SO WEDNESDAY PASSED, AND with every crawling hour the mystery of New York’s most sensational murder case retreated farther and farther into the shadowy region of unsolved crimes.
The investigation of Dr. Francis Janney’s death, as of the death of Abigail Doorn, had reached its critical stage. It was generally agreed throughout the offices of the law that if a beginning were not made within forty-eight hours toward clearing up the crimes they might be considered beyond the pale of solution.
On Thursday morning Inspector Queen awoke after an uneasy night in a blank, clammish mood. His cough had recurred and his eyes burned with the unhealthy glitter of fever. But he brushed aside the protests of Djuna and Ellery and, shivering in his greatcoat despite the mild winter air, plodded down 87th Street toward the Broadway subway and Headquarters.
Ellery sat at the window and blindly watched him go.
The table was cluttered with breakfast dishes. Djuna grasped a cup and fixed gypsy eyes on the sprawling figure across the room. Not so much as a muscle of his jaw twitched. The boy possessed an uncanny immobility, a gift for noiselessness that was uncivilized, feline.*
Ellery spoke without turning his head. “Djuna.”
Djuna was at the window in a flash.
“Djuna, talk to me.”
The thin body quivered. “Me—talk to you, Mr. Ellery?”
“Yes.”
“But—what?”
“Anything. I want to hear a voice. Your voice, son.”
The black eyes sparkled. “You and Dad Queen are worryin’. How’d you like fried chicken for supper? I think that book you made me read about this here big whale, Moby Dick, is swell. It ain’t like—”
“Isn’t, Djuna!”
“It isn’t like those Horatio Algers and things. I skipped some parts though. Boy, what a nigger that—that Quee—Quee—”
“Queequeg, son. And never say ‘nigger.’ Negro is the word.”
“Oh! … Well, now. …” The dark satiny skin of the boy’s face writhed and wrinkled. “I wish it was baseball season. I want to see Babe Ruth smack ’em. Why don’t you make Dad Queen stop coughin’? We need a new electric pad—old one’s all wore out. They made me quarterback on the football team at the Club. I got them guys learnin’ signals, boy!”
“I have those. …” A sudden smile lifted Ellery’s lips. His long arm curled and drew the boy down to the window-seat. “Djuna, old son, you do me no end of good. … You heard Dad and me discussing the Doorn and Janney cases last night, didn’t you?”
Djuna said eagerly, “Yes!”
“Tell me what you think, Djuna.”
“What I think?” The boy’s eyes opened wide.
“Yes.”
“I think you’ll catch’m.” He swelled visibly.
“Really?” Ellery’s fingers explored the boy’s thin strong ribs. “You need some flesh there, Djuna,” he said severely. “Football will do it. … So you’re convinced I’ll catch’m? Confident youth! I suppose you heard me say I was—well, not entirely successful so far?”
Djuna cackled. “You was foolin’, wasn’t you?”
“Not at all.”
A cunning look invaded the bold eyes. “You givin’ up?”
“Horrors, no!”
“Y’can’t give up, Mr. Ellery,” the boy said earnestly. “My team was playin’ two days ago an’ in the last quarter they had us 14 to 0. We didn’t give up. We made three touchdowns. They were pretty sore.”
“What do you think I ought to do, Djuna? And in telling me I want you to advise me to the best of your ability.” Ellery did not smile.
Djuna did not answer at once; his mouth hardened and he gave himself over to deep thought. And after a long and pregnant silence, he said distinctly, “Eggs.”
“What?” demanded Ellery in astonishment.
Djuna seemed pleased with himself. “I’m talkin’ about eggs. ‘Smornin’ I was boilin’ eggs for Dad Queen. I’m careful about Dad Queen’s eggs—he’s finicky. I let ’em boil too hard. So I threw ’em out an’—I started all over again. Second time they were just right.” He stared at Ellery meaningly.
Ellery chuckled. “Environment’s a bad influence in your case, I see. You’ve robbed me of my allegorical method. … Djuna, that’s a rich and fruity thought—an excellent thought, forsooth!” He rumpled the boy’s black hair. “Start all over again, eh?” He sprang from the chair. “By all your romani gods, son, that’s sound advice!”
He disappeared into the bedroom with new energy. Djuna began to clear away the breakfast dishes, not without shaking fingers.
“John, I’m going to follow young Djuna’s rede and retrace the ground of both crimes.”
They were seated in Dr. Minchen’s office at the Hospital.
“Do you need me?” The physician’s eyes were lusterless and underscored with purple welts; he breathed heavily.
“If you can spare the time. …”
“I suppose so.”
They left Minchen’s chamber.
The Hospital this morning had resumed something of its routine air; bans had been lifted and with the exception of a few verboten areas on the main floor the business of life and death proceeded as if nothing out of the way had ever happened. Detectives and uniformed men still prowled about, but they kept out of the way and did not interfere with the activity of the doctors and nurses.
Ellery and Minchen made their way down the East Corridor and turned the corner into the South Corridor, going west. At the door of the Anæsthesia Room, sitting comfortably on a commandeered rocking-chair out of a convalescent ward, sat a dozing bluecoat. The door itself was closed.
