CHAGRIN AND BAFFLEMENT PURSUED Ellery Queen from the stricken corridors of the Dutch Memorial Hospital to the interior of his father’s office at Police Headquarters.
He had disgustedly expressed the desire to return to the Queen house on West 87th Street and bury his troubles in Marcel Proust. The Inspector, shrewdly appraising, would listen to no such proposal. They would all go down to his office, he had said, and have a quiet talk, and be bawled out en masse by the Mayor, and generally make merry. …
So they sat, Richard and Ellery Queen and District Attorney Sampson, and two of them chatted pleasantly about everything but the Doorn and Janney murders.
The newspapers of New York City were making Roman holiday. Two murders in three days, and both victims of the utmost journalistic importance! City Hall Park seethed with reporters; the Police Commissioner had disappeared; the Mayor had retired to the privacy of his home “on advice of his physician.” Every person whose name had appeared, even briefly, in the case had been haunted by photographers and leg-men. The news about Thomas Swanson had leaked out and a journalistic hegira began with Port Chester as the goal. Inspector Queen had exerted every ounce of official pressure at his command to keep the true identity of Swanson a secret; thus far he had been successful, but the threat of disclosure hung over them. Swanson was by now under heavy guard.
Sergeant Velie was pursuing a will-o’-the-wisp. It had been his most pressing assignment to trace back the movements of the dead surgeon; and nothing met the eye other than a perfectly innocent series of contacts. Janney’s private correspondence at his apartment had been scanned with microscopic suspicion; aside from several letters from Thomas Janney which substantiated the Swanson story, this search too was fruitless.
Everywhere a blank wall. …
Ellery’s long fingers played with a tiny figurine of the great Bertillon on the Inspector’s desk. The old man was, genially enough, relating an anecdote from out of his youth; but there were dark-shadowed pouches beneath his eyes, and his gayety was pitifully forced.
“Let’s not delude ourselves.” Ellery spoke abruptly and both the Inspector and Sampson turned to regard him with apprehension. “We’re like frightened children babbling in the dark. Dad, Sampson—we’re licked.”
Neither of the older men replied. Sampson hung his head, and the Inspector thoughtfully examined his square boot-toes.
“If it weren’t for my Gaelic pride, and the fact that no matter what I do, dad has to carry on,” continued Ellery, “I would figuratively fall upon my sword and seek peace in the warrior’s heaven. …”
“What’s the matter with you, Ellery?” The Inspector did not look up. “I’ve never heard you talk this way before. Why, only yesterday you were saying that you had a pretty good idea who the murderer is.”
“Yes,” said Sampson eagerly, “if anything this second murder, which unquestionably is linked with the first, should throw light on the original problem. I’m sure something will turn up.”
Ellery grunted. “The curse of fatalism is the sublime spinelessness, which it engenders. You see, Sampson, I’m not so sure …” He pulled himself out of the chair, looked moodily down at them. “What I said yesterday still stands. I know in a vague way who strangled Abigail Doorn. I could name half a dozen people in the case who, from the nature of the clews, simply couldn’t have done for Abby. But—”
“There aren’t many more than a half-dozen in the case altogether,” said the Inspector challengingly. “So what’s worrying you?”
“Things.”
“Look here, son,” said the old man with energy, “if you’re upbraiding yourself because you didn’t prevent this second crime, forget it. How could you or any of us have foreseen that Janney, of all people would follow Abby?”
Ellery waved his hand negligently. “Oh, it’s not that. With all my suspicions, I couldn’t have foreseen Janney’s death, as you say. … Sampson, you just said these two crimes are linked. What makes you so certain?”
Sampson looked startled. “Why—I took it for granted. The two crimes came so close together, the two victims were so intimately linked, the location is the same, the methods are identical, everything bears out the—”
“Seems Gospel, eh?” Ellery bent over. “Isn’t that just as good an argument for the belief that the two crimes aren’t linked? Assume two murderers instead of one. Abby Doorn is sent outward bound in a certain way under certain circumstances. Murderer Number Two says: ‘Aha! Here’s the perfect opportunity to avenge myself on Janney and make the police think Murderer Number One did the job!’ Consequently we perceive the similar locale, the similar method and all the rest of it. Refute this with evidence, please.”
The Inspector squirmed. “Oh, for goodness’ sake, boy, you can’t mean that. Why—we’d have to start all over again.”
Ellery shrugged. “Mind you, I’m not saying I believe a different person committed the second crime. I’m merely pointing out the possibility. So far one theory is as good as the other.”
“But—”
“I confess that the assumption of one criminal pleases me more than the assumption of two. But mark my words,” said Ellery earnestly, “if the same person committed both crimes we must look for a reason to explain why such a clever rogue should have taken the dangerous course of deliberately duplicating the method.”
