Dutch Shoe Mystery (24 page)

“Touché,”
murmured Ellery.

“What’s all this leading to?” demanded the Inspector. “What’s your conclusion, Dr. Kneisel?”

“My theory embraces even the eventualities. The man behind these murders will be in a position, after my death, to dispose of and cash in on my metal alloy by dealing with innocent metal interests. That is where the trail will lead, Inspector. So if I should die suddenly—”

Sampson drummed on the arm of his chair. “Disturbing, all right. But there isn’t a particle of evidence, of tangibility.”

Kneisel smiled frigidly. “I beg your pardon, sir. I hesitate to assume the air of a sleuth—but can you or Inspector Queen or Mr. Ellery Queen offer a better motive for the apparently unrelated murders of Mrs. Doorn and Dr. Janney? Can you offer any motive
at all?”

“Beside the point!” snapped the Inspector. “You’re assuming that there’s going to be another funeral, at which you’ll be the main attraction. Well, suppose you’re disappointed, and the murders of the Dutch Memorial Hospital are now at an end? Where’s your theory then?”

“I should grant the error of a mere theory to preserve my scientific skin, Inspector—gladly. If I am not killed, I’m wrong. If I am killed, I’m right—doubtful satisfaction either way. But right or wrong, I am entitled to play—as you say—safe. Inspector, I demand protection!”

“Oh, you’ll get that, all right. Twice as much as you’ve bargained for. We don’t want anything happening to you, Dr. Kneisel.”

“I suppose you realize,” put in Ellery, “that, even if your theory is correct, Mrs. Doorn may have whispered the secret to more than one person? Is that right?”

“Well—yes. Why? What do you mean?”

“I’m simply being logical, Doctor.” Ellery folded his hands peacefully behind his head. “If more than one person have been told, it stands to reason that your mysterious Mr. X, party of the fourth part, is aware of the fact. Then you aren’t the only character in our melodrama who needs protection. There are others, Dr. Kneisel. I trust you see my point?”

Kneisel bit his lip. “Yes. Yes! There will be other murders, too. …”

Ellery laughed. “I scarcely think so. However, let it pass. One moment more, before you leave. I’m in a questioning mood. …
Doornite
is not yet perfected, you said?”

“Not completely.”

“How near completion is it?”

“A matter of weeks—no more. I am safe for that length of time, in any event.”

“I’m not so sure of that,” said Ellery dryly.

Kneisel turned slowly in his chair. “What do you mean?”

“Simply this: your experiments are virtually finished. What is to prevent this fictive schemer of yours from killing you now and completing the work himself? Or having it completed for him by a competent metallurgist?”

The scientist looked startled. “True. Very true. It
could
be finished by some one else. That means—that means I’m not safe—no, not even now.”

“Unless,” said Ellery amiably, “you destroy at once every vestige of your researches.”

Kneisel’s voice was strained. “A poor consolation. Either way. My life or my work.”

“The well-known horns, eh?” murmured Ellery.

Kneisel sat up stiffly. “I may be killed to-day, to-night—”

The Inspector stirred. “I don’t think it’s as bad as all that, Dr. Kneisel. And you’ll be well taken care of. Excuse me.” The old man manipulated his inter-office communicator. “Ritter! You’ve got a new assignment. You’re to take care of Dr. Moritz Kneisel from the moment he steps out of my office. … Now. Stay with him, Ritter, and get a good relief for the night. … No, this isn’t a tail—you’re a bodyguard from now on. Okay.” He turned back to the scientist “It’s all fixed.”

“Considerate of you, Inspector. I shall be going.” Kneisel fumbled with his hat-brim. He rose suddenly and, without glancing at Ellery, said in a rapid way, “Good-day. Goodbye, gentlemen.” He slipped out of the room.

“The spalpeen!” The Inspector was on his feet now, his white face brightly colored. “That was slick! God, he’s got his nerve!”

“What do you mean, Q.?” asked Sampson.

“It’s as plain as day,” cried the old man. “This theory of his is pure hogwash. It’s a blind, Henry! Didn’t it occur to you as he was speaking that
he’s
the man left with a clear field, that
he’s
the biggest gainer by the death of Abby Doorn and Janney, that
he’s
figuratively the ‘fourth party’ of his theory? In other words that there is no fourth party?”

“By thunder, Q., I think you’ve hit it!”

The old man turned to Ellery in triumph. “All this pretty talk about X wiping out Abby, Janney, and himself. … Why, it’s nonsensical! Don’t you think I’m on the right track, son?”