He snapped to his feet in a flash as Ellery tried the handle of the door. And until Ellery wearily exhibited a special pass signed by Inspector Queen the policeman stoutly refused to allow the two men to enter the Anæsthesia Room.
The Anæsthesia Room was exactly as they had left it three days before.
At the door leading into the Anteroom sat another policeman. Again the pass brought electric response. He gawped, grinned feebly and mumbled “Yes’r.” They passed inside.
Wheel-table, chairs, supply-cabinet, door to the elevator. … Nothing had changed.
Ellery said, “Nobody’s been allowed in here, I see.”
“We wanted to take out some supplies,” muttered Minchen, “but your father left strict orders. We haven’t been permitted past the outer door.”
Ellery looked gloomily about. He tossed his head. “I suppose you think I’m daft for coming back here, John. As a matter of fact, now that the first flush of Djuna’s inspiration has faded, I feel a little foolish myself. There can’t be anything new here.”
Minchen did not reply.
They looked into the operating theater and then returned to the Anteroom. Ellery crossed to the door of the lift and opened it. The elevator stood there, barren. He stepped into the elevator and tried the handle of the door on the opposite side. It would not budge.
“Taped on the other side,” he murmured. “That’s right—it’s the one that leads into the East Corridor.”
He stepped back into the Anteroom and looked about. Near the elevator was the door leading to the tiny Sterilizing Room. He peered inside. Everything appeared as it had been left on Monday.
“Oh, it’s puerile!” cried Ellery. “Let’s get out of this appalling place, John.”
They left through the Anæsthesia Room and headed down the South Corridor toward the main entrance. “Here!” said Ellery suddenly. “Might as well make a complete fiasco of this ghastly business. Let’s peep into Janney’s office.”
The bluecoat at the door blundered out of me way.
Inside the office Ellery sat down in the dead man’s swivel-chair behind the large desk and motioned Minchen into one of the chairs on the west wall. They sat in silence as Ellery cynically examined the bare room through the smoke of his cigarette.
He spoke in a calm drawl. “John, I have a confession to make. It would seem that something has happened which for years I have maintained lies in the realm of the impossible. And that is—the commission of the insoluble crime.”
“You mean there’s no hope?”
“Hope is the pillar of the world, as the Woloffs of Africa say.” Ellery flicked his cigarette and smiled. “My pillar is crashing. A terrific blow to my pride, John. … I shouldn’t mind it so much if I felt sincerely that I’d met my master—a criminal mind which has concocted a pair of crimes so clever in their execution as to be impossible of solution. I’d admire that quite properly.
“But note that I said ‘the insoluble crime’—not ‘the perfect crime.’ This isn’t the perfect crime by a long shot. The criminal has actually left clews clearly comprehensible and, as far as they go, conclusive. No, these crimes don’t exhibit the master touch, John. Far from it. Either our gentle fiend has been able to neutralize his errors, or fate has stepped in to accomplish the same end. …”
Ellery savagely crushed the butt of his cigarette into an ashtray on the desk. “There’s only one thing left for us to do. And that is to go over with a fine-comb the background of every individual we’ve examined so far. By Christopher, there must be something hidden somewhere in the stories of these people! It’s our last port-o’-call.”
Minchen sat up with sudden eagerness. “I can help you there,” he said hopefully. “I’ve come across a fact that may be useful. …”
“Yes?”
“I worked rather late last night trying to catch up on the book Janney and I were doing. Sort of taking up where the old man left off. And I discovered something about two of the people in the case which, strangely enough, I never even suspected before.”
Ellery frowned. “You mean a reference in the manuscript? I fail to see—”
“Not in the manuscript. In the records which Janney has been collecting for twenty years. … Ellery, this matter is a professional secret, and under ordinary circumstances I wouldn’t let even you know about it. …”
“Whom does it concern?” asked Ellery, sharply.
“Lucius Dunning and Sarah Fuller.”
“Ah!”
“You promise that if it doesn’t affect the case you’ll not let it get into the records?”
“Yes. Yes. Go on, John; this interests me.”
Minchen spoke rapidly. “You know, I suppose, that whenever specific cases are cited in a medical work, only initials are given, or case-numbers. This is done out of consideration for the patient, and also because whatever else about him may be vital to an understanding of his pathology, certainly his name and identity are not.
“In looking over some case-records last night which had not yet been incorporated into the manuscript of Congenital Allergy, I came across one—an old one dated about twenty years ago—which bore a special” footnote. This note explained that special care was to be exercised in citing the facts so that no clew, not even the legitimate initials of the patients involved, was to be left to their identity.
“This was so unusual that I immediately read the case even though I was not yet prepared to put it into the book. The case concerned Dunning and the Fuller woman. Sarah Fuller was described as a patient in a premature confinement—a Cæsarian delivery—and there were certain other circumstances surrounding the confinement and the sex background of the parents which made the case pointed material for our book.” Minchen’s voice sank. “The child was illegitimate. And she’s now known as—Hulda Doorn!”
