The French Powder Mystery - (6)

"And there," said Ellery with a little chuckle, "is a pointed epigram. Tell us, Wes--how about Mrs. French and Carmody? You've heard what he said--does it all fit?"
    "He told the exact truth," replied Weaver at once. "He's an enigma of a man, is Carmody--cold-blooded as a fish except where Bernice is concerned. I think he'd give his shirt for her. But he treated Mrs. French after their divorce precisely as if she were an unavoidable social necessity."
    "Why were they divorced, by the way?" asked the Inspector.
    "Infidelity on Carmody's part," said Weaver.--"Good night! I feel like a tongue-slapping washerwoman.--Well, Carmody was so injudicious as to be caught in a hotel-room with a lady of the chorus, and though the affair was hushed up, the truth couldn't be kept from trickling out. Mrs. French, who was something of a moral virago in those days, immediately sued for divorce, and got it--and with it, custody of Bernice."
    "Hardly a moral virago, Wes," remarked Ellery. "Not from the Zornian implications. Say rather--she knew what side her bread was buttered on and decided that there were more fish in the sea than a faithless husband...."
    "A complicated figure of speech," said Weaver, with a smile. "But I see what you mean."
    "I'm beginning to get little sidelights into Mrs. French's character," murmured Ellery. "This Marchbanks fellow--her brother, I believe?"
    "And that's about all," said Weaver grimly. "Hated each other like poison. I think Marchbanks had her number. He's no glistening lily himself. Anyway, they never had much use for each other. It made it a little embarrassing for the Old Man, because Marchbanks had been on the Board for many years."
    "Drinks too much, that's plain," said the Inspector. "Marchbanks and French get along all right?"
    "They have very little contact socially," said Weaver. "In business, they seem to jibe nicely. But that's because the Old Man's so darned sensible."
    "There's only one other member of the cast about whom I have any curiosity at the moment," said the Inspector. "And that's the dissipated-looking, fashionable gentleman of the Board named Trask. Has he any contacts with the French family other than business?"
    "More 'other' than 'business,'" replied Weaver. "I may as well go the whole hog while I'm tattling. I'll need a scrubbing-brush after I'm through!--Mr. A. Melville Trask is on the Board purely as a result of tradition. His father was the original member, and it was the elder Trask's dying wish that his son succeed him. It meant loads of red tape, but finally they succeeded in dragging him in, where he's been an ornament ever since. Not a brain in his head. But shrewdness?--plenty! Because Mr. Trask has ever since been gunning for Bernice for over a year now--ever since he was elected to the Board, as a matter of fact."
    "Interesting," murmured Ellery. "What's the idea, Wes--the family fortune?"
    "You've hit it exactly. Old Man Trask lost a lot in the stock market, and his son has been plunging so heavily that the report is he's near the end of his rope financially. So I guess he figured his best bet was a fortuitous marriage. And that's where Bernice comes in. He's been hounding her, courting her, taking her out, flattering her mother for months now. He's wormed his way into the affections of Bernice--who has few enough admirers, poor kid!--so much so that they're virtually engaged. Nothing official, but that's the understanding."
    "Opposition?" demanded the Inspector.
    "Plenty," replied Weaver grimly. "Chiefly from the Old Man. He feels it his duty to protect his stepdaughter from a man of Trask's stamp. Trask is a cad and a rounder of the worst sort. The poor girl would lead a dog's life with him."
    "Wes, what makes him so sure she'll come into money?" asked Ellery suddenly.
    "Well"--Weaver hesitated--"you see, El, Mrs. French had a respectable wad herself. And, of course, it's been an open secret that when she died--"
    "It would go to Bernice," said the Inspector.
    "Interesting," said Ellery, rising to his full length and stretching wearily. "And for no reason at all, I'm reminded that I haven't had a bite to eat since this morning. Let's all go out for a sandwich and a sip of java. Anything more, dad?"
    "Can't think of a thing," said the old man with a return to his glumness. "We'll lock up and go. Hagstrom! Hesse! Get those cigaret stubs and cards into my own bags--and the shoes and hat, too...."
    Ellery picked up the five books from the desk and handed them to Hagstrom.
    "You might pack these, too, Hagstrom," he said. "You're taking these things to Headquarters, dad?"
