The French Powder Mystery — 16 (1)

At the Apartment: Again the Bedroom

    Weaver flung open the outer door to admit two women. Sergeant Thomas Velie loomed solidly behind them.
    "Did you send for these ladies, Mr. Queen?" demanded Velie, his broad frame filling the door. "One of the boys downstairs caught 'em trying to get past the man guarding the elevator—said you sent for them. Is it all right?"
    His eyes roved dourly about the apartment—as much of it as he could see from his position at the corridor door. Ellery smiled.
    "It's all right, Velie," he drawled. "They'll be safe with me.... And how is the dear Commissioner progressing with the Inspector?"
    "Got his hooks into the scarf," growled Velie, and shot a keen look at Weaver's instantly clenched fists.
    "Follow up the lead I gave you over the telephone?" asked Ellery serenely.
    "Yes. She's among the missing. Got two men on it already." The Sergeant's stern face cracked in a fleeting smile. "How much longer will you need the Inspector's—coöperation downstairs, Mr. Queen?"
    "I'll buzz you, Velie. Fly away now, like a good little chap." Velie grinned, but his face was frozen into its customary immobility as he wheeled and made for the elevator.
    Ellery turned to the two women, who were standing close together eying him apprehensively. He addressed the taller and elder of the two—a stiff, slab-figured woman in her early fifties, marble-haired and viciously blue-eyed.
    "You're Miss Hortense Underhill, I take it?" he asked severely.
    "That's right—Mr. French's housekeeper." Her voice was not unlike her person—thin, sharp, steely.
    "And this is Miss Bernice Carmody's maid?"
    The other woman, a timid little creature with faded brown hair and a plain face, started convulsively at being directly addressed and crouched closer to Hortense Underhill.
    "Yes," answered the French housekeeper. "This is Miss Doris Keaton, Bernice's maid."
    "Very good." Ellery smiled, stood aside with a deferential little bow. "If you'll follow me, please—?" He led the way through the red-leather door leading into the large bedroom. Weaver marched obediently behind.
    Ellery indicated the two bedroom chairs. "Sit down, please." The two women sat down. Doris Keaton kept her big vapid eyes on Ellery, surreptitiously hitching her chair closer to the housekeeper's.
    "Miss Underhill," began Ellery, pince-nez in hand, "have you ever been in this room before?"
    "I have." The housekeeper seemed determined to out-stare Ellery. Her cold blue eyes flashed colder fire.
    "Oh, you have?" Ellery paused politely without removing his gaze. "When, may I ask, and on what occasion?"
    The housekeeper was undaunted by his coolness. "A peck of times. That is, so to speak. I never came, though, except at Mrs. French's request. Each time it was clothes."
    "It was clothes?" Ellery seemed puzzled.
    She nodded stonily. "Why, of course. They were far apart, those times, but whenever Mrs. French intended to stay here overnight, she would ask me to bring a next day's change for her. So that is how—"
    "Just a moment, Miss Underhill." There was a pleasant glitter in Ellery's eyes as he reflected. "This was her usual custom?"
    "So far as I know."
    "When"—Ellery leaned forward—"when was the last time Mrs. French asked you to do this?"
    The housekeeper did not reply at once. "I should say about two months ago," she answered finally.
    "As far back as that?"
    "I said two months ago."
    Ellery sighed, straightened. "One of these closets, then, belonged to Mrs. French?" he asked, indicating the two modern doors set in the wall.
    "Yes—that one there," she replied promptly, pointing to the concealed door nearest the lavatory. "But not only for Mrs. French's clothes—the other girls sometimes kept things in there, too."
    Ellery's eyebrows shot up. "Not really, Miss Underhill!" he ejaculated. His hand caressed his jaw tenderly. "I may infer, then, that both Miss Marion and Miss Bernice sometimes used Mr. French's apartment?"
    The housekeeper regarded him levelly. "Sometimes. Not very often. Only when Mrs. French was not using it, and they brought a girl friend along to spend the night—on a sort of lark, you might call it."
    "I see. Have they slept here with a—a 'girl friend,' I believe you said?—recently?"
    "Not that I know. Not for five or six months at least."
    "Very good!" Ellery flipped his pince-nez into the air with a certain briskness. "Now, Miss Underhill, I want you to tell me quite exactly when you saw Miss Carmody last, and under what circumstances."
