The French Powder Mystery - (12)

There was a little silence. Ellery, watching the girl impassively, turned his head away. The Inspector cleared his throat.
    "You went directly to bed, Miss French?" he asked.
    The girl stared at him. "Why, what do you mean?... I--" Fright gleamed again in her eyes. But she said courageously, "Yes, Inspector, I did."
    "Did any one see you come into the house?"
    "No--no."
    "You saw no one, spoke to no one?"
    "No."
    The Inspector frowned. "Well! At any rate, Miss French, you did the right thing--the only thing--in telling us about it."
    "I didn't want to," she said in a small voice. "But Westley, when I told him to-day, said I must. And so--"
    "Why didn't you want to?" asked Ellery. It was the first time he had spoken since Marion had begun her story.
    The girl did not speak for a long moment. Finally, with a determined expression, she said: "I'd rather not answer that, Mr. Queen," and rose.
    The Inspector was on his feet instantly. He escorted her to the door in an animate silence.
    When he returned, Ellery was chuckling. "As transparent as any angel," he said. "Don't frown so, dad. Have you checked up on our good friend Cyrus French?"
    "Oh, that!" The Inspector looked unhappy. "Yes, I had Johnson working on it last night. Got his report this morning. He was at Whitney's in Great Neck, all right. I understand he had a slight attack of indigestion about nine o'clock Monday night. Retired immediately."
    "Coincidence?" Ellery grinned.
    "Eh?" Queen scowled. "At any rate, that accounts for him."
    "Oh, yes?" Ellery sat down and crossed his long legs. "Purely as an intellectual exercise," he said mischievously, "it does nothing of the kind. You see, old Cyrus retires at nine. Let us assume that he wishes to return to New York without the knowledge of his host. Suddenly. That night. He slips out of the house and goes trudging down the road.... Hold! Did any one see him leave so early in the morning in Whitney's car?"
    The Inspector stared. "The chauffeur, of course--man who drove him into the city. Johnson told me French left long before any one else was up. But the chauffeur!"
    Ellery chuckled. "Better and better," he said. "Chauffeurs can be hushed. It has been done.... Our worthy anti-vicious magnate, then, slips out of the house; perhaps his accomplice, the chauffeur, even drives him down to the station secretly. There's a train about that hour. I know, because I took one three weeks ago Monday night when I returned from Boomer's. And it's only a half-hour or so into Penn Station. In time to slip through the freight-door...."
    "But he'd have to stay all night!" groaned the Inspector.
    "Granted. But then there's a sagacious chauffeur to alibi one.... You see how simple it is?"
    "Oh, tosh!" exploded the Inspector.
    "I didn't say it wasn't," said Ellery, eyes twinkling. "But it's something to bear in mind."
    "Fairy-tales!" growled the Inspector, and then they laughed together. "I've arranged to get those alibis, by the way. I called Zorn from the office and told him to come down here. I want to see how his story checks up with Marion French's. And what he did after ten last night."
    Ellery lost his bantering air. He looked dissatisfied, rubbed his forehead wearily. "It might be wise," he said, "to get all those alibis clear, at that. Mightn't be a bad idea to get Mrs. Zorn down here, too. And I'll emulate the Stoics meanwhile."
    The Inspector made a number of telephone calls, while Djuna went rapidly through telephone directories, and Ellery slumped into an easy-chair and closed his eyes....
    A half-hour later Mr. and Mrs. Zorn sat in the Queen living-room side by side, facing Inspector Queen. Ellery was far off in a corner, almost hidden by a jutting bookcase.
    Mrs. Zorn was a large-boned woman, well fleshed and rosy. Her too-golden hair was cut in a severe, startling bob. She had cold green eyes and a large mouth. She looked, at first glance, under thirty; on closer observation, faint crinkles around her chin and eyes added ten years to her appearance. She was dressed in the height of fashion and carried herself with an air of arrogance.
    Despite Marion's story, Mr. and Mrs. Zorn seemed on the most amicable of terms. Mrs. Zorn acknowledged her husband's introduction of the Inspector with regal graciousness; she punctuated each remark to Zorn with a sweet "My dear...."
    The Inspector examined her shrewdly with his eyes, and decided not to mince words.
    He turned first to Zorn. "I have called you, as a logical step in this inquiry, to explain your movements on the night of Monday past, Mr. Zorn."
