The French Powder Mystery — 16 (2)

    She paused in her work, looked undecidedly at the shoe-bag, then up at the shelf, hesitated, turned to Ellery.
    "I can't be sure," she said thoughtfully, her cold eyes searching Ellery's, "but it seems to me that, while all of Mrs. French's things are here that should be here, two things of Bernice's are not here that should be here!"
    "No!" breathed Ellery. He did not seem unduly surprised. "A hat and pair of shoes, no doubt?"
    She glanced at him quickly. "How did you know?... Yes, that's what I thought. I remember several months ago when I was bringing down some things of Mrs. French's, Bernice asked me to take her grey toque down, too. And I did. And then there was her pair of low-heeled grey kid shoes—two tones of grey, they were—I'm fair certain I brought those down with me once...." She turned sharply on Doris Keaton. "Are they in Miss Bernice's wardrobes at home, Doris?"
    The maid shook her head with vigor. "No, Miss Underhill. I haven't seen them for a long time."
    "Well, there you are. Grey felt toque, close-fitting, no trimming, and a pair of grey kid walking-shoes. They're missing."
    "And that," said Ellery with a little bow that made Miss Underhill stare, "is precisely that. Thank you so much.... Westley, will you escort Miss Underhill and the timidacious Keaton to the door? Tell the man outside to see that they're taken down to Sergeant Velie and kept out of the way of Commissioner Welles at least until everybody troops up here.... Undoubtedly, Miss Underhill, Marion French will be glad," and he bowed again to the housekeeper, "of your maternal and warming presence. Good afternoon!"
    The instant the outer door had closed upon Weaver and the two women, Ellery ran across the library to the door of the cardroom. He entered with swift steps and stared down at the card-table with its neatly heaped piles of pasteboards and its butt-strewn ashtray. He sat down carefully in one of the chairs and examined the cards. Picking up the heavy stack of closed cards before him, he spread them out without disturbing their sequence. He frowned after a while, referred to eleven piles of cards in the center of the table.... Finally he rose, puzzled, defeated. He replaced all the stacks exactly as he had found them.
    He was staring gloomily at the cigaret-stubs when he heard the outer door click shut and Weaver reënter the library. Ellery turned at once and left the cardroom. The red-leather door swished softly to behind him.
    "Ladies taken care of?" he inquired absently. Weaver nodded almost with sulkiness. Ellery squared his shoulders, eyes twinkling. "Worrying about Marion, I'll wager," he said. "Don't, Wes. You're acting like a granny." He looked slowly about the library. His eyes came to rest after a time on the desk before the dormer-window. "I think," he announced dictatorially, sauntering toward the desk, "we'll take our ease, in a manner of speaking, and see what we can see. Rest being the sweet sauce of labor, as Plutarch so aptly says—sit, Wes!"