below the tip was printed in script the brand-name: _La Duchesse_.
Ellery poked his finger among the remaining litter of stubs. His look
sharpened as he noted that all, without exception, had been smoked to
approximately the same length--to about a half-inch of the tip.
"Pretty thoroughly smoked out, all of them," he commented. He sniffed
at the cigaret between his fingers, looked at Weaver inquiringly.
"Yes, scented. Violet, I think," Weaver said promptly. "The
manufacturer provides the scent according to the specifications of his
customers. I remember hearing Bernice place an order not long ago when
I was over at the French's--placed it over the telephone."
"And _La Duchesse_ is rare enough to have weight in an inquiry.... Good
fortune, was it?" He talked to himself rather than to his friend.
"What do you mean?"
"No matter.... And, of course, Mrs. French did not smoke?"
"Why--how did you know?" demanded Weaver in surprise.
"How nicely things fit together," murmured Ellery. "So very, very
nicely. And Marion--does she smoke?"
"Thank God--no!"
Ellery regarded him quizzically. "Well!" he said all at once. "Let's
see what's behind this door."
He crossed the room to the wall opposite the window. A small plain door
opened into a little, simply furnished bedroom. Beyond it was a tiny
bathroom.
"A servant's room," explained Weaver. "Originally planned for a valet,
but it's never been used to my knowledge. The Old Man isn't fussy and
he'd rather have his man at the Fifth Avenue house."
Ellery made a swift examination of the two little rooms. He emerged in
a moment, shrugging his shoulders.
"Nothing there, and there wouldn't be...." He paused, twirling his
pince-nez in the air. "We have a rather remarkable situation here, Wes.
Consider: We are now in possession of three direct indications of Miss
Bernice Carmody's presence in this apartment last night. Or rather two
direct indications, and one--the first--of a circumstantial nature.
That is--the lipstick marked _C_ from Mrs. French's handbag. This is
the least damaging of the three, of course, since it does not _prove_
presence and might have been brought here by Mrs. French. But it must
be kept in mind. Second, the game of banque, which any number of
reputable witnesses, I gather, would testify, as strongly as you, was
indulged in by Mrs. French and Bernice practically to the exclusion of
the rest of the family and friends of the family. You noticed, didn't
you, that the game has the appearance of having been interrupted at
a critical stage? The way the cards are lying there--they give the
distinct impression that just when the game became hotly competitive,
it was stopped.... And third, the most critical indication of the
three--the _La Duchesse_ cigarets. These are so obviously Bernice's
that they would be acceptable in court as admissible evidence, I'm
sure, if supported by strong circumstantial evidence of a confirmatory
nature."
"But what? I don't see--" cried Weaver.
"The suspicious fact that Miss Bernice Carmody has vanished," replied
Ellery gravely. "Flight?" He flung the word at Weaver.
"I can't--I won't believe it," said Weaver weakly, but there was a
curious relief in his voice.
"Matricide is an unnatural crime, to be sure," Ellery mused, "but is
not unknown.... Is it possible--" His reflections were disturbed by a
rapid knock at the apartment door. It was surprisingly loud, coming
as it did through the three walls of the cardroom, the library, the
anteroom.
Weaver looked startled. Ellery straightened with a jerk, swiftly looked
around once more, then motioned to Weaver to precede him from the room.
He closed the brass-studded door with gentle fingers.
"That must be your good hussif, Hortense Underhill, and the maid," said
Ellery almost gayly. "I wonder if they can be the harbingers of--more
evidence against Bernice!"
16
AT THE APARTMENT: _Again the Bedroom_
Weaver flung open the outer door to admit two women. Sergeant Thomas
Velie loomed solidly behind them.
"Did you send for these ladies, Mr. Queen?" demanded Velie, his broad
frame filling the door. "One of the boys downstairs caught 'em trying
to get past the man guarding the elevator--said you sent for them. Is
it all right?"
His eyes roved dourly about the apartment--as much of it as he could
see from his position at the corridor door. Ellery smiled.
"It's all right, Velie," he drawled. "They'll be safe with me.... And
how is the dear Commissioner progressing with the Inspector?"
"Got his hooks into the scarf," growled Velie, and shot a keen look at
Weaver's instantly clenched fists.
"Follow up the lead I gave you over the telephone?" asked Ellery
serenely.
