The Dragon’s Teeth (29 page)

“You'd do that to your own father, you scoundrel?” chuckled the Inspector suddenly. “Well, all right. But I warn you. If you fizzle this time, Sampson's going to go through with an indictment of Kerrie Shawn.”

“If
I
fizzle it!” said Mr. Queen, plainly astonished. “I like that. Who's supposed to be solving this case—the Homicide Squad or a picayune, one-horse outfit? But I feel magnanimous today. The agency to the rescue!”

“Disrespectful, ungrateful—”

“Shall we say eleven-thirty at the
Villanoy?”

XXII.
Mr. Queen and the Dragon's Teeth

“The old man's got his sour puss on,” whispered Sergeant Velie to Mr. Queen as they stood in the sitting room of 1726 a little before noon watching the silent procession of Mr. Queen's audience.

“You're telling me?” murmured Mr. Queen. “I have to live with that sour puss.… Ah, Kerrie. How are you feeling this exceptional morning?”

“Terrible, thank you.” There were bluish circles under her eyes; her skin was a little gray and taut. “Where's Beau? He hasn't even—”

“Beau,” replied Mr. Queen, “is on an assignment, but he should be here any moment now. He's losing a lot of sleep on your account, Kerrie.”

“Not as much as I've lost on his, I'll bet,” retorted Kerrie. “Is this something—important?”

“To you—all-important,” said Ellery cheerfully. “One demonstration, and the nightmare's over for good. Now sit down there, Kerrie, like a good girl, and do nothing at all but listen.”

“I—think I'll sit next to Vi. Poor Vi! You'd think, to look at her, that she's the one who's charged with … that nasty word.”

“That's what friends are for. Ah, Sampson. Worried, as usual. How's the ailing throat?”

“Never mind the state of my health,” said the District Attorney testily. “You'd be better thinking of your own! Is this on the level? Have you really got something this time?”

“Why not wait to see? Come in, Captain Angus! None the worse for your last night's experience, apparently, which is more than I can say, Mr. De Carlos, about
you.
How are you feeling this morning? Yes, yes, I know—merrily we roll along and, suddenly, there's the hangover.… Mr. Goossens! Sorry to trouble you again, but I can assure you this is the last of it. And Inspector Queen. Good morning!”

The Inspector said just one word. “Well?”

“You'll see.”

Mr. Queen glanced at his wrist-watch casually. Where the devil was Beau with the evidence? He smiled, cleared his throat, and advanced to the center of the zoom.

“Yesterday,” he began, “Beau Rummell made a certain promise which I seconded. We promised that within twenty-four hours we should turn over to the authorities the murderer of Ann Bloomer, alias Margo Cole. We're ready to keep that promise. The murderer of Ann Bloomer is in this room.”

Inspector Queen and District Attorney Sampson stared squarely at Kerrie Shawn. She flushed and looked down at her fingers. Then, defiantly, she stared back at them.

“That person,” continued Mr. Queen, “can save a lot of wear and tear on your servant's larynx by surrendering now. I can assure you,” he said, glancing pointedly over their heads, “that the ball is over. Will you unmask voluntarily, or shall I have to do it for you?”

Where was Beau?

The Inspector and the District Attorney made an unconscious survey. The objects of their attention were painfully conscious, however. They held their breath until they could hold it no longer; then they expelled it in concert—the innocent with the guilty.

And Inspector Queen and District Attorney Sampson looked troubled, and Mr. Queen went on with a shrug. “Hope,” he remarked, “but I assure you—no charity. Very well, you force me to elucidate. And because your crime was a completely mercenary one, and because you insist upon being discovered, as the antique phrase goes, in the ‘full panoply' of your guilt, I promise you there will be no mercy, either.”

But again there was only silence.

Where was Beau?

“The case,” said Mr. Queen abruptly, “or, rather, the solution of the case, hinges upon three facts. Three facts, and three pieces of evidence.

“The facts first. They are the three characteristics of the killer of Ann Bloomer which I've been able to piece together from an exhaustive analysis of the data at my disposal.

