DR. JOHN MINCHEN’S ORDERLY soul received blow after blow during the hectic morning of Abigail Doorn’s death. His Hospital was disorganized. His internes were stewing about the corridors, smoking in flagrant violation of the rules and discussing the murder in lively professional conversation. The feminine contingent seemed to feel that the tragedy suspended all regulations; they giggled and chattered among themselves until the senior nurses, scandalized, herded them back to their wards and private rooms.
The main floor was crowded with detectives and policemen. Minchen, scowling, weaved his way through the groups which dotted the corridors until he came to the door leading into the Anteroom. He rapped and was admitted by a tobacco-chewing detective.
In a quick glance he encompassed the tableau—Janney, his face pale and set, standing as if at bay in the center of the room; Inspector Queen confronting him, lines of perplexity and irritation on his smooth old face; Ellery Queen leaning against the wheel-table, fingering a white canvas shoe; plain-clothesmen scattered about, silent and watchful.
He coughed. The Inspector pivoted on his heel and walked across the room to the table. A little color came into Janney’s cheeks; his body sagged like an empty sack into a chair.
Ellery smiled. “Yes, John?”
“Sorry to interrupt.” Minchen was nervous. “But things have taken a slightly serious turn in the Waiting Room and I thought—”
“Miss Doorn?” asked Ellery quickly.
“Yes. She’s on the verge of collapse. Really ought to be taken home. Do you think you could possibly—?”
Ellery and the Inspector conferred in low tones. The Inspector looked anxious. “Dr. Minchen, is it really your opinion that the young lady needs …” He chopped his thought abruptly. “Who is her closest kin?”
“Mr. Doorn—Hendrik Doorn. He’s her uncle—Abigail Doorn’s only brother. I would also suggest that a woman accompany her—perhaps Miss Fuller. …”
“Mrs. Doorn’s companion?” said Ellery slowly. “No, I think not. Not just yet. … John, are Miss Doorn and Miss Dunning chums?”
“Fairly well acquainted.”
“It’s quite a problem.” Ellery gnawed at a fingernail. Minchen stared at him, as if he could not understand the exact nature of this “problem.”
Inspector Queen interposed impatiently, “Oh, after all, son. … She can’t very well remain here, in the Hospital. If she’s feeling so badly—poor child!—her place is at home. Let her go, now, and let’s get on.”
“Very well.” The frown did not leave Ellery’s forehead. He patted Minchen’s shoulder absently. “Have Miss Dunning accompany Miss Doorn and Mr. Doorn. But before they go—Yes, that’s best. Johnson, get Mr. Doorn and Miss Dunning in here for a moment. I shan’t keep them long. I suppose, John, there’s a nurse with Miss Doorn?”
“Certainly. And young Morehouse is with her, too.”
“And Sarah Fuller?” demanded Ellery.
“Yes.”
“Johnson. While you’re about it take Miss Fuller up to the gallery of the Amphitheater and see that she’s kept there until we call for her.”
The drab-looking detective quickly left the room.
A white-coated young interne slipped past the man at the corridor-door and, looking around timidly, approached Dr. Janney.
“Here!” roared the Inspector. “Where do you think you’re going, young man?”
Velie sauntered slowly to the side of the interne, who wilted perceptibly. The surgeon rose.
“Oh, it’s all right,” he droned in a tired voice. “What do you want, Pearson?”
The young man gulped. “Dr. Hawthorne’s just called, Doctor, about that angina consultation. He said to get a move on. …”
Janney clapped his hand to his forehead. “Rats!” he exclaimed. “Forgot all about it! Slipped my mind completely.—Look here, Queen, you’ll have to let me go. Serious matter.” Rare case. Ludwig’s angina. Terrific mortality rate. …”
Inspector Queen looked at Ellery, who waved his hand negligently. “We’re certainly not privileged to retard the miraculous processes of healing, Doctor. If you must, you must. Au revoir!”
Dr. Janney was already at the door, pushing the young interne before him. He paused, hand at the knob, and looked back with a brown-toothed and strangely-refreshed grin. “Took a death to get me in here, and a near-death to get me out. … ’Bye!”
“Not so fast, Dr. Janney.” The Inspector stood quite still. “You are not to leave town under any circumstances!”
“Good God!” groaned the surgeon, popping back into the room. “That’s impossible. I’ve got a medical convention in Chicago this week and I planned to skip out tomorrow. Why, Abby herself wouldn’t have wanted—”
“I said,” repeated the old man distinctly, “that you are not to leave the City. And I meant it. Convention or no convention. Otherwise—”
“Oh, for God’s sake!” screamed the surgeon, and he ran out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
Velie crossed the Anteroom in three strides, pulling the burly figure of Detective Ritter with him. “After him, you!” he growled. “And don’t let him out of your sight, or I’ll fan your tail!”
Ritter grinned and lumbered into the corridor, disappearing in Janney’s wake.
Ellery was saying with amusement, “Our surgical friend’s fondness for calling upon his Creator doesn’t jibe at all with his professional agnosticism, d’ye know? …” when Johnson opened the door from the Amphitheater and stepped aside to allow Edith Dunning and a short man of tremendous girth to precede him.
Inspector Queen hopped forward. “Miss Dunning? Mr. Doorn? Come in, come in! We shan’t keep you a moment!”
Edith Dunning, her fair hair disheveled, her eyes red-rimmed and cold, stopped short on the threshold. “Make it snappy.” She spoke in a remarkably metallic voice. “Hulda’s in bad shape and we’ve got to get her home.”
Hendrik Doorn shuffled two paces into the room. The Inspector eyed him amiably, and not without astonishment. Doorn’s abdomen bulged in fold after fold of fat flesh; he seemed to ooze forward rather than walk; his gelatinous belly quivered with each step in a gross rhythm. His face shone moon-like and greasy; it was mottled with tiny pink spots, condensed into a broad reddish bulb at the tip of his nose. He was completely bald, with an unhealthy white skull which reflected the light of the room.
“Yess,” he said, and his voice was no less remarkable than his appearance. It was pitched high, yet it had a curiously grating, rusty quality. “Yess,” he squeaked, “Hulda needts her bedt. What iss this foolish bother? We know nothings.”
