Dutch Shoe Mystery (25 page)

“But note that I said ‘the insoluble crime’—not ‘the perfect crime.’ This isn’t the perfect crime by a long shot. The criminal has actually left clews clearly comprehensible and, as far as they go, conclusive. No, these crimes don’t exhibit the master touch, John. Far from it. Either our gentle fiend has been able to neutralize his errors, or fate has stepped in to accomplish the same end. …”

Ellery savagely crushed the butt of his cigarette into an ashtray on the desk. “There’s only one thing left for us to do. And that is to go over with a fine-comb the background of every individual we’ve examined so far. By Christopher, there must be
something
hidden somewhere in the stories of these people! It’s our last port-o’-call.”

Minchen sat up with sudden eagerness. “I can help you there,” he said hopefully. “I’ve come across a fact that may be useful. …”

“Yes?”

“I worked rather late last night trying to catch up on the book Janney and I were doing. Sort of taking up where the old man left off. And I discovered something about two of the people in the case which, strangely enough, I never even suspected before.”

Ellery frowned. “You mean a reference in the manuscript? I fail to see—”

“Not in the manuscript. In the records which Janney has been collecting for twenty years. … Ellery, this matter is a professional secret, and under ordinary circumstances I wouldn’t let even you know about it. …”

“Whom does it concern?” asked Ellery, sharply.

“Lucius Dunning and Sarah Fuller.”

“Ah!”

“You promise that if it doesn’t affect the case you’ll not let it get into the records?”

“Yes. Yes. Go on, John; this interests me.”

Minchen spoke rapidly. “You know, I suppose, that whenever specific cases are cited in a medical work, only initials are given, or case-numbers. This is done out of consideration for the patient, and also because whatever else about him may be vital to an understanding of his pathology, certainly his name and identity are not.

“In looking over some case-records last night which had not yet been incorporated into the manuscript of
Congenital Allergy,
I came across one—an old one dated about twenty years ago—which bore a special” footnote. This note explained that
special care
was to be exercised in citing the facts so that no clew, not even the legitimate initials of the patients involved, was to be left to their identity.

“This was so unusual that I immediately read the case even though I was not yet prepared to put it into the book. The case concerned Dunning and the Fuller woman. Sarah Fuller was described as a patient in a premature confinement—a Cæsarian delivery—and there were certain other circumstances surrounding the confinement and the sex background of the parents which made the case pointed material for our book.” Minchen’s voice sank. “The child was illegitimate. And she’s now known as—Hulda Doorn!”

Ellery gripped the arms of his chair as he stared unseeingly at the physician. A slow humorless smile began to form on his face. “Hulda Doorn a bastard,” he repeated distinctly. “Well!” He relaxed and lit another cigarette. “That’s information indeed. Clears up a most perplexing point. I don’t see that it alters the ultimate state of the case’s solubility but—go ahead, John. What else?”

“At this time Dr. Dunning was a struggling young practitioner who devoted a few hours a day in the Hospital on a visiting basis. How he met Sarah Fuller I don’t know, but they had the clandestine affair and Dunning couldn’t marry her because he was already married. In fact, he had a daughter two years old—Edith. I understand that Sarah was far from unattractive as a girl. … Of course these items aren’t strictly medical; all the cases before they’re whipped into shape bear voluminous notes about contributory facts.”

“Of course. Proceed!”

“As it turned out, Abby learned of Sarah’s condition and because of her interest in Sarah took a lenient view of the affair. She preferred to hush up the Dunning end, even retaining him subsequently on the Hospital staff. And she solved the whole nasty situation by adopting the child as her own.”

“Legally, I suppose?”

“Apparently. Sarah had no choice; the record says that she agreed to the arrangement without much argument. She swore never to interfere in the rearing of the child, who was to be known as Abigail’s daughter.

“Now, Abby’s husband was alive at this time, although she was childless. The matter was kept a dead secret from everybody, including the Hospital personnel, with the exception of Dr. Janney, who delivered Sarah of the child. Abby’s powerful influence smothered any contemporary rumors.”