    The two women exchanged meaningful glances; the maid bit her lip and looked guiltily away. But the housekeeper retained her poise. "I knew that was coming," she announced in a calm voice. "But you needn't think either of my poor lambs had anything to do with this, whoever you are. They didn't and you can take that for gospel. I don't know where Bernice is, but be sure there's foul play been done her...."
    "Miss Underhill," said Ellery gently, "I'm sure this is all quite interesting, but we are in something of a hurry. If you'll answer my question—?"
    "All right, if you must have it." She set her lips, folded her hands in her lap, looked at Weaver indifferently, and began. "It was yesterday.—I'd better begin right with when they woke up; it'll make easier telling.—Well, both Mrs. French and Bernice woke up at about ten o'clock yesterday morning, and the hair-dresser attended each in their rooms. They got dressed and had a bite of something. Marion had already had lunch. I served them myself...."
    "Pardon me, Miss Underhill," interrupted Ellery, "but did you hear what they talked about over the luncheon table?"
    "I don't listen to what isn't my affair," retorted the housekeeper tartly, "so all I can tell about that is that they talked about a new gown being made for Bernice. And Mrs. French seemed a little absent-minded, too. She actually got her sleeve into her coffee—the poor thing! But then she was always a little funny—maybe she had a premonition of what was to come, you know?—God rest her troubled soul!... Well, after lunch they remained in the music-room until about two o'clock, talking and things. Don't know about what, either! But they seemed as if they wanted to be let alone. Anyway, when they came out I heard Mrs. French tell Bernice to go upstairs and dress—they were going to take a ride through the Park. Bernice went upstairs, and Mrs. French held back to tell me to tell Edward Young, the chauffeur, to get the car out. Then Mrs. French went upstairs herself to dress. But in about five minutes I saw Bernice coming down the stairs, all dressed for the street, and when she saw me she told me to tell her mother—whispered, she did—that she'd changed her mind about taking a ride in the Park and was going out to do some shopping. And she fair ran out of the house!"
    Ellery seemed poignantly concerned. "Clearly if somewhat volubly told, Miss Underhill. And what would you say was the state of Miss Carmody's nerves all day?"
    "Poor," replied the housekeeper. "But then Bernice has always been a high-spirited and sensitive girl. Yesterday she seemed a little more nervous than usual, though, now that I come to think of it. She was all pale and fidgety when she slipped out of the house...."
    Weaver moved sharply. Ellery cautioned him with a glance and motioned the housekeeper to continue.
    "Well, not long after, Mrs. French came down dressed for her drive. She asked for Bernice, and I told her about Bernice's going off that way, and I gave her Bernice's message. I thought for a minute that she was going to faint—poor thing!—she got so pale and sick-looking, which wasn't like her at all, and then she took hold of herself and she said: 'All right, Hortense. Tell Young to put the car back in the garage. I shan't be going out, either....' and she marched right back upstairs again. Oh, yes! She did tell me, though, before she went up, to let her know the instant Bernice got back home.... Well, sir, that's the last I saw of Bernice, and practically the last of Mrs. French. For the poor soul stayed in her room all afternoon, came down for dinner with Marion, and then went back up to her room again. She seemed more anxious than ever about Bernice, and twice she made as if to go to the telephone, but she seemed to change her mind. Anyway, about a quarter after eleven at night she came down with her hat and coat on—yes, sir, I know you'll ask me: the brown toque and the fox-trimmed cloth coat—and she said she was going out. And go out she did. And that's the last I saw of poor Mrs. French."
    "She didn't order the car?"
    "No."
    Ellery took a turn about the room. "And where was Miss Marion French all day?" he asked suddenly. Weaver glanced at Ellery in shocked surprise.
    "Oh! Miss Marion was up bright and early—always is an early riser, the dear child—and she left the house right after luncheon, saying she had a shopping appointment with one of her friends. I think she also went to the Carnegie Hall for the afternoon, because only the day before she showed me the tickets for a piano-playing thing by some foreigner. She does love music so, that child! She didn't get back home until about half-past five. She and Mrs. French had dinner together, and she was surprised that Bernice was absent. Anyway, right after dinner she dressed over and went out again."
    "At what hour did Miss Marion French return?"
    "That I can't say. I went to bed myself at eleven-thirty, after releasing the house staff for the night. Didn't see anybody come in. Mrs. French had told me not to wait up, besides."
    "Not a particularly well-regulated household," murmured Ellery. "Miss Underhill, please tell me how Miss Carmody was attired when she left the house—it was about two-thirty, I presume?"
    Hortense Underhill shifted restlessly in her chair. The maid still regarded Ellery with stupid, frightened eyes.