“A moment, just a moment,” said the Inspector soothingly. “Please come in. We must have that door closed. Sit down, sit down!”
Edith Dunning’s narrow eyes never left the Inspector’s face. Stiffly, like a machine, she sat down in a chair which Johnson held out for her and folded her hands angularly in her lap. Hendrik Doorn waddled to another chair and sank, groaning, into it. His gross buttocks hung limply over the sides.
The Inspector took a generous pinch of snuff and promptly sneezed. “Now, sir,” he began politely, “one question and you’ll be on your way. … Have you any idea who might have had cause to murder your sister?”
The fat man mopped his cheeks with a silk handkerchief. His little black eyes shifted from the Inspector’s face to the floor and back again. “I—Gott! This iss a terrible business for uss all. Who knows? Abigail wass a funny womans—a wery funny womans. …”
“Look here.” Inspector Queen was sharp. “You must know something about her private life—enemies, whatnot. Can’t you suggest a possible line of inquiry—?”
Doorn kept wiping his face with short heavy swoops of his arm. His porcine little eyes roved, were never still. He seemed inwardly to be debating something with himself. “Well—” he said at last, weakly, “there iss somethings. … Budt nodt here!” He heaved himself out of the chair. “Nodt here!”
“Ah, then you do know something,” said the Inspector softly. “Very interesting, I’m sure. Out with it now, Mr. Doorn—out with it, or we shan’t let you go!”
The girl sitting beside the fat man stirred impatiently. “Oh, for the love of Pete, mister, let’s get out of here. …”
The door-knob rattled violently and the door was kicked open. They all turned to see Morehouse stagger in, supporting a tall young woman whose eyes were closed and whose head was bent forward, rolling a little. A nurse held tightly to her on the other side.
The young lawyer’s face was crimson with anger. His eyes spat fire as the Inspector and Ellery sprang forward to help carry the girl into the Anteroom.
“Dear, dear!” muttered the Inspector in an agitated voice. “So this is Miss Doorn”, eh? We were just—”
“Yes, you were just—Junk!” roared Morehouse. “And it’s about time. What is this—the Spanish Inquisition? I demand permission to take Miss Doorn home! … Outrage! Criminal! Oh, get out of the way, will you!”
He shoved Ellery roughly to one side as they half-lifted the unconscious girl into a chair. Morehouse stood stiff-legged over her, fanning her face with his hand, spluttering incoherently. The nurse pushed him impersonally away and applied a vial to the girl’s nostrils. Edith Dunning had risen; she was bent over Hulda, slapping the girl’s cheeks.
“Hulda!” she called irritably. “Hulda! Don’t be a little fool. Come out of it!”
The girl’s eyes fluttered open; she shrank back from the vial. She looked blankly at Edith Dunning; then she turned her head slightly and saw Morehouse.
“Oh, Phil! She’s—she’s …” She got no further. Her voice blurred with sobs; she stretched her arms blindly toward Morehouse and began to cry. The nurse, Edith Dunning, Ellery stepped back; Morehouse’s face had magically softened; he leaned over Hulda, talking rapidly to her in a whisper.
The Inspector blew his nose. Hendrik Doorn, who still stood before his chair and had merely glanced at the girl while she was being attended, quivered all over his immense body.
“Let uss be going,” he squeaked. “The girl—”
Ellery confronted him swiftly. “Mr. Doorn, what were you going to say? You know some one with a grudge? A desire for vengeance?”
Doorn quavered, “I had rather nodt say. I am in danger of my life. I. …”
“Oho!” murmured the Inspector, stepping to Ellery’s side. “A hush story, hey? Somebody’s threatening, Doorn?”
Doorn’s lip trembled. “I will nodt speak in this place. This afternoon—maybe. At my house, now—no.”
Ellery and Inspector Queen exchanged glances, and Ellery retreated. The Inspector smiled agreeably at Doorn and said: “Very well. This afternoon at your house. … And you’d better be there, old boy. Thomas!” The giant grunted. “You’d do well to send some one along with Mr. Doorn, Miss Doorn and Miss Dunning—just to take care of them.”
“I’m going along,” cried Morehouse suddenly, spinning around. “And I don’t need any of your damned snooping detectives, either. … Miss Dunning, grab hold of Hulda!”
“Oh, but you’re not, Mr. Morehouse,” said the Inspector in his mildest voice. “You’re going to stay a while. We need you.” Morehouse glared; their glances clashed. Then the lawyer looked around at the ring of grim faces. He shrugged, helped the weeping girl to her feet, walked with her to the corridor door. Her hand clung to his until Hendrik Doorn and Edith Dunning, followed by a detective, reached the door. There was a furtive handclasp, the girl squared her shoulders, and Morehouse was left alone at the door to watch the little company go slowly down the hall.
There was silence as he closed the door and turned back to face them.
“Well,” he said bitterly, “here I am. Now what do you want with me? Please don’t keep me—too long.”
They took chairs as several of the remaining district and local detectives, on a sign from the Inspector, marched out of the Anteroom. Velie put his gargantuan back against the corridor door and folded his arms. …
“Mr. Morehouse.” The Inspector settled himself comfortably and clasped his tiny hands in his lap. Ellery lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. He became absorbed in the glowing tip.
“Mr. Morehouse. You’ve been Mrs. Doorn’s attorney for a long time?”
“A number of years,” sighed Morehouse. “My father handled her affairs before me. Sort of family client, the old lady was.”
“You know her private as well as her legal affairs?”
“Intimately.”
“What was the relationship between Mrs. Doorn and her brother Hendrik? Did they get along? Tell me everything you know about the man.”
Morehouse made a moué of distaste. “You’d be getting an earful, Inspector. … Of course, you must realize that some of the things I’m going to say are purely opinions—as a friend of the family I’ve naturally observed and heard things. …”
“Go on.”
“Hendrik? An eighteen-carat parasite. He’s never done a lick of work in his life. Perhaps that’s why he’s so abominably fat. … He’s not only a blood-sucking leech, but an expensive one to maintain. I know, because I’ve seen some bills. And the little playmate has all sorts of pleasant vices. Gambling, women—the usual thing.”
“Women?” Ellery closed his eyes and smiled dreamily. “I can’t quite believe it.”