    "Why, of course!"
    "Then, on reconsideration, Hagstrom, I'll take these books myself." The detective wrapped them carefully in a piece of brown paper he took from one of the police kits and returned them to Ellery. Weaver retrieved his hat and coat from one of the bedroom closets and the Inspector, Ellery and Weaver, preceded by the detectives, walked out of the apartment.
    Ellery was the last one out. As he stood in the corridor, one hand on the knob of the outer door, he looked slowly from the apartment to the brown-papered package in his hand.
    "Thus endeth," he said softly to himself, "the first lesson." His hand dropped and the door snapped shut.
    Two minutes later only a lone bluecoat was left in the corridor, propped up against the door in a nondescript chair he had appropriated somewhere, reading a tabloid newspaper.
    THE THIRD EPISODE
    "Manhunting is by all odds the most thrilling profession in the world. Its thrills ... are in exact proportion to the temperament of the manhunter. It reaches its completest fulfillment in the investigator who ... observing microscopically the phenomena of a crime and collating them precisely, exercises his God-given gift of imagination and concocts a theory which embraces ALL the phenomena and omits none, not the tiniest crumb of a fact.... Penetration, patience, and passion--these rarely combined qualities make the genius of criminal investigation, just as they make the genius of any profession, unless the extra-mundane arts be excepted...."
    --From THERE IS AN UNDER WORLD By James Redix (the Elder).
    20
    TOBACCO
    Cyrus French's house fronted the Hudson River, on lower Riverside Drive. It was old and dusky, set well back from the Drive and surrounded by primly kept shrubbery. A low iron fence ran around the property.
    When Inspector Queen, Ellery Queen and Westley Weaver entered the reception room, they found Sergeant Velie already there, engaged in earnest conversation with another detective. This man left immediately on the entrance of the small party, and Velie himself turned a perturbed face to his superior.
    "We've struck oil, Inspector," he said in his calm bass. "Managed to trace the cab that picked up Mrs. French last night almost at once. It was a Yellow that patrols this neighborhood regularly. Got the driver and he remembered his fare without any trouble."
    "And I suppose--" began the Inspector gloomily.
    Velie shrugged. "Nothing to brag about. He picked her up right in front of the house here at about twenty after eleven last night. She told him to take her down Fifth. He followed orders. At 39th Street she told him to pull up, and then she got out. Paid him and he beat it. He did see her cross the street toward the department store. That's all."
    "Not so much," murmured Ellery, "to be sure. Did he stop at all on the trip downtown--did she communicate with any one on the way?"
    "I asked him that. Nothing doing, Mr. Queen. She didn't give him another order until they reached 39th Street. Of course, he did say there was heavy traffic, and he had to stop a number of times. It's possible that somebody might have hopped in and out of the cab during a traffic wait. But the driver says no, he didn't see anything wrong."
    "And if he's alert, he would have, naturally," said the Inspector, sighing.
    A maid took their hats and coats, and immediately afterward Marion French appeared. She squeezed Weaver's hand, smiled wanly at the Queens, and placed herself at their disposal.
    "No, Miss French, there's nothing we can do with you now," said the Inspector. "How is Mr. French?"
    "Loads better." She made a little moué of apology. "I did act frightfully at the apartment, Inspector Queen. I know you'll forgive me--seeing father faint made me lose control of myself."
    "Nothing to forgive, Marion," growled Weaver, "if I do take the words out of the Inspector's mouth. I don't think Inspector Queen quite realized how ill your father really was."
    "Now, now, Mr. Weaver," said the Inspector mildly. "Miss French, do you think Mr. French will be able to see us in a half-hour or so?"
    "Well.... If the doctor says so, Inspector. But goodness! Won't you sit down? I've been so upset by all this--confusion...." A shadow darkened her face. The men accepted chairs. "You see, Inspector," continued Marion, "there's a nurse with daddy, and the doctor's still here. An old friend. Mr. Gray, too. Shall I see?"
    "If you will, my dear. And would you mind having Miss Hortense Underhill come in for a moment?"
    When Marion had left the room, Weaver excused himself and hurried after her. Her startled "Why, Westley!" could just be heard from the main hall a moment later. There was a sudden silence, then a suspiciously soft sound, and finally retreating footfalls.
