The Purple Bird Mystery (21 page)

Mr. Douglas continued, “Grandma, Jimmy and I decided today that we’d like to show our appreciation by giving you something that seems fitting, in view of the mystery you’ve solved.”

Djuna’s eyes grew big.

Mr. Douglas grinned. “It isn’t very much, considering. And since I’m a golf pro, I got it wholesale, anyway.” He stooped and pulled out from under the trailing tablecloth a handsome red golf bag filled with bright new irons and polished woods. “And Jimmy and I will consider it an honor to teach you to use them.” He carried the bag around the table and handed it to Djuna.

Djuna was speechless. Then he cried, “Jeepers! Thanks, Mr. Douglas! Thanks, Grandma. Thanks, Jimmy. This is a terrific present!”

Jimmy said excitedly. “Matched clubs, Djuna! Numbered and registered! Everything’s there, even a pitching wedge! Gosh how can you wait to try them out?”

Mr. Douglas went back to his chair. “The way I look at it, the Talisman is precious in more ways than just history and tradition. It’s worth a lot of money, too. And despite any regrets any of us Douglases might feel, I’ll sell the Talisman in a minute, if I have to, to pay for a college education for Jimmy. So you see, Djuna, you may have made it possible for Jimmy to go to college.”

“Hey!” Jimmy objected. “I want to be a golf pro like you, Pop. You can be a good golfer without—”

Mr. Douglas silenced Jimmy with a look. “And that’s the end of my speech,” he said. “Again Djuna, thanks.” And he sat down.

Before Djuna could say anything Mr. Martin, to everyone’s surprise, rose. The attorney from Philadelphia looked even nattier than usual in a fawn-colored Italian-silk suit and striped regimental tie. “I think,” Mr. Martin announced, “that this is a good place for me to make
my
speech. As Djuna so rightly suspected, I
have
been traveling under false colors this past week!”

A murmur ran around the table. Sergeant Scott put down his napkin. “You’re not another detective, I hope!”

“Oh, no, not that,” Mr. Martin chuckled. “But I’ve not been strictly the innocent, idle, golf-playing visitor I seem to be, either.”

“What have you been, then?” Jimmy asked eagerly.

Mr. Martin answered, “A spy,” in a calm voice. “Let me explain. In a way, my job here has been a pleasure; in another, it’s been painful. And you’ll soon see why. The law firm I work for in Philadelphia has numerous partners. One of our senior partners, who’s a very rich man, has been hospitalized for the past eight months, flat on his back. So he asked me to act for him. He arranged, through a friend of his in Northport, a Mr. Karl Monkton, who’s a member of the Fieldcrest Golf Club, for me to come here as a guest and find out all I could about you, Jimmy, and your father, and your family circumstances. And then to bring him back a considered, accurate estimate of what kind of folks you Douglases really are.”

Jimmy’s expression was one of complete bewilderment. But Djuna, looking around the intent faces at the table, saw that Mr. Douglas had suddenly gone pale.

Mr. Martin continued, “My law firm is Bidwell, Clark and Southerland, Mr. Douglas. You’ve heard the name before. And Mr. Southerland’s, too. He’s the man who’s been in the hospital for many months. He’s the one who asked me to spy on you. And Jimmy—” Mr. Martin couldn’t meet Mr. Douglas’s anguished gaze, so he turned to Jimmy—“Mr. Southerland is the man who feels he is responsible for your mother’s death in that auto accident last year. Mr. Southerland was driving the other car.”

Jimmy started to say something, but Grandma leaned quietly across Djuna and put her hand on his arm. Jimmy turned quickly to his father. Remembered pain was plain on Mr. Douglas’s face.

He said, “Yes, I remember the name. Arthur Southerland. Do you mind telling me why he asked you to spy on us?”

“He feels very strongly that the courts and the insurance companies were wrong when they concluded last year that your wife was at fault in that accident. They said she was killed because of her own negligence. Mr. Southerland didn’t agree, but he was in no shape to testify then. He feels it was entirely and exclusively his carelessness that resulted in her death and his own injuries. He feels guilty of gross injustice, and even of manslaughter.”

