The Twelve Crimes of Christmas (23 page)

So it was that when Attorney John S. Bondling
called, Inspector Queen was in his kitchen, swathed in a barbecue apron, up to
his elbows in
fines herbes
,
while Ellery, behind the locked door of his study, composed a secret symphony
in glittering fuchsia metallic paper, forest-green moiré ribbon, and pine
cones.

“It’s almost useless,” shrugged Nikki, studying
Attorney Bondling’s card, which was as crackly-looking as Attorney Bondling. “You
say you know the Inspector, Mr. Bondling?”

“Just tell him Bondling the estate lawyer,”
said Bondling neurotically. “Park Row. He’ll know.”

“Don’t blame me,” said Nikki, “if you wind up
in his stuffing. Goodness knows he’s used everything else.” And she went for
Inspector Queen.

While she was gone, the study door opened
noiselessly for one inch. A suspicious eye reconnoitered from the crack.

“Don’t be alarmed,” said the owner of the eyes,
slipping through the crack and locking the door hastily behind him. “Can’t
trust them, you know. Children, just children.”

“Children!” Attorney Bondling snarled. “You’re
Ellery Queen, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Interested in youth? Christmas? Orphans,
dolls, that sort of thing?” Mr. Bondling went on in a remarkably nasty way.

“I suppose so.”

“The more fool you. Ah, here’s your father.
Inspector Queen—”

“Oh, that Bondling,” said the old gentleman
absently, shaking his visitor’s hand. “My office called to say someone was
coming up. Here, use my handkerchief; that’s a bit of turkey liver. Know my
son? His secretary, Miss Porter? What’s on your mind, Mr. Bondling?”

“Inspector, I’m handling the Cytherea Ypson
estate, and—”

“Cytherea Ypson,” frowned the Inspector. “Oh,
yes. She died only recently.”

“Leaving me with the headache,” said Mr.
Bondling bitterly, “of disposing of her Dollection.”

“Her what?” asked Ellery.

“Dolls—collection. Dollection. She coined the
word.”

Ellery strolled over to his armchair.

“Do I take this down?” sighed Nikki.

“Dollection,” said Ellery.

“Spent about thirty years at it. Dolls!”

“Yes, Nikki, take it down.”

“Well, well, Mr. Bondling,” said Inspector
Queen. “What’s the problem? Christmas comes but once a year, you know.”

“Will provides the Dollection be sold at
auction,” grated the attorney, “and the proceeds used to set up a fund for
orphan children. I’m holding the public sale right after New Year’s.”

“Dolls and orphans, eh?” said the Inspector,
thinking of Javanese black pepper and Country Gentleman Seasoning Salt.

“That’s
nice,”
beamed Nikki.

“Oh, is it?” said Mr. Bondling softly. “Apparently,
young woman, you’ve never tried to satisfy a Surrogate. I’ve administered
estates for nineteen years without a whisper against me, but let an estate involve
the interests of just one little fatherless child, and you’d think from the
Surrogate’s attitude I was Bill Sykes himself!”

“My stuffing,” began the inspector.

“I’ve had those dolls catalogued. The result is
ominous! Did you know there’s no set market for the damnable things? And aside
from a few personal possessions, the Dollection constitutes the old lady’s
entire estate. Sank every nickel she had in it.”

“But it should be worth a fortune,” remarked
Ellery.

“To whom, Mr. Queen? Museums always want such things
as free and unencumbered gifts. I tell you, except for one item, those
hypothetical orphans won’t realize enough from that sale to keep them in—in bubble
gum for two days!”

“Which item would that be, Mr. Bondling?”

“Number Six-seventy-four,” the lawyer snapped. “This
one.”

“Number Six-seventy-four,” read Inspector Queen
from the fat catalogue Bondling had fished out of a large greatcoat pocket. “The
Dauphin’s Doll. Unique. Ivory figure of a boy Prince eight inches tall, clad in
court dress, genuine ermine, brocade, velvet. Court sword in gold strapped to
waist. Gold circlet crown surmounted by single blue brilliant diamond of finest
water, weight approximately 49 carats—”

“How many carats?” exclaimed Nikki.

“Larger than the
Hope
and the
Star
of South Africa,”
said
Ellery, with a certain excitement.

“—appraised,” continued his father, “at one
hundred and ten thousand dollars.”

“Expensive dollie.”

“Indecent!” said Nikki.

“This indecent—I mean exquisite, royal doll,”
the inspector read on, “was a birthday gift from King Louis XVI of France to
Louis Charles, his second son, who became dauphin at the death of his elder
brother, in 1789. The little dauphin was proclaimed Louis XVII by the royalists
during the French Revolution while in custody of the
sans-culottes.
His fate is shrouded in mystery. Romantic,
historic item.”

“Le prince perdu.
I’ll say,” muttered Ellery, “Mr. Bondling, is
this on the level?”

“I’m an attorney, not an antiquarian,” snapped
their visitor. “There are documents attached, one of them a sworn
statement—holograph—by Lady Charlotte Atkyns, the English actress-friend of the
Capet family—she was in France during the Revolution—on purporting to be in
Lady Atkyns’s hand. It doesn’t matter, Mr. Queen. Even if the history is bad,
the diamond’s good!”

“I take it this hundred-and-ten-thousand-dollar
dollie constitutes the bone, as it were, or that therein lies the rub?”

