The French Powder Mystery — 12 (2)

    "Why, dad!" Ellery's eyes opened wide in honest astonishment. "What do you mean? If you've any suspicion of poor Wes, disabuse your mind of it right now. Wes and I were bunkies at school; remember that summer during which I stayed with a chum in Maine? That was Westley's father's place. I know the poor boy as well as I know you. Father's a clergyman, mother's a saint. Background clean, life's always been an open book. No secrets, no past...."
    "But you don't know what he's bumped into in the city here, Ellery," objected the Inspector. "You haven't seen him for years."
    "Look here, dad," said Ellery gravely. "You've never made a mistake following my judgment, have you? Follow it now. Weaver's as innocent of this crime as a lamb. His nervousness is plainly connected with Marion French.... There! The photographer wants to talk to you."
    They turned back to the group. Inspector Queen spoke to the police photographer for a few moments. Then, dismissing the man, he resolutely beckoned the Scotch store manager.
    "Mr. MacKenzie, tell me—" he asked abruptly, "what is the condition of your telephone service after shopping hours?"
    MacKenzie said: "All 'phones except on one trunk line are cut off at six o'clock. That line is connected with O'Flaherty's desk at the night exit. If there are any incoming calls, he takes them. Otherwise, there is no telephone service at night."
    "I see by O'Flaherty's time-sheet and report-sheet that there were no incoming or outgoing calls last night," remarked the Inspector, consulting the chart.
    "You can rely on O'Flaherty, Inspector."
    "Well," pursued Queen, "suppose some department is working overtime? 'Phone service kept open?"
    "Yes," replied MacKenzie. "But only on written request of the head of the department.—I should add that we have very little of that sort of thing here, sir. Mr. French has always insisted that the closing hour be kept more or less strictly. Of course, there are exceptions every once in a while.—If there is no record on O'Flaherty's chart of such a request, you may be sure no lines were open last night."
    "Not even in Mr. French's private apartment?"
    "Not even in Mr. French's apartment," returned the store manager. "Unless Mr. French or Mr. Weaver instructs the head operator to the contrary."
    The Inspector turned questioningly to Weaver, and Weaver shook his head in an emphatic negative.
    "One thing more, Mr. MacKenzie. Are you aware of the last time before yesterday that Mrs. French visited the store?"
    "I believe it was a week ago Monday, Inspector," replied MacKenzie after some hesitation. "Yes, I'm fairly certain. She came in to speak to me about some imported dress material."
    "And she did not appear at the store after that?" Inspector Queen looked around at the other occupants of the room. There was no answer.
    At this moment Velie reëntered. He whispered to his superior and stepped back. The Inspector turned to Ellery. "Nothing in the elevator—not a sign of blood."
    A policeman stepped into the window-room and made for the Inspector.
    "The Commissioner's here, Inspector."
    "I'll be right out," said the Inspector wearily. As he left the room, Ellery gave him a meaning glance. He nodded slightly.
    When he returned a few moments later, escorting the portly, pompous figure of Commissioner Scott Welles and a small army of detectives and deputies, Ellery and Westley Weaver had vanished. And Marion French sat in her chair, clutching her father's hand, watching the window-door as if with Weaver had gone some of her heart and courage.