Dutch Shoe Mystery (11 page)

Morehouse looked disturbed. The Inspector broke in, “Here! We’re getting nowhere. I want to hear things about this Fuller woman in the gallery outside. … What was her official position in the Doorn household? I’m not clear on the point.”

“Abby’s companion—she’s been with her for a quarter of a century, more or less.
And
a queer character, too. Crotchety, domineering, a religious fanatic, and I’m certain heartily disliked by the rest of the house—I mean the servants. … As for Sarah and Abby, you wouldn’t think they’d been together for so many years. They were always quarreling.”

“Quarreling, hey?” growled the Inspector. “What about?”

Morehouse shrugged. “Nobody seems to know. Just bickering, I guess. I know Abby has often said to me in a fit of pique that she was going to ‘let that woman go,’ but somehow she never did. Matter of habit, I suppose.”

“And the servants?”

“The usual batch. Bristol the butler, a housekeeper, a tribe of maids—nothing of interest for you there, I’m sure.”

“We seem to have arrived,” murmured Ellery, crossing his legs and sighing, “at that dreadful stage in every murder investigation when it becomes necessary to ask questions about the—God save us!—the will. … Get out your best brand of Will Talk, Morehouse. Let’s have it.”

“I’m afraid,” retorted Morehouse, “it’s all duller than usual. Not a thing sinister or mysterious. All absolutely aboveboard and regular. No bequests to long-lost relatives in Africa, or any of that brand of tripe. …

“The bulk of the estate goes to Hulda. Hendrik is provided for in a very liberal trust-fund—better than he deserves, the old belly-shaker!—which will keep
him
in ducats for the rest of his life provided he doesn’t try to drain the annual liquor supply of New York.

“Sarah comes in for a neat inheritance—Sarah Fuller, that is—a heavy cash bequest and an assured income for life-more than she can possibly use. The servants, of course, receive generous legacies. The Hospital is provided for by a whopping big fund which guarantees its continued existence for many years. It’s a paying proposition, anyway.”

“Seems quite in order,” muttered the Inspector.

“Well, that’s what I told you.” Morehouse fidgeted in his chair. “Let’s get this over with, gentlemen.—You might be surprised to hear that Dr. Janney comes into the picture twice.”

“Eh?” The Inspector bolted upright. “What’s that?”

“Two distinct bequests. One is personal. Janney was Abby’s protégé almost from the time he took his first shave. The other is for the maintenance of a fund which would allow Janney and Kneisel to continue some research they’re jointly working on.”

“Here, here!” demanded the Inspector, “hold on. Who’s Kneisel? First time I’ve heard his name mentioned.”

Dr. Minchen hitched his chair forward. “I can tell you about him, Inspector. Moritz Kneisel is a scientist—Austrian, I think—who is working with Dr. Janney on a revolutionary idea. Something in the line of metals. He has a laboratory on this floor specially put in for him by Janney—where he keeps busy day and night. Regular mole, that fellow.”

“What sort of research is it, precisely?” asked Ellery.

Minchen looked uncomfortable. “I don’t think any one knows exactly except Kneisel and Janney. They keep quite mum about it. The laboratory’s the joke of the Hospital. No one’s ever been inside its four walls except the two of ’em. It has a massive safe-lock door, reënforced walls, and no windows. There are only two keys in existence for the inner door, and you have to know the combination of the outer one to reach it. Kneisel and Janney possess the keys, of course. Janney has absolutely forbidden entry into the laboratory.”

“Mystery upon mystery,” murmured Ellery. “We’re becoming medieval, by gad!”

The Inspector jerked his head at Morehouse. “You know anything more about this?”

“Nothing about the work itself—but I think you’ll find a little item of mine interesting. Rather recent development, in fact. …”

“Just a moment” The Inspector beckoned to Velie. “Send somebody to get this fellow Kneisel. We’ll want to talk to him. Keep him out in the theater until I call. …” Velie spoke to some one in the corridor. “Now Mr. Morehouse, you were going to say—?”

Morehouse replied dryly, “I think you’ll find it interesting. … You see, despite Abby’s grand old heart and wise old head, she was still a woman. Mighty changeable, Inspector. … And so I wasn’t particularly surprised when, two weeks ago, she told me to draw up a new will!”

“By the
Pentateuch!”
moaned Ellery, “this case is simply overrun with technicalities. First it’s anatomy, then it’s metallurgy, now it’s law.
…”

“Don’t get the idea there was anything wrong with the first will!” interrupted Morehouse hastily. “She’d merely had a change of mind about a certain bequest. …”

“Janney’s, I suppose?” asked Ellery.