Mr. Douglas said, “You still haven’t told us why you were spying on us.”

“Mr. Douglas, forgive me for bringing up your wife’s tragedy, which must be very painful still. But I had to. You see, Mr. Southerland has decided to establish a college scholarship fund in the name of your wife, Mr. Douglas. A full four-year scholarship at a topflight university for deserving boys. And that’s why I’ve been trying to find out all about you and your circumstances—and
you
, Jimmy. Because Mr. Southerland wanted you to be the first recipient of the Sarah Douglas Scholarship, if I found you a suitable candidate!”

“Me?” said Jimmy. “Me?”

“You. And I think I may say that my report to Mr. Southerland will be a recommendation that a certain Jimmy Douglas of Fieldcrest Club, Edenboro,
shall
be the first recipient of the scholarship!” Mr. Martin smiled and wiped his forehead. “So, Mr. Douglas, you won’t have to part with the King’s Talisman after all.” Mr. Martin sat down.

Grandma got up from her chair and went behind Jimmy and kissed the top of his head. Then, with great dignity, she turned to Mr. Martin and said, “Mr. Martin, I thank you for all of us. And please thank Mr. Southerland for us, too. I can’t think of a nicer memorial to Jimmy’s mother. Will you tell him that for us?”

Mr. Martin said, “I certainly will.” Then he hastily said, “To get this party back to its original subject, I’d like to point out something to Djuna that he may have missed in solving the purple bird mystery.”

“What’s that, Mr. Martin?” Djuna asked.

“Did you consider that two of your suspects in this affair, Djuna, actually had the
names
of purple birds? I mean, of course, Swift and Martin. A swift is a bird. So is a martin. And both those birds have purplish plumage!”

Djuna was thunderstruck. “Good gosh, I never thought of that!” Then he laughed. “If I had, I’d never have figured it out. It wouldn’t have been a purple bird, but a red herring!”

Everybody roared. Champ cocked his head, regarded Djuna with his shiny black eyes, then gave three sharp barks.

“What’s Champ trying to say, Djuna?” smiled Miss Annie Ellery.

“When he barks like that,” said Djuna happily, “it only means one thing: Bring on the chocolate cake, Grandma!”

Turn the page to continue reading from the Ellery Queen Jr. Mystery Stories

W
HEN
Ellery Queen opened the door and walked into his apartment, his nephew was sprawled on the floor, hidden by a tall-backed easy chair. The boy was so absorbed by the book—one of the many mysteries written by Ellery Queen—that he did not hear the door open.

“Gully?” the private detective called out. “Gully? Where are you?”

“Here, Uncle Ellery.”

A boy of sixteen, tall for his age, untangled his lanky figure and stood up. His blond hair, cut short, was so light that the sun streaming in through the window made it look almost white.

“I’ve bad news, Gully.”

“What’s the matter?” A worried expression flicked over the boy’s handsome face.

“I have to go away. Taking the afternoon plane for New Orleans.”

Gully was disappointed. “You’re going away … without me?”

“I must, Gully.” Ellery Queen walked past the boy and entered his bedroom.

Gully followed him slowly. “But why, Uncle Ellery?”

“It’s a government case. I’ve been asked to help and, of course, I can’t refuse. Besides,” the famous detective added with a chuckle, “it’s the kind of mystery I can’t resist.”

“What’s it about?”

“There’s very little I can tell you. Something weird is taking place on the New Orleans waterfront. No real clues, just crazy rumors and reports of strange creatures haunting the docks down there, people being frightened at night, that sort of thing. No crime that the government knows of, no motive. But the Treasury Department is worried. My job will be to try to find out what’s going on.”

While he talked, Ellery brought a small suitcase out of the closet and packed some clothes into it.

“What about
our
trip?”

“Has to be postponed.”

Disappointment showed on the boy’s face. He stood in the middle of the room, his hands thrust deep into his pockets, and stared silently at his uncle.

