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:
The house was empty, without the least sign of occupancy.
30
Requiem
They stood about in one of the dusty, deserted rooms — an old-fashioned parlor, with the battered remains of a Victorian fireplace mutely proclaiming its fall upon evil days — and talked quietly. Fiorelli was beside himself with impotent rage. His dark beefy face was the color of slate; he kicked a charred piece of wood across the room. Velie looked glummer than usual. The Inspector took the unsuccessful termination of the raid more philosophically. He inhaled snuff and sent one of the detectives in search of a caretaker, or superintendent, if there was one to be found in the neighborhood.
Ellery said nothing.
The detective returned shortly with a strapping, livid Negro.
“Do you take care of this house?” asked the Inspector brusquely of the Negro.
The Negro removed his rusty derby and shuffled his feet. “I expect so, sir.”
“What are you — janitor, superintendent?”
“Kind of. I take care of a whole pack of houses on this block. Rent them for the owners when a tenant comes along.”
“I see. Was this house occupied yesterday?”
The janitor bobbed his head vigorously. “Yes sir!” About four or five days ago a party comes along and rents the whole house. That’s what the agent says when he brings them down. Paid the agent cash for a month. Saw it with my own eyes.”
“What sort of a man was the tenant?”
“Kinda shortish and had a long black mustache.”
“When did he move in?”
“The next day — Sunday, I think. Van came moseying down with some furniture.”
“Did you see the name of the van company on the truck.”
“No sir, sure didn’t. There wasn’t any. One of these open trucks with the sides covered with black tarpaulin. No name on the truck at all.”
“Did you see the man with the black mustache around much?”
The Negro scratched his head. “No sir, can’t say I did. Don’t believe I saw him at all till yesterday morning.”
“How was that?”
“That’s when he moved out again, sir. Didn’t say anything to me, but just about eleven o’clock in the morning the same truck rolls up to the door and the two drivers go into the house and pretty soon they start piling the furniture out of the house and into the truck. Didn’t take them long — there wasn’t much furniture and then I saw the man come out of the house, say something to the drivers and walk away. The truck went away, too. And the man just flung the key that the agent gave him right out there on the stoop of the house before he walked off.”
The Inspector spoke in a low voice to Velie for a moment, then turned back to the Negro.
“Did you see anybody go into the house during the four days?” asked the Inspector. “Especially Tuesday afternoon — yesterday?”
“Why... yes sir, yesterday, but not before. My old woman, she sits out generally all day, and she told me last night that there was a whole raft of folks coming up to that empty house all yesterday afternoon. They was all kinda put out when they saw the house was closed. Oh, about a dozen of them. They all went away quick.”
“That’ll do,” said the Inspector slowly. “Give your name and address and the name of the realty company you’re working for to that man over there, and keep your mouth tight about all this. Remember!”
The man stiffened, mumbled, stammered the required information to a detective of the Narcotic Squad, and shuffled rapidly from the room.
“Well, that settles it,” said Inspector Queen to Velie, Fiorelli, Ellery and Crouther, who were grouped together. “They got wind and beat it. Something made ’em suspicious and they had to clear out — didn’t even have time to distribute the dope to their customers. There must be a dozen mighty sick addicts in the city today.”
Fiorelli made a disgusted gesture. “Aw, let’s fade,” he growled. “They got a jinx on me, that gang.”
“Tough luck,” said Crouther. “That must have been fast work.”
“I’m going to trace that truck, if I can,” said Velie. “Want to help, Crouther?” He smiled sardonically.
“Hey, lay off,” said Crouther good-naturedly.
“Don’t quarrel, now,” sighed the Inspector. “You might try, Thomas, but I have a notion that’s a privately owned truck that operates only on the ring’s jobs. And I suppose that now the gang is scared off, we’ll not pick up their trail again in a hurry. Eh, Ellery?”
“I suggest,” said Ellery, speaking for the first time since the raid, “that we go home. We’ve met our Waterloo for—” he smiled sadly — “to put it mildly, the nonce.”
Fiorelli and Velie mustered the squad of officers and took the police van back to Headquarters, leaving a bluecoat on guard outside the 98th Street shack. Crouther, poking Velie slyly in the ribs as the burly Sergeant swung into the truck, departed early for the French store.
“They’ll be sendin’ out an alarm for me,” he grinned. “After all, I got a job.”
He hailed a cruising taxicab which headed west and south. The Queens followed suit in another cab.
Ellery took out his thin silver watch in the car and stared at its dial with amused eyes. The Inspector regarded him in a puzzled way.
“I can’t see why you want to go home,” he grumbled. “I’m a long time overdue at my office now. There must be a pile of work on my desk. I’ve missed the morning line-up for the first time in months, and I suppose Welles has called again, and—”
Ellery stared fixedly at his watch, a faint smile on his lips. The Inspector subsided, muttering.
Ellery paid the cab-driver when the taxi drew up before their brownstone on 87th Street, herded his father gently upstairs, and did not speak until Djuna had closed the door behind them.
“Ten minutes,” he announced with satisfaction, snapping the watch-case shut and returning the watch to his vest-pocket. “That’s average time, I should say, from 98th Street and the River to 87th Street on the other side.” He grinned and threw off his light coat.
“Have you gone fay?” gasped the Inspector.
“Like a fox,” said Ellery, He took up the telephone and called a number. “French’s? Connect me with Mr. Springer in the Book Department... Hello, Book Department? Mr. Springer, please... What? Who is this speaking?... Oh, I see... No, it’s quite all right. Thank you!”
He hung up.
“The Inspector was twisting his mustache in an agony of apprehension. He glared at Ellery. “Do you mean to say that Springer’s—” he began in a thunderous voice.
Ellery seemed not perturbed. “I’m so glad,” he said with sly simplicity. “Mr. Springer, according to his young lady assistant, was taken suddenly ill not five minutes ago and left in something of a hurry, saying he would not return to-day.”
The old man sank into his chair worriedly. “How under heaven could I have anticipated this?” he said. “I surely thought he’d keep until later in the day. Return, he said did he? We’ll never set eyes on him again!”
“Oh, but you shall,” said Ellery gently.
And quoth Ellery: “‘Preparation is half the battle, and nothing is lost by being on one’s guard.’ The good Spanish don uttered a homely truth there, padre!”
31
Alibis: Marion-Zorn
Muttering imprecations upon the elusive head of James Springer, the Inspector departed for a flying visit to Headquarters, leaving Ellery hunched comfortably before the open dormer-window, smoking and thinking. Djuna, in his uncanny simian way, sat motionless on the floor at his feet, unblinking in the soft glare of sunlight streaming into the room... When the Inspector returned two hours later Ellery, still smoking, was seated at the desk reading over a batch of notes.