“You mean,” asked the Inspector in a puzzled way, “that it would be more to the murderer’s advantage to avoid strangulation?”
“Of course it would. If Janney had been found shot, or stabbed, or poisoned, we’d have no physical reason at all to believe that the crimes were allied. Observe that in the second case the murderer actually struck Janney over the head before strangling him! Now why didn’t he finish the job with his bludgeon? Why merely stun him and then go to the trouble of putting a wire about his neck? … No, dad, it seems very likely that the murderer wanted us to see that the crimes were linked!”
“By golly, that’s right,” muttered the old man “It’s so right, to my mind,” replied Ellery, sinking wearily into his chair again, “that if I knew why the murderer wants us to believe the two murders part of the same crime, I’d know the whole story. … But I’m keeping an open mind on this second homicide. I have still to see proof that the two crimes were committed by the same scoundrel.”
The inter-office communicator on the Inspector’s desk rasped. The Inspector lifted the receiver from the hook.
A muffled voice barked: “Man by the name of Kneisel wants to see you, Inspector. Says it’s important.”
“Kneisel!” The old man was silent, his eyes gleaming. “Kneisel, hey? Send him up, Bill.”
Sampson was leaning forward. “What the devil can Kneisel want?”
“Don’t know. Say, Henry … that gives me an idea.” They looked at each other, mutual comprehension in their crossed glances. Ellery said nothing.
A detective opened the door. The small figure of Moritz Kneisel appeared on the threshold.
The Inspector got to his feet. “Come in, Dr. Kneisel. Come in. All right, Frank.”
The detective left and the swarthy little scientist advanced slowly into the room. He was wearing a rusty greenish overcoat with a tawny velvet collar. He carried a green velour hat in his blotched hand.
“Sit down. What’s on your mind?”
He seated himself punctiliously on the edge of a chair, placing his hat on his knees. His soft dark eyes restlessly ranged over the office; in an abstracted, automatic way he seemed to be appraising, storing away what he saw.
He spoke suddenly. “When you interrogated me earlier to-day, I was naturally upset by the unfortunate death of my friend and colleague. I had no time to think carefully. Now I have surveyed the facts, Inspector Queen, and I tell you very frankly—I fear for my personal safety!”
“Oh, I see.”
The stilted phrases fell idly from the man’s lips. The District Attorney winked at the Inspector from behind Kneisel’s stiff figure. The Inspector nodded imperceptibly.
“Just what do you mean? Have you found out anything about the murder of Dr. Janney which we ought to know?”
“Not that, no.” Kneisel held up his hands and looked at their mangled, bleached skin absently. “But I have a theory. It has been bothering me all afternoon. It is a theory which, if true, makes me—victim number three in a diabolical series of murders!”
Ellery’s eyebrows bunched. Interest had crept into his eyes. “A theory, eh?” he murmured. “And a melodramatic one, too.” Kneisel looked at him sidewise. “Well, Kneisel, we’re a little short of theories to-day. So let’s have it in detail. It’s bound to prove refreshing.”
“Is the imminence of my death a matter of jest, Mr. Queen?” asked the scientist curtly. “I am beginning to alter my first opinion of you. I feel that you are mocking what you cannot understand … Inspector!”
He turned squarely away from Ellery, who slipped back on his spine again.
“My theory, summarily, is this: That a fourth party, whom I will call X, has engineered a series of murders beginning with the strangulation of Abigail Doorn, continuing with the strangulation of Dr. Janney—and concluding with the strangulation of Moritz Kneisel.”
“A fourth party?” The Inspector knit his brows. “Who?”
“I do not know.”
“For what reason, then?”
“Ah, that is another question!” Kneisel tapped the Inspector’s knee lightly. “To gain undisputed possession of the secret and profits of my alloy, doornite!”
“So that’s it. …” Sampson looked skeptical. But the Inspector wore a serious frown; his eyes flickered from Ellery to Kneisel. “Murder for a secret worth millions. Not bad. Not bad at all. … But why on earth murder Mrs. Doorn and Dr. Janney? It seems to me that your murder alone, after your formulæ were completed, would be enough.”
“It would not.” The scientist was coldly deliberate; he seemed made of iron. “Let us suppose that this hypothetical fourth party lurks somewhere in the background. And that he is most desirous of securing the results of my labors. And also, in doing so, leave himself sole possessor of the vital knowledge.”
“The murder of Abigail Doorn would be to his advantage. He allows her to live just so long as she furnishes funds for the continuation of the experiments. When she threatens to stop, he kills her and achieves two ends in doing so—he insures her financial support even after her death, and he eliminates one of the three holders of the secret.”