    "I think," said Ellery soberly, "that that was a luscious salute to the Venerian goddess.... I wonder why old Cyrus frowns upon Westley as a prospective son-in-law. Wants wealth and position, I suppose."
    "Does he?" asked the Inspector.
    "I gather so."
    "Well, that's neither here nor there." The Inspector delicately took snuff. "Thomas," he said, "what have you done about Bernice Carmody? Any traces?"
    Velie pulled a longer face than usual. "Just one, and it barely helps us to a start. The Carmody girl was seen yesterday afternoon leaving this house by a day watchman--special officer--who's privately employed to patrol the neighborhood. He knows the girl by sight. He saw her walk quickly down towards 72nd Street--straight down the Drive. She didn't meet any one, apparently, and was headed for a definite place, because she seemed in a hell of a hurry. He had no reason to give her more than a casual glance or two, and so couldn't tell me just how far down the Drive she went or whether she turned down a side street."
    "Worse and worse." The Inspector grew thoughtful. "That girl is almighty important, Thomas," he sighed. "Put extra men on her trail if you think it's necessary. We've got to find her. I suppose you've got a complete description, clothes and all?"
    Velie nodded. "Yes, and four men on her already. If there's anything at all, Inspector, we'll find it."
    Hortense Underhill clumped into the room.
    Ellery sprang to his feet. "Dad, this is Miss Underhill, the housekeeper. This is Inspector Queen, Miss Underhill. The Inspector has a few questions to ask you."
    "That's what I'm here for," said the housekeeper.
    "Um," said the Inspector, eyeing her keenly. "My son tells me, Miss Underhill, that Miss Bernice Carmody left this house yesterday afternoon against her mother's wishes--in fact, sneaked out behind her back. Is that correct?"
    "That's correct," snapped the housekeeper, with a malevolent glance toward Ellery, who was smiling. "Though what that has to do with it, I can't see."
    "No doubt," said the old man. "Was that Miss Carmody's usual procedure--to run away from her mother?"
    "I haven't the faintest notion of what you're driving at, Mr. Inspector," said the housekeeper coldly. "But if you're aiming to implicate that girl.... Well! Yes, she did that a few times a month. Slipped out of the house without a word and was gone usually about three hours. There was always a scene with Mrs. French when she returned."
    "I don't suppose you know," asked Ellery slowly, "where she went at such times? Or what Mrs. French said to her when she returned?"
    Hortense Underhill clicked her teeth disagreeably. "No. Neither did her mother. That's why they had a scene. And Bernice would never tell. Just sit calmly and let her mother rave.... Except, of course, last week. Then they did have a scene."
    "Oh, something extraordinary a week ago, eh?" said Ellery. "And I gather that Mrs. French did know then?"
    The housekeeper permitted an expression of surprise to flick across her hard features. "Yes, I think she did," she said more quietly than before. She favored Ellery with a suddenly interested glance. "But what it was I don't know. I think she found out where Bernice was going, and they quarreled about it."
    "Just when was this, Miss Underhill?" asked the Inspector.
    "A week ago Monday."
    Ellery whistled softly to himself. He and the Inspector exchanged glances.
    The Inspector leaned forward. "Tell me, Miss Underhill--these days on which Miss Carmody generally disappeared--do you recall whether they were all the same, or different days?"
    Hortense Underhill looked from father to son, began to speak, thought for an instant, looked up again. "Now that I think of it," she said slowly, "they weren't always Mondays. I remember a Tuesday, a Wednesday, and a Thursday.... I do believe she went every week on consecutive days! Now, what could that mean?"
    "More, Miss Underhill," replied Ellery, frowning, "than you can guess--or I, for that matter.... Have the bedrooms of Mrs. French and Miss Carmody been disturbed since this morning?"
    "No. When I heard about the murder at the store I locked up both bedrooms. I didn't know but that--"
    "That it might have been important, Miss Underhill?" said Ellery. "That was clever of you.... Will you please lead the way upstairs?"
    The housekeeper rose without a word and walked out into the main hall and up the broad central staircase, the three men following. She stopped on the second floor and opened a door with a key from a bunch in her black silk apron-pocket.