“You don’t know some women,” replied Morehouse grimly. “He’s been Broadway’s roly-poly sugar-daddy to so many women he probably doesn’t remember them all himself. It hasn’t reached the papers much—Abigail saw to that. … You’d think he might live fairly comfortably with the allowance of twenty-five thousand a year Abigail provided for him. But not Hendrik! He’s perpetually broke.”
“Hasn’t he any money in his own right?” asked the Inspector.
“Not a red cent. You see, Abigail has made every penny of her enormous fortune by her own wits. The family originally was poorer than the public knows. But she had a genius for finance. … Interesting woman, Abby. It’s a damned shame.”
“Legal trouble? Shady deals? Anything underhanded?” demanded the old man. “Seems likely he’d have to pay hush money to some of those Jezebels of his.”
Morehouse hesitated. “Well … I can’t say.”
The Inspector smiled. “Hmm. … And the relationship between Hendrik and Mrs. Doorn?”
“Lukewarm. Abby wasn’t anybody’s fool. She knew what was going on. She put up with it because she had a fierce pride of family and wouldn’t allow the world to talk about any one with the name of Doorn. Occasionally she put her foot down, and there would be a row. …”
“How about Mrs. Doorn and Hulda?”
“Oh, the most affectionate relationship!” said Morehouse at once. “Hulda was Abigail’s pride and joy. There wasn’t anything in Abby’s possession that Hulda couldn’t have by a mere word. But Hulda has always been pretty conservative in her tastes—certainly she doesn’t live up to her position as one of the world’s richest heiresses. Quiet, modest—but you saw her. She’s a—”
“Oh, beyond a doubt!” said the Inspector hastily. “And does Hulda Doorn realize her uncle’s reputation?”
“I imagine so. But it hurts her terribly, I suppose, and she’s never spoken of it, even to—” he paused—“even to me.”
“Tell me,” asked Ellery, “how old is the young lady?”
“Hulda? Oh, nineteen or twenty.”
Ellery twisted his neck toward Dr. Minchen, who had been sitting quietly in a far corner of the room, observing everything and saying nothing. “John!”
The physician started. “My turn now?” he asked with a wry smile.
“Hardly. I was just going to comment that we seem to have struck one of those not infrequent gynecological phenomena you pill-peddlers are always talking about. Didn’t you tell me this morning in one of our pre-garrotte chats that Abigail was over seventy?”
“Why, yes. But what do you mean? Gynecology refers to the diseases of women, and the old lady wasn’t—”
Ellery flicked a finger nonchalantly. “Well, surely,” he murmured, “pregnancy past a certain age might have a pathological root? … Mrs. Doorn must have been,” he said, “a most remarkable woman in more ways than one. … By the way, what about the late Mr. Doorn? I mean—Abigail Doorn’s spouse? When did he shuffle off the mortal coil? I don’t keep in touch with the society editors, you know.”
“About fifteen years ago,” put in Morehouse. He continued heatedly, “Now see here, Queen, what did you mean by your nasty insinuation that—?”
“My dear Morehouse,” smiled Ellery, “it is a bit odd, isn’t it, that astonishing difference in age between mother and daughter? You can scarcely blame me for politely raising my eyebrows.”
Morehouse looked disturbed. The Inspector broke in, “Here! We’re getting nowhere. I want to hear things about this Fuller woman in the gallery outside. … What was her official position in the Doorn household? I’m not clear on the point.”
“Abby’s companion—she’s been with her for a quarter of a century, more or less. And a queer character, too. Crotchety, domineering, a religious fanatic, and I’m certain heartily disliked by the rest of the house—I mean the servants. … As for Sarah and Abby, you wouldn’t think they’d been together for so many years. They were always quarreling.”
“Quarreling, hey?” growled the Inspector. “What about?”
Morehouse shrugged. “Nobody seems to know. Just bickering, I guess. I know Abby has often said to me in a fit of pique that she was going to ‘let that woman go,’ but somehow she never did. Matter of habit, I suppose.”
“And the servants?”
“The usual batch. Bristol the butler, a housekeeper, a tribe of maids—nothing of interest for you there, I’m sure.”
“We seem to have arrived,” murmured Ellery, crossing his legs and sighing, “at that dreadful stage in every murder investigation when it becomes necessary to ask questions about the—God save us!—the will. … Get out your best brand of Will Talk, Morehouse. Let’s have it.”
“I’m afraid,” retorted Morehouse, “it’s all duller than usual. Not a thing sinister or mysterious. All absolutely aboveboard and regular. No bequests to long-lost relatives in Africa, or any of that brand of tripe. …
“The bulk of the estate goes to Hulda. Hendrik is provided for in a very liberal trust-fund—better than he deserves, the old belly-shaker!—which will keep him in ducats for the rest of his life provided he doesn’t try to drain the annual liquor supply of New York.
“Sarah comes in for a neat inheritance—Sarah Fuller, that is—a heavy cash bequest and an assured income for life-more than she can possibly use. The servants, of course, receive generous legacies. The Hospital is provided for by a whopping big fund which guarantees its continued existence for many years. It’s a paying proposition, anyway.”
“Seems quite in order,” muttered the Inspector.
“Well, that’s what I told you.” Morehouse fidgeted in his chair. “Let’s get this over with, gentlemen.—You might be surprised to hear that Dr. Janney comes into the picture twice.”
“Eh?” The Inspector bolted upright. “What’s that?”
“Two distinct bequests. One is personal. Janney was Abby’s protégé almost from the time he took his first shave. The other is for the maintenance of a fund which would allow Janney and Kneisel to continue some research they’re jointly working on.”
“Here, here!” demanded the Inspector, “hold on. Who’s Kneisel? First time I’ve heard his name mentioned.”
Dr. Minchen hitched his chair forward. “I can tell you about him, Inspector. Moritz Kneisel is a scientist—Austrian, I think—who is working with Dr. Janney on a revolutionary idea. Something in the line of metals. He has a laboratory on this floor specially put in for him by Janney—where he keeps busy day and night. Regular mole, that fellow.”
“What sort of research is it, precisely?” asked Ellery.