“Go on.”
“Then,” continued Kneisel imperturbably, “it is the turn of Dr. Kneisel’s partner, Dr. Janney. I am logical, you see. …He precedes me in the order of our going for the reason that he is technically not so essential as I to the completion of the work. His usefulness, in providing me with the means of fulfilling my life-work, is past. So he is murdered; and the second of the triumvirate, whose continued existence would prevent the murderer from commercializing his theft without opposition, disappears from the scene. Do you follow me so far, gentlemen?”
“We follow you, all right,” said the Inspector harshly. “But I don’t quite see why it was necessary for Janney to be killed so soon after the old lady. What was the rush? And then your job is incomplete. Janney might have helped, even in a small way, to perfect the alloy.”
“Ah, but we are dealing with a person of subtlety and foresight,” said Kneisel. “If he had waited for the work to be done, it would then have been necessary to commit two murders at almost the same time. With Janney gone, now only one murder is required in order to eliminate the last of the trio and take undisputed possession of a secret worth millions.”
“Clever, but weak,” murmured Ellery.
Kneisel ignored him. “To continue. The deaths of Mrs. Doorn and Dr. Janney leave me a clear field, more than sufficient funds to work with, and the scientific ability to bring the experiments to a head. … You see the possibilities.”
“Yes,” said Ellery softly, “we see the possibilities.”
Kneisel’s womanish eyes sharpened momentarily, but the glint died out and he shrugged his shoulders.
“That’s a pretty theory, Dr. Kneisel,” said the Inspector, “but after all we need more than guesses. Names, man, names! I’m sure you’ve some one in mind.”
The scientist closed his eyes. “Specifically, I have not. And why you should insist on concrete evidence from me I do not understand. Surely you don’t despise theories, Inspector? I believe Mr. Ellery Queen himself works on some such intellectual plan. … This theory is solid, sir. It is based on a consideration of all the facts. It is—”
“Not true,” said Ellery distinctly.
Kneisel shrugged again. Ellery said, “It’s a poor syllogism that doesn’t educe an incontrovertible conclusion from its major and minor premises. Come now, Kneisel, you’re being cagy. What are you holding back?”
“Your guess is as good as mine, Mr. Queen.”
“Who besides Mrs. Doorn, Dr. Janney and yourself knows enough about the exact nature of your work to realize its financial possibilities? Of course we’ve known it since Mrs. Doorn’s death Monday, but weren’t there others before?” asked the Inspector.
“You force me to be dogmatic. I can think of one person who might very well have been informed by Mrs. Doorn of the secret. That is the lawyer who drew up her wills—Morehouse.”
“Preposterous,” said Sampson.
“Oh, no doubt.”
“But you know perfectly well,” said the Inspector, “that it might have been anybody in the Doorn household or in the circle of the old lady’s friends. Why pick on Morehouse?”
“No specific reason.” Kneisel looked bored. “He merely appears to me to be the logical person. I am quite sure I’m wrong.”
“You just said that Mrs. Doorn must have talked. Are you certain Dr. Janney mightn’t have done the same?”
“Positive!” said Kneisel sharply. “Dr. Janney was as zealous in guarding our secret as I have been.”
“One little item occurs to me,” drawled Ellery. “When you were first examined, Kneisel, you said that you originally met Janney through a mutual colleague who was aware of what you were endeavoring to do. It seems to me that you’ve overlooked that possibly loquacious gentleman.”
“Mr. Queen, I have overlooked nothing.” Kneisel actually smiled for an instant. “The man to whom you refer could not be behind these crimes for two excellent reasons: one, he died two years ago; two, despite your statement which is a misstatement of my own of Monday, he knew nothing of the nature of my work, so that he could not have transmitted knowledge of it to any one.”
“Touché,” murmured Ellery.
“What’s all this leading to?” demanded the Inspector. “What’s your conclusion, Dr. Kneisel?”
“My theory embraces even the eventualities. The man behind these murders will be in a position, after my death, to dispose of and cash in on my metal alloy by dealing with innocent metal interests. That is where the trail will lead, Inspector. So if I should die suddenly—”
Sampson drummed on the arm of his chair. “Disturbing, all right. But there isn’t a particle of evidence, of tangibility.”
Kneisel smiled frigidly. “I beg your pardon, sir. I hesitate to assume the air of a sleuth—but can you or Inspector Queen or Mr. Ellery Queen offer a better motive for the apparently unrelated murders of Mrs. Doorn and Dr. Janney? Can you offer any motive at all?”