    "This is Bernice's room," she announced, and stepped aside.
    They entered a large green-and-ivory bedroom, ornately furnished with period furniture. A huge canopied bed dominated the room. Despite the mirrors and colors and exotic pieces, the room was unaccountably depressing. It looked cold. The sunbeams that streamed in through the three wide windows, far from lending warmth to the ensemble, in some grotesque way only heightened the general effect of cheerlessness.
    Ellery's eyes, as he stepped into the room, were not concerned with its eeriness. They focused immediately on a large, garishly carved table to the side of the bed, on which was an ashtray filled to overflowing with cigaret-stubs. He quickly crossed the room and picked up the tray. Then he put it back on the table with a curious gleam in his eye.
    "Was this tray with its cigaret-stubs here this morning when you locked up, Miss Underhill?" he asked sharply.
    "Yes. I didn't touch anything."
    "Then this room hasn't been tidied since Sunday?"
    The housekeeper flushed. "The room was attended to on Monday morning, after Bernice awoke," she snarled. "I will not hear any imputations against my household, Mr. Queen! I--"
    "But why not Monday afternoon?" interposed Ellery, smiling.
    "Because Bernice chased the maid out of the room after the bed was made, that's why!" snapped the housekeeper. "The girl didn't have time to empty the ashtray. I hope that satisfies you!"
    "It does," murmured Ellery. "Dad--Velie--come here a moment."
    Ellery silently pointed down to the cigaret-stubs. There were at least thirty on the tray. Without exception the cigarets, of a flat Turkish variety, had been smoked only one-quarter of their length, and crushed out against the tray. The Inspector picked one up, and peered at a word of gilt lettering near the tip.
    "Well, what's surprising about that?" he demanded. "They're the same brand as the ones on the card-table in the apartment. Girl must be frightfully nervous, though."
    "But the length, dad, the length," said Ellery softly. "However, no matter.... Miss Underhill, has Miss Carmody always smoked La Duchesse?"
    "Yes, sir," said the housekeeper unpleasantly. "And too many for her health, too. She gets them from some Greek person with an outlandish name--Xanthos, I think it is--who makes them up on special order for young ladies of the better classes. Perfumed, they are!"
    "A standing order, I suppose?"
    "You suppose correctly. When Bernice's supply ran out, she merely repeated her order, which was for a box of five hundred always.... That's one thing about Bernice, although you mustn't take it as anything against the poor child, because too many young ladies have the same pernicious habit--but she smokes altogether too much for propriety and health, too. Her mother never smoked, nor do Marion and Mr. French."
    "Yes, yes, we are aware of those facts, Miss Underhill, thank you." Ellery took a glassine envelope from his compact pocket-kit and calmly poured into it the dusty contents of the ashtray. The envelope he handed to Velie.
    "You had better keep this with whatever mementoes of the case will be filed at Headquarters," he said in a sprightly tone. "I think it will prove of interest in the final summation.... Now, Miss Underhill, if you will please spare us just another slice of your precious time...."
    21
    KEYS AGAIN
    Ellery looked quickly about the garish room and strode over to a large door on the side wall. He opened it and uttered a low exclamation of satisfaction. It was a clothes-closet, packed with feminine garments--gowns, coats, shoes, hats in profusion.
    He turned once more to Hortense Underhill, who was regarding him with peculiar disquiet. Her lips compressed as she saw his hand absently ruffle through the mass of gowns hanging from the racks.
    "Miss Underhill, I believe you said that Miss Carmody was at the apartment some months ago, and hasn't been there since?"
    She nodded stiffly.
    "Do you recall what she wore when she was there last?"
    "Really, Mr. Queen," she said in frigid tones, "I haven't such a memory as you evidently give me credit for. How could I remember that?"
    Ellery grinned. "Very well. Where is Miss Carmody's apartment key?"
    "Oh!" The housekeeper was genuinely startled. "That's a funny thing, now, Mr. Queen--I mean your asking that. Because only yesterday morning Bernice told me that she thought she'd lost her key and asked me to get one of the others' keys and duplicate it for her."
    "Lost, eh?" Ellery seemed disappointed. "Are you certain, Miss Underhill?"
    "I've just told you."
