Face to Face (16 page)

“I just remembered something.”

“About the Guild case?” the old man asked instantly.

“Yes.”

“What?”

“I'd rather not say yet. I have to check something first. You really don't have to leave, dad. I don't want to spoil your night out.”

“You've already spoiled it. Anyway, I don't care about the rest of the show. I've had my money's worth, and then some. What a singer! About the Guild case?”

“The Guild case.”

“It bugs me, too,” the old man said. “Where we going?”

“Didn't you turn over that copy of Glory Guild's will to the D.A.? The one with the secret writing on it that we brought out in Wasser's office?”

“Yes?”

“I'll have to find him.”

“Wasser?”

“The D.A.”

“Herman? Now? On Saturday night?”

Ellery nodded morosely.

Inspector Queen glanced at him sidewise and said nothing more. They shouldered their way out into 47th Street, ducked into a nearby restaurant, located its public phone, and Ellery spent twenty-five minutes tracking down the district attorney. It turned out that he was attending a political banquet at the Waldorf, and he sounded nasty over the phone. The banquet was getting full press and TV coverage.

“Now?” he said to Ellery. “On Saturday night?”

“Yes, Herman,” Ellery said.

“Can't it wait till Monday morning, for God's sake?”

“No, Herman,” Ellery said.

“Stop sounding like the straight man in a vaudeville routine,” the D.A. snapped. “All right, Mystery Man, I'll meet you and the Inspector down in my office as soon as I can get there. But this better be good!”

“Good is not the word for it,” Ellery muttered, and hung up.

39

By the time he got through reading the minute chirography between the typewritten lines of Glory Guild's copy of her will, Ellery looked ten years older.

“Well?” the district attorney demanded. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

“I found it.”

“Found what, son?” the Inspector wanted to know. “When I read it aloud in Wasser's office that day, I didn't leave out or change a word. What's the point?”

“That's the point. You two give me some slack on this, will you?”

“You mean to say you're not going to talk even now?” his father growled.

“Gets me away from that banquet with all the news media there,” the D.A. said to his ceiling, “on a Saturday night yet, with my wife wondering if I've gone off with a chick somewhere, and he won't open up! Thank God, Dick, I'm not stuck with a kook for a son. I'm going back to the Waldorf, and I won't be available for
anything
till Monday morning—not if I want to hold onto my wife, and I want to. When this joker is ready to let a mere servant of the people in on whatever he's trick-or-treating, let me know. Be sure you lock my door on your way out.”

“Well?” Inspector Queen asked in the silence of the shadowy office after its rightful owner left.

“Not now, dad,” Ellery mumbled, “not yet.”

The old man shrugged. It was an old story to him, and he had learned to live with it.

They went home in a silent taxicab.

Eventually the Inspector left his pride and joy in an equally silent study, pulling on his celebrated lower lip and staring down some mysterious tunnel inhabited, to judge from his expression, by particularly revolting monsters.

40

So the mystery's face rotated past its three-quarter position, and Ellery saw the whole face at last, and knew it.

Part 4

Full Face

“Bury me on my face,” said Diogenes; and when he was asked why, he replied, “Because in a little while everything will be turned upside down.
”

D
IOGENES
L
AERTIUS

41

The Inspector shook him awake.

“What?” Ellery shouted, shooting up in bed.

“I haven't said anything yet,” his father said. “Get up, will you? You have company.”

“What time is it?”

“Eleven o'clock, and the day is Sunday, in case you forgot. What time did you get to bed?”

“I don't know, dad. Four, five, something like that. Company? Who?”

“Harry Burke and Roberta West. If you ask me,” the Inspector grumbled from the doorway, “those two are plotting something. They look too damn happy to be up to anything legal.”

They did indeed. The Scot was sucking on a dead pipe furiously, his sandy brows working like pistons, his wrestler's neck mottled in a flaming purple motif, and his transparent eyes doing a sort of optical hornpipe. In his blunt right hand nestled Roberta's left, being ground up and loving every bone-crushing moment of it. Ellery had never seen Roberta so vivacious. She bubbled over the instant he came shambling out in his faded old dressing gown and down-at-heel slippers.

“Guess what, Ellery?” Roberta cried. “We're getting married!”

“Am I supposed to go into a Highland fling?” Ellery grunted. “That earth-shaking event was announced to me some time ago.”

“But we've changed our
plans
, Ellery.”