Minchen looked uncomfortable. “I don’t think any one knows exactly except Kneisel and Janney. They keep quite mum about it. The laboratory’s the joke of the Hospital. No one’s ever been inside its four walls except the two of ’em. It has a massive safe-lock door, reënforced walls, and no windows. There are only two keys in existence for the inner door, and you have to know the combination of the outer one to reach it. Kneisel and Janney possess the keys, of course. Janney has absolutely forbidden entry into the laboratory.”
“Mystery upon mystery,” murmured Ellery. “We’re becoming medieval, by gad!”
The Inspector jerked his head at Morehouse. “You know anything more about this?”
“Nothing about the work itself—but I think you’ll find a little item of mine interesting. Rather recent development, in fact. …”
“Just a moment” The Inspector beckoned to Velie. “Send somebody to get this fellow Kneisel. We’ll want to talk to him. Keep him out in the theater until I call. …” Velie spoke to some one in the corridor. “Now Mr. Morehouse, you were going to say—?”
Morehouse replied dryly, “I think you’ll find it interesting. … You see, despite Abby’s grand old heart and wise old head, she was still a woman. Mighty changeable, Inspector. … And so I wasn’t particularly surprised when, two weeks ago, she told me to draw up a new will!”
“By the Pentateuch!” moaned Ellery, “this case is simply overrun with technicalities. First it’s anatomy, then it’s metallurgy, now it’s law. …”
“Don’t get the idea there was anything wrong with the first will!” interrupted Morehouse hastily. “She’d merely had a change of mind about a certain bequest. …”
“Janney’s, I suppose?” asked Ellery.
Morehouse gave him a startled glance. “Yes, Janney’s. Oh, not Abby’s personal bequest to him, but the one providing the working fund for the Janney-Kneisel researches. She wanted that clause stricken out entirely. It wouldn’t have necessarily demanded a new will, but there were additional bequests to servants and a few charities and things, since the first will was two years old.”
Ellery was sitting up quite straight “And the new will was drawn up?”
“Oh yes. Executed preliminarily—but not signed,” replied Morehouse with a grimace. “This coma business, and now the murder, intervened. You see, if only I’d known she’d be taken this way! But of course none of us had the slightest warning. In fact, I was intending to present the will for Abby’s signature to-morrow. Now it’s too late. The first will remains in force.”
“This will have to be looked into,” grumbled the Inspector. “Wills always cause trouble in a homicide. … Did the old lady sink a lot of money into Janney’s metallic ventures?”
“Sink is right,” retorted Morehouse. “I’m inclined to think we could all live very comfortably indeed on the money Abby turned over to Janney for those mysterious experiments of his.”
“You said,” put in Ellery, “that no one except the surgeon and Kneisel knows the nature of the research. Didn’t Mrs. Doorn know? It doesn’t seem possible, with the old lady reputed so astute in business affairs, that she would finance a project without knowing pretty much everything about it first.”
“There’s a fault in every strong structure,” said Morehouse sententiously. “Abby’s weakness was Janney. She hung on his words. I’ll give the devil his due and say that to my knowledge, Janney has never abused her devotion. She certainly didn’t know much about this project in its scientific details, anyway. You know, Janney and Kneisel have been working away at this thing, whatever it is, for two and a half years.”
“Whew!” Ellery grinned. “Drachmas to doughnuts the old lady wasn’t as weak as you make her out. Wasn’t it because they were taking too long that she wanted to omit the fund from the second will?”
Morehouse raised his eyebrows. “Smart guess, Queen. That’s exactly the point. They promised to complete the work in six months originally, and it’s dragged out to five times that. Although she was still as crazy about Janney as ever, she said—these are her exact words—‘I’m through subsidizing such a tenuous and experimental undertaking. Money’s tight these days.’”
The Inspector rose suddenly. “Thank you, Mr. Morehouse. I don’t think there’s anything else. Get along.”
Morehouse leaped from his chair, like a cramped prisoner unexpectedly released from his bonds. ‘Thanks! I’m on my way to the Doorns’,” he called over his shoulder. He stopped at the door and grinned boyishly. “And don’t bother to tell me to keep in town, Inspector. I’m used to that sort of thing.”
And he was gone.
Dr. Minchen whispered to Ellery, bowed to the Inspector, and slipped out.
A commotion in the corridor turned Velie sharply about. He opened the door and wagged his huge head.
“D.A.!” he exclaimed. The Inspector trotted across the room. Ellery rose, fingering his pince-nez. …
Three men walked into the room.
District Attorney Henry Sampson was a sturdy, powerfully built man, still youthful; at his side was his assistant, a thin, eager man of middle age with violent red hair, Timothy Cronin; and behind them sauntered a slouch-hatted, cigar-smoking old man with shrewd, wandering eyes. His hat was pushed back on his forehead and a ragged thatch of white hair straggled over one eye.
Velie grasped the white-haired man by the coat-sleeve as he strolled across the threshold. “Here you, Pete,” he growled, “where you going? How’d you get in?”
“Aw, be yourself, Velie.” The white-haired man shook off the sergeant’s great fist. “Can’t you see I’m here as a representative of the American press by the personal invitation of the District Attorney? Hey—lay off! … H’lo there, Inspector. How’s every little murder? Ellery Queen, you old son-of-a-gun! It must be hot if you’re on it. Find the dastardly dastard yet?”
“Be quiet, Pete,” said Sampson. “Hello, Q. What’s doing? I don’t mind telling you we’re in one hell of a mess.” He sat down and threw his hat on the wheel-table, looking about the room curiously. The red-haired man pumped hands with Ellery and the Inspector. The newspaperman slouched to a chair and sank into it with a sigh of satisfaction.
“It’s complicated, Henry,” said the Inspector quietly. “No light yet. Mrs. Doorn was strangled while she was unconscious and waiting to be operated on; somebody seems to have impersonated the operating surgeon; nobody can identify the impostor; and we’re generally up a tree. It’s been a bad morning.”
“You won’t be able to cover up this case, Q.,” said the District Attorney with a harassed frown. “Whoever did the job picked on just about the most prominent figure in New York City. The newspaper boys are howling their heads off outside—we’ve got half the local precinct keeping ’em off the premises—Pete Harper here being the privileged character, God help me!—and I received a call from the Governor a half-hour ago. You can imagine what he said. It’s big, Q., big! What’s behind it—personal revenge, a maniac, money?”