"Yes. She's among the missing. Got two men on it already." The
Sergeant's stern face cracked in a fleeting smile. "How much longer
will you need the Inspector's--coöperation downstairs, Mr. Queen?"
"I'll buzz you, Velie. Fly away now, like a good little chap." Velie
grinned, but his face was frozen into its customary immobility as he
wheeled and made for the elevator.
Ellery turned to the two women, who were standing close together eying
him apprehensively. He addressed the taller and elder of the two--a
stiff, slab-figured woman in her early fifties, marble-haired and
viciously blue-eyed.
"You're Miss Hortense Underhill, I take it?" he asked severely.
"That's right--Mr. French's housekeeper." Her voice was not unlike her
person--thin, sharp, steely.
"And this is Miss Bernice Carmody's maid?"
The other woman, a timid little creature with faded brown hair and
a plain face, started convulsively at being directly addressed and
crouched closer to Hortense Underhill.
"Yes," answered the French housekeeper. "This is Miss Doris Keaton,
Bernice's maid."
"Very good." Ellery smiled, stood aside with a deferential little bow.
"If you'll follow me, please--?" He led the way through the red-leather
door leading into the large bedroom. Weaver marched obediently behind.
Ellery indicated the two bedroom chairs. "Sit down, please." The
two women sat down. Doris Keaton kept her big vapid eyes on Ellery,
surreptitiously hitching her chair closer to the housekeeper's.
"Miss Underhill," began Ellery, pince-nez in hand, "have you ever been
in this room before?"
"I have." The housekeeper seemed determined to out-stare Ellery. Her
cold blue eyes flashed colder fire.
"Oh, you have?" Ellery paused politely without removing his gaze.
"When, may I ask, and on what occasion?"
The housekeeper was undaunted by his coolness. "A peck of times. That
is, so to speak. I never came, though, except at Mrs. French's request.
Each time it was clothes."
"It was clothes?" Ellery seemed puzzled.
She nodded stonily. "Why, of course. They were far apart, those times,
but whenever Mrs. French intended to stay here overnight, she would ask
me to bring a next day's change for her. So that is how--"
"Just a moment, Miss Underhill." There was a pleasant glitter in
Ellery's eyes as he reflected. "This was her usual custom?"
"So far as I know."
"When"--Ellery leaned forward--"when was the last time Mrs. French
asked you to do this?"
The housekeeper did not reply at once. "I should say about two months
ago," she answered finally.
"As far back as that?"
"I said two months ago."
Ellery sighed, straightened. "One of these closets, then, belonged to
Mrs. French?" he asked, indicating the two modern doors set in the
wall.
"Yes--that one there," she replied promptly, pointing to the concealed
door nearest the lavatory. "But not only for Mrs. French's clothes--the
other girls sometimes kept things in there, too."
Ellery's eyebrows shot up. "Not really, Miss Underhill!" he ejaculated.
His hand caressed his jaw tenderly. "I may infer, then, that both Miss
Marion and Miss Bernice sometimes used Mr. French's apartment?"
The housekeeper regarded him levelly. "Sometimes. Not very often. Only
when Mrs. French was not using it, and they brought a girl friend along
to spend the night--on a sort of lark, you might call it."
"I see. Have they slept here with a--a 'girl friend,' I believe you
said?--recently?"
"Not that I know. Not for five or six months at least."
"Very good!" Ellery flipped his pince-nez into the air with a certain
briskness. "Now, Miss Underhill, I want you to tell me quite exactly
when you saw Miss Carmody last, and under what circumstances."
The two women exchanged meaningful glances; the maid bit her lip and
looked guiltily away. But the housekeeper retained her poise. "I _knew_
that was coming," she announced in a calm voice. "But you needn't think
either of my poor lambs had anything to do with this, whoever you are.
They didn't and you can take that for gospel. _I_ don't know where
Bernice is, but be sure there's foul play been done her...."
"Miss Underhill," said Ellery gently, "I'm sure this is all quite
interesting, but we are in something of a hurry. If you'll answer my
question--?"
"All right, if you must have it." She set her lips, folded her hands
in her lap, looked at Weaver indifferently, and began. "It was
yesterday.--I'd better begin right with when they woke up; it'll make
easier telling.--Well, both Mrs. French and Bernice woke up at about
ten o'clock yesterday morning, and the hair-dresser attended each in
their rooms. They got dressed and had a bite of something. Marion had
already had lunch. I served them myself...."