“The first characteristic is really a point of identification. As explained to you last night, Mr. Edmund De Carlos—” here De Carlos choked, and Mr. Queen paused until he had swallowed the obstruction in his throat—“Mr. De Carlos by an oversight left behind him, when he called upon us disguised as Cadmus Cole three months ago, a fountain-pen. This pen was unique in possessing certain identifying marks which distinguished it from all other pens of similar design and manufacture … despite the fact that such pens were, and are, sold by the hundreds of thousand the world over.

“Let me explain that statement. The scratches, and dents—the entire series of little arced patterns on the cap of the pen—could only have been made by human teeth. Now human teeth are, in their modest way, an eloquent symbol of man: they are invariably imperfect. I'm not referring to dental caries or any other pathological manifestation. I'm referring simply to structure and design. No two sets of teeth, no matter how healthy, are identical. The shape of the arch, the size of the individual teeth, the way they lie in the arch in relation to one another, and so on—these all vary with individuals. Two sets of teeth might appear identical to the layman, but any dentist could show you dozens of points of difference after the most casual examination.

“It's scarcely necessary to belabor the point. In the old days any one could spot a set of false teeth in a stranger's mouth—the teeth were too
regular.
Unnaturally so. These days dentists hold a mirror up to Nature. They turn out dental plates which fool most laymen. And why are we fooled? Because modern dental plates exhibit teeth not only natural in color but irregularly aligned and imperfectly shaped as well.

“Criminological science has long recognized the value of teeth-marks as clues to identity. Where clear impressions of teeth can be found, they are as incontrovertible evidence as fingerprints. True, the teeth-marks on the cap of the fountain-pen in question are not the impression of a full set of teeth, or even the substantial number of a full set. The marks of, at most, two or three upper teeth and two or three lowers. But even that is sufficient for the careful observer.”

They were tightly, watchfully quiet, as if each had a deep personal stake in the least word being uttered by Mr. Queen. He glanced at his watch again.

“I must now confess,” he went on with a faint smile, “to have engineered an unquestionably illegal suppression of important evidence. How important I leave you to judge. But I did suppress it when Mr. Rummell and I found it beneath the radiator of Room 1726 only a short time after the murderer of Ann Bloomer fled from it. In short, it was a companion-piece of the fountain-pen—an automatic pencil of the same hard black rubber composition, with similar gold trimming.”

Inspector Queen glared at District Attorney Sampson, who glared back, then both glared at Mr. Queen.

The Inspector rose and roared: “You found what?”

“I'll take my punishment later, please,” said Mr. Queen. “Meanwhile, may I continue? The facts were these: The room had been prepared for occupancy only a short time before, and was spotless. The pencil had fallen between the radiator and the window and had rolled under the radiator. Since the murderer stood at the window before and during the firing of the murder-weapon, it was obvious that the pencil had been dropped by that worthy accidentally during or directly preceding the commission of the crime. Incidentally, dad, the ashes, burnt match-stick, and cigaret butt were mine. I left them for you—I had to leave something in lieu of the pencil, didn't I?”

Inspector Queen sank back, purple.

Mr. Queen continued in haste: “Examination of the pencil indicated that it was part of the writing set to which the pen belonged, that the same person had owned both implements,
for the bite-marks on the pencil were identical with the bite-marks on the pen.

“Now that,” said Mr. Queen in a sharper tone, “is a scientific fact. I've verified that fact by applying for expert opinion since—a concession to legal considerations, for I was satisfied even before consulting authority that the teeth-marks were identical. The person who had the deplorable habit of chewing on his pen and pencil possesses a very long canine in a certain characteristic relation to the tooth below it and the teeth to either side. I could give you the technical picture as it was given to me, but I'm sure it would bore you.

“Just bear in mind that the dent bored by the point of that canine, and the impression of the teeth adjacent to that canine, make identification positive. The identical picture is presented by both pen and pencil. They must have been scarred by the same teeth.

“Now, who dropped that pencil in the room from which the shots were fired which killed Ann Bloomer? The person who occupied the room during the commission of the crime; in other words, the murderer. Or, in still other words—if we can establish the ownership of the pen-and-pencil set, we arrive at once at the identity of the murderer.”