“This really goes a long way toward explaining some obscure points,” said Ellery. “It explains the quarrels between Abby and Sarah, who no doubt came to regret her enforced bargain. It explains Dunning’s eagerness to defend Sarah’s innocence of the murder of Abby, since the story of his youthful indiscretion would come out if she were arrested and ruin him domestically, socially and I suppose professionally.” He shook his head. “But I still don’t see how it helps us to a solution. Granted that it gives Sarah a strong motive for killing Abby and an understandable one in the case of Janney. Perhaps this is one of those paranoiacal crimes induced by a persecution mania. The woman’s obviously unbalanced. But …”

He sat up abruptly. “John, I’d like to cast my peepers over that case-record, if I may. There may be something there the significance of which has escaped you.”

“No reason why I shouldn’t show it to you, as long as I’ve spilled this much,” said Minchen in a tired voice.

He dragged himself to his feet and with an absent look began to walk toward the corner of the room behind Dr. Janney’s desk.

Ellery chuckled as Minchen tried to squeeze behind Ellery’s chair. “Where do you think you’re going, professor?”

“Huh?” Minchen looked blank for an instant. Then a grin stretched his mouth and he scratched his head. He began to retrace his steps, crossing to the door. “Just goes to show how muddle-headed I’ve become since the old man died. Absolutely forgot that I’d had Janney’s files removed from behind his desk there as soon as I got here yesterday and found him murdered. …”

“WHAT?”

Years afterward Ellery liked to recall this seemingly innocent scene, at which time, he would say, he experienced “the most dramatic moment of my nefarious career as a crime-investigator.”

In one forgotten incident, in the short space of a single statement, the entire Doorn-Janney case assumed a new, a startling complexion.

Minchen remained where he was, dumfounded by the vigor of Ellery’s exclamation. He regarded Ellery unbelievingly.

Ellery had flung himself to the floor and was now on his knees behind the swivel-chair, examining the linoleum with minute care. After a moment he rose energetically, smiling even as he wagged his head to say, “Not a trace of the files on the floor. And all because of a new linoleum. Well, that exonerates my powers of observation. …”

He rushed across the room and seized Dr. Minchen’s shoulder in an iron grip. “John, you’ve clinched it! Wait a minute now. … Come back in here, man—never mind that blasted case-record!”

Minchen shrugged helplessly and sat down again, watching Ellery with mingled amusement and despair. Ellery strode up and down the room, smoking furiously.

“I gather that here’s what happened,” he chanted gleefully. “You got here a few moments before I did, found Janney dead, knew the police would be all over the place in no time, and so you decided to spirit away those cherished and valuable records—put ’em where they would be safe. Am I right?”

“Why, yes. But what was wrong in that? I can’t see that those files had anything to do—”

“Wrong?” cried Ellery. “You’ve unwittingly retarded the solution of the case by a full twenty-four hours! You can’t see that the filing-cabinet had anything to do with the crimes? Why, John, it’s the crux—the crux! Without realizing it, young Sherlock, you nearly wrote ‘finis’ to my dad’s career and my own peace of mind. …”

Minchen was gaping. “But—”

“But me no buts, sir. And don’t take it to heart. The main thing is that I’ve discovered the key-clew.” Ellery paused in his mad gyrations about the room and regarded Minchen with quizzical brows. He flipped his hand toward the right. “I
told
you there was a window in that corner, John. …”

Minchen stupidly followed the line of Ellery’s accusing finger.

He saw nothing but the blank wall behind Dr. Janney’s desk.

*
For more detailed descriptions of Djuna, his background, and his association with the Queens, see
The Roman Hat Mystery.
—Editor’s Note

“G
ET ME A MAP
of the main floor, John.”

Dr. Minchen found himself being carried away by the explosive blast of Ellery’s newborn enthusiasm. From a man harassed by sterile speculations, morose, moody, Ellery had become a man transformed—vital, electric, crisp. …

Superintendent Paradise himself brought the blueprint plan to the dead surgeon’s office. On being pointedly excused, he smiled a sickly smile and backed out of the room, as if Ellery had been royalty.

Ellery paid no attention. Already he had unrolled the map and spread it over the desk; he was tracing with his finger some labyrinthine route which for Dr. Minchen, watching over his companion’s shoulder, held nothing but mystery. The physician marveled inwardly at the exclusive concentration of the tall young man. Ellery pored over the blueprint quite as if the world of reality had ceased to exist except in the delineated mazes of the map.