    The director's hand strayed to his bald pate. "Monday night? The night--of the murder, Inspector?"
    "Exactly."
    "Are you insinuating--" Rage leaped into his eyes behind their heavy gold-rimmed spectacles. Mrs. Zorn made the least gesture with a finger. Zorn calmed magically. "I had dinner," he said, as if nothing had happened, "at our apartment with Mrs. Zorn. We stayed in all evening. At ten o'clock or so I left the apartment and went directly to the Penny Club on Fifth Avenue and 32nd Street. I met Gray there and we discussed the Whitney merger for a half-hour or so. I developed a headache and told Gray I thought I'd try to walk it off. We said good-night and I left the Club. I did take a long walk up the Avenue and, in fact, walked all the way home to 74th Street."
    "And what time was that, Mr. Zorn?" asked the Inspector.
    "I should say about a quarter to twelve."
    "Was Mrs. Zorn up--did she see you?"
    The large rosy woman chose to reply for her husband. "No, Inspector, no indeed! I had dismissed the servants for the night a little after Mr. Zorn left the apartment, and I'd gone to bed myself. I fell asleep almost immediately, and didn't hear him come in." She smiled, exhibiting huge white teeth.
    "I'm afraid I don't quite understand how--" began the Inspector courteously.
    "Mr. Zorn and I have separate sleeping apartments, Inspector Queen," she said, dimpling.
    "Umm." The Inspector turned once more to Zorn, who had sat perfectly still during this colloquy. "Did you meet any one you knew during your walk, Mr. Zorn?"
    "Why--no."
    "When you entered your apartment house, did any of the house personnel see you?"
    Zorn fumbled with his massive red mustache. "I'm afraid not. There's only a night-man at the switchboard after eleven, and when I came in he was absent from his post."
    "The elevator, I suppose, is of the self-service type?" asked Queen dryly.
    "Yes--that's correct."
    The Inspector turned to Mrs. Zorn. "At what time did you see your husband in the morning--Tuesday morning?"
    She raised her blond brows archly. "Tuesday morning--let me see.... Oh, yes! It was ten o'clock."
    "Fully dressed, Mrs. Zorn?"
    "Yes. He was reading his morning paper when I came into our living-room."
    The Inspector smiled, quite wearily, and rose to take a short turn about the room. Finally he stopped before Zorn and fixed him with a stern eye. "Why haven't you told me about Miss French's visit to your apartment Monday evening?"
    Zorn grew very still. The effect of Marion's name on Mrs. Zorn was startling. The color drained from her face and her pupils dilated tigerishly. It was she who spoke.
    "That----!" she said in a low passionate voice. But her body was tense with anger. The mask of politeness fell from her face and revealed an older woman--shrewish, cruel.
    The Inspector seemed not to hear. "Mr. Zorn?" he said.
    Zorn moistened his lips with a nervous tongue. "That's true--true enough. I didn't see that it had anything to do.... Yes, Miss French visited us. She left about ten o'clock."
    The Inspector made an impatient movement. "You talked about your relations with Mrs. French, Mr. Zorn?" he asked.
    "Yes, yes. That's it." The words tumbled out, gratefully.
    "Mrs. Zorn flew into a rage?"
    The woman's eyes darted cold green fire. Zorn mumbled, "Yes."
    "Mrs. Zorn." The eyes became veiled. "You went to bed shortly after ten Monday night and did not leave your chamber until ten o'clock the following morning?"
    "Right, Inspector Queen."
    "In that case," concluded the Inspector, "there is nothing more to be said--now."
    When the Zorns had departed, the Inspector saw that Ellery was sitting in his forgotten corner laughing silently to himself.
    "I fail to see the joke," said the old man ruefully.
    "Oh, dad--the mess and mire of it!" cried Ellery. "La vie c'est confusée! How beautifully events belie each other.... What do you make of your late interview?"
    "I don't know what you're talking about," growled the Inspector, "but I know one thing. Any one who can't be accounted for by the visual evidence of witnesses between eleven-thirty o'clock Monday night and a little after nine on Tuesday morning might have done this job. Let's take a hypothetical case. Suppose X is a possibility as the murderer. X is not seen after eleven-thirty Monday night. He says he went home and went to sleep. There is no witness. Suppose he didn't go home. Suppose he slipped into the French store through that freight-entrance. And got out the next morning at nine. Returned home, sneaked into his apartment without any one seeing him, and then reappeared about ten-thirty or so, letting lots of people see him. The presumption is that he slept home all night and therefore couldn't have committed the crime. Yet physically it was possible...."
