Ellery Queen - Cat of Many Tails

“10:04,” said Ellery. “10:04.”

“That’s what I said,” said the Sergeant. “Cazalis is on the phone around ten minutes. Then he comes back to Mrs. Cazalis, drinks the rest of his hot chocolate, and they leave.

“They took a cab, Cazalis giving the hack his home address. Young tailed them in another cab and Goldie went into the drugstore. He’d noticed that the directory Young said Cazalis had looked a name up in was open on the stand, and he wanted a gander at it because nobody had used it after Cazalis. It turned out to be the Manhattan book, and it was open at the pages with...” Velie paused impressively... “with the S-O names.”

“The S-O names,” said Inspector Queen. “Did you hear that, Ellery? The S-O names.” His denture was showing.

“Would you think,” said Jimmy, drawing a set of fangs, “that a kindly old gent like that could look so much like a Brontosaurus?”

But the Inspector said genially, “Go on, Velie, go on.”

“There’s nothing more,” said the Sergeant Velie with dignity. “Goldberg said he thought that rated a hurry-up special report, so he phoned right in before leaving to go back to Park Avenue after Young.”

“Goldberg was so right,” said the Inspector. “And the 11 o’clock report?”

“The Cazalises went right home. At ten minutes to 11 their lights went out. Unless the doc is figuring on a sneak tonight, after his old woman is in dreamland—”

“Not tonight, Sergeant, not tonight,” said Ellery, smiling; “5:30 tomorrow, at the Astor.”

They saw him enter the Astor lobby through the 44th Street doorway. The time was 5:05 and they had already been there an hour. Detective Hesse was close on his tail.

Cazalis was dressed in a dark gray suit, a rather seedy dark topcoat, and a stained gray hat. He came in with several other people, as if he were one of their group, but well in the transverse corridor at the rear of the lobby he took himself off, bought a copy of the New York Post at the cigar counter, stood for a few moments glancing at the front page, and then began a strolling tour of the lobby. Moving a few feet at a time, with long pauses between.

“Making sure she hasn’t come yet,” said the Inspector.

They were on the balcony of the mezzanine, well hidden.

Cazalis kept circulating. The lobby was crowded and it was hard to keep him in sight. But Hesse had taken a central position; he had to move very little, and they knew he would not lose his man.

There were six other Headquarters men planted in the lobby.

When Cazalis had completed his tour, he edged alongside five people, men and women, who were standing near the Broadway entrance talking and laughing. He held an unlighted cigaret.

On the steps outside they caught an occasional glimpse of the broad back and accented waistline of Detective Zilgitt. He was a Negro and one of the most valuable men at Headquarters; Inspector Queen had especially detailed him to work with Hesse for the day. Zilgitt, who was a modest dresser, had rigged himself out in sharp clothes for his assignment; he looked like a Broadway character waiting for a heavy date.

At 5:25 Marilyn Soames arrived.

She came hurrying into the lobby, out of breath. She paused by the florist’s shop to look around. She wore a big-checked cloth coat and a little felt cap. She carried an old simulated-leather briefcase.

Detective Johnson walked in, passed her, and mingled with the crowd. But he kept within fifteen feet of her. Detective Piggott entered the florist’s shop from Broadway; he took some time buying a carnation. He had a perfect view of both Marilyn and Cazalis through the glass walls of the shop. A little later he sauntered out into the lobby and stopped almost at the girl’s elbow, looking around as if for a familiar face. She glanced at him doubtfully and seemed about to speak to him; but when his glance passed over her she bit her lip and looked elsewhere.

Cazalis had spotted her instantly.

He began to read his newspapers. Leaning against the wall, the cigaret between his fingers still unlighted.

From where the Queens stood watching they could see his glance fixed on her face above his paper.

Marilyn had begun scanning the area within her orbit from the side of the lobby opposite to which Cazalis stood. Her glance searched slowly. When it had all but completed its half-circle, just as it was about to reach him, Cazalis lowered his newspaper, murmured something to one of the men in the group by his side, and the man produced a packet or matches, struck a match, and held the flame to the tip of Cazalis’s cigaret. For that moment Cazalis looked like one of the group.

Marilyn’s glance passed him as if he were invisible.

He inched back. Now he stood with the group between them, studying her frankly.

The Soames girl remained where she was until 5:40. Then she moved off, walking around the lobby and searching among the men who were seated. A few smiled and one said something to her. But she frowned and walked on.

As she walked, Cazalis followed.

He made no attempt to get close to her.

At times he even stood still, his eyes taking up the hunt.

He seemed to be committing her to memory — her gait, the swing of her body, the plain strong profile.

He was flushed now, breathing heavily. As if he were tremendously excited.

By ten minutes to 6 she had gone completely around the lobby and returned to her original position near the florist’s shop. Cazalis passed her. It was the closest he had come to her — he could have touched her, and Johnson and Piggott could have touched him. She actually studied his face. But this time his glance was elsewhere and he passed her briskly, as if he were going somewhere. Apparently he had given her a false description of himself, or no description at all.

He paused in the nearest doorway.

It was just inside the entrance where Detective Zilgitt waited. Zilgitt glanced at him casually and moved off the steps.

The girl’s foot began tapping. She did not look behind her and Cazalis was able to study her without subterfuge.

At 6 o’clock Marilyn straightened up and with determination began to push toward the bell captain’s desk.

Cazalis remained where he was.

A few moments later a bellboy began to call: “Mr. Nostrum. Mr. Paul Nostrum.”

Immediately Cazalis went down the steps, crossed the sidewalk, and got into a taxicab. As the cab moved away from the curb into the Broadway traffic, Detective Hesse jumped into the next cab at the stand.

At 6:10 Marilyn Soames, looking very angry, left the Astor and walked with long strides down Broadway toward 42nd Street.

Johnson and Piggott were just behind her.

“Marilyn was fit to be tied,” Celeste reported that night. “I almost kissed her when she got home, I was so relieved. But she was so mad at being stood up she didn’t notice. Mr. Soames said writers were temperamental and she’d probably get a bouquet of flowers from him as an apology, but Marilyn snapped that she wasn’t going to be blarneyed out of it, he was probably drunk in some bar and if he phoned again she’d meet him just so she could tell him where to get off.” The Inspector was annoying his mustache. “Where on earth did he go from the Astor?”

“Home.” Ellery seemed disturbed, too. “Where is Marilyn, Celeste? She hasn’t gone out again, has she?”

“She was so mad she had supper and went right to bed.”

“I’d better take a walk around and tell the boys to keep an extra eye out tonight,” muttered the Inspector.

They watched him hurry down the street.

Finally Celeste pushed away from Jimmy. “Do you think he’ll phone again, Mr. Queen?”

“I don’t know.”

“What was the idea today?”