Chinese Orange Mystery (18 page)

“Because I hadn’t quite figured it out,” snapped Ellery.

“Oh, then you know now why she did it?”

“On examination it’s simplicity itself. I was stupid not to have thought of it instantly.”

“Well, why?”

But they had reached the twenty-second floor, and Ellery preceded his father and the Sergeant from the elevator without replying.

Mrs. Shane gulped a frightened, bosom-raising greeting from her desk. But the Inspector ignored her and strode straight to the door of Donald Kirk’s office and opened it without knocking. Sergeant Velie grunted: “Hey, wake up, flattie,” to a uniformed officer who had been drowsing on a chair near the door to the death-room.

Osborne rose from his desk and dropped his stamp-tongs. “Inspector—Mr. Queen! Is anything wrong again?” He was a little pale.

“Yet,” growled the Inspector. “Listen, Osborne. Is there a piece of jewelry in Kirk’s collection known as the Grand Duchess’s Tiara?”

Osborne looked puzzled. “Why, certainly.”

“And one called the Red Brooch?”

“Yes. Why-”

“A beaten-silver
lavallière
with an emerald pendant?”

“Yes. But what’s happened, Inspector Queen?”

“Don’t
you
know?”

Osborne looked from the old man’s grim face to Ellery’s, and slowly sank back into his chair. “N-no, sir. I don’t have much to do with Mr. Kirk’s collection of antique jewelry, as he can tell you. He keeps them in a vault at the bank, and only he has access to them.”

“Well,” barked the Inspector, “they’re gone.”

“Gone?” gasped Osborne. He was utterly and sincerely flabbergasted. “The entire collection?”

“Just some choice pieces.”

“Does—does Mr. Kirk know?”

“That,” said the Inspector with a sour smile, “is what I’m going to find out.” He jerked his head at his two companions. “Come on. I just wanted Osborne’s corroboration. Just in case.” He chuckled and started for the door.

“Inspector!” Osborne clutched the sides of his desk. “You’re—you’re not going to question Mr. Kirk now, are you?”

The Inspector stopped short, whirled around, and cocked his head at Osborne with an expression of complete unfriendliness. “And suppose I am, Mister Osborne? What’s it to you?”

“But they’re all—I mean,” said Osborne, licking his pale lips, “Mr. Kirk’s having a little celebration, Inspector. It wouldn’t be nice—”

“Celebration?” The Queens regarded each other. “In the Kirk rooms?”

“No, sir,” said Osborne eagerly. “In Miss Llewes’s suite on the floor below. You see, she invited them all to a cocktail party when she heard that Mr. Kirk had become engaged. So that’s why I—”

“Engaged!” murmured Ellery. “Will wonders never cease, O Power of Darkness? I take it, Ozzie, that this is a Sino-American alliance?”

“Eh? Oh, yes, sir. Miss Temple. Under the circumstances you couldn’t very well go—”

“The Temple girl, huh?” muttered the Inspector.

“While we’re here,” drawled Ellery. “Ozzie, did you ever hear of a postage stamp—” his eyes swept lazily over the stamp-littered desk—“of Foochow, $1 denomination, ochre and black, with the black erroneously printed on the gum-side of the stamp?”

Osborne sat very still. His weary eyes shifted, and his knuckles became a dirty white. “Why—I can’t—remember any such error,” he muttered.

“Liar,” said Ellery cheerfully. “We know all about it, Ozzie. If I may call you Ozzie. …”

“You—know?” said Osborne with difficulty, raising his eyes.

“Oh, certainly. Don Kirk himself told us.”

Osborne took out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead. “I’m sorry, Mr. Queen. I thought—”

“Come on,” snapped the Inspector impatiently. “You, there!” he bellowed at the policeman, who started and went pale. “You see that this man Osborne here doesn’t touch that house ’phone for five minutes. Be good, Osborne. … Well, come on, boys. If there’s any fun we might’s well be in on it, too!”

The three rooms of the Llewes suite were directly below the Kirk apartment. The door was opened in response to the Inspector’s ring by an angular maid with cubistic cheeks and an unlovely pointed nose. She began to protest in a weak whining Cockney voice, but then she saw the Sergeant and fell back gaping. The Inspector pushed past her without ceremony and strode through a small reception-foyer into a sitting-room, which was noisy with laughter and conversation. Both ceased magically.

They were all there—Dr. Kirk, Marcella, Macgowan, Berne, Jo Temple, Donald, Irene Llewes; and there were two women and a man whom the Queens had never seen before. One of the strangers was a tall flashing woman of foreign appearance who clung to Felix Berne’s arm with a queer possessiveness. All were in evening attire.