“I wish I knew. … Look here, Henry,” sighed the Inspector, “we’ll have to make an official statement to the press, and, by cripes, there’s nothing to say. You, Pete,” he went on grimly, turning to the white-haired man, “you’re here by sufferance. One breach of faith on your part and I’ll have your hide. Don’t print anything the other boys don’t get. Otherwise you can’t sit in. Understand?”
“I’m ’way ahead of you, Inspector,” grinned the reporter.
“And Henry. Here’s the situation up to the present.” He rapidly recounted the events, discoveries and perplexities of the morning to the District Attorney, in an undertone. When the Inspector had concluded his recital he called for pen and paper, and in a short time, with the aid of the District Attorney, had drafted a statement for the reporters milling about outside the Hospital. A nurse was conscripted to make typewritten copies, which Sampson signed; whereupon Velie sent a man to distribute them.
Inspector Queen went to the door of the Amphitheater and bawled a name. Almost immediately the tall, angular figure of Dr. Lucius Dunning crossed the threshold. The physician was flushed; his eyes smoldered; the seams on his face writhed.
“So you’ve decided to call me at last!” he rasped. His grey head jerked from side to side as he challenged them all, impartially, with stabbing glances. “I suppose you think I’ve nothing better to do than to sit outside like an old woman or a twenty-year-old boy and await your pleasure! Well, let me tell you once for all, sir—” he stalked up to the Inspector and brandished this thin fist above the old man’s head, “this outrage is going to mean something to you!”
“Now, really, Dr. Dunning,” said the Inspector meekly, as he slipped under the physician’s uplifted arm and shut the door.
“Restrain yourself, Dr. Dunning!” interrupted District Attorney Sampson in his sharpest courtroom manner. “The investigation is in the most capable hands in New York. If you’ve nothing to conceal, you’ve nothing to fear. And,” he added with asperity, “any complaints you may have should be addressed to me. I’m the District Attorney of this County!”
Dunning jammed his hands into his white coat-pockets. “I don’t care a hoot if you’re the President of the United States,” he snarled. “You’re keeping me from my work. There’s a bad case of gastric ulcer that I must follow up immediately. Your men outside prevented me five times from leaving the theater. Why, it’s criminal! I’ve got to see that patient!”
“Sit down, Doctor,” said Ellery with a soothing smile. “The longer you protest, the longer you’ll be here. Just a few questions, and the gastric ulcer is yours. …”
Dunning glared about like an angry tomcat, struggled with his tongue for a long moment, and finally snapped his lips shut and flung his lean length into a chair.
“You can question me from to-day until to-morrow,” he said defiantly, folding his arms across his bony chest, “but you’ll merely be wasting your time. I know nothing. You’ll get nothing from me that can possibly help you.”
“Surely that’s a matter of opinion, Doctor?”
“Oh, come, come!” interrupted the Inspector. “Less of this bickering. Let’s hear your little story, Doctor. I want a strict account of your movements this morning.”
“Is that all?” muttered Dunning bitterly. His tongue flicked out over his nervous lips. “I arrived at the Hospital at 9:00, and saw patients in my office until about 10:00. From 10:00 until the time of the operation I remained in my office checking over case-records. There were some histories and prescriptions. A few moments before 10:45 I went across the North Corridor to the rear of the Amphitheater, mounted to the gallery, met my daughter there, and—”
“That’s quite enough. Any visitors after 10:00?”
“No.” Dunning paused. “That is, no one but Miss Fuller—Mrs. Doorn’s companion. She stopped in for a few moments to inquire about Mrs. Doorn’s condition.”
“How well,” asked Ellery, bending forward in his chair and clasping his hands between his knees, “did you know Mrs. Doorn, Doctor?”
“Not—intimately,” replied Dunning. “Of course, I’ve been on the staff here ever since the founding of the Hospital, and I naturally came to know Mrs. Doorn in my official capacity. I’m on the Board of Directors along with Dr. Janney, Dr. Minchen and the others. …”
District Attorney Sampson leveled his forefinger at the physician. “Let’s be frank with each other,” he said. “You know Mrs. Doorn’s position as a world figure, I might say, and you know what a furor will be raised when the world learns that she has been murdered. For one thing, the reverberations will certainly be heard in the stock market. The sooner this case is solved and forgotten, the better off everybody will be. …Just what do you think about the entire affair?”
Dr. Dunning got slowly to his feet, began to walk up and down, up and down. As he walked he cracked his knuckles. Ellery winced, crouched in his chair.
“You were about to say …” he murmured in almost unpleasant accents.
“What?” Dunning appeared confused. “No, no. I know nothing at all. It’s a complete mystery to me. …”
“Amazing, how all-pervasive this mystery seems to be,” snapped Ellery. He eyed Dunning with a species of curious disgust. “That’s quite all, Doctor.”
Dunning strode out of the room without another word.
Ellery sprang to his feet and began to prowl. “By the Minotaur!” he cried. “All this is leading us nowhere. Who else is waiting outside? Kneisel, Sarah Fuller? Let’s get this over with. There’s work to be done. …”
Pete Harper stretched his legs luxuriously and chuckled. “Headline,” he said. “‘Noted Sleuth Gets Cramp in Belly; Bad Circulation Affects Temper. …’”
“Hey, you,” growled Velie, “shut up.”
Ellery smiled. “You’re right, Pete. It’s got me. … Shoot, Dad. Out with the next victim!”
But the next victim was destined to bide his time in continued patience. For from the West Corridor came the broken sounds of a violent altercation, and the door crashed open to admit Lieutenant Ritchie and a trio of odd-looking men being prodded forward by three bluecoats.
“What’s this?” demanded the Inspector, starting up. “Well, well, well,” he said equably, his wand straying to his snuffbox. “If it isn’t Joe Gecko, Little Willie and Snapper! Ritchie, where in time did you pick ’em up?”
The policemen pushed the three captives into the room. Joe Gecko was a lean, cadaverous individual with burning eyes and a preternaturally cartilaginous nose. Snapper was his direct antitype—small and cherubic, with rosy cheeks and full wet lips. Little Willie was the most sinister-appearing of the three: his bald, triangular head was covered with noxious brown-flecked skin; he was huge and bulky and flabby, but his nervous movements and uneasy eyes belied the promise of strength in his powerful frame; he looked dull, even stupid, but there was something loathsome and terrifying in his very stupidity.