“We're not going to wait until Bertie's show closes to go to England,” said Burke excitedly. “She's chucked the bloody thing, and we're going to be married here and now.”

“In my apartment?” Ellery asked sourly.

“I don't mean here and now,” Burke said. “I mean in New York and today.”

“Oh?” Ellery perked up. “And what caused this change in strategy? Sit down, please, both of you. I can't abide people who jump about first thing Sunday morning. Dad, is there any tomato juice in the fridge? I need lots of tomato juice this morning.”

“It's Harry,” Roberta said, slipping into one of the chairs at the dinette table in the alcove of the living room. “He's so masterful. He couldn't wait.”

“Bloody well could not,” Burke said, seating himself by her side and recapturing her hand. “Said to myself, ‘Why wait?' Makes no bloody sense, when you think of it. And I've thought of bloody little else. All we need is a dominie, and it's done.”

“You also need a little thing called a marriage license,” Ellery said, “—thanks, dad!” He took a long gulp of the bloody stuff. “Wasserman, three days, and all that. How do you propose to do it all today?”

“Oh, we've got the tests over with and the license now for a week,” Roberta said. “Do you suppose I might have a smidge of that, Inspector? It looks so good, and I haven't had any breakfast. Or dinner last night, come to think of it. Harry was so insistent.”

“Don't put it all on Harry,” Ellery said disagreeably; “he couldn't take the Wasserman for you. Well, I guess it's congratulations again. Is there anything I can do?”

“You don't sound very enthusiastic,” Harry Burke growled. “Don't you approve?”

“Slip the chip, chum,” Ellery said. “Why should I be enthusiastic over
your
marriage? Eggs, dad. Do we have any eggs?”

“Thank you, Inspector!” said Roberta. She sipped thirstily.

“Coming up,” the Inspector said. “Anybody else?”

“I'd
love
some,” Roberta said breathlessly, lowering the tomato juice. “Wouldn't you, Harry?”

“Come on, Bertie.” Burke glared at Ellery. “I'll take you out to breakfast.”

“Harry.”

“Simmer down, Harry,” Ellery said. “I'm not at my best Sunday mornings. Dad makes the meanest scrambled eggs on the West Side. Have some. Come on.”

“No, thank you,” Burke said stiffly.

“And
lots
of toast, Inspector, please,” Roberta said. “Harry, stop being a drag.”

“Coming up,” the Inspector said again, and disappeared in the kitchen again.

“He could show some enthusiasm,” Burke complained. “What's the matter with Sunday mornings?”

“The matter is that they come after Saturday nights,” Ellery explained. “This particular Saturday night I didn't get to bed until well into Sunday morning.”

“Conscience, a head, or a lively bit of fluff? Or all three?”

“Dad and I saw Orrin Steyne's
Revue
last night.”

Burke looked puzzled. “What of it? So did a great many other people, and from what I hear they enjoyed themselves. Sometimes you make no sense, Ellery.”

“There was a song Lorette sang …” Ellery stopped. “Never mind. We were talking about your shotgun nuptials.” He suddenly seemed to have swallowed something bitter.

Roberta looked indignant.

“Shotgun! I don't know where private detectives get their reputations. A girl is safer with Harry than with a dedicated violet. Harry and I debated whether to go see her or not,” Roberta went on, failing to signal a right-hand turn, “and don't the eggs and bacon smell yummy! And is there anything more delicious than toast making? Is she as good as they're saying, Ellery?”

“What? Oh. Sensational.”

“Then we won't go. I can't stand other people's success. That's something you'll find out about me, Harry. We couldn't go, anyway. We'll be in England—”

“Now that spring is here,” Burke and Ellery said in unison. Whereupon Burke grinned, stuck his hand across the table, and called out, “Put some more eggs on, Inspector! I've changed my mind.”

“Nuptials,” Ellery reminded them glumly. “Who's committing the crime?”

“That,” Roberta said, frowning, “happens to be our problem. Realize what day it is today?”

“Certainly, it's Sunday.” At her reproving look Ellery said, “Isn't it?”

“What Sunday?”

“What
Sunday?”

“It's Palm Sunday, that's what Sunday.”

“So it is.” Ellery looked chagrined. “I'm not following, I think. Palm Sunday?”

“Heathen! Palm Sunday is the beginning of Holy Week, remember? And it's Lent besides. Well, Harry's a renegade Presbyterian, but I'm a dues-paying Episcopalian, and I've always wanted to be married in an Episcopal church by an Episcopal minister, but you simply don't get married in my church during Holy Week and/or Lent. It's against the canons, or something. So we're hung up.”