    "Too true, too true," murmured Ellery. "Well, evoke the next victim."
    "He should be here any moment now," said the Inspector, and went into the bathroom to bathe his perspiring face.
    32
    ALIBIS: MARCHBANKS
    Marchbanks glowered. He bore himself with the sullenness of a man who nurses a grudge. He snapped at the Inspector and ignored Ellery. He deposited his stick and hat on the table with a bang, rudely refusing to allow Djuna to take them from him. He sat down uninvited and drummed nastily on the arm of the chair.
    "Well, sir," thought the Inspector, "we'll have at you." He took a pinch of snuff with deliberation, regarding Marchbanks curiously. "Marchbanks," he said in curt tones, "where were you Monday evening and night?"
    The dead woman's brother scowled. "What's this--a third degree?"
    "If you choose to make it so," retorted the Inspector, in his most unpleasant voice. "I repeat--where were you Monday night?"
    "If you must know," said Marchbanks bitingly, "I was out on Long Island."
    "Oh, Long Island!" The Inspector seemed duly impressed. "When did you go, where did you go, and how long did you stay?"
    "You people always insist on a 'story,'" wheezed Marchbanks, setting his feet solidly on the rug. "Very well. I left town at about seven o'clock Monday evening. In my car...."
    "You drove yourself?"
    "Yes. I--"
    "Anybody with you?"
    "NO!" shouted Marchbanks. "Do you want my story or don't you? I--"
    "Continue," said the Inspector judicially.
    Marchbanks glared. "As I began to say--I left town Monday evening at seven in my car. I was bound for Little Neck--"
    "Little Neck, eh?" interpolated the Inspector exasperatingly.
    "Yes, Little Neck," stormed Marchbanks. "What's wrong in that? I had been invited to a small party at the house of a friend of mine there--"
    "His name?"
    "Patrick Malone," replied Marchbanks resignedly. "When I got there, I found no one at home except Malone's man. He explained that at the last moment Malone had been called away on business and had had to call off the party...."
    "Did you know that such an eventuality might occur?"
    "If you mean did I know that Malone was going to be called away--yes, in a way. He'd mentioned the possibility of it over the 'phone to me earlier in the day. At any rate, I saw no use in staying, so I left at once and proceeded off the main road to my own shack, a few miles farther on. I keep it for occasional jaunts into the Island. I--"
    "Have you any servants there?"
    "No. It's a small place and I prefer solitude when I'm out that way. So I slept there overnight and returned to the City in the morning by car."
    The Inspector smiled sardonically. "I suppose you met no one all night or in the morning who might verify your statements?"
    "I don't know what you mean. What are you driving at--?"
    "Yes or no?"
    "... No."
    "What time did you get to the City?"
    "About ten-thirty. I rose rather late."
    "And what time was it Monday evening when you reached your friend Malone's place and spoke to his valet?"
    "Oh, I should say about eight or eight-thirty. I don't recall exactly."
    The Inspector sent a mutely humorous glance across the room to Ellery. Then he shrugged his shoulders. Marchbanks' florid face darkened and he rose abruptly.
    "If you have nothing more to ask me, Inspector Queen, I must be going." He picked up his hat and stick.
    "Ah! Just one other thing. Sit down, Marchbanks." Marchbanks reluctantly reseated himself. "How do you account for the murder of your sister?"
    Marchbanks sniggered. "I thought you'd ask that. Up a tree, eh? Well, I'm not surprised. The police of this city are--"
    "Answer my question, please."
    "I don't account for it, and I can't account for it!" cried Marchbanks suddenly. "That's your business! All I know is that my sister has been shot to death, and I want her murderer sizzling in the Chair." He stopped, out of breath.
    "Yes, yes, I realize your natural desire for revenge," said the Inspector tiredly. "You may go, Mr. Marchbanks, but keep in town."
    33
    ALIBIS: CARMODY
    Vincent Carmody was the next caller. His reticence was as marked as usual. He folded his astonishing length and sat down quite noiseless in the inquisitorial chair. And sat waiting.
    "Ah--Mr. Carmody," began the Inspector uneasily. The antique-dealer disdained to reply to what was obviously a question of fact. "Ah--Mr. Carmody, I've called you in for a little consultation. We are checking up on the movements of everybody connected directly or indirectly with Mrs. French. Purely as a matter of form, you understand...."