Ellery gripped the arms of his chair as he stared unseeingly at the physician. A slow humorless smile began to form on his face. “Hulda Doorn a bastard,” he repeated distinctly. “Well!” He relaxed and lit another cigarette. “That’s information indeed. Clears up a most perplexing point. I don’t see that it alters the ultimate state of the case’s solubility but—go ahead, John. What else?”
“At this time Dr. Dunning was a struggling young practitioner who devoted a few hours a day in the Hospital on a visiting basis. How he met Sarah Fuller I don’t know, but they had the clandestine affair and Dunning couldn’t marry her because he was already married. In fact, he had a daughter two years old—Edith. I understand that Sarah was far from unattractive as a girl. … Of course these items aren’t strictly medical; all the cases before they’re whipped into shape bear voluminous notes about contributory facts.”
“Of course. Proceed!”
“As it turned out, Abby learned of Sarah’s condition and because of her interest in Sarah took a lenient view of the affair. She preferred to hush up the Dunning end, even retaining him subsequently on the Hospital staff. And she solved the whole nasty situation by adopting the child as her own.”
“Legally, I suppose?”
“Apparently. Sarah had no choice; the record says that she agreed to the arrangement without much argument. She swore never to interfere in the rearing of the child, who was to be known as Abigail’s daughter.
“Now, Abby’s husband was alive at this time, although she was childless. The matter was kept a dead secret from everybody, including the Hospital personnel, with the exception of Dr. Janney, who delivered Sarah of the child. Abby’s powerful influence smothered any contemporary rumors.”
“This really goes a long way toward explaining some obscure points,” said Ellery. “It explains the quarrels between Abby and Sarah, who no doubt came to regret her enforced bargain. It explains Dunning’s eagerness to defend Sarah’s innocence of the murder of Abby, since the story of his youthful indiscretion would come out if she were arrested and ruin him domestically, socially and I suppose professionally.” He shook his head. “But I still don’t see how it helps us to a solution. Granted that it gives Sarah a strong motive for killing Abby and an understandable one in the case of Janney. Perhaps this is one of those paranoiacal crimes induced by a persecution mania. The woman’s obviously unbalanced. But …”
He sat up abruptly. “John, I’d like to cast my peepers over that case-record, if I may. There may be something there the significance of which has escaped you.”
“No reason why I shouldn’t show it to you, as long as I’ve spilled this much,” said Minchen in a tired voice.
He dragged himself to his feet and with an absent look began to walk toward the corner of the room behind Dr. Janney’s desk.
Ellery chuckled as Minchen tried to squeeze behind Ellery’s chair. “Where do you think you’re going, professor?”
“Huh?” Minchen looked blank for an instant. Then a grin stretched his mouth and he scratched his head. He began to retrace his steps, crossing to the door. “Just goes to show how muddle-headed I’ve become since the old man died. Absolutely forgot that I’d had Janney’s files removed from behind his desk there as soon as I got here yesterday and found him murdered. …”
“WHAT?”
Years afterward Ellery liked to recall this seemingly innocent scene, at which time, he would say, he experienced “the most dramatic moment of my nefarious career as a crime-investigator.”
In one forgotten incident, in the short space of a single statement, the entire Doorn-Janney case assumed a new, a startling complexion.
Minchen remained where he was, dumfounded by the vigor of Ellery’s exclamation. He regarded Ellery unbelievingly.
Ellery had flung himself to the floor and was now on his knees behind the swivel-chair, examining the linoleum with minute care. After a moment he rose energetically, smiling even as he wagged his head to say, “Not a trace of the files on the floor. And all because of a new linoleum. Well, that exonerates my powers of observation. …”
He rushed across the room and seized Dr. Minchen’s shoulder in an iron grip. “John, you’ve clinched it! Wait a minute now. … Come back in here, man—never mind that blasted case-record!”
Minchen shrugged helplessly and sat down again, watching Ellery with mingled amusement and despair. Ellery strode up and down the room, smoking furiously.
“I gather that here’s what happened,” he chanted gleefully. “You got here a few moments before I did, found Janney dead, knew the police would be all over the place in no time, and so you decided to spirit away those cherished and valuable records—put ’em where they would be safe. Am I right?”
“Why, yes. But what was wrong in that? I can’t see that those files had anything to do—”
“Wrong?” cried Ellery. “You’ve unwittingly retarded the solution of the case by a full twenty-four hours! You can’t see that the filing-cabinet had anything to do with the crimes? Why, John, it’s the crux—the crux! Without realizing it, young Sherlock, you nearly wrote ‘finis’ to my dad’s career and my own peace of mind. …”
Minchen was gaping. “But—”
“But me no buts, sir. And don’t take it to heart. The main thing is that I’ve discovered the key-clew.” Ellery paused in his mad gyrations about the room and regarded Minchen with quizzical brows. He flipped his hand toward the right. “I told you there was a window in that corner, John. …”
Minchen stupidly followed the line of Ellery’s accusing finger.
He saw nothing but the blank wall behind Dr. Janney’s desk.
* For more detailed descriptions of Djuna, his background, and his association with the Queens, see The Roman Hat Mystery.—Editor’s Note