Ellery did not speak for a moment; his eyes were haggard. “I haven’t a morsel of concrete evidence,” he said at last “to bolster my belief—but I think both you and Kneisel are wrong, I don’t think Kneisel did the jobs, nor this fourth and purely hypothetical person Kneisel talked about. … Dad, if we ever hit bottom in this investigation, which I seriously doubt, we’ll find that it’s a much more subtle crime than even Kneisel postulates—and much more impossible, to be thoroughly unrhetorical.”

The Inspector scratched his head. “How you can blow hot and cold in the same breath, son! Now, I suppose you’ll tell me, after saying Kneisel doesn’t figure, to keep my eye on him as if he were the most important suspect in the case. That would be just like you.”

“Amazingly enough, that is precisely what I was going to say.” Ellery lit another cigarette. “And don’t misinterpret my statement. You did just now, you know. … Kneisel must be guarded as if he were the Maharajah of Punjab. I want a detailed report of the identity, conversation and subsequent movements of every soul who comes within ten feet of him!”

S
O WEDNESDAY PASSED, AND
with every crawling hour the mystery of New York’s most sensational murder case retreated farther and farther into the shadowy region of unsolved crimes.

The investigation of Dr. Francis Janney’s death, as of the death of Abigail Doorn, had reached its critical stage. It was generally agreed throughout the offices of the law that if a beginning were not made within forty-eight hours toward clearing up the crimes they might be considered beyond the pale of solution.

On Thursday morning Inspector Queen awoke after an uneasy night in a blank, clammish mood. His cough had recurred and his eyes burned with the unhealthy glitter of fever. But he brushed aside the protests of Djuna and Ellery and, shivering in his greatcoat despite the mild winter air, plodded down 87th Street toward the Broadway subway and Headquarters.

Ellery sat at the window and blindly watched him go.

The table was cluttered with breakfast dishes. Djuna grasped a cup and fixed gypsy eyes on the sprawling figure across the room. Not so much as a muscle of his jaw twitched. The boy possessed an uncanny immobility, a gift for noiselessness that was uncivilized, feline.
*

Ellery spoke without turning his head. “Djuna.”

Djuna was at the window in a flash.

“Djuna, talk to me.”

The thin body quivered. “Me—talk to you, Mr. Ellery?”

“Yes.”

“But—what?”

“Anything. I want to hear a voice. Your voice, son.”

The black eyes sparkled. “You and Dad Queen are worryin’. How’d you like fried chicken for supper? I think that book you made me read about this here big whale, Moby Dick, is swell. It ain’t like—”

“
Isn’t,
Djuna!”

“It
isn’t
like those Horatio Algers and things. I skipped some parts though. Boy, what a nigger that—that Quee—Quee—”

“Queequeg, son. And never say ‘nigger.’ Negro is the word.”

“Oh! … Well, now. …” The dark satiny skin of the boy’s face writhed and wrinkled. “I wish it was baseball season. I want to see Babe Ruth smack ’em. Why don’t you make Dad Queen stop coughin’? We need a new electric pad—old one’s all wore out. They made me quarterback on the football team at the Club. I got them guys learnin’ signals, boy!”

“I have those. …” A sudden smile lifted Ellery’s lips. His long arm curled and drew the boy down to the window-seat. “Djuna, old son, you do me no end of good. … You heard Dad and me discussing the Doorn and Janney cases last night, didn’t you?”

Djuna said eagerly, “Yes!”

“Tell me what you think, Djuna.”

“What
I
think?” The boy’s eyes opened wide.

“Yes.”

“I think you’ll catch’m.” He swelled visibly.

“Really?” Ellery’s fingers explored the boy’s thin strong ribs. “You need some flesh there, Djuna,” he said severely. “Football will do it. … So you’re convinced I’ll catch’m? Confident youth! I suppose you heard me say I was—well, not entirely successful so far?”

Djuna cackled. “You was foolin’, wasn’t you?”

“Not at all.”

A cunning look invaded the bold eyes. “You givin’ up?”

“Horrors, no!”

“Y’can’t give up, Mr. Ellery,” the boy said earnestly. “My team was playin’ two days ago an’ in the last quarter they had us 14 to 0.
We
didn’t give up. We made three touchdowns. They were pretty sore.”

“What do you think I ought to do, Djuna? And in telling me I want you to advise me to the best of your ability.” Ellery did not smile.

