William Bankier - Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 92, No. 3. Whole No. 547, September 1988

© 1988 by Edward D. Hoch.

Art Schraeder was very specific about wanting one of the old Coronado flags, Nick told Gloria when she asked if he couldn’t just buy a new one.

“When does he want it?” she asked.

“I’m planning to scout the consulate tomorrow,” Nick told her. “It’s on upper Madison Avenue, in the Seventies.”

“Don’t lose any sleep over Sandra Paris,” Gloria said. “I’m sure she’s not involved...”

The embassy of the tiny Caribbean nation of Coronado was situated on Massachusetts Avenue in Washington, not far from the Naval Observatory and the Vice-President’s house. It was in one of several aging mansions that have found new life in the world of international diplomacy, and each morning at sunrise early-rising residents were sure to see the rainbow-colored flag being raised to the end of the pole that protruded from the center window of the top floor.

This particular morning in September seemed no different from any other. The flag of Coronado, looking just a bit faded from the sun, was run to the top of the pole promptly at 7:00 A.M. by the First Secretary of the delegation, a slick-haired man named Leon Oeste. He stood for a moment in the window as he always did, offering a salute as traffic passed below and a newsboy delivered his morning papers. Then he closed it and went down for breakfast with the ambassador.

Across the street at the entrance to Normanstone Park, Nick Velvet sat in the passenger seat of a compact car driven by a man named Art Schraeder. “That’s the flag,” Schraeder told him. “I want you to steal it.”

“It looks faded. They could use a new one.”

“They’re replacing it with a new one the first of October. That’s why I need it stolen before then.”

“No value?” Nick asked. He was extremely particular about what he stole.

“No value. What’s a faded flag worth?”

“Twenty-five thousand dollars to you , if that’s what you’re willing to pay me.”

“I need the flag, and embassies are well protected. I figured I needed to hire the best in the business.”

“You’ve got him,” Nick said.

“Good. And—” Schraeder stopped in midsentence.

“What is it?”

Art Schraeder was craning his neck out the car window. “Where’s the damn flag? It’s gone!”

“Maybe they had to take it in for some reason.”

“They never take it in before sunset. Besides, I was watching it every minute.”

“Not the minute it was taken down, obviously.”

“Suppose somebody beat us to it? Suppose somebody else stole it?”

Nick tried to reassure him. “It’s only seven in the morning. Who’d steal a flag from under our eyes before breakfast?”

But even as he said the words, a possible answer came to him. There was one person, a woman whose path he’d crossed more than once before, who always committed her thefts before breakfast. Sandra Paris, better known in criminal circles as the White Queen.

“ ‘Impossible things before breakfast,’ ” Nick said to Gloria back home that evening. “That’s her motto.”

“You haven’t heard anything from or about Sandra Paris in two years,” Gloria objected. “You have no reason to think she’s connected with this.”

“It’s just a feeling I have.”

“The flag was really stolen?”

“Yes — when the man at the window discovered it was missing, he was out in the street with a couple of security guards looking all over for it. Someone even climbed out on the roof in case it had blown up there somehow. They didn’t find it.”

“But you were down in the street when it happened.”

“Apparently.”

“So you’re out the twenty-five thousand?”

“Maybe not. Schraeder tells me there’s another flag like it at the Coronado consulate in New York. He says that one will do just as well.”

“Couldn’t he just buy a new flag?”

“He’s very specific about wanting one of the old ones. I’ve had far stranger requests in my time.”

“When does he want it?”

“I’m planning to scout the place tomorrow. It’s on upper Madison Avenue, in the Seventies.”

“Don’t lose any sleep about Sandra Paris,” Gloria told him. “I’m sure she’s not involved.”

The following day, Nick took the train into New York and rode the Lexington Avenue subway to Seventy-seventh Street. Walking briskly over to Madison, he observed that no police were on duty in front of the Coronado consulate as they were at some of the other diplomatic missions around Manhattan. The familiar rainbow flag with its obscure seal in the center was in place on the flagpole at the third-floor window.

At first he barely noticed the well dressed grey-haired woman who strolled by, trailing an eager little poodle on a leash. And he might have taken no notice when she turned back and retraced her steps if the poodle hadn’t leaped up on him, as if intent on calling attention to its mistress. As soon as he saw the grey-haired woman’s eyes, he knew.

“Hello, Sandra.”

“Hello, Nick. It’s good to see you again.”

“What brings you here?”

“I’m living just a few blocks from here.” Then, to the poodle, “Get down, Bon Bon! Behave yourself!”

“Your hair has gone completely grey in just two years,” Nick observed with a trace of irony.

She arched an eyebrow at him, a mannerism he remembered from their earlier meetings. “Suppose you buy me a cup of coffee. It’s always fresh at the place across the street.”

“It would be a pleasure, Sandra.”

Over coffee she came to the point. “What are you up to, Nick? What are you doing here?”

“You mean outside the Coronado consulate? I might ask the same of you. Why are you wearing a wig and walking your dog back and forth in front of the building?”

“It’s business,” she said simply.

“Was it business yesterday morning in Washington, too?”

She lowered her eyelids and dipped her head to take a sip of coffee. “You were there?”

“Yes. A bit too late.”

“Then it appears we’re after the same thing.”

“The faded flags of the nation of Coronado.”

She smiled. The time for pretense was past. “Correct.”

“How did you get that flag off the pole yesterday?”

“That’s my secret.”

“Who are you working for?”

“Another secret. Obviously not the same person who hired you.”

“What makes these old flags so valuable all of a sudden?”

She shrugged. “I don’t ask questions.”

“Are we going to have a fight over that flag?”

“Not at all,” she said smugly. “I’m taking it tomorrow morning. If you want it, you’ll have to beat me to it.”

“How did you manage it yesterday, Sandra?”

“Want to see it again? Come by tomorrow morning. I don’t mind playing to an audience.”

Nick knew it would be virtually impossible for him to steal the Coronado flag once it had been stored away for the night. Prowling around a strange building in the dark, with no idea of his goal, was out of the question. That only left the time when the flag was taken down, around seven P.M. if they did it at sundown.

It was obvious that the flagpole couldn’t be reached from the street without attracting attention. The flag had to be stolen from inside the building. When the door opened for a visitor, he could see a formidable-looking guard seated just inside. If there was any sort of back entrance to the consulate, it was completely blocked from the street. A narrow alleyway running between the buildings had a firmly locked iron gate.