“You said it!” cried Mr. Bondling, cracking his
knuckles in a sort of agony. “For my money the Dauphin’s Doll is the only
negotiable asset of that collection. And what’s the old lady do? She provided
by will that on the day preceding Christmas the Cytherea Ypson Dollection is to
be publicly displayed…on the main floor of Nash’s Department Store!
The day before Christmas, gentlemen!
Think of it!”

“But why?” asked Nikki, puzzled.

“Why? Who knows why? For the entertainment of
New York’s army of little beggers, I suppose! Have you any notion how many
peasants pass through Nash’s on the day before Christmas? My cook tells me—she’s
a very religious woman—it’s like Armageddon.”

“Day before Christmas,” frowned Ellery. “That’s
tomorrow.”

“It does sound chancy,” said Nikki anxiously.
Then she brightened. “Oh, well, maybe Nash’s won’t cooperate, Mr. Bondling.”

“Oh, won’t they!” howled Mr. Bondling. “Why,
old lady Ypson had this stunt cooked up with that gang of peasant-purveyors for
years! They’ve been snapping at my heels ever since the day she was put away!”

“It’ll draw every crook in New York,” said the
inspector, his gaze on the kitchen door.

“Orphans,” said Nikki. “The orphans’ interests
must
be protected.” She looked at her employer
accusingly.

“Special measures, Dad,” he said.

“Sure, sure,” said the inspector, rising. “Don’t
you worry about this, Mr. Bondling. Now, if you’ll be kind enough to excu—”

“Inspector Queen,” hissed Mr. Bondling, leaning
forward tensely, “that is not all.”

“Ah,” said Ellery briskly, lighting a
cigarette. “There’s a specific villain in this piece, Mr. Bondling, and you
know who he is.”

“I do,” said the lawyer hollowly, “and then
again I don’t. I mean, it’s Comus.”

“Comus!”
the inspector screamed.

“Comus?” said Ellery slowly.

“Comus?” said Nikki. “Who dat?”

“Comus,” nodded Mr. Bondling. “First thing this
morning. Marched right into my office, bold as day—must have followed me, I
hadn’t got my coat off, my secretary wasn’t even in. Marched in and tossed this
card on my desk.”

Ellery seized it. “The usual, Dad.”

“His trademark,” growled the inspector, his
lips working.

“But the card just says ‘Comus,’ ” complained
Nikki. “Who—?”

“Go on, Mr. Bondling!” thundered the inspector.

“And he calmly announced to me,” said Bondling,
blotting his cheeks with an exhausted handkerchief, “that he’s going to steal
the Dauphin’s Doll tomorrow, in Nash’s.”

“Oh, a maniac,” said Nikki.

“Mr. Bondling,” said the old gentleman in a
terrible voice, “just what did this fellow look like?”

“Foreigner—black beard—spoke with a European
accent of some sort. To tell you the truth, I was so thunderstruck I didn’t
notice details. Didn’t even chase him till it was too late.”

The Queens shrugged at each other, Gallically.

“The old story,” said the inspector; the
corners of his nostrils were greenish. “The brass of the colonel’s monkey, and
when he does show himself nobody remembers anything but beards and foreign
accents. Well, Mr. Bondling, with Comus in the game it’s serious business.
Where’s the collection right now?”

“In the vaults of the Life Bank & Trust,
Forty-third Street branch.”

“What time are you to move it over to Nash’s?”

“They wanted it this evening. I said nothing
doing. I’ve made special arrangements with the bank, and the collection’s to be
moved at seven-thirty tomorrow morning.”

“Won’t be much time to set up,” said Ellery
thoughtfully, “before the store opens its doors.” He glanced at his father.

“You leave Operation Dollie to us, Mr. Bondling,”
said the inspector grimly. “Better give me a buzz this afternoon.”

“I can’t tell you, Inspector, how relieved I
am—”

“Are you?” said the old gentleman sourly. “What
makes you think he won’t get it?”

W
HEN
A
TTORNEY
B
ONDLING
had left, the Queens put their heads together,
Ellery doing most of the talking, as usual. Finally, the inspector went into the
bedroom for a session with his direct line to headquarters.

“Anybody would think,” sniffed Nikki, “you two
were planning the defense of the Bastille. Who is this Comus, anyway?”

“We don’t know, Nikki,” said Ellery slowly. “Might
be anybody. Began his criminal career about five years ago. He’s in the grand tradition
of Lupin—a saucy, highly intelligent rascal who’s made stealing an art. He
seems to take a special delight in stealing valuable things under virtually
impossible conditions. Master of make-up—he’s appeared in a dozen different
disguises. And he’s an uncanny mimic. Never been caught, photographed, or
fingerprinted. Imaginative, daring—I’d say he’s the most dangerous thief
operating in the United States.”

“If he’s never been caught,” said Nikki
skeptically, “how do you know he commits these crimes?”

“You mean, and not someone else?” Ellery smiled
pallidly. “The techniques mark the thefts as his work. And then, like Arsène,
he leaves a card—with the name ‘Comus’ on it—on the scene of each visit.”

“Does he usually announce in advance that he’s
going to swipe the crown jewels?”

“No.” Ellery frowned. “To my knowledge, this is
the first such instance. Since he’s never done anything without a reason, that
visit to Bondling’s office this morning must be part of his greater plan. I
wonder if—”

The telephone in the living room rang clear and
loud.

Nikki looked at Ellery. Ellery looked at the
telephone.

“Do you suppose—?” began Nikki. But then she
said, “Oh, it’s too absurd.”

“Where Comus is involved,” said Ellery wildly, “nothing
is too absurd!” and he leaped for the phone. “Hello!”