    "Well, there's no harm in looking," said Ellery cheerfully. "Here, Velie, lend a hand with these duds. You don't mind, dad?" And in a moment he and the sergeant had attacked the closet with a furious determination, to the accompaniment of the Inspector's chuckle and Hortense Underhill's outraged gasp.
    "You see ..." said Ellery from clenched teeth, as he swiftly passed his hands through coats and gowns, "people don't generally lose things. They merely think they do. In this case, Miss Carmody perhaps searched for it in a few obvious places and gave it up as hopeless.... She probably didn't look in the right garments.... Ah, there, Velie! Splendid!"
    The tall sergeant held up a heavy fur coat. In his left hand gleamed a gold-disked key.
    "In an inside pocket, Mr. Queen. The fur coat would make it heavy weather when Miss Carmody last used the key."
    "Fair and subtle enough," said Ellery, taking the key. It was an exact duplicate of Weaver's key, which he now took from his pocket and compared with the latest discovery--a twin except for the initials B.C. engraved on the disk.
    "Why do you want all the keys, El?" demanded the Inspector. "I can't see any good reason for it."
    "You have enormous powers of perspicacity," said Ellery gravely. "Now how did you know I wanted all the keys? But you're perfectly right--I do, and I shall take up a collection very shortly. The reason is surely as plain as the nose on your face, as Crouther would say.... Don't want anybody getting into that apartment for a while, very simply."
    He deposited both keys in his pocket and turned to the unpleasant housekeeper.
    "Did you carry out Miss Carmody's orders about duplicating this 'lost' key?" he asked curtly.
    The housekeeper sniffed. "I did not," she said. "Because now that I think of it, I don't really know whether or not Bernice was jesting with me when she said she had lost the key. And something happened yesterday afternoon that made me undecided about it, and I thought I'd wait until I saw Bernice again to ask her."
    "And what was that, Miss Underhill?" inquired the Inspector, with a slow gentleness.
    "Something queer, to tell the truth," she replied thoughtfully. Her eyes flashed suddenly, and her expression became remarkably more human. "I do want to help," she said softly. "And I am beginning to think more and more that what happened will help...."
    "You have us simply petrified with excitement, Miss Underhill," murmured Ellery, without changing expression. "Please proceed."
    "Yesterday afternoon, at about four o'clock--no, I think it must have been closer to half-past three--I received a telephone call from Bernice. That was after she had left the house so mysteriously--you know."
    The three men stiffened into strained attention. Velie muttered an indistinguishable curse beneath his breath, but quieted under a flashing glance from the Inspector. Ellery leaned forward.
    "Yes, Miss Underhill?" he urged.
    "It was most puzzling," continued the housekeeper. "Bernice had spoken to me casually about losing the key just before lunch. Yet when she called in the afternoon, the first thing she said was that she wanted her key to the apartment, and would send around for it by messenger at once!"
    "Is it possible," muttered the Inspector, "that she thought you had already had a duplicate key made for her?"
    "No, Inspector," said the housekeeper incisively. "It didn't sound as if she thought that at all. In fact, it seemed as if she'd utterly forgotten about having lost the key. So much so that I immediately reminded her that she'd told me about losing the key, in the morning, and having another made for her. She seemed quite distressed and said, 'Oh, yes, Hortense! Isn't it stupid of me to forget that way,' and began to say something else, when she stopped suddenly and then said, 'Don't bother, Hortense, after all, it isn't particularly important. I thought I might want to drop in at the apartment this evening.' I reminded her that she could get the use of the master-key at the night-watchman's desk if she wanted to go to the apartment so badly. But she didn't seem interested and hung up immediately."
    There was a little silence. Then Ellery looked up with a great light of interest in his eyes.
    "Can you remember, Miss Underhill," he asked, "just what it was that Miss Carmody began to say in the middle of the conversation, and then appeared to reconsider?"
    "It's hard to be exact about it, Mr. Queen," replied the housekeeper. "But somehow I got the impression that Bernice was going to ask me to get one of the other keys to the apartment for her. Perhaps I'm wrong."
    "Perhaps you are," said Ellery whimsically, "but I'd not give even the most preposterous of odds that you aren't...."
    "You know," added Hortense Underhill, as an afterthought, "I also got the impression, when she began to say that and stopped, that--"