    "Just about," said the housekeeper. "Well, Bernice was wearing—let me see now—her blue felt hat with the brilliant fancy, her grey chiffon dress, her grey fur-trimmed coat, and a pair of black leather pumps with rhinestone buckles. Is that what you wanted to know?"
    "Precisely," said Ellery with a charming smile. He took Weaver to one side. "Wes, do you know why I've called these two worthy ladies into consultation?" he demanded in an undertone.
    Weaver shook his head. "Except for the fact that you wanted to know about Bernice.... Oh, I say, Ellery, it wasn't that you're looking for further indications of Bernice's presence here, is it?" he asked aghast.
    Ellery nodded gloomily. "We have three apparent indications of the young lady's alleged visit to the apartment, to be journalistic.... Something told me there were more. Indications that I might not be able to descry. The housekeeper, though—the maid, Bernice's maid—" He broke off, shook his head with impatience at his own thoughts. He turned to the waiting women. "Miss Doris Keaton." The maid jumped, stark terror in her eyes. "Don't be afraid, Miss Keaton," said Ellery mildly, "I shan't bite you.... Did you help Miss Bernice dress yesterday afternoon, after luncheon?"
    The girl whispered: "Yes, sir."
    "Would you recognize the articles of clothing, for example, that she wore yesterday, if you saw them here and now?"
    "I—I think so, sir."
    Ellery walked to the closet door nearest the lavatory, threw it wide—disclosing a rack hung with multicolored gowns, a silken shoe-bag tacked to the inner side of the door, and a top shelf on which lay several hat-boxes—stepped back, and said:
    "There's your territory, Miss Keaton. See what you can find." He stood directly behind the girl, watching her with quick sharp flashes of his eyes. He was so absorbed in her movements that he did not even feel the presence of Weaver at his side. The housekeeper sat, a thin stone, in her chair, watching them.
    The maid's fingers trembled as she rummaged among the numerous gowns on the rack. After going through the entire rack, she timidly turned to Ellery and shook her head. He motioned her to proceed.
    She stood on tiptoe and lifted from the shelf the three hat-boxes. She opened these one by one and scrutinized them briefly. The first two boxes contained hats belonging to Mrs. French, she said hesitantly. This was corroborated by a frigid nod from Hortense Underhill.
    The maid lifted the lid from the third box. She uttered a little choked cry and reeled backward, touching Ellery. The contact seemed to burn her skin. She jumped away, fumbled for a handkerchief.
    "Well?" asked Ellery softly.
    "That's—that's Miss Bernice's hat," she whispered, biting the handkerchief nervously. "The one—she wore when she left the house yesterday afternoon!"
    Ellery eyed the hat narrowly as it lay, brim to the bottom, in the box. The soft blue felt crown, due to its position, had collapsed. A glittering pin was fixed above the turned-down brim, just visible from where he stood.... Ellery made a brief request and the maid lifted the hat from the box and offered it to him. He turned it over in his fingers, then silently handed the hat back to the girl, who as silently took it, put her hand inside the crown, flipped the hat upside down, and deftly returned it to the box in that position. Ellery, who had been about to turn away, stiffened instantly. Nevertheless, he said nothing, watching the girl replace the three hat-boxes on the shelf.
    "The shoes now, please," he said.
    Obediently the maid bent over the silk shoe-rack hanging on the inside of the closet door. As she was about to remove a woman's pump, Ellery stopped her with a tap on the shoulder and turned to the housekeeper.
    "Miss Underhill, will you please verify the fact that this is Miss Carmody's hat?"
    He lifted a long arm, took down the box with the blue hat inside, removed the hat, and handed it to Hortense Underhill.
    She examined it briefly. Unaccountably, Ellery had stepped away from the closet to stand by the lavatory door.
    "It's hers," said the housekeeper, looking up belligerently. "But what that has to do with anything, I don't know."
    "That's honest." Ellery smiled. "Will you please return it to the shelf?" As he said this, he stepped slowly forward again.
    The woman, sniffing, put her hand inside the hat, inverted it, and placed it in that position in the hat-box. She carefully lifted it to the shelf and as carefully returned to her chair.... Weaver observed Ellery's sudden grin with a lost bewilderment.
    Then Ellery did an amazing thing—a thing that brought an unbelieving stare from each of the three people watching him. He reached up to the shelf and took down the same hat-box!
    He opened it, whistling a tuneless little air and, removing the much-handled blue hat, offered it to Weaver for inspection.