"Pardon me, Miss Underhill," interrupted Ellery, "but did you hear what
they talked about over the luncheon table?"
"I don't listen to what isn't my affair," retorted the housekeeper
tartly, "so all I can tell about _that_ is that they talked about
a new gown being made for Bernice. And Mrs. French seemed a little
absent-minded, too. She actually got her sleeve into her coffee--the
poor thing! But then she was always a little funny--maybe she had a
premonition of what was to come, you know?--God rest her troubled
soul!... Well, after lunch they remained in the music-room until about
two o'clock, talking and things. Don't know about what, either! But
they seemed as if they wanted to be let alone. Anyway, when they came
out I heard Mrs. French tell Bernice to go upstairs and dress--they
were going to take a ride through the Park. Bernice went upstairs,
and Mrs. French held back to tell _me_ to tell _Edward Young_, the
chauffeur, to get the car out. Then Mrs. French went upstairs herself
to dress. But in about five minutes I saw Bernice coming down the
stairs, all dressed for the street, and when she saw me she told _me_
to tell her _mother_--whispered, she did--that she'd changed her mind
about taking a ride in the Park and was going out to do some shopping.
And she fair ran out of the house!"
Ellery seemed poignantly concerned. "Clearly if somewhat volubly told,
Miss Underhill. And what would you say was the state of Miss Carmody's
nerves all day?"
"Poor," replied the housekeeper. "But then Bernice has always been a
high-spirited and sensitive girl. Yesterday she seemed a little more
nervous than usual, though, now that I come to think of it. She was
all pale and fidgety when she slipped out of the house...."
Weaver moved sharply. Ellery cautioned him with a glance and motioned
the housekeeper to continue.
"Well, not long after, Mrs. French came down dressed for her drive. She
asked for Bernice, and I told her about Bernice's going off that way,
and I gave her Bernice's message. I thought for a minute that she was
going to faint--poor thing!--she got so pale and sick-looking, which
wasn't like her at all, and then she took hold of herself and she said:
'All right, Hortense. Tell Young to put the car back in the garage. I
shan't be going out, either....' and she marched right back upstairs
again. Oh, yes! She did tell me, though, before she went up, to let
her know the _instant_ Bernice got back home.... Well, sir, that's the
last I saw of Bernice, and practically the last of Mrs. French. For
the poor soul stayed in her room all afternoon, came down for dinner
with Marion, and then went back up to her room again. She seemed more
anxious than ever about Bernice, and twice she made as if to go to the
telephone, but she seemed to change her mind. Anyway, about a quarter
after eleven at night she came down with her hat and coat on--yes,
sir, I know you'll ask me: the brown toque and the fox-trimmed cloth
coat--and she said she was going out. And go out she did. And that's
the last I saw of poor Mrs. French."
"She didn't order the car?"
"No."
Ellery took a turn about the room. "And where was Miss Marion French
all day?" he asked suddenly. Weaver glanced at Ellery in shocked
surprise.
"Oh! Miss Marion was up bright and early--always is an early riser, the
dear child--and she left the house right after luncheon, saying she had
a shopping appointment with one of her friends. I think she also went
to the Carnegie Hall for the afternoon, because only the day before
she showed me the tickets for a piano-playing thing by some foreigner.
She does love music so, that child! She didn't get back home until
about half-past five. She and Mrs. French had dinner together, and she
was surprised that Bernice was absent. Anyway, right after dinner she
dressed over and went out again."
"At what hour did Miss Marion French return?"
"That I can't say. I went to bed myself at eleven-thirty, after
releasing the house staff for the night. Didn't see anybody come in.
Mrs. French had told me not to wait up, besides."
"Not a particularly well-regulated household," murmured Ellery. "Miss
Underhill, please tell me how Miss Carmody was attired when she left
the house--it was about two-thirty, I presume?"
Hortense Underhill shifted restlessly in her chair. The maid still
regarded Ellery with stupid, frightened eyes.
"Just about," said the housekeeper. "Well, Bernice was wearing--let me
see now--her blue felt hat with the brilliant fancy, her grey chiffon
dress, her grey fur-trimmed coat, and a pair of black leather pumps
with rhinestone buckles. Is that what you wanted to know?"
"Precisely," said Ellery with a charming smile. He took Weaver to one
side. "Wes, do you know why I've called these two worthy ladies into
consultation?" he demanded in an undertone.