And after long moments, while Dr. Minchen waited patiently, Ellery straightened up not without an expression of peculiar satisfaction, and removed his
pince-nez.

The blueprint rolled together with a little swirling noise.

Ellery began thoughtfully to stride up and down, tapping his lower lip with the
pince-nez.
He lit a cigarette and his head disappeared in a billow of smoke. “One visit more—one visit more.” The words crept out of the cloud. “Ho, John!”

Ellery clapped the physician resoundingly on a shoulder. “If it’s possible. … If the force of habit—” He stopped and burst into a little chuckle. “If the gods are with us, Jonathan! One morsel of evidence, one tiny scrap. …
En avant!
”

He ran out of the office and into the South Corridor, Minchen padding behind. Ellery halted before the door of the Anæsthesia Room and whirled.

“Quick! Let’s have the key to the supply cabinet in the Anteroom!” His fingers were impatient.

Minchen produced a bunch of keys. Ellery snatched a proffered key from the physician’s hand and hurried into the Anæsthesia Room.

On his way across the room he hastily took a small notebook from his breast pocket and riffled the pages until he found one on which appeared a crude and unrecognizable pencil-drawing. It bore a geometric shape in outline, peculiarly jagged on one edge. This he studied earnestly for a moment, and then he smiled; whereupon without a word he stuffed the notebook back into his pocket, brushed past the policeman at the door, and entered the Anteroom. Minchen followed, wondering.

Ellery made straight for the white supply cabinet He unlocked the glass door with Minchen’s key and stood, eyes agleam, scanning the array of narrow drawers before him. Each drawer had a labeled description of its contents in a central metal pocket.

He ran his eye swiftly over the labels. Toward the bottom of the cabinet he read one at which he visibly brightened. He pulled the drawer open and bent over to examine each separate article within. Several times he took something out of the drawer and eyed it closely, but he seemed dissatisfied until he had reached into the shallow receptacle for the fourth time. Then, with a soft exclamation, he retreated from the cabinet, reached into his pocket for the notebook, turned again to the page which bore the strange pencil-drawing, and carefully compared with it the article from the drawer.

He smiled, tucked the notebook back into his pocket, and restored his find to the cabinet. He seemed to think better of this, however, for he again withdrew the article, this time meticulously placing it in a glassine envelope which he put away in his coat.

“I suppose,” ventured Dr. Minchen in an exasperated voice, “you’ve found something important. But it’s just so much mumbo-jumbo to me. Why the deuce are you grinning so?”

“It’s not a discovery, John—it’s a corroboration,” replied Ellery soberly. He sat down in one of the Anteroom chairs and swung his legs like a boy. “This is one of the most peculiar cases I’ve ever encountered.

“Here’s a piece of evidence strong enough, I think, to confirm a complicated hypothesis, and yet even if I’d thought of looking for it before this, it wouldn’t have done me much good.

“Imagine. It was under my nose all the time, and yet
I had to solve the crime first
before I could suspect the whereabouts of this precious evidence!”

E
ARLY THURSDAY AFTERNOON ELLERY
Queen might have been observed climbing the steps of the brownstone house on 87th Street, bearing under one arm a bulky package and under the other a long, thin roll of paper. There was a wide smile on his face.

When Djuna heard the rattle of Ellery’s key in the lock, he dashed for the apartment door. Flinging it open, he surprised Ellery in the act of thrusting the bulky package behind his back.

“Mr. Ellery! Back so soon? Why’n’t you ring?”

“I—ah—” Ellery grinned and leaned against the jamb. “Djuna, tell me. … What do you want to be when you grow up?”

Djuna stared. “When I grow up? … I wanna be a detective!”

“Know anything about disguising yourself?” asked Ellery in a sharp tone.

The boy’s lips fell apart. “No. No, sir. But I c’n learn!”

“That’s what I thought,” Said Ellery, bringing his concealed hand into the light. He thrust the package into the boy’s arms. “Here’s a little something to start practicing with.”

And he strode with dignity into the Queen apartment, leaving behind him a Djuna speechless with stupefaction.