Morehouse gave him a startled glance. “Yes, Janney’s. Oh, not Abby’s personal bequest to him, but the one providing the working fund for the Janney-Kneisel researches. She wanted that clause stricken out entirely. It wouldn’t have necessarily demanded a new will, but there were additional bequests to servants and a few charities and things, since the first will was two years old.”

Ellery was sitting up quite straight “And the new will was drawn up?”

“Oh yes. Executed preliminarily—but not signed,” replied Morehouse with a grimace. “This coma business, and now the murder, intervened. You see, if only I’d known she’d be taken this way! But of course none of us had the slightest warning. In fact, I was intending to present the will for Abby’s signature to-morrow. Now it’s too late. The first will remains in force.”

“This will have to be looked into,” grumbled the Inspector. “Wills always cause trouble in a homicide. … Did the old lady sink a lot of money into Janney’s metallic ventures?”

“Sink is right,” retorted Morehouse. “I’m inclined to think we could all live very comfortably indeed on the money Abby turned over to Janney for those mysterious experiments of his.”

“You said,” put in Ellery, “that no one except the surgeon and Kneisel knows the nature of the research. Didn’t Mrs. Doorn know? It doesn’t seem possible, with the old lady reputed so astute in business affairs, that she would finance a project without knowing pretty much everything about it first.”

“There’s a fault in every strong structure,” said Morehouse sententiously. “Abby’s weakness was Janney. She hung on his words. I’ll give the devil his due and say that to my knowledge, Janney has never abused her devotion. She certainly didn’t know much about this project in its scientific details, anyway. You know, Janney and Kneisel have been working away at this thing, whatever it is, for two and a half years.”

“Whew!” Ellery grinned.
“Drachmas
to doughnuts the old lady wasn’t as weak as you make her out. Wasn’t it because they were taking too long that she wanted to omit the fund from the second will?”

Morehouse raised his eyebrows. “Smart guess, Queen. That’s exactly the point. They promised to complete the work in six months originally, and it’s dragged out to five times that. Although she was still as crazy about Janney as ever, she said—these are her exact words—‘I’m through subsidizing such a tenuous and experimental undertaking. Money’s tight these days.’”

The Inspector rose suddenly. “Thank you, Mr. Morehouse. I don’t think there’s anything else. Get along.”

Morehouse leaped from his chair, like a cramped prisoner unexpectedly released from his bonds. ‘Thanks! I’m on my way to the Doorns’,” he called over his shoulder. He stopped at the door and grinned boyishly. “And don’t bother to tell me to keep in town, Inspector. I’m used to that sort of thing.”

And he was gone.

Dr. Minchen whispered to Ellery, bowed to the Inspector, and slipped out.

A commotion in the corridor turned Velie sharply about. He opened the door and wagged his huge head.

“D.A.!” he exclaimed. The Inspector trotted across the room. Ellery rose, fingering his
pince-nez.
…

Three men walked into the room.

District Attorney Henry Sampson was a sturdy, powerfully built man, still youthful; at his side was his assistant, a thin, eager man of middle age with violent red hair, Timothy Cronin; and behind them sauntered a slouch-hatted, cigar-smoking old man with shrewd, wandering eyes. His hat was pushed back on his forehead and a ragged thatch of white hair straggled over one eye.

Velie grasped the white-haired man by the coat-sleeve as he strolled across the threshold. “Here you, Pete,” he growled, “where you going? How’d you get in?”

“Aw, be yourself, Velie.” The white-haired man shook off the sergeant’s great fist. “Can’t you see I’m here as a representative of the American press by the personal invitation of the District Attorney? Hey—lay off! … H’lo there, Inspector. How’s every little murder? Ellery Queen, you old son-of-a-gun! It
must
be hot if you’re on it. Find the dastardly dastard yet?”

“Be quiet, Pete,” said Sampson. “Hello, Q. What’s doing? I don’t mind telling you we’re in one hell of a mess.” He sat down and threw his hat on the wheel-table, looking about the room curiously. The red-haired man pumped hands with Ellery and the Inspector. The newspaperman slouched to a chair and sank into it with a sigh of satisfaction.

“It’s complicated, Henry,” said the Inspector quietly. “No light yet. Mrs. Doorn was strangled while she was unconscious and waiting to be operated on; somebody seems to have impersonated the operating surgeon; nobody can identify the impostor; and we’re generally up a tree. It’s been a bad morning.”