Weaver shook his head. "Except for the fact that you wanted to know
about Bernice.... Oh, I say, Ellery, it wasn't that you're looking for
further indications of Bernice's presence here, is it?" he asked aghast.
Ellery nodded gloomily. "We have three apparent indications of the
young lady's alleged visit to the apartment, to be journalistic....
Something told me there were more. Indications that I might not be
able to descry. The housekeeper, though--the maid, Bernice's maid--"
He broke off, shook his head with impatience at his own thoughts. He
turned to the waiting women. "Miss Doris Keaton." The maid jumped,
stark terror in her eyes. "Don't be afraid, Miss Keaton," said Ellery
mildly, "I shan't bite you.... Did you help Miss Bernice dress
yesterday afternoon, after luncheon?"
The girl whispered: "Yes, sir."
"Would you recognize the articles of clothing, for example, that she
wore yesterday, if you saw them here and now?"
"I--I think so, sir."
Ellery walked to the closet door nearest the lavatory, threw it
wide--disclosing a rack hung with multicolored gowns, a silken shoe-bag
tacked to the inner side of the door, and a top shelf on which lay
several hat-boxes--stepped back, and said:
"There's your territory, Miss Keaton. See what you can find." He stood
directly behind the girl, watching her with quick sharp flashes of his
eyes. He was so absorbed in her movements that he did not even feel the
presence of Weaver at his side. The housekeeper sat, a thin stone, in
her chair, watching them.
The maid's fingers trembled as she rummaged among the numerous gowns on
the rack. After going through the entire rack, she timidly turned to
Ellery and shook her head. He motioned her to proceed.
She stood on tiptoe and lifted from the shelf the three hat-boxes. She
opened these one by one and scrutinized them briefly. The first two
boxes contained hats belonging to Mrs. French, she said hesitantly.
This was corroborated by a frigid nod from Hortense Underhill.
The maid lifted the lid from the third box. She uttered a little choked
cry and reeled backward, touching Ellery. The contact seemed to burn
her skin. She jumped away, fumbled for a handkerchief.
"Well?" asked Ellery softly.
"That's--that's Miss Bernice's hat," she whispered, biting the
handkerchief nervously. "The one--she wore when she left the house
yesterday afternoon!"
Ellery eyed the hat narrowly as it lay, brim to the bottom, in the
box. The soft blue felt crown, due to its position, had collapsed. A
glittering pin was fixed above the turned-down brim, just visible from
where he stood.... Ellery made a brief request and the maid lifted
the hat from the box and offered it to him. He turned it over in his
fingers, then silently handed the hat back to the girl, who as silently
took it, put her hand inside the crown, flipped the hat upside down,
and deftly returned it to the box in that position. Ellery, who had
been about to turn away, stiffened instantly. Nevertheless, he said
nothing, watching the girl replace the three hat-boxes on the shelf.
"The shoes now, please," he said.
Obediently the maid bent over the silk shoe-rack hanging on the inside
of the closet door. As she was about to remove a woman's pump, Ellery
stopped her with a tap on the shoulder and turned to the housekeeper.
"Miss Underhill, will you please verify the fact that this is Miss
Carmody's hat?"
He lifted a long arm, took down the box with the blue hat inside,
removed the hat, and handed it to Hortense Underhill.
She examined it briefly. Unaccountably, Ellery had stepped away from
the closet to stand by the lavatory door.
"It's hers," said the housekeeper, looking up belligerently. "But what
that has to do with anything, I don't know."
"That's honest." Ellery smiled. "Will you please return it to the
shelf?" As he said this, he stepped slowly forward again.
The woman, sniffing, put her hand inside the hat, inverted it, and
placed it in that position in the hat-box. She carefully lifted it to
the shelf and as carefully returned to her chair.... Weaver observed
Ellery's sudden grin with a lost bewilderment.
Then Ellery did an amazing thing--a thing that brought an unbelieving
stare from each of the three people watching him. He reached up to the
shelf and took down the same hat-box!
He opened it, whistling a tuneless little air and, removing the
much-handled blue hat, offered it to Weaver for inspection.
"Here, Wes, let's have your masculine opinion," he said cheerfully. "Is
this Bernice Carmody's hat?"
Weaver regarded his friend with astonishment, taking the hat
mechanically. Shrugging, he looked at the hat. "Looks familiar, Ellery,
but I can't be positive. I rarely notice women's clothes."