Djuna did not answer at once; his mouth hardened and he gave himself over to deep thought. And after a long and pregnant silence, he said distinctly, “Eggs.”

“What?” demanded Ellery in astonishment.

Djuna seemed pleased with himself. “I’m talkin’ about eggs. ‘Smornin’ I was boilin’ eggs for Dad Queen. I’m careful about Dad Queen’s eggs—he’s finicky. I let ’em boil too hard. So I threw ’em out an’—I started all over again. Second time they were just right.” He stared at Ellery meaningly.

Ellery chuckled. “Environment’s a bad influence in your case, I see. You’ve robbed me of my allegorical method. … Djuna, that’s a rich and fruity thought—an excellent thought, forsooth!” He rumpled the boy’s black hair. “Start all over again, eh?” He sprang from the chair. “By all your
romani
gods, son, that’s sound advice!”

He disappeared into the bedroom with new energy. Djuna began to clear away the breakfast dishes, not without shaking fingers.

“John, I’m going to follow young Djuna’s rede and retrace the ground of both crimes.”

They were seated in Dr. Minchen’s office at the Hospital.

“Do you need me?” The physician’s eyes were lusterless and underscored with purple welts; he breathed heavily.

“If you can spare the time. …”

“I suppose so.”

They left Minchen’s chamber.

The Hospital this morning had resumed something of its routine air; bans had been lifted and with the exception of a few
verboten
areas on the main floor the business of life and death proceeded as if nothing out of the way had ever happened. Detectives and uniformed men still prowled about, but they kept out of the way and did not interfere with the activity of the doctors and nurses.

Ellery and Minchen made their way down the East Corridor and turned the corner into the South Corridor, going west. At the door of the Anæsthesia Room, sitting comfortably on a commandeered rocking-chair out of a convalescent ward, sat a dozing bluecoat. The door itself was closed.

He snapped to his feet in a flash as Ellery tried the handle of the door. And until Ellery wearily exhibited a special pass signed by Inspector Queen the policeman stoutly refused to allow the two men to enter the Anæsthesia Room.

The Anæsthesia Room was exactly as they had left it three days before.

At the door leading into the Anteroom sat another policeman. Again the pass brought electric response. He gawped, grinned feebly and mumbled “Yes’r.” They passed inside.

Wheel-table, chairs, supply-cabinet, door to the elevator. … Nothing had changed.

Ellery said, “Nobody’s been allowed in here, I see.”

“We wanted to take out some supplies,” muttered Minchen, “but your father left strict orders. We haven’t been permitted past the outer door.”

Ellery looked gloomily about. He tossed his head. “I suppose you think I’m daft for coming back here, John. As a matter of fact, now that the first flush of Djuna’s inspiration has faded, I feel a little foolish myself. There
can’t
be anything new here.”

Minchen did not reply.

They looked into the operating theater and then returned to the Anteroom. Ellery crossed to the door of the lift and opened it. The elevator stood there, barren. He stepped into the elevator and tried the handle of the door on the opposite side. It would not budge.

“Taped on the other side,” he murmured. “That’s right—it’s the one that leads into the East Corridor.”

He stepped back into the Anteroom and looked about. Near the elevator was the door leading to the tiny Sterilizing Room. He peered inside. Everything appeared as it had been left on Monday.

“Oh, it’s puerile!” cried Ellery. “Let’s get out of this appalling place, John.”

They left through the Anæsthesia Room and headed down the South Corridor toward the main entrance. “Here!” said Ellery suddenly. “Might as well make a complete fiasco of this ghastly business. Let’s peep into Janney’s office.”

The bluecoat at the door blundered out of me way.

Inside the office Ellery sat down in the dead man’s swivel-chair behind the large desk and motioned Minchen into one of the chairs on the west wall. They sat in silence as Ellery cynically examined the bare room through the smoke of his cigarette.

He spoke in a calm drawl. “John, I have a confession to make. It would seem that something has happened which for years I have maintained lies in the realm of the impossible. And that is—the commission of the insoluble crime.”

“You mean there’s no hope?”

“Hope is the pillar of the world, as the Woloffs of Africa say.” Ellery flicked his cigarette and smiled. “My pillar is crashing. A terrific blow to my pride, John. … I shouldn’t mind it so much if I felt sincerely that I’d met my master—a criminal mind which has concocted a pair of crimes so clever in their execution as to be impossible of solution. I’d admire that quite properly.