Thomas Godfrey (Ed) (57 page)

“
Le
prince perdu.
I’ll say,” muttered Ellery. “Mr,
Bondling, is this on the level?”

“I’m an attorney, not an
antiquarian,” snapped their visitor. “There are documents attached, one of them
a sworn statement—holograph—by Lady Charlotte Atkyns, the English
actress-friend of the Capet family— she was in France during the Revolution—or
purporting to be in Lady Charlotte’s hand. It doesn’t matter, Mr. Queen. Even
if the history is bad, the diamond’s good!”

“I take it this
hundred-and-ten-thousand dollar dollie constitutes the bone, as it were, or
that therein lies the rub?”

“You said it!” cried Mr.
Bondling, cracking his knuckles in a sort of agony. “For my money the Dauphin’s
Doll is the only negotiable asset of that collection. And what’s the old lady
do? She provides by will that on the day preceding Christmas the Cytherea Ypson
Dollection is to be publicly displayed... on the main floor of Nash’s
Department Store!
The day before Christmas,
gentlemen!
Think of it!”

“But why?” asked Nikki,
puzzled.

“Why? Who knows why? For
the entertainment of New York’s army of little beggars, I suppose! Have you any
notion how many peasants pass through Nash’s on the day before Christmas? My
cook tells me—she’s a very religious woman—it’s like Armageddon.”

“Day before Christmas,” frowned
Ellery. “That’s tomorrow.”

“It does sound chancy,” said
Nikki anxiously. Then she brightened. “Oh, well, maybe Nash’s won’t co-operate,
Mr. Bondling.”

“Oh, won’t they!” howled
Mr. Bondling. “Why, old lady Ypson had this stunt cooked up with that gang of
peasant-purveyors for years! They’ve been snapping at my heels ever since the
day she was put away!”

“It’ll draw every crook
in New York,” said the Inspector, his gaze on the kitchen door.

“Orphans,” said Nikki. “The
orphans’ interests
must
be
protected.” She looked at her employer accusingly.

“Special measures, Dad,” said
Ellery.

“Sure, sure,” said the
Inspector, rising. “Don’t you worry about this, Mr. Bondling. Now if you’ll be
kind enough to excu —”

“Inspector Queen,” hissed
Mr. Bondling, leaning forward tensely, “that is not all.”

“Ah.” Ellery briskly lit
a cigaret. “There’s a specific villain in this piece, Mr. Bondling, and you
know who he is.”

“I do,” said the lawyer
hollowly, “and then again I don’t. I mean, it’s Comus.”

“Comus!”
the Inspector screamed.

“Comus?” said Ellery
slowly.

“Comus?” said Nikki. “Who
dat?”

“Comus,” nodded Mr.
Bondling. “First thing this morning. Marched right into my office, bold as
day—must have followed me; I hadn’t got my coat off, my secretary wasn’t even
in. Marched in and tossed this card on my desk.”

Ellery seized it. “The
usual, Dad.”

“His trademark,” growled
the Inspector, his lips working.

“But the card just says, ‘Comus,’
” complained Nikki. “Who—?”

“Go on, Mr. Bondling!”
thundered the Inspector.

“And he calmly announced
to me,” said Bondling, blotting his cheeks with an exhausted handkerchief, “that
he’s going to steal the Dauphin’s Doll tomorrow, in Nash’s.”

“Oh, a maniac,” said
Nikki.

“Mr. Bondling,” said the
old gentleman in a terrible voice, “just what did this fellow look like?”

“Foreigner—black
beard—spoke with a thick accent of some sort. To tell you the truth, I was so
thunderstruck I didn’t notice details. Didn’t even chase him till it was too
late.”

The Queens shrugged at
each other, Gallically.

“The old story,” said the
Inspector; the corners of his nostrils were greenish. “The brass of the colonel’s
monkey and when he does show himself nobody remembers anything but beards and
foreign accents. Well, Mr. Bondling, with Comus in the game it’s serious
business. Where’s the collection right now?”

“In the vaults of the
Life Bank & Trust, Forty-third Street branch.”

“What time are you to
move it over to Nash’s?”

“They wanted it this
evening. I said nothing doing. I’ve made special arrangements with the bank,
and the collection’s to be moved at seven-thirty tomorrow morning.”

“Won’t be much time to
set up,” said Ellery thoughtfully, “before the store opens its doors.” He
glanced at his father.

“You leave Operation
Dollie to us, Mr. Bondling,” said the Inspector grimly. “Better give me a buzz
this afternoon.”

“I can’t tell you,
Inspector, how relieved I am—”

“Are you?” said the old
gentleman sourly. “What makes you think he won’t get it?”

When Attorney Bondling
had left, the Queens put their heads together, Ellery doing most of the
talking, as usual. Finally, the Inspector went into the bedroom for a session
with his direct line to Headquarters.

“Anybody would think,” sniffed
Nikki, “you two were planning the defense of the Bastille. Who is this Comus,
anyway?”

“We don’t know, Nikki,” said
Ellery slowly. “Might be anybody. Began his criminal career about five years
ago. He’s in the grand tradition of Lupin—a saucy, highly intelligent rascal
who’s made stealing an art. He seems to take a special delight in stealing
valuable things under virtually impossible conditions. Master of make-up—he’s
appeared in a dozen different disguises. And he’s an uncanny mimic. Never been
caught, photographed, or fingerprinted. Imaginative, daring—I’d say he’s the
most dangerous thief operating in the United States.”

