The French Powder Mystery — 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."
    "You live alone, Mr. Gray?"
    Gray grimaced. "Unfortunately, being a misogynist, I have no family, Inspector. An old servant keeps house for me—I live in an apartment hotel, you know."
    "Then your housekeeper was up when you returned from the Club, Mr. Gray?"
    Gray spread his hands briefly. "No. Hilda had left on Saturday evening to visit a sick brother in Jersey City, and did not get back until Tuesday afternoon."
    "I see." The Inspector took snuff. "But surely some one saw you get home, Mr. Gray?"
    Gray looked startled, then he smiled again one of his twinkling smiles. "Oh, you want me to establish my—alibi, is it, Inspector?"
    "That's what it's called, sir."
    "Then there's nothing more to be said," replied Gray happily. "Because Jackson, the night-clerk, saw me when I entered the building. I asked for mail and stood chatting with him for several minutes. Then I took the elevator to my suite."
    The Inspector's face brightened. "Then really," he said, "there is nothing more to be said. Except—" his face lengthened momentarily—"what time was it when you stopped talking with this night-clerk and went upstairs?"
    "Just eleven-forty. I remember glancing at the clock above Jackson's desk to compare it with my own watch."
    "And where is your hotel, Mr. Gray?"
    "Madison and 37th, Inspector. The Burton."
    "Then I think—Unless, Ellery, you would like to ask Mr. Gray a question or two?"
    The aged little director turned quickly, in open surprise. He had forgotten the presence of Ellery, who was sitting quietly in his corner listening to the conversation. Gray looked expectant as Ellery smiled.
    "Thank you, dad—I have something to ask Mr. Gray, if we're not keeping him too long?" He looked questioningly at their visitor.
    Gray expostulated. "Not at all, Mr. Queen. Anything I can do to help you—"
    "Very well, then." Ellery hoisted his lean length from the chair and stretched his muscles. "Mr. Gray, I'm going to ask you a peculiar question. I rely upon your discretion to preserve silence, for one thing, and upon your undoubted loyalty to Mr. French and your concern in his bereavement to answer frankly."
    "I'm entirely at your service."
    "Let me present a hypothetical case," continued Ellery rapidly. "Let us suppose that Bernice Carmody was a drug addict...."
    Gray frowned. "A drug addict?"
    "Exactly. And let us suppose further that neither her mother nor her stepfather suspected her malady and condition. Then let us suppose that Mrs. French suddenly discovered the truth...."
    "I see, I see," murmured Gray.
    "The hypothetical question arising from this hypothetical case is: What do you think Mrs. French would do?" Ellery lit a cigaret.
    Gray grew thoughtful. Then he looked into Ellery's eyes. "The first thing that occurs to me, Mr. Queen," he said simply, "is that Mrs. French would not confide in Cyrus."
    "That's interesting. You know them both so well...."
    "Yes." Gray set his small wrinkled jaw. "Cyrus has been a lifelong friend. I know—or knew—Mrs. French perhaps as well as any one acquainted with the French family. And I am certain, familiar as I am with Cyrus's character and Mrs. French's knowledge of his character, that she would not dare to tell him such a thing. She would keep it strictly to herself. She might possibly inform Carmody, her first husband...."
    "We needn't go into that, Mr. Gray," said Ellery. "But why would she keep it a secret from French?"
    "Because," said Gray frankly, "Cyrus is hypersensitive on the subject of vice, particularly drug addiction. You must remember that most of his latter years have been devoted to wiping out as much of this sort of vice in the City as possible. To find it in his own family would, I firmly believe, unbalance him.... But, of course," he added quickly, "he doesn't know; I'm positive Mrs. French would keep a thing like that to herself. She might try to cure the girl secretly, perhaps...."
    Ellery said clearly: "One of the major reasons for Mrs. French's silence in a case like this would be, I suppose, that she was aiming to secure for her daughter a generous slice of her husband's fortune?"
    Gray started uncomfortably. "Well.... I don't.... Yes, if you must have the truth, I think that is so. Mrs. French was a calculating—not necessarily unscrupulous, mind you—but a calculating and very practical woman. I believe that, motherlike, she was determined that Bernice come in for a good share of Cyrus's estate when Cyrus should pass on.... Is there anything else, Mr. Queen?"
    "That is," said Ellery, smiling, "quite sufficient. Thank you immeasurably, Mr. Gray."
    "Then," said the Inspector, "that will be all."
    Gray looked relieved, accepted his coat, hat and gloves from Djuna, murmured polite adieux, and left.
    The Inspector and Ellery heard his light quick step on the staircase as he descended to the street.