the percolator. “It’ll fag you.”
“Essential.” Ellery drained his cup. “There are things to do, Sire... Have you heard anything this morning?”
“Plenty that means nothing,” said the Inspector. “I’ve been at that ’phone since seven... Got a preliminary autopsy report from Sam Prouty. Nothing to add to what he said yesterday except that there was absolutely no signs of drug poisoning or addiction. The woman was certainly not a ‘dope.’”
“Interesting, and not necessarily uninformative,” smiled Ellery. “What else?”
“Knowles, the firearms man, was vague enough to make it unexciting. He claims that he couldn’t place the distance the bullets traveled before they entered the body, exactly to the foot. The angles are easily determined, but from his calculations the murderer might be anywhere from five to six feet in height. Not very illuminating, eh?”
“Hardly. We’ll never convict anybody on that kind of evidence. But I can scarcely blame Knowles. These things are rarely absolute. How about the absentees from the store yesterday?”
The inspector scowled. “Had one of the boys checking up with MacKenzie all yesterday evening. Just had MacKenzie on the wire. Everybody accounted for, not a thing suspicious or unexplained. And as for this Carmody girl, poor Thomas had his strings out all night. Combed the neighborhood. Contacted the Missing Persons Bureau. I tipped him off on the drug business, and the Narcotic Squad’s been busy checking up on known dives. Nothing doing. Not a trace of her.”
“Just dropped out of existence...” Ellery frowned, poured himself another cup of coffee. “I’ll confess the girl has me worried. As I said yesterday, all signs point to her having been done away with. If not done away with, then certainly held very securely in a remote hide-out. If I were the murderer, I think I’d add her to my list of victims... There’s just a bare chance that she may be alive, dad. Velie must redouble his efforts.”
“Don’t worry about Thomas,” said the Inspector grimly. “If she’s alive, he’ll find her in time. If she’s dead— Well! He’s doing all he can.”
The telephone bell rang again. The Inspector answered.
“Yes, this is Inspector Queen talking...” His tone changed magically. It dripped formality. “Good morning, Commissioner. What can I do for you?... Well, sir, we’re getting along very nicely. We’ve gathered together a heap of threads, and it’s not twenty-four hours since we found the body... Oh, no! Mr. French has been a bit upset about the whole affair. We’ve gone quite easy on him — nothing to worry about there, sir... Yes, I know. We’re making it as comfortable for him as we can under the circumstances... No, Commissioner. Lavery has an absolutely unimpeachable reputation. A foreigner, of course... What’s that? Absolutely no!.. We have a perfectly natural explanation for that scarf of Miss Marion French’s, sir. Well, I’m relieved too, to tell the truth, Commissioner... Quick solution? Commissioner, it will be quicker than that!.. Yes, sir, I know... Thank you, Commissioner. I’ll keep you posted.”
“And that,” said the Inspector in a deadly voice, as he hung up the receiver carefully and turned a livid face toward Ellery, “is a sample of the blank-dangest, extra-soft-boiled, unmitigated blatherskite of a mud-hen of a police commissioner that this or any city ever had!”
Ellery laughed aloud. “You’ll be frothing at the mouth if you don’t control yourself. Every time I hear you rave about Welles I’m reminded of that sage Germanic dictum: ‘Who fills an office must learn to bear reproach and blame.’”
“On the contrary, I’m getting soft words from Welles,” said the Inspector, in a calmer tone. “He’s frightened out of his wits about this French affair. French wields a lot of power for a harmless old reformer, and Welles doesn’t like the possibilities. Did you hear the absolute nonsense I salved him with over the ’phone? Sometimes I think I’ve lost my self-respect.”