Ellery Queen - Cat of Many Tails

8:12

The voice was driving. Ellery crawled out of bed, pulled on his robe and slippers, and hurried to the living room.

The voice was the radio’s. His father was lying back in the armchair. Jimmy and Celeste crouched on the sofa in a nest of newspapers.

“You two still here?”

Jimmy grunted. His long chin was nuzzling his chest and Celeste kept rubbing her drawnup bare leg in a reassuring way.

The Inspector was all bones and gray wilt.

“Dad—”

“Listen.”

“—reported tonight,” said the voice. “A third-rail short circuit on the BMT subway at Canal Street caused a panic and forty-six persons were treated for injuries. Trains out of Grand Central Terminal and Pennsylvania Station are running from ninety minutes to two hours behind schedule. The parkways out of the City are a solid double line of cars as far north as Greenwich and White Plains. Traffic is clogged for a large area around the Manhattan approaches to the Holland and Lincoln Tunnels and the George Washington Bridge. Nassau County authorities report that traffic conditions on the major Long Island parkways are out of control. New Jersey, Connecticut, and upstate New York police report—”

Ellery snapped the radio off.

“What is it?” he asked wildly. “War?” His glance flew to the windows, as if he expected to see a flaming sky.

“New York’s turned Malay,” said Jimmy with a laugh.

“The amok. They’ll have to rewrite the psychology books.” He began to get up, but Celeste pulled him back.

“Fighting? Panic?”

“That Metropol Hall business last night was just the beginning, Ellery.” The Inspector was fighting something, nausea or rage. “It snapped a vital part. Started a sort of chain reaction. Or maybe it was the Petrucchi murder on top of the panic and riot — that was bad timing. Anyway, it’s all over the City. Been spreading all day.”

“They’re running,” said Celeste. “Everybody’s running.”

“Running where?”

“Nobody seems to know. Just running.”

“It’s the Black Death all over again,” said Jimmy McKell. “Didn’t you know? We’re back in the Middle Ages. New York is now the pesthole of the Western Hemisphere, Ellery. In two weeks you’ll be able to shoot hyenas in Macy’s basement.”

“Shut up, McKell.” The old man’s head rolled on the back of his chair. “There’s a lot of disorder, son, a lot. Looting, holdups... It’s been particularly bad on Fifth Avenue, 86th around Lexington, 125th, upper Broadway, and around Maiden Lane downtown. And traffic accidents, hundreds of traffic accidents. I’ve never seen anything like it. Not in New York.”

Ellery went to one of the windows. The street was empty. A fire engine screamed somewhere. The sky glowed to the southwest.

“And they say,” began Celeste.

“Who says?” Jimmy laughed again. “Well, that’s the point, my friends, whereupon today I’m proud to be one of the capillaries in the circulation system of organized opinion. We’ve really swung it this time, comrades.” He kicked a drooping newspaper. “Responsible journalism! And the blessed radio—”

“Jimmy,” said Celeste.

“Well, old Rip’s got to hear the news, hasn’t he? He’s slept through history, Miss Phillips. Did you know, sir, that there’s a citywide quarantine? It’s a fact. Or is it? That all schools will be shut down indefinitely — O happy day? That Father Knickerbocker’s chickens are to be evacuated to camps outside the metropolitan area? That all flights from La Guardia, Newark, and Idlewild have been nixed? That the Cat’s made of extremely green cheese?”

Ellery was silent.

“Also,” said Jimmy McKell, “Beldame Rumor hath it that the Mayor’s been attacked by the Cat, that the FBI’s taken over Police Headquarters, that the Stock Exchange positively will not open its doors tomorrow — and that’s a fact, seeing that tomorrow’s Saturday.” Jimmy unfolded himself. “Ellery, I went downtown this afternoon. The shop is a madhouse. Everybody’s busy as little beavers denying rumors and believing every new one that comes in. I stopped on my way back to see if Mother and Father are maintaining their equilibrium and do you know what? I saw a Park Avenue doorman get hysterics. Brother, that’s the end of the world.” He swiped his nose back-handedly, glaring. “It’s enough to make you cancel your membership in the human race. Come on, let’s all get drunk.”

“And the Cat?” Ellery asked his father.

“No news.”

“Whithacker?”

“Cazalis and the psychiatrists have been working on him all day. Still are, far as I know. But they’re not doing any backbends. And we didn’t find a thing in his West 4th Street flop.”

“Do I have to do it all by myself?” demanded Jimmy, pouring Scotch. “None for you, Celeste.”

“Inspector, what’s going to happen now?”

“I don’t know,” said the Inspector, “and what’s more, Miss Phillips, I don’t think I give an Irish damn.” He got up. “Ellery, if Headquarters calls, I’ve gone to bed.”

The old man shuffled out.

“Here’s to the Cat,” said Jimmy, lofting his glass. “May his giblets wither.”

“If you’re going to start toping, Jimmy,” said Celeste, “I’m going home. I’m going home anyway.”

“Right. To mine.”

“Yours?”

“You can’t stay up in that foul nest of underprivilege alone. And you may as well meet Father now and get it over with. Mother, of course, will be nightingale soup.”

“It’s sweet of you, Jimmy,” Celeste was all olive-pink. “But just impossible.”

“You can sleep in Queen’s bed but you can’t sleep in mine! What is this?”

She laughed, but she was angry. “It’s been the ghastliest and most wonderful twenty-four hours of my life, darling. Don’t spoil it.”

“Spoil it! Why, you proletarian snob!”

“I can’t let your parents think I’m some dead-end kid to be taken in off the streets.”

“You are a snob.”

“Jimmy.” Ellery turned from the fireplace. “Is it the Cat you’re worrying about?”

“Always. But this time the rabbits, too. It’s a breed that bites.”

“You can stop worrying about the Cat, at any rate. Celeste is safe.”

Celeste looked bewildered.

Jimmy said, “The hell you say.”

“For that matter, so are you.” Ellery explained the diminishing-age pattern of the murders. When he had finished he packed a pipe and lit it, watching them, and all the time they stood peering at him as if he were performing a minor miracle.

“And nobody saw that,” muttered Jimmy. “Nobody.”

“But what does it mean?” Celeste cried.

“I don’t know. But Stella Petrucchi was 22; and you and Jimmy being older than that, the Cat’s passed your age groups by.” Just relief, he thought, wondering why he was disappointed.

“May I print that, Ellery?” Jimmy’s face fell. “I forgot. Noblesse oblige.”

“Well, I think,” said Celeste defiantly, “that people ought to be told, Mr. Queen. Especially now, when they’re so frightened.”

Ellery stared at her. “Wait a minute.”

He went into his study.

When he returned he said,’ “The Mayor agrees with you, Celeste. Things are very bad... I’m holding a press conference at 10 o’clock tonight and I’m going on the air with the Mayor at 10:30. From City Hall. Jimmy, don’t double-cross me.”

“Thanks, pal. This descending-age business?”

“Yes. As Celeste says, it ought to quiet some fears.”

“You don’t sound hopeful.”

“It’s a question which can be more alarming,” said Ellery, “danger to yourself or danger to your children.”

“I see what you mean. I’ll be right back, Ellery. Celeste, come on.” He grabbed her arm.