“Pompey, Julius and Crassus,” murmured Ellery to Cronin. “Or perhaps it’s the Second Triumvirate of Mark Antony, Octavius and Lepidus. Where have I seen them before?”
“Probably in the line-up,” grinned Cronin.
The Inspector confronted the captives with a frown. “Well, Joe,” he said peremptorily, “what’s the racket this time? Sticking up hospitals? Where’d you find ’em, Ritchie?”
Ritchie looked pleased with himself. “Skulking around upstairs—328—a private room.”
“Big Mike’s room!” exclaimed the Inspector. “So you’re playing nurse to Big Mike now, hey? I thought you guerrillas were running with Ikey Bloom’s mob. Changed your luck, eh? Spit it out, boys—what’s the dirt?”
The three gunmen looked at each other uneasily. Little Willie uttered a hoarse, shy chuckle. Joe Gecko screwed up his eyes and slid back tensely on his heels. But it was Snapper, rosy and smiling, who replied.
“Jeeze, give us a break, Inspector,” he said, and the lisp in his mincing voice did not seem strange. “You got nuttin’ on us. We wuz on’y waitin’ for th’ boss. They been takin’ out his guts or somepin’.”
“Sure, sure!” replied the Inspector affably. “You’ve been holding his hand and telling him bedtime stories.”
“Naw, he’s a reg’lar,” said Snapper seriously. “We been hangin’ around his room upstairs. Y’know how it is—th’ boss layin’ there an’ there’s a lotta guys don’t like’m, sorta. …”
Inspector Queen snapped at Ritchie, “Did you frisk them?”
Little Willie shuffled his gigantic feet spasmodically and began to edge toward the door. Gecko hissed, “Snap outa it!” and grabbed the big man’s arm. The policemen closed in and Velie grinned expectantly.
Ritchie said, “Three little gats, Inspector,” with satisfaction.
The old man laughed merrily. “Caught at last! And by the good old Sullivan Law. Snapper, I’m surprised at you. …All right, Ritchie. They’re your meat. Take ’em out and book ’em on the gun-toting charge. …Just a second. Snapper, what time did you men get here?”
The little gangster mumbled, “We wuz here all mornin’, Inspector. Just watchin’. Jeeze. …”
Gecko snarled, “I tola you, Snap’. …!”
“I suppose you don’t know anything about the murder of Mrs. Doorn here this morning, boys?”
“A bump-off!”
They stiffened. Little Willie’s mouth began to quiver, it seemed extraordinarily as if he were about to cry. Their eyes curled toward the door and their hands made jerky movements. But they remained mute.
“Oh, all right,” said the Inspector indifferently. “Take ’em away, Ritchie.”
The district detective followed the policemen and the shambling gunmen with alacrity. Velie shut the door after them with the light of a vague disappointment in his eyes.
“Well,” said Ellery wearily, “we’re still awaiting the no doubt slavering presence of Miss Sarah Fuller. She’s been sitting out there for three hours. … She’ll need a hospital when she’s through, and I need nourishment. Dad, how about sending out for sandwiches and coffee? I’m famished. …”
Inspector Queen gnawed his mustache. “Didn’t realize the time. … How’s it strike you, Henry? Have lunch?”
“Well, I’m in favor of it,” announced Pete Harper suddenly. “This sort of work gets you hungry. Is it on the City?”
“All right, Pete,” retorted the Inspector, “I’m glad to hear it. And, City or no City, you’re elected. There’s a cafeteria on the next block.”
When Harper was gone, Velie ushered in a middle-aged woman dressed in black who held her head so rigidly and whose eyes were so fiercely intent that District Attorney Sampson muttered in an undertone to Cronin and Velie himself hitched more closely to her.
Ellery gave her no more than a passing glance as she entered. He saw through the open door a group of internes gathered about the operating-table on which the dead body of Abigail Doorn still lay, entirely covered by a sheet.
He stepped into the Amphitheater, gesturing to his father.
The Amphitheater was quiet now; it gave a queer impression of disorganization, of indecision. Nurses and internes strolled about, talking in broadly gay voices, deliberately ignoring the bluecoats and plainclothesmen who stood about, placidly watchful. And beneath all the talk there was a little note of hysteria that crept quietly along and then, suddenly, leaped out of a conversation, to be followed at once by a painful silence.
Except for the men grouped about the operating-table, no one looked at the outlined body of the dead woman.
Ellery stepped to the table. In the slight hush that followed his appearance he made a brief remark to which several of the young doctors nodded assent. He immediately returned to the Anteroom, closing the door softly behind him.
Sarah Fuller stood somberly in the middle of the room. Her thin, blue-veined hands were clenched at her sides. She stared with hard-pressed stony lips at the Inspector.
Ellery stepped to his father’s side. “Miss Fuller!” he said abruptly.
Her agate-like, faded blue eyes shifted to his face. A bitter smile twitched the corners of her mouth. “Another,” she said. The District Attorney cursed beneath his breath. There was something weird about this woman. Her voice was hard and cold and tight, like her face. “What do you want with me, all of you men?”
“Sit down, please,” said the Inspector fretfully. He shoved a chair toward her; she hesitated, sniffed, and sat down like a stick.
“Miss Fuller,” said the Inspector at once, “you’ve been with Mrs. Doorn for twenty-five years, haven’t you?”
“Twenty-one come May.”
“And you and she didn’t get along, did you?”
Ellery noted with a faint sensation of surprise that the woman had a pronounced Adam’s apple which jerked up and down with the vibrations of her speech. She said coldly, “No.”
“Why?”
“She was a miser and an infidel. Out of heart proceedeth covetousness. She was a tyrant. The tender mercies of the wicked are cruel. To the world she was the voice of virtue. To her dependents and retainers she was the breath of evil. Sufficient unto the day …”
This remarkable speech was accompanied by the most matter-of-fact tone. Inspector Queen and Ellery exchanged glances. Velie grunted and the detectives nodded their heads significantly. The Inspector threw up his hands and sat down, leaving the field to Ellery.