“Then wait for a week or two, or whenever Lent's over.”

Roberta looked dreamy.

“We can't. Harry already has our plane tickets—we're spending the night in a hotel and taking off first thing tomorrow morning.”

“The solution seems to me not too snarly,” Ellery said. “You could cancel the plane tickets.”

“We can't,” said Roberta. “Harry won't.”

“Or you could fly to England tomorrow morning and put the bloody thing off until after Lent.”

“It's not a bloody thing, and I wouldn't be able to hold out until after Lent,” the Scot said dangerously. “You know, Queen? I don't care for your attitude.”

“Ellery,” Ellery lamented. “Let's keep this emotional conversation friendly. By the way, how sure are you both that you want to marry each other?”

They stared at him as if he had uttered an indecency.

Then Burke jumped up. “On your feet, Bertie! We're getting the hell out of here.”

“Oh, Harry, sit down,” Roberta said. He did so reluctantly, eyes spitting colorless murder across the table. “We're sure, Ellery,” she said softly.

“You love this character?”

“I love this character.”

Ellery shrugged. “Or you could rustle up a minister of some less canonical church to do the job. Or, easiest of all, find some civil servant who's authorized by the State to perform the tribal rites. They're just as binding and a lot less gluey.”

“You don't understand,” Roberta began; but Inspector Queen came in then with a hogback platter of scrambled eggs, bacon, and buttered toast, and her attention was diverted.

“And I know just the man,” the Inspector said, setting the plate down. “The coffee's perking.” He explored the sideboard for napkins, plates, and cutlery, and began passing them around. “J. J.”

“The Judge.” Ellery said damply.

“The Judge?” Burke asked in a suspicious tone. “Who's the Judge?”

“Judge J. J. McCue, an old friend of ours,” the Inspector said, and went for the coffee pot.

“Would he do it?” the Scot demanded.

“If dad asks him.”

“He's not a minister,” Roberta said doubtfully.

“You can't have your eggs and eat them, too, Bertie,” her swain said
con amore.
His good humor was on the rise again. “A judge sounds bloody fine to me. Especially the friend-of-the-family type. We can always be married over again by an Anglican priest after we get to England. I don't care how many times I marry you. Or how many blokes perform the ceremony, or where. Can you people get Judge McCue today?”

“We can try,” the Inspector said, back with the pot. He poured a cupful for Roberta. “If he's in town I'll guarantee it.”

Roberta frowned. Finally she nodded, sighed, and said, “Oh, well, all right,” and buried her nose in the fragrant cup.

Burke beamed.

Roberta attacked the eggs.

The Inspector sat down and reached for a slice of toast.

But Ellery munched. Tastelessly.

42

He was in a peculiar humor all day. He did not even perk up at his father's success in locating Judge McCue on a crowded municipal Palm Sunday golf course. So that Harry Burke's dander began to act up again.

“We'll have the ceremony here,” the Inspector said, hanging up. “The Judge says he can't do it at his house—his wife comes from a long line of High Church ministers and she thinks Holy Week marriages are made in hell. Besides, he's in enough trouble with her because he's playing golf today. So he'll slip over to our place this evening. Is that all right with you two?”

“Oh, wonderful!” Roberta said, clapping her hands.

“I'm not so bowled over by it,” Burke said, glaring at Ellery. “Although it's kind of
you
, Inspector.”

Ellery was examining his thumb, which he had just taken out of his mouth. It looked as if a rat had been gnawing at it.

“Harry, my love,” Roberta said rapidly. “Don't you have anything to do?”

“Do I?”

“You don't know
anything.”

“I've never been married before,” her swain said, flushing. “What have I forgotten?”

“Oh, nothing. Just the flowers. My corsage. The champagne. Little things like that.”

“My God! Excuse me.”

“Don't bother about the bubbly.” Inspector Queen called after him. “Ellery has a few bottles of the stuff stashed away for an occasion—haven't you, son?”

“The Sazarac '47? I suppose I have,” Ellery said gloomily.

“I wouldn't take his bubbly for all the bubbles in 'em.” the Scot said coldly.

“You'll have to.” Ellery said, gnawing again. “Where are you going to buy champagne in New York on Palm Sunday?”

Burke stalked out.

“And cigarets, love!” Roberta called. “I'm fresh out.”

The door banged.