“You won’t be able to cover up this case, Q.,” said the District Attorney with a harassed frown. “Whoever did the job picked on just about the most prominent figure in New York City. The newspaper boys are howling their heads off outside—we’ve got half the local precinct keeping ’em off the premises—Pete Harper here being the privileged character, God help me!—and I received a call from the Governor a half-hour ago. You can imagine what he said. It’s big, Q., big! What’s behind it—personal revenge, a maniac, money?”

“I wish I knew. … Look here, Henry,” sighed the Inspector, “we’ll have to make an official statement to the press, and, by cripes, there’s nothing to say. You, Pete,” he went on grimly, turning to the white-haired man, “you’re here by sufferance. One breach of faith on your part and I’ll have your hide. Don’t print anything the other boys don’t get. Otherwise you can’t sit in. Understand?”

“I’m ’way ahead of you, Inspector,” grinned the reporter.

“And Henry. Here’s the situation up to the present.” He rapidly recounted the events, discoveries and perplexities of the morning to the District Attorney, in an undertone. When the Inspector had concluded his recital he called for pen and paper, and in a short time, with the aid of the District Attorney, had drafted a statement for the reporters milling about outside the Hospital. A nurse was conscripted to make typewritten copies, which Sampson signed; whereupon Velie sent a man to distribute them.

Inspector Queen went to the door of the Amphitheater and bawled a name. Almost immediately the tall, angular figure of Dr. Lucius Dunning crossed the threshold. The physician was flushed; his eyes smoldered; the seams on his face writhed.

“So you’ve decided to call me at last!” he rasped. His grey head jerked from side to side as he challenged them all, impartially, with stabbing glances. “I suppose you think I’ve nothing better to do than to sit outside like an old woman or a twenty-year-old boy and await your pleasure! Well, let me tell you once for all, sir—” he stalked up to the Inspector and brandished this thin fist above the old man’s head, “this outrage is going to mean something to you!”

“Now, really, Dr. Dunning,” said the Inspector meekly, as he slipped under the physician’s uplifted arm and shut the door.

“Restrain yourself, Dr. Dunning!” interrupted District Attorney Sampson in his sharpest courtroom manner. “The investigation is in the most capable hands in New York. If you’ve nothing to conceal, you’ve nothing to fear. And,” he added with asperity, “any complaints you may have should be addressed to me. I’m the District Attorney of this County!”

Dunning jammed his hands into his white coat-pockets. “I don’t care a hoot if you’re the President of the United States,” he snarled. “You’re keeping me from my work. There’s a bad case of gastric ulcer that I
must
follow up immediately. Your men outside prevented me five times from leaving the theater. Why, it’s criminal! I’ve got to see that patient!”

“Sit down, Doctor,” said Ellery with a soothing smile. “The longer you protest, the longer you’ll be here. Just a few questions, and the gastric ulcer is yours. …”

Dunning glared about like an angry tomcat, struggled with his tongue for a long moment, and finally snapped his lips shut and flung his lean length into a chair.

“You can question me from to-day until to-morrow,” he said defiantly, folding his arms across his bony chest, “but you’ll merely be wasting your time. I know nothing. You’ll get nothing from me that can possibly help you.”

“Surely that’s a matter of opinion, Doctor?”

“Oh, come, come!” interrupted the Inspector. “Less of this bickering. Let’s hear your little story, Doctor. I want a strict account of your movements this morning.”

“Is that all?” muttered Dunning bitterly. His tongue flicked out over his nervous lips. “I arrived at the Hospital at 9:00, and saw patients in my office until about 10:00. From 10:00 until the time of the operation I remained in my office checking over case-records. There were some histories and prescriptions. A few moments before 10:45 I went across the North Corridor to the rear of the Amphitheater, mounted to the gallery, met my daughter there, and—”

“That’s quite enough. Any visitors after 10:00?”

“No.” Dunning paused. “That is, no one but Miss Fuller—Mrs. Doorn’s companion. She stopped in for a few moments to inquire about Mrs. Doorn’s condition.”

“How well,” asked Ellery, bending forward in his chair and clasping his hands between his knees, “did you know Mrs. Doorn, Doctor?”

“Not—intimately,” replied Dunning. “Of course, I’ve been on the staff here ever since the founding of the Hospital, and I naturally came to know Mrs. Doorn in my official capacity. I’m on the Board of Directors along with Dr. Janney, Dr. Minchen and the others. …”