All winter long Gully had been looking forward to the summer vacation with his famous uncle. They had planned to spend a week camping and fishing through the Adirondack mountain region. Now, abruptly, the trip was to be postponed.

“How long will you be gone, Uncle Ellery?”

“Only four or five days.”

“
Only!
” Gully could not keep the dismay out of his voice. “Gosh! That’s almost a whole week.”

For the first time since he had arrived in New York City—and that was two days ago—Gulliver Queen felt lonely and miserable. His father, an engineer, was in Europe working on a long-term United Nations project. Gully’s mother had gone with her husband.

But Gully had to continue with school. So arrangements were made for him to live with his grandfather, Inspector Richard Queen of the New York Police Department, and with his Uncle Ellery.

For Gully the separation from his parents was made up for a little by the promise of excitement and adventure living with Ellery Queen. Now, the first of the adventures—a camping trip to the mountains—was being postponed, and Gully found himself facing dull days of waiting.

“A few days,” Ellery Queen said, “are not such a long time. And you know we agreed that if anything important turned up, we’d have to postpone our vacation.”

“I know, Uncle Ellery. I guess it won’t be too bad. There are lots of things to see and do in New York.”

Gully tried to be cheerful about it, hiding his real feelings. But Ellery Queen was a shrewd observer. He said suddenly, “But there’s something you can do for me while I’m away.”

Gully looked up, instantly curious.

Ellery picked up his suitcase and headed for his study. Dropping the bag at the door he went to his desk and from a drawer pulled out a small leather notebook.

“Take this, Gully,” he said, handing it to the boy. “My secretary, Nikki Porter, is coming with me. My telephone-answering service will take any messages phoned in. But sometimes people phone or come here to the apartment to see me …”

“People in trouble?” Gully asked eagerly. “People who want to hire you as a detective?”

“Yes. The police are usually in a better position to help these people than I am. But I try to keep a record of the visits. You never can tell when an interesting case might crop up.”

“You want me to see the people—sort of interview them?”

Ellery Queen smiled. “Well, let’s say you’ll be acting as my assistant. Use the notebook to write down their names and addresses. You might also jot down what they look like and how they behave.”

“If they’re nervous or worried?”

“Exactly. And keep a careful record of what they tell you. Get down all the facts you can. When I come back, I’ll go over the notebook and decide whether to look into the case or not.”

“Yes, sir!”

“And remember, Gully, don’t go off trying to solve any mysteries. Just write down the facts, all the facts.”

“And
only
the facts! I know.” Gully was feeling a lot more chipper than he had a few minutes before.

“Right. You’ll do it for me?”

“Of course!” Gully said proudly. “Gosh! Your assistant.”

“I’m depending on you. In the meantime, Mrs. Butterly will take care of you here at home.” Mrs. Butterly was the Queens’ housekeeper, a conscientious and motherly woman.

Gully opened the notebook and looked at the blank white sheets, wondering what he was going to write on them, and how soon.

“I’ve got to hurry now. Take care of yourself.”

Ellery Queen gave the boy a quick hug around the shoulders, picked up his suitcase and left. Gully remained standing in the middle of the room. A quarter of an hour later Mrs. Butterly, coming in to dust, found the boy still standing there, daydreaming.

“Now, young man,” she exclaimed. “I don’t want you moping around the house. Not on a beautiful day like today.”

She was a short dumpy woman well past middle age. But she moved about with a bustling, nervous energy.

“Where should I go?”

“Have you been to the zoo?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Hah! Just like a born New Yorker. People live here all their lives and never see the sights of the City. Central Park’s just across the way. Got one of the finest zoos in the world. A lake. Boats. And such a nice day, too.”

“But Mrs. Butterly …”

“I’ll have no but-but-buts from you, Gulliver. Off you go!”

“Yes, ma’am.” With Ellery Queen gone, Gully did have a few days for sight-seeing. He shoved the notebook into one of his back pockets and left.

But an hour later he was back. Mrs. Butterly opened the door and immediately looked stern.

“Why are you back so soon?”