“I don't know what's come over you two,” she said, “—thank you, Ellery,” and puffed energetically. “It's not all Harry's fault, either. There's something on your mind. May I ask what it is? Since it's my wedding, and I don't want it spoiled.”

“I have problems,” Ellery conceded. The Inspector finished his second cup of coffee and glanced at him. “Well!” Ellery rose. “I'd better get the dishes out of the way.”

“Here, I'll do them,” Roberta said, jumping up. “I don't approve of men doing dishes, even bachelors. You haven't answered my question, Ellery. What problems?”

But Ellery shook his head.

“Why spoil your wedding day? You just said you didn't want it spoiled.”

“I certainly do not! I take it all back. You can keep your old problems to yourself.”

“Yes,” Ellery said; and he disappeared in his study, leaving Roberta frowning a little and his father staring after him thoughtfully.

“What's the matter with that son of yours, Inspector?” Roberta demanded, collecting the plates.

The Inspector was still staring at the door.

“He's in a bind over the Guild case,” the old man said. “He always acts this way when a case is bugging him.” He followed her into the kitchen, carrying the coffee pot. “Don't let it upset you.” He pulled out the tray of the dishwasher for her. “You know, Roberta,” the Inspector said suddenly, “it's given me an idea. I wonder if you'd mind.”

“Mind?”

“Having a few people in for the ceremony.”

Roberta stiffened. “That would depend on who they are.”

“Well, Lorette Spanier, Selma Pilter, maybe Mr. Wasser, if we can get them.” His tone suggested that the subjunctive mood was a mere courtesy.

“Oh, dear,” Roberta said. “Why, Inspector?”

“I don't know why exactly,” the old man said. “Call it a hunch. I've seen this sort of thing work with Ellery before. Gathering people who've been involved in a tough case at a critical stage seems to do something for him. Clears his head.”

“But it's my wedding!” Roberta cried. “Goodness, people getting married shouldn't be asked to be guinea pigs in a—a—”

“I know it's asking a lot,” he said gently.

“Besides, Inspector, Lorette wouldn't come. You know the circumstances under which we broke up. And she's in that revue—”

“Since when are performances of Broadway shows given on Sundays? Anyway, I have a feeling she would. Maybe Lorette's been looking for a chance to make up with you, now that she's hit the jackpot and can afford to let bygones be bygones. And I know you'll feel better about flying off to England without leaving any bitterness behind.” Inspector Queen had an old-fashioned belief in the efficacy of “Hearts and Flowers” in situations like these. “What do you say?” he said as he followed her back to the living room.

Roberta silently began to gather up the cups and saucers.

“Be a sport, Roberta.”

“Harry wouldn't …”

“Leave Harry to me. He's a pro. He understands these things.”

“But it's his wedding, too!”

“Think about it. I'd really appreciate it.”

The Inspector left her quietly and went into Ellery's study. He slipped the door to the living room shut. Ellery was sprawled behind his desk, swivel chair slued about so that he could park his feet on the windowsill and look out at the smog-smutched sky beyond the bars of the fire escape.

“Son.”

Ellery kept looking out.

“How about telling me what this is all about?”

Ellery shook his head.

“Are you in the stew, or is it done and you're parked on the lid?”

Ellery did not reply.

“All right,” his father said. “I've got to go down to Isaac Rubin's Delicatessen and order some smoked turkey and corned beef sandwiches and stuff for tonight. While I'm out I'd like to phone Lorette Spanier, Carlos Armando, and a couple of others—Mrs. Pilter, William Wasser. Inviting them to the wedding.”

That brought Ellery's shoes to the floor in a small explosion.

“That's what you'd be doing if you saw your way clear, isn't it?”

“You know me so damned well it's illegal,” Ellery said slowly. “Yes, dad, I suppose it is. But dragging a murder case into a wedding … Do you suppose I'm getting sentimental in my old age? Anyway, you can't very well do it without consulting Roberta and Harry.”

“I've already talked to Roberta, although I didn't happen to mention asking Armando; and I'll handle Mr. Burke. The point is, do
you
want me to do it?”

Ellery tugged at his nose, cracked a knuckle, and generally agonized.

Finally he said, “Want? Anything but. But I don't suppose I really have a choice.”

“Shall I call anyone besides the ones I mentioned?”

Ellery considered. “No,” he said, and turned again to the Manhattan sky, which scowled back, puzzled.

He didn't even ask me to get pastrami, the Inspector thought as he slipped out.