Ellery Queen - Cat of Many Tails

“No.”

“I mean, I thought you might be on the prowl.” The Sergeant laughed.

“Just going over the Cat’s route. For the umpteenth time. Backwards, Sergeant. Richardson, Lenore, to Willikins, Beatrice. Number 7 to Number 6. East 84th to Harlem. The Lord’s anointed to His unshorn lamb. One mile or so between and the Cat jumps it by way of the moon. Do you have a light?”

They stopped under a street lamp and the Sergeant struck a match.

“Talking about the Cat’s route,” he said. “You know, Maestro, I’ve been giving this case a lot of thought.”

“Thanks, Velie.”

They crossed 96th Street.

“I long ago gave up,” the Sergeant was saying — “I’m speaking only for Thomas Velie, you understand — gave up trying to get anywhere on this carrousel. My personal opinion is when the Cat’s knocked off it will be by dumb-bunny luck. Some rookie cop’ll walk up to a drunk bent over like he’s regretting the whole thing and bingo, it’ll be the Cat tying a bow in the latest neck. But just the same,” said the Sergeant, “you can’t help figuring the angles.”

“No,” said Ellery, “you certainly can’t.”

“Now I don’t know what your impression is, and of course this is all off the record, but I got busy the other night with a map of Manhattan and environs that I traced off my kid’s geography book and I started spotting in the locations of the seven homicides. Just for the hell of it.” The Sergeant’s voice lowered. “Well, sir, I think I got something.”

“What?” asked Ellery. A couple were passing, the man arguing and pointing to the Park and the woman shaking her head, walking very fast. The Sergeant stopped abruptly; but Ellery said, “It’s all right, Velie. That’s only a Saturday night date with ideas.”

“Yeah,” said the Sergeant sagely, “sex suckers all men.”

But they did not move until they saw the man and woman climb into a southbound bus.

“You’d got something, Velie.”

“Oh! Yeah. I put a heavy dot on each location on the map, see. The first one — Abernethy’s, East 19th — I marked that one 1. The second one — Violette Smith’s on West 44th off Times Square — I mark 2. And so forth.”

“You,” said Ellery, “and that Extra cartoonist.”

“Then when I’ve got all seven spotted and numbered, I begin drawing lines. A line from 1 to 2. A line from 2 to 3. Et cetera. And what do you think?”

“What?”

“It’s got a kind of a design.”

“Really? No, wait, Sergeant. The Park gives me nothing tonight. Let’s strike crosstown.” They crossed 99th and began to make their way east through the dark and quiet street. “Design?”

“Look.” Sergeant Velie pulled a wad of tracing paper from his pocket and unfolded it on the corner of 99th and Madison. “It’s a kind of double-circular movement, Maestro. Straight up from 1 to 2, sharp down again but westerly from 2 to 3, keeps going southwest to 4, then what? Sharp up again. A long one this time, crossing the 1–2 line. Up, down, over and up again. Now look! Now it starts all over again! Oh, not at exactly the same angles, of course, but close enough to be interesting, hmmm? Again it’s up and over from 5 to 6 — northwesterly — then sharp down to 7 ...” The Sergeant paused. “Let me show you something. If you assume there’s a sort of scheme behind this, if you continue that same circular movement, what do you find?” The Sergeant pointed to his dotted line. “You can predict just about where Number 8 ’s going to come! Maestro, I’d almost bet the next one’s in the Bronx.” He folded his piece of paper, restored it carefully to his pocket, and they resumed their eastward way. “Maybe up around the beginning of the Grand Concourse. Around Yankee Stadium or some place like that.” And after a few moments, the Sergeant asked, “What do you think?” Ellery frowned at the passing sidewalk. “There’s a little thing that comes out of The Hunting of the Snark, Sergeant,” he said, “that’s always stuck in my mind.

“He had bought a large map

representing the sea,

Without the least vestige of land:

And the crew were much pleased

when they found it to be

A map they could all understand.”

“I don’t get it,” said Sergeant Velie, staring at him.

“I’m afraid we all have our favorite maps. I had one recently I was extremely attached to, Sergeant. It was a Graph of Intervals. The intervals between the various murders expressed in number of days. The result was something that looked like a large question mark lying flat on its face. It was a lesson in humility. I burned it, and I advise you to do the same with yours.”

After that, the Sergeant just strode along, muttering occasionally.

“Why, look where we are,” said Ellery.

The Sergeant, who had been acting dignified, started as he glanced up at the street sign.

“So you see, Sergeant, it’s the detective who returns to the scene of the crime. Drawn by a sort of horizontal gravity.”

“Drawn by my garter belt. You knew just where you were going.”

“Unconsciously, maybe. Shall we press our luck?”

“Last one in is a dirty name,” said the Sergeant, unbending and they plunged into the noisy breakers of 102nd Street.

“I wonder how my female ex-Irregular is getting along.”

“Say, I heard about that. That was a pretty smart trick.”

“Not so smart. The shortest collaboration on record. — Hold it, Velie.”

Ellery stopped to fish for a cigaret. The Sergeant dutifully struck a match, saying, “Where?”

“In that doorway behind me. Almost missed him.”

The flame snuffed out and Sergeant Velie said in a loud voice, “Darn it all, old man, let’s pet on over here,” and they moved around a frantic hopscotch game toward the building line. The big man pinned. “Hell, it’s Pigpott.” He struck another match near the doorway and Ellery bent over.

“Evening, evening,” said the detective from somewhere. “I saw you two amateurs coming a block away.”

“Is there a law against it?” demanded Sergeant Velie. “What are you working tonight, Piggo? Yeah, I’ll have one.” He took a cigaret from Ellery.

“Watch it! Here he comes.”

Ellery and the Sergeant jumped into the doorway beside the Headquarters man. A tall fellow had come out of an unlighted vestibule halfway up the street, on the side. He began pushing his way through the children.

“I’ve been tailing him all night,” said the detective.

“On whose orders, Piggott?”

“Your old man’s.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“All week. Hesse and I are divvying him.”

“Didn’t the Inspector tell you?” asked Sergeant Velie.

“I’ve hardly seen him this week.”

“It’s nothing exciting,” said the detective. “Just satisfying the taxpayers, the Inspector said.”

“How’s he been spending his time?”

“Walking and standing still.”

“Up here much?”

“Till last night.”

“What’s he been up to in that vestibule tonight?”

“Watching the entrance of the girl’s house across the street.”

Ellery nodded. Then he said, “Is she home?”

“We all pulled in here about a half hour ago. She spent the evening in the 42nd Street Library. Reference Room. So that’s where we were, too. Then he tailed her here, and I tailed him, and here we are.”

“Has he gone in there?”