“Beside the point!” snapped the Inspector. “You’re assuming that there’s going to be another funeral, at which you’ll be the main attraction. Well, suppose you’re disappointed, and the murders of the Dutch Memorial Hospital are now at an end? Where’s your theory then?”
“I should grant the error of a mere theory to preserve my scientific skin, Inspector—gladly. If I am not killed, I’m wrong. If I am killed, I’m right—doubtful satisfaction either way. But right or wrong, I am entitled to play—as you say—safe. Inspector, I demand protection!”
“Oh, you’ll get that, all right. Twice as much as you’ve bargained for. We don’t want anything happening to you, Dr. Kneisel.”
“I suppose you realize,” put in Ellery, “that, even if your theory is correct, Mrs. Doorn may have whispered the secret to more than one person? Is that right?”
“Well—yes. Why? What do you mean?”
“I’m simply being logical, Doctor.” Ellery folded his hands peacefully behind his head. “If more than one person have been told, it stands to reason that your mysterious Mr. X, party of the fourth part, is aware of the fact. Then you aren’t the only character in our melodrama who needs protection. There are others, Dr. Kneisel. I trust you see my point?”
Kneisel bit his lip. “Yes. Yes! There will be other murders, too. …”
Ellery laughed. “I scarcely think so. However, let it pass. One moment more, before you leave. I’m in a questioning mood. … Doornite is not yet perfected, you said?”
“Not completely.”
“How near completion is it?”
“A matter of weeks—no more. I am safe for that length of time, in any event.”
“I’m not so sure of that,” said Ellery dryly.
Kneisel turned slowly in his chair. “What do you mean?”
“Simply this: your experiments are virtually finished. What is to prevent this fictive schemer of yours from killing you now and completing the work himself? Or having it completed for him by a competent metallurgist?”
The scientist looked startled. “True. Very true. It could be finished by some one else. That means—that means I’m not safe—no, not even now.”
“Unless,” said Ellery amiably, “you destroy at once every vestige of your researches.”
Kneisel’s voice was strained. “A poor consolation. Either way. My life or my work.”
“The well-known horns, eh?” murmured Ellery.
Kneisel sat up stiffly. “I may be killed to-day, to-night—”
The Inspector stirred. “I don’t think it’s as bad as all that, Dr. Kneisel. And you’ll be well taken care of. Excuse me.” The old man manipulated his inter-office communicator. “Ritter! You’ve got a new assignment. You’re to take care of Dr. Moritz Kneisel from the moment he steps out of my office. … Now. Stay with him, Ritter, and get a good relief for the night. … No, this isn’t a tail—you’re a bodyguard from now on. Okay.” He turned back to the scientist “It’s all fixed.”
“Considerate of you, Inspector. I shall be going.” Kneisel fumbled with his hat-brim. He rose suddenly and, without glancing at Ellery, said in a rapid way, “Good-day. Goodbye, gentlemen.” He slipped out of the room.
“The spalpeen!” The Inspector was on his feet now, his white face brightly colored. “That was slick! God, he’s got his nerve!”
“What do you mean, Q.?” asked Sampson.
“It’s as plain as day,” cried the old man. “This theory of his is pure hogwash. It’s a blind, Henry! Didn’t it occur to you as he was speaking that he’s the man left with a clear field, that he’s the biggest gainer by the death of Abby Doorn and Janney, that he’s figuratively the ‘fourth party’ of his theory? In other words that there is no fourth party?”
“By thunder, Q., I think you’ve hit it!”
The old man turned to Ellery in triumph. “All this pretty talk about X wiping out Abby, Janney, and himself. … Why, it’s nonsensical! Don’t you think I’m on the right track, son?”
Ellery did not speak for a moment; his eyes were haggard. “I haven’t a morsel of concrete evidence,” he said at last “to bolster my belief—but I think both you and Kneisel are wrong, I don’t think Kneisel did the jobs, nor this fourth and purely hypothetical person Kneisel talked about. … Dad, if we ever hit bottom in this investigation, which I seriously doubt, we’ll find that it’s a much more subtle crime than even Kneisel postulates—and much more impossible, to be thoroughly unrhetorical.”
The Inspector scratched his head. “How you can blow hot and cold in the same breath, son! Now, I suppose you’ll tell me, after saying Kneisel doesn’t figure, to keep my eye on him as if he were the most important suspect in the case. That would be just like you.”
“Amazingly enough, that is precisely what I was going to say.” Ellery lit another cigarette. “And don’t misinterpret my statement. You did just now, you know. … Kneisel must be guarded as if he were the Maharajah of Punjab. I want a detailed report of the identity, conversation and subsequent movements of every soul who comes within ten feet of him!”