Miss Llewes came swiftly forward, smiling. “Yes?” she said. “Yes? You see, I have guests, Inspector Queen. Perhaps another time …”

Macgowan and Donald Kirk were staring at the silent trio very intently. Dr. Kirk, his old nose purple, wheeled himself furiously forward. “What’s the meaning of this latest intrusion, gentlemen? Can’t decent people ever have protection from meddling busybodies in this confounded madhouse?”

“Take it easy, Dr. Kirk,” said the Inspector mildly. “Sorry, folks, to butt in this way, but business is business. We won’t be but a minute. Uh—Mr. Kirk, I want to see you about something. Miss Llewes, have you another room we can use for a couple of minutes?”

“Is anything wrong, Inspector?” asked Glenn Macgowan quietly.

“No, no; nothing serious. Just go on with your party. … Ah, that’s fine, Miss Llewes.”

The woman had led them to a door which opened into a living-room. Donald Kirk, silent and pale, walked in like a prisoner approaching the execution chamber. And tiny Jo Temple followed him with head held high and a firm step. The Inspector frowned and was about to say something when Ellery touched his arm. So the Inspector held his tongue.

Donald did not see Jo until the door of the living-room was shut and Sergeant Velie’s expansive back was set against it.

“Jo,” he said harshly. “You don’t want to be mixed up in this—in anything. Please, dear. Go out and wait with the others.”

“I’ll stay,” she said; and she smiled and squeezed his hand. “After all, what good is a wife—or a near-wife—if she doesn’t share a little of her husband’s responsibilities?”

“Oh,” said Ellery. “Things happen so suddenly these days. May I offer my very sincere congratulations?”

“Thank you,” they both murmured submissively; and both lowered their eyes. Strange lovers! thought Ellery.

“Well, now, look here,” began the Inspector. “I don’t have to tell you, Kirk, that you haven’t been strictly on the level with us. You’ve held back certain information and you’ve acted very funny throughout. I’m going to give you a chance to clear yourself.”

Kirk said very slowly: “I don’t know what you mean, Inspector.” And Jo flung him a sidewise glance that was as puzzled as it was swift.

“Kirk, did you have a robbery recently?” snapped the old gentleman.

“Robbery?” He seemed completely taken by surprise. “Of course not. … Oh, I suppose you mean about father’s books. Well, you know they’ve been returned rather mysteriously—”

“I don’t mean about father’s books, Kirk.”

“A robbery?” frowned Kirk. “I can’t—No.”

“You’re sure? Think hard, young man.”

Donald jammed his hands nervously in the pockets of his tuxedo. “But I assure you—”

“Do you own certain pieces of antique jewelry—collectors’ items—known as the Red Brooch, the Grand Duchess’s Tiara, an emerald-pendant
lavallière
, a Sixteenth Century Chinese jade ring?”

Quick as a flash Kirk said: “No, I’ve sold them.”

The Inspector regarded him calmly for a moment, and then went to the door. Sergeant Velie stepped aside and the old man opened the door and called out: “Miss Llewes. One moment, please.” Then the tall woman was in the room, smiling a little uncertainly, her slender brows inquiring. She was dressed in something long and curved and intimate and clinging, cut so low that the cleft between her breasts narrowed and widened with the slow surge of her breath, perfectly visible, like a crevasse on a tumbled shore uncovered periodically by the action of the surf.

The Inspector said gently: “Don’t you think you’d better step out for a few minutes, Miss Temple?”

Her tiny nose twitched a little, almost humorously. But she said nothing, nor did she release her grip on young Kirk’s hand.

“All right,” sighed the Inspector. He turned on the tall woman and smiled. “We may as well know each other by our right names, my dear. Now why didn’t you tell us that you’re really Irene Sewell?”

Kirk blinked uncomprehendingly; and the tall woman drew herself up and blinked, too, like a green-eyed cat faintly startled. Then she smiled in response, and Ellery thought that it was the fourth-dimensional smile of the Cheshire Cat, remote and disembodied. “I beg your pardon?”

“Hmm,” said the Inspector with a grin of admiration. “Good nerves, Irene. But it won’t do you any good to keep acting. Y’see, we know all about you. My friend Inspector Trench of Scotland Yard informed me only this evening by cable that you and he are old, old buddies. Notorious British confidence-woman, I think he said. But that’s Trench for you; no politeness at all. Did you know that, Kirk?”

