Ellery Queen - Cat of Many Tails

“Born May 24, 1905,” said the Registrar. Then he said. “Edward Cazalis, M.D.”

“Interesting. Interesting!” said Ellery. “Smith. Violette Smith.”

“Born February 13, 1907,” said the Registrar. “Edward Cazalis, M.D.”

“Rian O’Reilly. Is good old Rian O’Reilly there, too?”

“They’re all here, Mr. Queen. I really... Born December 23, 1908. Edward Cazalis. M.D.”

“And Monica McKell?”

“July 2, 1912. Edward Cazalis, M.D. Mr. Queen...”

“Simone Phillips.”

“October 11, 1913. Cazalis.”

“Just ‘Cazalis’?”

“Well, of course not,” snapped the Registrar. “Edward Cazalis, M.D. See here, I really don’t see the point of going through this name by name, Inspector Queen. I said they’re all here—”

“Give the boy his head,” said the Inspector. “He’s been reined in a long time.”

“Beatrice Willikins,” said Ellery. “I’m especially interested in Beatrice Willikins. I should have seen it, though. Birth is the universal experience along with death; the two always played footsie under God’s table. Why didn’t I see that at once? Beatrice Willikins.”

“April 7, 1917. The same doctor.”

“The same doctor,” nodded Ellery. He was smiling, a forbidding smile. “And that was a Negro baby, and it was the same doctor. A Hippocratic physician, Cazalis. The god of the maternity clinic, no doubt, on alternate Wednesdays. Come all ye pregnant, without regard for color or creed, fees adjusted according to the ability to pay. And Lenore Richardson?”

“January 29, 1924. Edward Cazalis, M. D.”

“And that was the carriage trade. Thank you, sir, I believe that completes the roll. I take it these certificates are the untouchable trust of the Department of Health of the City of New York?”

“Yes.”

“If anything happens to them,” said Ellery, “I shall personally come down here with a derringer, sir, and shoot you dead. Meanwhile, no word of this is to get out. No whisper of a syllable. Do I make myself clear?”

“I don’t mind telling you,” said the Registrar stiffly, “that I don’t like either your tone or your attitude, and—”

“Sir, you address the Mayor’s Special Investigator. I beg your pardon,” said Ellery, “I’m higher than the much-abused kite. May we use your office and your telephone for a few minutes — alone?”

The Registrar of Records went out with a bang.

But immediately the door opened and the Registrar stepped back into his office, shut the door with care, and said in a confidential tone, “A doctor who would go back to murder the people he himself brought into the world — why, gentlemen, he’s nothing but a lunatic. How in hell did you let him weasel his way into your investigation?”

And the Registrar stamped out.

“This isn’t,” said the Inspector, “going to be easy.”

“No.”

“There’s no evidence.”

Ellery nibbled a thumbnail on the Registrar’s desk.

“He’ll have to be watched day and night. Twenty-four out of twenty-four. We’ve got to know what he’s doing every minute of every hour of the day.”

Ellery continued to nibble.

“There mustn’t be a tenth,” said the Inspector, as if he were explaining something abstruse, top-secret, and of global importance. Then he laughed. “That cartoonist on the Extra doesn’t know it but he’s run out of tails. Let me get to that phone, Ellery.”

“Dad.”

“What, son?”

“We’ve got to have the run of that apartment for a few hours.” Ellery took out a cigaret.

“Without a warrant?”

“And tip him off?”

The Inspector frowned.

“Getting rid of the maid ought to present no problem. Pick her day off. No, this is Friday and the chances are she won’t be off till the middle of next week. I can’t wait that long. Does she sleep in?”

“I don’t know.”

“I want to get in there over the weekend, if possible. Do they go to church?”

“How should I know? That cigaret won’t draw, Ellery, because you haven’t lit it. Hand me the phone.”

Ellery handed it to him. “Whom are you going to put on him?”

“Hesse. Mac. Goldberg.”

“All right.”

“Police Headquarters.”

“But I’d like to keep this thing,” said Ellery, putting the cigaret back into his pocket, “exclusive and as far away from Centre Street as you can manage it.”

His father stared.

“We really don’t know a thing... Dad.”

“What?”

Ellery uncoiled from the desk. “Come right home, will you?”

“You going home?”

But Ellery was already closing the door.

Inspector Queen called from his foyer, “Son?”

“Yes.”

“Well, it’s all set—” he stopped.

Celeste and Jimmy were on the sofa.

“Hello,” said the Inspector.

“We were waiting for you, Dad.”

His father looked at him.

“No. I haven’t told them yet.”

“Told us what?” demanded Jimmy.

“We know about the Katz boy,” began Celeste. “But—”

“Or has the Cat walked again?”

“No.” Ellery scrutinized them. “I’m ready,” he said. “How about you?”

“Ready for what?”

“To go to work, Celeste.”

Jimmy got up.

“Sit down, Jimmy.” Jimmy sat down. “This time it’s the McCoy.”

Celeste grew quite pale.

“We’re on the trail of something,” said Ellery. “Exactly what, we’re still not sure. But I think I can say that for the first time since the Cat got going there’s something encouraging to work on.”

“What do I do?” asked Jimmy.

“Ellery,” said the Inspector.

“No, Dad, it’s safer this way. I’ve thought it over very carefully.”

“What do I do?” asked Jimmy again.

“I want you to get me a complete dossier on Edward Cazalis.”

“Cazalis?”

“Dr. Cazalis?” Celeste was bewildered. “You mean—”

Ellery looked at her.

“Sorry!”

“Dossier on Cazalis,” said Jimmy. “And?”

“Don’t jump to conclusions, please. As I said, we don’t know where we are... Jimmy, what I want is an intimate sketch of his life. Trivial details solicited. This isn’t just a Who’s Who assignment. I could do that myself. As a working newspaperman you’re in a perfect position to dig up what I want, and without arousing suspicion.”

“Yes,” said Jimmy.

“No hint to anyone about what you’re working on. That goes in spades for your people at the Extra. When can you start?”

“Right away.”

“How long will it take you?”

“I don’t know. Not long.”

“Do you suppose you could have a good swatch of it for me by... say... tomorrow night?” _

“I can try.” Jimmy rose.

“By the way. Don’t go near Cazalis.”

“No.”

“Or anyone connected with him closely enough so that word might get back to him that somebody’s asking questions about him.”

“I understand.” Jimmy lingered.

“Yes?” said Ellery.

“What about Celeste?”

Ellery smiled.

“Got you, got you,” said Jimmy, flushing. “Well, folks...”

“Celeste has nothing to do yet, Jimmy. But I do want you to go home, Celeste, pack a bag or two, and come back here to live.”

“What?” said the Inspector and Jimmy together.

“That is, Dad, if you have no objection.”

“Er, no. None at all. Glad to have you, Miss Phillips. The only thing is,” said the Inspector, “if I’m to get any rest I’d better stake out my bed right now. Ellery, if there’s a call — anything at all — be sure and wake me.” And he retreated to his bedroom rather hurriedly.

“Live here, you said,” said Jimmy.