    "Ummm," said Carmody, his fingers in his straggly beard.
    The Inspector dipped hastily into his old brown snuff-box. "Now, I should be happy, sir, to hear an account of your movements on Monday night--the night of the murder."
    "The murder." Carmody said it negligently. "Not interested in that, Inspector. What about my daughter?"
    The Inspector stared with growing irritation at Carmody's expressionless lean face. "Your daughter's search is being conducted by the proper authorities. We haven't found her yet, but we have new information which is likely to produce results. Please answer my question."
    "Results!" Carmody said it with surprising bitterness. "I know what that word means in the police vocabulary. You're stumped and you know it. I'll put my own detective on the case."
    "Will you please answer my question?" grated the Inspector.
    "Keep cool," said Carmody. "Don't see what my movements on Monday night have to do with the case. I certainly didn't kidnap my own daughter. But if you must have it, here it is.
    "Late Monday I received a telegram from one of my scouts. He reported the discovery of practically a house full of early American pieces in the wilds of Connecticut. I invariably investigate finds of that nature personally. I took the train at Grand Central--the 9:14. Changed at Stamford and didn't get to my destination until nearly midnight. It's far off the beaten path. Had the address and immediately called on the people who owned the furniture. Nobody home, and I still don't know what went wrong. Had no place to stay--no hotel there--and had to return to the city. Couldn't make a decent connection and didn't get back to my apartment until four in the morning. That's all."
    "Not quite, Mr. Carmody." The Inspector mused. "Did any one see you when you returned to the city--at your apartment, perhaps?"
    "No. It was too late. Nobody up. And I live alone. I had my breakfast at the apartment dining-room at ten o'clock. The head-waiter will identify me."
    "No doubt," said the Inspector disagreeably. "Meet any one on your trip who might remember you?"
    "No. Unless the conductor of the train."
    "Well!" Queen slammed his hands behind his back and regarded Carmody with open distaste. "Please make a note of all your movements and mail it to me at Headquarters. One question more. Do you know that your daughter Bernice is a drug addict?"
    Carmody leaped out of his chair snarling. In an instant he had been transformed from bored reticence to contorted fury. Ellery half-rose from his chair in the corner; it appeared for a moment as if the antique-dealer might strike the Inspector. But the old man stood very still, examining Carmody coolly. Carmody, fists clenched, subsided in his chair.
    "How did you find that out?" he muttered in a strangled voice. The muscles rippled under the skin of his dark triangular jaw. "I didn't think any one knew--except Winifred and me."
    "Ah, so Mrs. French knew it too?" queried the Inspector instantly. "Had she known it long?"
    "So it's out," growled Carmody. "Good God!" He raised a haggard face to Queen. "I've known it for about a year. Winifred--" his face hardened--"Winifred didn't know it at all. Eyes of the mother, and all that," he added bitterly. "Rot! She thought chiefly of herself.... So I told her--two weeks ago. She didn't believe it. We quarreled. But at the end she knew--I saw it in her eyes. I had talked to Bernice countless times about it. She was shameless. She would not divulge the source of her drug supply. In desperation I turned to Winifred. I thought Winifred might succeed where I had failed. I don't know any more...." His voice dropped to a whisper. "I was going to take Bernice away--somewhere--anywhere--cure her.... And then Winifred was murdered and Bernice--gone...." His voice died away. Huge welts stood out under his eyes. The man was suffering--how deeply, by what perverse psychology only Ellery, sitting quietly in his corner, realized.
    And then, without another sound, without so much as a word of explanation, Carmody sprang to his feet, snatched his hat, and dashed from the Queen apartment. The Inspector, at the window, saw him running wildly down the street, hat still clutched in his hand.
    34
    ALIBIS: TRASK
    Trask was a half-hour late for his appointment at the Queen apartment. He appeared indolently, indolently greeted the two Queens, indolently sank into the chair, indolently applied a match to his cigaret, which was stuck rakishly in a long jade holder, and indolently awaited the Inspector's questions.
    Where was he Monday night? Oh, about town--vaguely, with an idle gesture of his arm. He tweaked the points of his mustache.
    Where "about town"? Well, really--can't remember. Some night-club or other at first.
    At what time? Must have started about eleven-thirty.
