Эллери Куин - The Devil To Pay

“Damn those rains,” said Ellery. “The table didn’t get the full force of it, being under the awning, but it did get a fine spray, enough to remove any fingerprints that may have been here.”

“But those marks,” said Val. “They look like fingerprints. Like the marks of two fingers — a thumb and a little finger.”

“That’s what they are. They were deposited on an already dusty surface. Then more dust settled, and the rain messed things up, but they’re still visible because the dust-layer is thinner where they are than on the rest of the table. However, there don’t seem to be any distinguishing whorls — probably the rain.”

He took out a handkerchief and carefully lifted the binoculars. Where they had lain was a slightly dusty surface, lighter than the surrounding surface. “Binoculars and fingermarks made at about the same time.” He wrapped the binoculars in the folds of the handkerchief and calmly dropped the whole thing into the pocket of his sport-jacket.

Val did not notice. She was striding excitedly up and down. “I’ve got it! It was still light at the time of the murder, and the glasses show some one stood right here on this terrace watching what was going on in Spaeth’s study! He could easily see, because of the glass walls, like these here. There was a witness to the murder! ”

“Excellently spoken,” said Ellery. “I mean — you said a mouthful there, baby.” But he was still studying the two finger-smudges on the table in a puzzled way.

“Then some one knows who killed Spaeth. Some one saw! ”

“Very likely.” Ellery looked around. “Did you say a lot of junk was left in the gym? Where’s the gym?”

“A few doors down,” said Val, hardly knowing what she was saying. Then she took a deep breath. “Here, I’ll show you.”

She led him along the terrace to the door of the empty gymnasium. This door, too, had been forced. “There it is,” said Val.

Ellery went over to a small pile of débris and poked it apart with his foot. But there was nothing of interest in the pile. He was about to return to the terrace when he spied a small closet set into one of the walls. The closet-door was closed. He walked over and opened it. Inside, on a rack, hung a lone Indian club. He took it out, frowning, and examined it. It was cracked.

“Funny,” he said. “Very funny.” He weighed the club thoughtfully, glancing over at the pile of débris.

“What is it? What’s the matter now?” asked Val, waking from her trance.

“This Indian club. Indian clubs come in pairs, weighed and matched. Why on earth should you have taken along the mate to this, when this cracked one was left behind?”

“The mate?” Val wrinkled her forehead. “But we didn’t. We left them both here in the closed closet.”

“Really?” said Ellery dryly. “Well, one of them is gone.”

Val stared, then shrugged. Ellery replaced the cracked club in the rack and, frowning, shut the closet-door.

“And another thing,” said Val, as they returned to the terrace. “Whoever it was who watched, it was somebody with only two fingers on his left hand — a two-fingered man! That is a left-hand marking, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Two fingers!”

Ellery smiled the same faint smile. “By the way, I think you’d better telephone police headquarters.”

“What for?”

“To tell them about this table. Shocking neglect on the part of Glücke — not examining your old house!”

“Why, the binoculars are gone!” cried Val.

“Only as far as my pocket. I’d put the table in there, too, only it won’t fit comfortably. Call Glücke. He ought to send a fingerprint man down here right away on the off-chance that some prints are left.”

They went quietly back to the Spaeth house and Ellery sat down on the terrace again while Val tiptoed into the study to telephone. He heard her get her connection and ask for Inspector Glücke, but he was not listening too closely. Those marks...

He jumped at a choking sound from the study. He ran in and found Val staring at the telephone, her face a pale, pale gray.

“All right,” she said weakly. “I’ll be right down,” and she replaced the instrument on its base with a thud, as if it were too heavy for her.

“What’s the matter? What’s happened?”

“It’s Walter. Walter,” said Val. It was always Walter. Whenever anything happened, it was Walter. “You know — I told you about — him . The one who ran into Ruhig’s office—”

“Well, well?”

“Inspector Glücke just told me...” She shivered suddenly and drew her coat more closely about her. “He says Walter has cleared my father. Walter’s — cleared — pop!”

She began to giggle.

Ellery shook her violently. “None of that! What do you mean — cleared your father?”

Val giggled and giggled. It became a laugh, and then a shout, and finally it choked up and turned into a whisper. “He — just — confessed to Glücke that — he was the one — who wore my father’s coat Monday afternoon... that he was the one — Frank saw... Oh, Walter!”

And she buried her face in her hands.

Ellery pulled her hands way. “Come on,” he said gruffly.

Val looked so preoccupied that Ellery took the wheel of her sedan. She sat still, staring ahead. He could not decide whether she was frozen with stupefaction or shocked stiff by the high voltage of some more personal emotion. Her body did not sag even while the sedan squealed around corners. As for Pink, having heard the news, he kept his mouth open all the way downtown.

Inside police headquarters Val broke into a trot. And in the anteroom to Inspector Glücke’s office, while the police clerk spoke into his communicator, she pranced. When he nodded she flew to the Inspector’s door — and slowly opened it.

Walter sat with outstretched legs beside Glücke’s big desk, blowing smoke rings.

There were two others in the office — the Inspector and a thin whippy gentleman of indecipherable age who sat quietly in a corner grasping a stylish stick. Glücke looked grim and alert, as if he were set for some emergency; but the thin man was composed and his eyes had a cynical glitter.

“Hello,” grinned Walter. “Val to the rescue.”

“Oh, Walter,” said Val, and she went to him and put her hand on his shoulder in a proud, tender way.

“What is this,” said the Inspector dryly, “Old Home Week? What d’ye want, King?”

“So I’ve been reported by the demon sleuth team in the black sedan, curse it,” said Ellery. His name was King, was it?

“Take a powder, King. No reporters here.”

“It’s all right with me,” said Mr. King indifferently. “I was on my way to the office anyway with the dope I’ve turned up.”

“What’s that? What dope?”

“If you’d devote less time to playing follow-the-leader and more to examining Sans Souci you’d show a better homicide record. Come on, Pink, let’s amble.”

“Just a moment,” said the thin man with a smile. “I think we can manage this without ruffled feelings, Glücke.” He rose. “My name is Van Every. You say you’ve turned up something at Sans Souci? ”

“Ah, the D.A.” They examined each other politely. “I do, but I’m not spilling till I find out what friend Spaeth’s been up to.”

Van Every glanced at Glücke, and Glücke growled: “Okay.” He drew his brows together. “Well, here she is, Spaeth.”

“Wait,” said Val quickly. “Walter, I want to—”

“It’s no use, Val.”

“Walter, please .”