“If he’s never been
caught,” said Nikki skeptically, “how do you know he commits these crimes?”

“You mean and not someone
else?” Ellery smiled pallidly. “The techniques mark the thefts as his work. And
then, like Arsène, he leaves a card —with the name ‘Comus’ on it—on the scene
of each visit.”

“Does he usually announce
in advance that he’s going to swipe the crown jewels?”

“No.” Ellery frowned. “To
my knowledge, this is the first such instance. Since he’s never done anything
without a reason, that visit to Bondling’s office this morning must be part of
his greater plan. I wonder if—”

The telephone in the
living room rang clear and loud.

Nikki looked at Ellery.
Ellery looked at the telephone.

“Do you suppose—?” began
Nikki. But then she said, “Oh, it’s too absurd!”

“Where Comus is involved,”
said Ellery wildly, “nothing is too absurd!” and he leaped for the phone. “Hello!”

“A call from an old
friend,” announced a deep and hollowish male voice. “Comus.”

“Well,” said Ellery.”
Hello again.”

“Did Mr. Bondling,” asked
the voice jovially, “persuade you to ‘prevent’ me from stealing the Dauphin’s
Doll in Nash’s tomorrow?”

“So you know Bondling’s
been here.”

“No miracle involved,
Queen. I followed him. Are you taking the case?”

“See here, Comus,” said
Ellery. “Under ordinary circumstances I’d welcome the sporting chance to put
you where you belong. But these circumstances are not ordinary. That doll
represents the major asset of a future fund for orphaned children. I’d rather
we didn’t play catch with it. Comus, what do you say we call this one off?”

“Shall we say,” asked the
voice gently, “Nash’s Department Store—tomorrow?”

* * *

Thus the early morning of
December twenty-fourth finds Messrs. Queen and Bondling, and Nikki Porter,
huddled on the iron sidewalk of Forty-third Street before the holly-decked
windows of the Life Bank & Trust Company, just outside a double line of
armed guards. The guards form a channel between the bank entrance and an
armored truck, down which Cytherea Ypson’s Dollection flows swiftly. And all
about gapes New York, stamping callously on the aged, icy face of the street
against the uncharitable Christmas wind.

Now is the winter of his
discontent, and Mr. Queen curses.

“I don’t know what you’re
beefing about,” moans Miss Porter.

“You and Mr. Bondling are
bundled up like Yukon prospectors. Look at
me.
”

“It’s that rat-hearted
public relations tripe from Nash’s,” says Mr. Queen murderously. “They all
swore themselves to secrecy, Brother Rat included. Honor! Spirit of Christmas!”

“It was all over the
radio last night,” whimpers Mr. Bondling. “And in this morning’s papers.”

“I’ll cut his creep’s
heart out. Here! Velie, keep those people away!”

Sergeant Velie says
good-naturedly from the doorway of the bank, “You jerks stand back.” Little
does the Sergeant know the fate in store for him.

“Armored trucks,” says
Miss Porter bluishly. “Shotguns.”

“Nikki, Comus made a
point of informing us in advance that he meant to steal the Dauphin’s Doll in
Nash’s Department Store. It would be just like him to have said that in order
to make it easier to steal the doll en route.”

“Why don’t they hurry?”
shivers Mr. Bondling. “Ah!” Inspector Queen appears suddenly in the doorway.
His hands clasp treasure.

“Oh!” cries Nikki. New
York whistles.

It is magnificence, an
affront to democracy. But street mobs, like children, are royalists at heart.

New York whistles, and
Sergeant Thomas Velie steps menacingly before Inspector Queen, Police Positive
drawn, and Inspector Queen dashes across the sidewalk between the bristling
lines of guards with the Dauphin’s Doll in his embrace.

Queen the Younger
vanishes, to materialize an instant later at the door of the armored truck.

“It’s just immorally,
hideously beautiful, Mr. Bondling,” breathes Miss Porter, sparkly-eyed.

Mr. Bondling cranes,
thinly.

enter
Santa Claus, with bell.

* * *

Santa.
Oyez, oyez. Peace, good will. Is that the dollie the radio’s been yappin’
about, folks?

Mr. B.
Scram.

Miss P.
Why, Mr. Bondling.

Mr. B.
Well, he’s got no business here. Stand back, er, Santa. Back!

Santa.
What eateth you, my lean and angry friend? Have you no compassion at this
season of the year?

Mr. B.
Oh... Here!
(Clink.
)
Now will you
kindly... ?

Santa.
Mighty pretty dollie. Where they takin’ it, girlie?

Miss P.
Over to Nash’s, Santa.

Mr. B.
You asked for it. Officer!!!

Santa
(hurriedly). Little present for you girlie. Compliments of Santy. Merry, merry.

Miss P.
For
me?
(
exit
Santa, rapidly, with bell.)
Really, Mr. Bondling,
was it necessary
to...?

Mr. B.
Opium for the masses! What did that flatulent faker hand you, Miss Porter? What’s
in that unmentionable envelope?

Miss P.
I’m
sure I don’t know, but isn’t it the most touching idea? Why it’s addressed to
Ellery.
Oh! Elleryyyyyy!

Mr. B
(
exit
excitedly).
Where is he? You—! Officer! Where
did that baby-

deceiver disappear to? A Santa Claus...!