The French Powder Mystery — 31

Alibis: Marion-Zorn

    Muttering imprecations upon the elusive head of James Springer, the Inspector departed for a flying visit to Headquarters, leaving Ellery hunched comfortably before the open dormer-window, smoking and thinking. Djuna, in his uncanny simian way, sat motionless on the floor at his feet, unblinking in the soft glare of sunlight streaming into the room.... When the Inspector returned two hours later Ellery, still smoking, was seated at the desk reading over a batch of notes.
    "Still at it?" asked Queen with quick concern, hurling his hat and coat toward a chair. Djuna noiselessly picked them up and hung them in a closet.
    "Still at it," rejoined Ellery. But there was a deep wrinkle between his brows. He rose, looked reflectively at his notes, then with a sigh replaced them in the desk and shrugged his shoulders. The wrinkle disappeared, dissolved smoothly into small fine lines of humor as he caught sight of his father's worried mustache and high color.
    "Nothing new downtown?" he asked sympathetically. He sat down at the window again.
    Queen paced nervously up and down the rug. "Little enough. Thomas has looked up that cab-driver of Crouther's—and we've driven up another blind alley, it seems. The man gave us a pretty clear description of this tall blond abductor, and of course we've flashed wires through the entire East. Particularly Massachusetts. With a description of the car and Bernice Carmody. Now I suppose we'll have to wait...."
    "Umm." Ellery flicked the ashes from his cigaret. "Waiting won't bring Bernice Carmody back from the grave," he said in sudden earnestness. "And there's still a chance she may be alive.... I shouldn't confine my search to the northeast, dad. This gang is clever. They may have pulled the old license-plate trick. They may actually have headed south, changed cars—any one of a dozen things. In fact, if you found Bernice Carmody, dead or alive, right here in New York City, it wouldn't surprise me in the least. After all, the trail ended in Central Park...."
    "Thomas has his eyes open and his beaters out," said the Inspector disconsolately. "And he's up to the tricks as well as you, my son. If there's the faintest spoor, he'll follow it—and get not only the girl but the man too."
    "Cherchez la femme," said Ellery lightly.... He sat musing. The Inspector placed his hands behind his small back and strode up and down, eying Ellery in a puzzled manner meanwhile.
    "Marion French called me at Headquarters," he stated suddenly.
    Ellery's head lifted slowly. "Yes?"
    The old man chuckled. "I thought that would get you!... Yes, the girl called several times this morning while I was here, and when I finally got to the office she seemed quite feverish with—well, not excitement exactly, but anticipation. So, being thoughtful of you, my son—which is more than you can say about yourself, incidentally—I asked her to meet me here."
    Ellery merely smiled.
    "I suppose Weaver's been talking to her," continued the Inspector grumpily.
    "Dad!" Ellery laughed outright. "Occasionally you positively startle me with your insight...."
    The doorbell rang, and Djuna ran to answer it. Marion French, dressed in a severe black suit and a pert little black hat, her chin set at a charmingly defiant angle, stood outside.
    Ellery sprang to his feet, his fingers straying to his tie. The Inspector stepped forward quickly and opened wide the anteroom door.
    "Come in, come in, Miss French!" He was all smiles and fatherliness. Marion smiled bewilderingly at Djuna and greeted the Inspector in a grave undertone as she walked into the living-room. She blushed at Ellery's warm words of welcome. And sat down in the Inspector's own armchair at his magnanimous command, perched on the edge of the leather seat, hands tightly clasped, chiseled lips firm.
    Ellery stood by the window. The Inspector drew up a chair and sat close to the girl, facing her.
    "Now, what is it you wanted to talk to me about, my dear?" he asked in a conversational tone.
    Marion's glance flew timidly to Ellery and returned. "I—It's about—"
    "About your visit to Mr. Zorn's place Monday evening, Miss French?" inquired Ellery, smiling.
    She gasped. "Why—why, you knew!"
    Ellery made a deprecatory gesture. "It is hardly knowledge. Some call it guessing."
    The Inspector's eyes bored into hers. But his voice was gentle now. "Has Mr. Zorn a hold over you—or is it a matter more directly concerned with your father, my dear?"
    She stared from one to the other as if she could not believe her ears. "To think—" She laughed a trifle hysterically. "And I thought all the while that it was a deep, dark secret...." A shadow seemed to lift from her face all at once. "I suppose you want a coherent story. You have heard, Westley tells me—" she bit her lip and crimsoned—"I shouldn't have said that—he told me particularly not to say we'd discussed this...." Both the Inspector and Ellery laughed aloud at her naïveté. "At any rate," she went on, smiling faintly, "I gather that you've heard about—about my stepmother and Mr. Zorn.... Really, it was more gossip than anything else!" she cried. She calmed immediately. "But I wasn't sure. And we all tried—so hard—to keep the nasty rumors from father. I'm afraid we weren't entirely successful." Fear suddenly flamed in her eyes. She stopped short and looked down at the floor.
    Ellery and the Inspector exchanged glances. "Go on, Miss French," said the Inspector in the same soothing tone.
    "Then"—she spoke more rapidly now—"I overheard, quite by accident, something that confirmed part of the rumors. Nothing—it hadn't gone far, their affair, but it was getting dangerous. Even I could see that.... That's the way things were on Monday."
    "You told your father?" asked Queen.
    She shivered. "Oh, no! But I had to save daddy's health, his reputation, his—his peace of mind. I didn't even take Westley into my confidence. He would have forbidden me to do—what I did. I called on Mr. Zorn—and his wife."
    "Go on."
    "I went to their apartment. I was frankly desperate. It was just after dinner and I knew they'd both be at home. And I wanted Mrs. Zorn to be there, because she knew—and she was as jealous as a witch. She'd even threatened—"
    "Threatened, Miss French?" demanded the Inspector.
    "Oh, it was nothing, Inspector," said Marion hurriedly, "but it told me that she knew what was going on. And it was as much her fault that Mr. Zorn fell in love with—with Winifred as anything. Mrs. Zorn is—oh, quite awful...." She smiled wanly. "You'll think me a scandalous gossip.... But before both of them I accused Mr. Zorn, and—and told him it must stop. Mrs. Zorn flew into a terrible rage and began to swear. All her spite turned against Winifred. She threatened dire things. Mr. Zorn tried to argue with me, but—I suppose the weight of two women railing at him just sapped his strength. He left his apartment in a huff—left me with that awful woman. She looked almost insane...." Marion shuddered. "So I became a little frightened and—well, I suppose it was a good deal like running. I could hear her screaming even in the corridor.... And—and that's all, Inspector Queen, that's all," she faltered. "When I left the Zorns' apartment it was a little after ten. I felt weak and sick. I really did walk in the Park, as I told you yesterday at the store. I walked and walked until I thought I'd drop from exhaustion, and then I went home. It was just about midnight."
    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.