Эллери Куин - The Chinese Orange Mystery

Jo Temple stared after her, her small fists clenched. There was a challenge very boldly flaunted by the undulation of Miss Llewes’s hips.

“You know I can’t match that, you cunning devil,” said Miss Temple in a silent breath. “You and your sex appeal... hussy!”

Then she shrugged, smiling, and hurried into the office.

Osborne looked up again from his work, definitely annoyed. He rose and said: “Mr. Kirk hasn’t come in yet. Miss Temple,” in a tone of resignation.

“Why, Mr. Osborne!” murmured Jo. “You’re positively clairvoyant. How did you know I wanted Donald?”

An unwilling grin came to Osborne’s lips. “Well, you’re the fourth in a short time, Miss Temple. This seems to be Mr. Kirk’s busy day — and he’s ducking it.”

“And do you think Mr. Kirk would duck me, too?” she murmured, dimpling.

“I’m sure he wouldn’t, Miss Temple.”

“Now you’re merely being polite. Oh, dear! I did so want to speak to him before... Bother! Well, thanks, Mr. Osborne. I suppose it can’t be helped.”

“I’m sorry. If there’s anything I can do—”

“Really, it’s nothing at all.” She smiled and went out.

And just as Osborne sat down with a sigh of relief, the telephone rang.

He snatched it ferociously and barked: “Well?”

“Donald? Felix. Sorry I—”

“Oh,” said Osborne. “This is Osborne, Mr. Berne. How are you, sir. Welcome home. Did you have a nice crossing?”

Berne said dryly: “Lovely.” There was a faintly foreign something in his voice. “Isn’t Kirk there?”

“I expect him any minute now, Mr. Berne.”

“Well, tell him I’ll be late for dinner, Osborne. Unavoidably detained.”

“Yes, sir,” said Osborne submissively. And then he shouted in an excess of repressed passion: “Well, why the devil don’t you call the apartment?” But he had already hung up.

And then, at 6:45 to the minute, Donald Kirk came striding out of the elevators accompanied by a tall young man in evening clothes who wore pince-nez glasses.

There was nothing about Kirk to suggest the young millionaire man-about-town, owner of The Mandarin Press, socially one of New York’s most desirable young bachelors. He was dressed in a dowdy tweed suit; his topcoat was unpressed; there was an ink-smudge on one of his thin nostrils; his shoulders drooped; and his hat was a shapeless felt crushed into one of his topcoat pockets. He looked harassed as no young millionaire is popularly supposed to look, and he was smoking a pipe which made Mrs. Shane sniff with disdain.

“Evening, Mrs. Shane. Come along, Queen. Lucky I bumped into you downstairs. Mind if I step into my office for a moment? Be with you in a jiffy.”

“Not at all,” drawled Mr. Ellery Queen. “I’m just a cog in the machine. Yours to command. What’s it all about, anyway, Kirk, old fellow?”

But Kirk was dashing into the office. Ellery sauntered after and leaned against the jamb.

Osborne’s frown changed magically to a smile. “Mr. Kirk! Thank heaven you’ve come back. I’m almost crazy. It’s been the busiest afternoon—”

“Detained, Ozzie.” Kirk dashed to his desk, shuffled through a heap of opened letters. “Anything important? Oh, excuse me. Queen, meet Jimmy Osborne, my right hand. Mr. Ellery Queen, Ozzie.”

“How do you do, Mr. Queen... Well, I don’t know, Mr. Kirk. Only a few minutes ago Miss Llewes stopped in—”

“Irene?” The papers slipped from Kirk’s fingers. “And what did she want, Ozzie?” he asked slowly.

Osborne shrugged. “She didn’t say. Nothing special. Then Miss Temple was in, too.”

“Oh, she was?”

“Yes. She just said she’d like to talk to you before dinner.”

Kirk frowned. “All right, Ozzie. Anything else? Be with you in a second, Queen.”

“Take your time.”

Osborne scratched his sandy head. “Oh, yes! Mr. Macgowan was in about twenty minutes or so ago.”

“Glenn?” Kirk seemed genuinely surprised. “You mean he dropped in early for dinner, I suppose.”

“No, sir. He said he wanted to see you about something urgent. In fact, he left a note for you with me.” Osborne dug the envelope out of his pocket.

“’Scuse me, Queen. I can’t imagine—” Kirk tore open the envelope and pulled the paper out. He unfolded it quickly and devoured the message with his eyes. And as he read the most extraordinary expression came over his face. It disappeared as swiftly as it had come. He frowned and crushed the paper into a ball, stuffing it into his lefthand jacket pocket.

“Anything wrong, Kirk?” drawled Ellery.

“Eh? Oh, no, no. Just something—” He did not finish. “All right, Ozzie. Close up shop and go home.”

“Yes, sir. I almost forgot. Mr. Berne telephoned a few minutes ago and said he’d be a little late. Detained, he said.”

“Late for his own party,” said Kirk with a wry grin. “That’s Felix all over. All right, Ozzie. Come along, Queen. Sorry to have kept you waiting.”

They were in the corridor when they were stopped by an exclamation from Osborne. Kirk poked his head back. “What’s the matter, for goodness’ sake?”

Osborne looked embarrassed. “I’m frightfully sorry. Just slipped my mind. There’s a man been waiting in the anteroom there for the Lord knows how long, Mr. Kirk. Came about an hour ago, in fact. He wouldn’t tell me who he was or what he wanted, so I stuck him in there to wait.”

“Who is he?” asked Kirk impatiently. Ellery strolled back into the room with his friend.

Osborne threw up his hands. “Don’t know. Never saw him before. He’s certainly never been in this office on business. Tight as they make them. Very confidential matter, he said.”

“What’s his name? Damn it all, I can’t stop to chin now. Who is he?”

“He didn’t say.”

Kirk gnawed his sunburned upper lip for a moment. Then he sighed. “Well, I’ll get rid of him in a moment. Sorry, Queen, old man. Why don’t you go into the apartment?”

Ellery grinned. “No hurry. Besides, I’m hopelessly shy. I’ll wait.”

“There’s always somebody wanting to see me,” grumbled Kirk, going to the office-door which led to the anteroom, in the wide crack at the bottom of which a line of light was visible. “If it isn’t about books, it’s about stamps, and if it isn’t about stamps, it’s about gems... What’s this, Ozzie? Door locked?” He looked around impatiently; the door did not budge.

“Locked?” said Osborne blankly. “That can’t be, Mr. Kirk.”

“Well, it is. The fool, whoever he is, must have bolted it from the other side.”

Osborne hurried forward and tried the door. “That’s funny,” he muttered. “You know yourself, Mr. Kirk, I never keep that door bolted. Why, there isn’t even a key to it. Just the bolt on the anteroom side... Why in the world should he have bolted it, I wonder?”

“Anything valuable in there, Kirk?” drawled Ellery, coming forward.

Kirk started. “Valuable? You think—”

“It sounds remarkably like a case of common burglary.”

“Burglary!” cried Osborne. “But there’s nothing in there that’s valu—”

“Let’s have a peep.” Ellery flung his topcoat, hat, and stick on a nearby chair and knelt before the door on a paper-thin Indian mat. He closed one eye and peered through the unobstructed keyhole. Then he rose, very quickly. “Is this the only door into that room?”

“No, sir. There’s another from the other corridor, the one around the corner opposite Mr. Kirk’s suite. Is there anything wrong?”

“I don’t know yet,” said Ellery with a frown. “Certainly there’s something deucedly odd... Come along, Kirk. This will bear investigation.”