    "Here, Wes, let's have your masculine opinion," he said cheerfully. "Is this Bernice Carmody's hat?"
    Weaver regarded his friend with astonishment, taking the hat mechanically. Shrugging, he looked at the hat. "Looks familiar, Ellery, but I can't be positive. I rarely notice women's clothes."
    "Hmm." Ellery chuckled. "Put the hat back, Wes old boy." Weaver sighed, grasped the hat gingerly by the crown and dropped it, brim down, into the box. He fumbled with the lid, affixed it, shoved the box back onto the shelf—for the third time in less than five minutes.
    Ellery turned briskly to the maid. "Keaton, just how fastidious in her habits is Miss Carmody?" he asked, feeling for his pince-nez.
    "I—I don't get you, sir."
    "Does she bother you much? Does she put her own things away generally? Exactly what are your duties?"
    "Oh!" The maid's eyes sought the housekeeper once more for guidance. Then she looked down at the carpet. "Well, sir, Miss Bernice was—is always careful about her clothes and things. Most always puts her hats and coats away herself when she gets in from being out. My work's more doing personal things—fixing her hair, laying out her dresses, and such."
    "A very careful girl," put in Miss Underhill icily. "Rare and unusual, I've always called it. And Marion's the same way."
    "Delighted to hear it," said Ellery with perfect gravity. "Delighted is hardly the word for it.... Heigh-ho, Keaton, the shoon!"
    "Huh?" The girl was startled.
    "Shoes—shoes, I should say."
    There were at least a dozen pairs of shoes, of assorted styles and colors, protruding from separate pockets in the rack. Without exception each of the shoes lay in its compartment with the tip inside and the heel showing, hooked over the lip of the pocket.
    The maid Keaton went to work. She looked over the shoes, lifting out several to examine them closely. Suddenly she snatched at a pair of black leather pumps, lying in adjacent compartments. Each pump sported a large and heavy rhinestone buckle which glittered in a shaft of sunlight as she held them up before Ellery.
    "These! These shoes!" she cried. "Miss Bernice wore them yesterday when she went out!"
    Ellery took them from her shaking fingers. After a moment he turned to Weaver.
    "Mud splashes," he said laconically. "And here's a spot of wet. Seems indubitable!" He handed them back to the maid, who tremblingly replaced them in their compartments.... Ellery's eyes narrowed at once. She had put the shoes back with the heels inside, despite the fact that all the other shoes in the rack had the heels showing.
    "Miss Underhill!" Ellery withdrew the black pumps from their pockets. The housekeeper rose sulkily.
    "Miss Carmody's?" Ellery demanded, handing her the shoes.
    She eyed them briefly. "Yes."
    "Having reached complete agreement," drawled Ellery with a smiling change of tone, "please be so good as to return these shoes to the rack."
    Without a word she obeyed. And Ellery, watching closely, chuckled to observe that she had duplicated the maid's action in putting the pumps into the rack heels first, so that the tips and buckles protruded from the pockets.
    "Westley!" he said at once. Weaver approached wearily. He had been standing at a window, looking moodily down over Fifth Avenue.... And when Weaver replaced the pumps in the rack, he grasped the heels and stuck the shoes in tips first.
    "Why do you do that?" asked Ellery as the two women, now convinced of his madness, moved uneasily away from the closet.
    "Do what?" demanded Weaver.
    Ellery smiled. "Easy, Hamlet.... Why do you put the shoes into the bag so that the heels hang over the pocket?"
    Weaver stared at him. "Why, they're all that way," he said blankly. "Why should I put them in the opposite way?"
    "Alors," said Ellery, "on a raison.... Miss Underhill, why did you put the shoes back into the rack with the tips showing, when all the others have the heels showing?"
    "Anybody would know that," snapped the housekeeper. "These black pumps have big buckles. Didn't you see what happened when Mr. Weaver put them back tips first? The buckles caught on the material of the bag!"
    "Wondrous woman!" muttered Ellery. "And the others haven't any buckles, of course...." He read confirmation in the housekeeper's eyes.
    He left them standing before the closet and paced silently back and forth the length of the bedroom. His lips puckered fiercely as he mused. Suddenly he turned to Miss Underhill.
    "I want you to look this closet over very carefully, Miss Underhill, and tell me, if you possibly can, whether anything is not there which you know should be there...." He stepped back and waved his hand.
    She stirred into activity, rummaging efficiently through the gowns, the hat-boxes, the shoes once more. Weaver, the maid, Ellery watched her in silence.