He smiled gently. “Madame, you believe in God?”
She raised her eyes to his. “The Lord is my Shepherd.”
“Nevertheless,” replied Ellery, “we should prefer less apocalyptic answers. You speak the God’s truth at all times?”
“I am the way, the truth, and the life.”
“A noble sentiment. Very well, Miss Fuller. Who killed Mrs. Doorn?”
“When will ye be wise?”
Ellery’s eyes glittered. “Scarcely a reply upon which to base an arrest. Do you know, or don’t you?”
“The deed—No.”
“Thank you.” His lips quivered with inward amusement. “And did you or did you not quarrel with Abigail Doorn habitually?”
The woman in black did not stir nor change her set expression. “I did.”
“Why?”
“I have told you. She was evil.”
“But we have been given to understand that Mrs. Doorn was a good woman. You’ve attempted to make her out a Gorgon. You say she was miserly and tyrannical. How? Household affairs? Little things or big things? Please answer clearly.”
“We did not get along.”
“Answer the question.”
Her fingers were tightly intertwined. “We hated each other deeply.”
“Ha!” The Inspector jumped from his chair. “Now we’re getting it, and in twentieth century language. Couldn’t stand the sight of each other, eh? Scrapped like wildcats. Well then”—he accused her with his finger—“why in tunket did you stay together for twenty-one years?”
Her voice grew animated. “Charity beareth all things. … I was the beggar, she the lonely queen. The habit grows. We were linked by ties as strong as blood.”
Ellery regarded her with puzzled brows. Inspector Queen’s face went blank; he shrugged his shoulders and looked eloquently at the District Attorney. Velie’s lips framed the word, “Nuts.”
In the silence, the door scraped open and several internes wheeled in the operating-table bearing the body of Abigail Doorn. At the Inspector’s furious look Ellery smiled warningly; he stood back, watching Sarah Fuller’s face.
A peculiar change had come over the woman. She rose, hand clutching her thin, narrow bosom. Two bright pinkish spots appeared magically in her cheeks; she looked steadily, almost curiously, at the dead face of her mistress, pitilessly uncovered to the neck.
A young doctor pointed apologetically to the blue, bloated face. “Sorry,” he said. “Cyanosis. Always pretty ugly. But you said I should un—”
“Please!” Ellery waved him away with acerbity; he was intent on Sarah Fuller’s movements. Slowly she approached the table; slowly she examined the stiff outlines of the dead body. When her eyes had traveled the entire length of the corpse and had reached the head, she paused in horrible triumph.
“The soul that sinneth, it shall die,” she cried. “In prosperity the destroyer shall come!” Her voice rose to a shriek. “Abigail, I warned you! I warned you, Abigail! The wages of sin …”
Ellery chanted deliberately, “Know that I am the Lord that smiteth. …”
At the sound of his cool, insistent voice she turned furiously; her eyes shot fire. “Fools make a mock at sin!” she screamed. Her voice fell. “I have seen what I came to see,” she continued more quietly, in a repressed, exultant tone. Already she seemed to have forgotten her hot words. She breathed deeply, raising her thin chest. “Now I can go.”
“Oh, no, you can’t,” retorted the Inspector. “Sit down, Miss Fuller. You’re going to be here for some time yet.” She seemed deaf. An exalted expression crept over the harsh lines of her face. “Oh, for God’s sake!” shouted the Inspector, “stop acting and come down to earth! Here—” He ran across the room and gripped her arm roughly, shaking her. The peaceful, remote look did not leave her. “You’re not in church now—snap out of it!”
She permitted the Inspector to lead her to the chair, but absently, as if he and all his cohorts could do nothing to harm her. She did not again glance at the dead woman. Ellery, who was watching thoughtfully, signaled to the internes.
Hastily, in open relief, the white-garmented attendants wheeled the table to the elevator-shaft at the right side of the Anteroom, opened the door, and disappeared into the elevator. Ellery could see, beyond the grilled car, another door which apparently led to the East Corridor. The door closed and the slight sound of the moving vehicle came through the thin shaft-wall as the elevator descended slowly to the morgue room in the basement.
The Inspector muttered to Ellery, “Here, son, there’s nothing to be got out of her. She’s a lunatic. To my mind, we’d do better to follow up by questioning others about her. What do you think?”
Ellery glanced at the woman, who sat stiffly in the chair, eyes far away. “If nothing else,” he said grimly, “she’s a fine psychiatric object-lesson. I think I’ll have another go at her and see her reaction. … Miss Fuller!”
Her rapt eyes turned to him, blankly.
“Who might have desired to kill Mrs. Doorn?”
She shivered; the film began to fade from her eyes. “I—don’t—know.”
“Where were you this morning?”
“At home, first. Some person telephoned. There was an accident, they said. … God of vengeance!” Her face flamed; when she continued it was more lucidly, in a flatter tone. “Hulda and I came to this place. We waited for the operation.”
“You were with Miss Doorn all the time?”
“Yes. No.”
“Which is it?”
“No. I left Hulda in that Waiting Room across the hall. I was nervous. I walked about. Nobody stopped me. I walked, and walked, and then”—a cunning look crept into her eyes—“then I came back to Hulda.”
“And you didn’t speak with any one?”
She looked up slowly. “I sought information. I looked for a doctor. Dr. Janney. Dr. Dunning. The young Dr. Minchen. I found only Dr. Dunning, in his office. He reassured me, and I went away.”
Ellery murmured, “Check!” and began to stride up and down before her. He seemed to be revolving something in his mind. Sarah Fuller sat stolidly and waited.
When he spoke, it was with a crackle of menace in his voice. He whirled upon her. “Why didn’t you transmit Dr. Janney’s telephone message last night to Miss Doorn about administering the insulin injection?”
“I was ill myself yesterday. I was in bed most of the day. The message came and I took it. But by the time Hulda returned I was asleep.”
“Why didn’t you tell her in the morning?”
“I forgot.”
Ellery leaned over her, stared into her eyes. “You realize, don’t you, that by your unfortunate lapse of memory, you are morally responsible for Mrs. Doorn’s death?”
“Why—what—?”
“If you had given Miss Doorn Dr. Janney’s message, she would have administered the insulin to Mrs. Doorn, Mrs. Doorn would not have fallen into the coma this morning, and consequently would not have been placed on an operating-table to lie at the mercy of a murderer. Well?”