"Hmm." Ellery chuckled. "Put the hat back, Wes old boy." Weaver sighed,
grasped the hat gingerly by the crown and dropped it, brim down, into
the box. He fumbled with the lid, affixed it, shoved the box back onto
the shelf--for the third time in less than five minutes.
Ellery turned briskly to the maid. "Keaton, just how fastidious in her
habits is Miss Carmody?" he asked, feeling for his pince-nez.
"I--I don't get you, sir."
"Does she bother you much? Does she put her own things away generally?
Exactly what are your duties?"
"Oh!" The maid's eyes sought the housekeeper once more for guidance.
Then she looked down at the carpet. "Well, sir, Miss Bernice was--is
always careful about her clothes and things. Most always puts her hats
and coats away herself when she gets in from being out. My work's more
doing personal things--fixing her hair, laying out her dresses, and
such."
"A _very_ careful girl," put in Miss Underhill icily. "Rare and
unusual, I've always called it. And Marion's the same way."
"Delighted to hear it," said Ellery with perfect gravity. "Delighted is
hardly the word for it.... Heigh-ho, Keaton, the shoon!"
"Huh?" The girl was startled.
"Shoes--shoes, I should say."
There were at least a dozen pairs of shoes, of assorted styles and
colors, protruding from separate pockets in the rack. Without exception
each of the shoes lay in its compartment with the tip inside and the
heel showing, hooked over the lip of the pocket.
The maid Keaton went to work. She looked over the shoes, lifting out
several to examine them closely. Suddenly she snatched at a pair of
black leather pumps, lying in adjacent compartments. Each pump sported
a large and heavy rhinestone buckle which glittered in a shaft of
sunlight as she held them up before Ellery.
"These! These shoes!" she cried. "Miss Bernice wore them yesterday when
she went out!"
Ellery took them from her shaking fingers. After a moment he turned to
Weaver.
"Mud splashes," he said laconically. "And here's a spot of wet. Seems
indubitable!" He handed them back to the maid, who tremblingly replaced
them in their compartments.... Ellery's eyes narrowed at once. She had
put the shoes back with the heels _inside_, despite the fact that all
the other shoes in the rack had the heels showing.
"Miss Underhill!" Ellery withdrew the black pumps from their pockets.
The housekeeper rose sulkily.
"Miss Carmody's?" Ellery demanded, handing her the shoes.
She eyed them briefly. "Yes."
"Having reached complete agreement," drawled Ellery with a smiling
change of tone, "please be so good as to return these shoes to the
rack."
Without a word she obeyed. And Ellery, watching closely, chuckled to
observe that she had duplicated the maid's action in putting the pumps
into the rack heels first, so that the tips and buckles protruded from
the pockets.
"Westley!" he said at once. Weaver approached wearily. He had been
standing at a window, looking moodily down over Fifth Avenue.... And
when Weaver replaced the pumps in the rack, he grasped the heels and
stuck the shoes in tips first.
"Why do you do that?" asked Ellery as the two women, now convinced of
his madness, moved uneasily away from the closet.
"Do what?" demanded Weaver.
Ellery smiled. "Easy, Hamlet.... Why do you put the shoes into the bag
so that the heels hang over the pocket?"
Weaver stared at him. "Why, they're all that way," he said blankly.
"Why should I put them in the opposite way?"
"_Alors_," said Ellery, "_on a raison_.... Miss Underhill, why did you
put the shoes back into the rack with the tips showing, when all the
others have the heels showing?"
"Anybody would know that," snapped the housekeeper. "These black pumps
have big buckles. Didn't you see what happened when Mr. Weaver put them
back tips first? The buckles caught on the material of the bag!"
"Wondrous woman!" muttered Ellery. "And the others haven't any buckles,
of course...." He read confirmation in the housekeeper's eyes.
He left them standing before the closet and paced silently back and
forth the length of the bedroom. His lips puckered fiercely as he
mused. Suddenly he turned to Miss Underhill.
"I want you to look this closet over very carefully, Miss Underhill,
and tell me, if you possibly can, whether anything is not there which
you know should be there...." He stepped back and waved his hand.
She stirred into activity, rummaging efficiently through the gowns, the
hat-boxes, the shoes once more. Weaver, the maid, Ellery watched her in
silence.
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."