De Carlos was struggling to express himself.

“Yes, Mr. De Carlos?”

“It's not—it's not mine,” he gasped. “Not mine!”

“No?” asked Mr. Queen softly. “Then perhaps we can eliminate a deal of gabble right now, Mr. De Carlos. If the pen and pencil aren't yours, to whom do they belong?”

De Carlos looked about in a sort of bafflement. Then his chin sank, and his eyes, and he muttered: “I'm not talking. I'm not saying a word.”

“Perhaps the moment will come,” murmured Mr. Queen, “when you will feel more disposed to conversation, Mr. De Carlos.

“Second characteristic of the murderer: a very curious point that I almost overlooked. Unfortunately for our bashful marksman, I am a methodical creature. I went back over the ground and saw it—really for the first time—in its proper perspective and proportions.

“The police on the day following Miss Shawn's and Mr. Rummell's supposed marriage, received an anonymous tip by telegraph. The obliging tipster indicated that the marriage had been no marriage at all. This information, followed by immediate corroboration when investigation proved the marriage, as advertised, to have been a hoax, supplied the authorities with a perfect motive in the case they were building against Miss Shawn.

“Now who would be interested in copper-riveting the case against Miss Shawn? Obviously the person who had stolen her revolver, who had used it to kill Ann Bloomer, and who had then tossed it into this room across the angle of the court from 1726—in other words, the thoughtful individual who was trying to frame Miss Shawn for the murder … the murderer in person. If any further corroboration of this deduction were needed, I should merely like to point out that the means employed in tipping off the police—telegraph message given to the telegraph office by telephoning from a pay-station—was exactly the means employed in reserving Room 1726 at the
Villanoy
on the night of the murder.”

Inspector Queen nodded guiltily, as if this indeed had occurred to him, and the District Attorney reddened, as if it had not.

“Which brings us,” continued Mr. Queen in dulcet tones, “to characteristic number three. On another and less memorable occasion I pointed out, through a strictly logical exercise, that the woman who posed as Margo Cole—that is, Ann Bloomer—must have had a partner … a silent, invisible partner who provided the notorious Miss Bloomer with the various proofs of identity which established her as one of the missing Cole heiresses.

“This silent partner had three motives for killing Ann Bloomer: revenge, if Miss Bloomer after being accepted as Margo Cole refused to split the loot—in the light of Miss Bloomer's known character, a distinct possibility; fear that she might expose her partner, either deliberately if she should accidentally be discovered to be an impostor, or—as actually occurred—through a slip of the tongue in an unguarded moment; and a third motive which I must again,” Mr. Queen said with an apologetic smile, “hold back as a special tidbit for your future delectation.

“At any rate, discover the identity of Miss Bloomer's partner, the mysterious shadow behind her false claim, and you obviously discover her murderer.

“What do we find then, in recapitulation? That the person we seek is: A—the owner of the pen-and-pencil set; B—the person who tipped off the police to the fact that the supposed marriage between Miss Shawn and Mr. Rummell was a hoax; and C—Ann Bloomer's silent partner.

“Or, to put it another way, we must find the one and only person who had criminal opportunity—the pencil places that person in the room from which the fatal shots were fired; who had criminal motive—as Ann Bloomer's vengeful partner seeking also to seal her lips forever as to his identity; and who wished to frame Miss Shawn—and did so by tipping off the police about the fake marriage.

“That's a fairly complete picture,” murmured Mr. Queen. “Need I continue? Won't our friend the silent partner step forward and end this excruciating suspense?”

And in die ensuing silence Mr. Queen thought furiously: “Damn Beau! Why isn't he here?”

And, also in the silence, as if in response to Mr. Queen's unexpressed question, the telephone rang.

They started, nervously. But Mr. Queen smiled as he leaped for the telephone. “A call I've been expecting. You'll excuse me?”

A voice said in his ear—a tired but jubilant voice: “Beau Rummell. Who is this?”

“You're speaking to the proper party,” said Mr. Queen sharply. “Well?”