Her glance did not waver. “His will be done. …”
Ellery straightened, murmured, “You quote Scripture nicely. … Miss Fuller, why was Mrs. Doorn afraid of you?”
She drew in her breath sharply. Then she smiled an odd smile, compressed her lips and sank back against the chair. There was something eerie in her bitter old face. And her eyes were still hard and icy and, somehow, unearthly.
Ellery retreated. “Dismissed!”
She rose, arranged her garments with a shy movement and, without a glance or a word, floated from the room. At a sign from the Inspector the detective named Hesse followed. The Inspector took a short and irritable turn about the room. Ellery mused deeply where he stood.
A black-jowled man in a rakish derby hat strolled into the Anteroom, past Velie. He was chewing a dead, foul-smelling cigar. He tossed a black physician’s bag onto the wheel-table and stood rocking on his heels, surveying the gloomy little group quizzically.
“Hi there!” he said at last, spitting a piece of tobacco on the tiled floor. “Don’t I get any attention? Where’s the funeral?”
“Oh, hello, Doc.” The Inspector absently shook hands. “Ellery, say hello to Prouty.” Ellery dutifully nodded. “The body is in the morgue now, Doc,” said the old man. “They’ve just carted it down into the basement.”
“Well, I’ll be on my way, then,” said Prouty. He strode to the elevator-door. “This it?” Velie pressed a button and they heard the elevator grind upward. “By the way, Inspector,” said Prouty, opening the door, “the Medical Examiner may come into this thing himself. Doesn’t seem to trust his assistant.” He chuckled. “So old Abby’s got it at last, eh? Well, she’s not the first, and she won’t be the last. Keep smiling!” He disappeared into the car and the elevator again clanked its way to the floor below.
Sampson rose and stretched hugely. “A-a-ah!” He yawned, scratched, his fine head. “I’m absolutely stumped, Q.” The Inspector nodded dolefully. “And that crazy old loon simply muddled things worse than ever. …” Sampson looked shrewdly at Ellery. “What do you make of it, son?”
“Precious little.” Ellery fished a cigarette from his capacious side-pocket and fingered it tenderly. He looked up. “Oh, I’ve managed to deduce a few things—interesting things at that.” He grinned. “There’s the faintest glimmer of light away down deep in my consciousness, but I’d scarcely call it a complete and satisfactory solution. The clothes, you know …”
“Aside from a few obvious facts …” began the District Attorney.
“Oh, they’re not obvious,” said Ellery gravely. “Those shoes, for example—most illuminating.”
Red-headed Timothy Cronin snorted. “And what do you get out of them? I must be thick. I can’t see a darned thing.”
“Well,” said the District Attorney tentatively, “the person who originally owned them was a good few inches taller than Dr. Janney. …”
“Ellery commented on that before you came. And a fat lot of good it does us,” said the Inspector dryly. “We’ll send out a general alarm for the theft of the clothing, but I can tell you right now it will be like looking for the needle in the haystack. … Attend to that, will you, Thomas?” He turned to the giant. “And start with this Hospital; we might get a break right here.”
Velie discussed details with Johnson and Flint, and they departed. “Not much there,” boomed the sergeant “But if there is a trail, the boys will get it.”
Ellery was smoking, inhaling deeply. “That woman …” he murmured. “The religious mania is significant. Something has unbalanced her. A very real hatred existed between her and the dead woman. Motive? Cause?” He shrugged. “She’s most fascinating. And if her blessed Jehovah is with us, we’ll cry ‘Selah!’ at the proper time, no doubt.”
“This man Janney,” began Sampson, stroking his jaw, “darned if we haven’t enough, Q., to—”
Whatever the District Attorney meant to say was lost in the hubbub of Harper’s return to the Anteroom. He kicked the corridor door open and made a triumphant entrance, bearing a huge paper bag in his arms.
“The white-haired boy returns with FOOD!” he shouted. “Dig in, fellers. You too, Velie—you old Colossus. Doubt if we’ve enough to fill your craw …Here’s coffee, and sweet ham, and pickles and cream cheese and Christ knows what else. …”
They munched sandwiches and sipped coffee in silence. Harper eyed them keenly and said nothing further. It was only when the elevator-door reopened and Dr. Prouty, looking gloomy, emerged that they again began to talk.
“Well, Doc?” Sampson paused in the act of biting into a ham sandwich.
“Strangled, all right.” Prouty dropped his bag and unceremoniously helped himself from the stack of sandwiches on the wheel-table. His teeth clicked fiercely on the bread and he sighed. “Hell,” he mumbled, between mouthfuls, “that was an easy kill. One twist of the wire and the poor old lady was through. Snuffed out like a candle. … This Janney guy. Quite a surgeon.” He peered at the Inspector shrewdly. “Too bad he didn’t get the chance to operate. Bad rupture of the gall bladder. Diabetic, too, I gathered. … No; the original verdict was quite correct. Autopsy’s almost unnecessary. Hypo marks all over her arm. Stringy muscles. Must have had quite a job with the intravenous injections this morning. …”
He chattered on. The conversation became general. Speculations and conjectures swirled about Ellery Queen as he ate. He tilted his chair against a wall and gazed at the ceiling, his lean jaws masticating powerfully.
The Inspector daintily wiped his mouth with a handkerchief. “Well,” he grumbled, “there’s darned little left except this man Kneisel. Suppose he’s outside, burning up like the rest of ’em. All right with you, son?”
Ellery waved his hand vaguely. But suddenly his eyes narrowed and his chair-legs banged on the floor. “There’s an idea,” he said. Then he chuckled. “Stupid of me to overlook that!” His auditors looked blankly at each other. Ellery got to his feet excitedly. “Now that you mention it, let’s have a look-see at our friend the Austrian scientist. You know, this mysterious Paracelsus of ours may prove interesting. … Always charmed by alchemists, anyway. And there’s a faint voice—the voice of one crying in the wilderness …” he smiled “—to quote the triply blessed authority of Luke, John and patriarchal Isaiah. …”
He ran to the Amphitheater door.
“Kneisel! Is Dr. Kneisel in here?” he cried.