Donald licked his lips, regarding the woman apparently through a sick haze. “Confidence-woman?” he faltered. But there was something unconvincing in his hesitation; and Ellery sighed and turned away a little, blushing for the good sense of mankind. The only genuine character in the drama, he reflected, was little Miss Temple; she was being herself, not acting a part. And she was studying the tall woman with a sort of distant horror.

The tall woman said nothing. And while there was something wary in the depths of her green eyes, there was something elusive and mocking in them, too, as if she were indeed the Cheshire Cat having her enigmatic little jest with a faintly bewildered Alice.

“Might’s well come clean, Irene,” murmured the Inspector. “We know you down to the ground. We know, for instance, that you had in your possession a number of valuable pieces of jewelry which came from the collection of Mr. Kirk. Eh, Irene?”

For an instant her guard came down and she flashed a look in the direction of a door at the farther side of the room. Then she bit her lip and smiled again, and this time it was not the smile of the Cheshire Cat at all but the smile of a dying hope.

“Oh, it won’t do you any good to look for ’em in your bedroom wall-safe,” chuckled the Inspector, “because they aren’t there any more. We routed ’em out this afternoon while you were away. Well, Irene, are you going to tell all about it or do I have to put the nippers on you?”

“Nippers?” she murmured, frowning.

“Now, now, Irene. That’s what they call ’em in your country, and I don’t doubt but that you’ve had ’em on your pretty wrists more than once in the past.” He lost patience with her suddenly. “You stole those gems!”

“Ah,” she said; and this time she was smiling broadly, the hope miraculously revived. “Really, Inspector, you speak such an incomprehensible jargon! You’re quite sure they belong to Mr. Kirk?”

“Sure?” The Inspector stared. “What’s your game now?”

“If they do, why do you insist there’s a crime involved, Inspector? Is it a crime for a gentleman to present a lady with gifts of jewelry? For a moment I thought you meant that Mr. Kirk had stolen them. Heavens!”

There was a moment of thick silence. Then Ellery said swiftly: “Well, Kirk?”

Jo Temple was wrinkling her tiny nose in the most complete puzzlement. She tightened her grip on Donald’s arm. “Donald. Did you give her—those things?”

Kirk stood still, and yet Ellery got the impression that inside he was a caldron of seething little feelings twining about and grappling with one another like a miniature snake enveloping the miniature sons of Laocoön. There was no color whatever in his normally tanned face; it looked washed out, gray.

Almost absently he lifted Jo’s hand from his arm and said. “Yes.” He had not once looked directly at Irene Llewes.

“There!” cried Miss Llewes gaily. “You see? Much ado about nothing. I trust you, Inspector, to return my jewels at once. I’ve heard the most shocking stories about the dishonesty of the American police that—”

“Stop it,” said the Inspector curtly. “Kirk, what is this? You mean to say that you actually made a gift of those expensive pieces to this woman?”

His control collapsed like a stuck balloon. Under the steady eyes of Jo he sank into the nearest chair and buried his face in his hands. His voice came muffled, miserable. “Yes. No. … I don’t know what I did.”

“No?” said Irene Llewes swiftly. “Ah, Donald. You’ve such a poor memory,” and without a further word she hurried into her bedroom. The Sergeant, scowling, relaxed at the Inspector’s head-shake. In a moment she was back, bearing a sheet of notepaper. “I’m sure Donald didn’t realize what he was saying, Inspector Queen. I don’t care, as a rule, to display these intimate—things, but then I’ve no choice, have I, Inspector? Donald, shame on you!”

The Inspector stared at her, hard; and then took the note from her fingers and read it aloud:

Dear Irene: I love you. I feel that I can never do enough to convince you of that. My gems are among my most precious possessions. Isn’t it a proof of my feeling that I have given you the Tiara, which adorned the head of a Grand Duchess of Russia; the Red Brooch, which belonged to Christina’s mother; the jade, which graced the finger of a daughter of a Chinese emperor—all those other pieces which I have had for years? But I give them willingly to the most glamorous woman in the world. Tell me you’ll marry me!

DONALD
.

Miss Temple quivered perceptibly. “What,” she asked in a cold voice, “is the date on that—that piece of erotica, Inspector Queen?”

“You poor dear,” murmured Miss Llewes. “I know exactly how you feel, darling. But you can see for yourself that Donald wrote me that before you came to the city, before he knew you. When he met you …” She shrugged her magnificent bare shoulders. “
C’est la guerre, et j’y tomba victime.
I harbor no ill feeling, I assure you. Certainly my invitation to you and Donald tonight is proof of that?”