    Where was he before eleven-thirty? Oh, he'd been disappointed by some friends, and had dropped into a Broadway theater at the last moment.
    What was the name of the night-club? Really, don't recall it.
    What did he mean by "not recalling it"? Well--to tell the truth, he had some bootleg liquor and it must have contained dynamite--ha, ha! Put him out like a light. Got awfully drunk. Didn't remember anything except dashing cold water on his face at ten o'clock Tuesday morning in the lavatory of the Pennsylvania Station. All mussed up, too. Must have had an awful night of it. Probably kicked out of the night-club in the morning. And all that. Just had time to dash home and get into some fresh clothes. Then the directors' meeting at the French store.
    "Beautiful!" muttered the Inspector, eying Trask as if he were an obnoxious little animal. Trask flicked the ashes from his cigaret in the general direction of a tray.
    "Trask!" The whip in Queen's voice brought the tall, dissipated director's body up with a start. "Are you sure you can't remember what night-club you were in?"
    "I say now," drawled Trask, sinking back, "you scared me that time, Inspector. I've told you no. Went completely out of my head. Don't recall a thing."
    "Well, that's just too bad," grunted the Inspector. "If I'm not disturbing you, Trask--do you know that Bernice Carmody was a habitual drug-user?"
    "Not really!" Trask sat up straight. "Then I was right!"
    "Oh, you suspected it?"
    "A number of times. Bernice was queer quite frequently. Showed all the symptoms. I've seen plenty of 'em." He brushed a speck of ash from his gardenia with languid distaste.
    The Inspector smiled. "Which didn't daunt you from going ahead with your contemplated engagement to Miss Carmody?"
    Trask looked virtuous. "Oh, no--really! I'd intended to cure her after we were married. Without her family's knowledge, and all that. Too bad--too bad," he sighed. He sighed again.
    "What has your relationship been with Cyrus French?" demanded the Inspector impatiently.
    "Oh, that!" Trask brightened. "Absolutely of the best, Inspector. You--er--you would rather expect a chap to get along with his future father-in-law. Haw-haw!"
    "Get out of here," said the Inspector distinctly.
    35
    ALIBIS: GRAY
    John Gray folded his gloves neatly, deposited them in his rich black derby, and handed them with a cheerful smile to Djuna. Then he shook hands decorously with the Inspector, nodded to Ellery with just the proper note of heartiness, and obediently seated himself at the Inspector's request.
    "Well!" he chuckled, smoothing his white mustache. "Very charming household, I see. Very! And how is the investigation proceeding, Inspector? Tchk, tchk!" He chattered like a spry old parrot, his twinkling eyes never still.
    The Inspector cleared his throat. "A little matter of check-up, Mr. Gray. Routine. I haven't inconvenienced you by this summons?"
    "Not at all, not at all," said Gray amiably. "I've just come from a visit to Cyrus--Cyrus French, I should say--and he's much better, by the way, much better."
    "That's nice," said the Inspector. "Now, Mr. Gray, just to make it legal--can you account for your movements on Monday night?"
    Gray looked blank. Then he smiled slowly. Then he burst into an infectious chuckle. "I see, I see! Clever, Inspector, quite clever. You want to be sure of everything. Very interesting! I suppose every one is coming in for a similar quiz?"
    "Oh, yes!" said the Inspector reassuringly. "We've had a number of your colleagues on the carpet to-day already." They both laughed. Gray became politely serious.
    "Monday night? Let me see." He plucked his mustache thoughtfully. "Of course! Monday night I spent the entire evening at my Club. The Penny Club, you know. Had dinner there with some of my cronies, played billiards--the usual thing. At about ten o'clock, I believe, or perhaps a little after ten, Zorn--you remember Zorn, of course, one of my fellow-directors--Zorn dropped in for a chat. We discussed the coming merger, the details of which we were to work out in conference the next morning with French and the rest, and about a half-hour later Zorn left, complaining of headache."
    "Well, that tallies nicely," said Queen, with a grin. "Because Mr. Zorn was here not long ago and told us about your meeting at the Penny Club."
    "Really?" Gray smiled. "Then I gather there is little left to be said, Inspector."
    "Not quite, Mr. Gray." The Inspector clucked cheerfully. "You see, just to keep the record straight--how did you spend the rest of the evening?"
    "Oh! In a commonplace manner, sir. I left the Club at about eleven and walked home--I live not far from there, on Madison Avenue. Simply went home and to bed."