Read Online Chinese Orange Mystery by Ellery Queen - Free Book Online Page A

Kirk. The fierce old man was fully dressed now; his white shirt-front glittered angrily from the wheel chair being pushed by a subdued Miss Diversey. His gauntness was amazing; he was like a bony shell filled with fury.
    “What’s this mumbo-jumbo about a murder?” he was roaring, waving his long skinny arms. “Positively indecent, Donald! Why do you permit us to be dragged into this?”
    “Don’t make a row, father,” said Kirk wearily. “These gentlemen are the police.”
    Dr. Kirk’s white mustache lifted in a snarl. “Police! As if any one with two eyes and ears couldn’t tell. Ears particularly. You can always tell a policeman by his indefatigable mangling of the simplest past participles.” He turned on the Inspector a pair of iceberg eyes. “You’re in charge here?”
    “I am,” snapped the Inspector. Under his breath he muttered: “And I’ll mangle your past participles!” Aloud he continued with a savage smile: “And I’ll thank you, sir, to quit raising a rumpus.”
    “Rumpus? Rumpus? Obscene word. Who’s raising a rumpus, may I ask?” growled Dr. Kirk. “What do you want of us? Quickly, please.”
    “Father,” said Marcella Kirk with a frown. She seemed shaken by her experience; her oval face was brilliantly pale.
    “Be quiet, Marcella. Well, sir?”
    Ellery, Kirk, and Detective Piggott were standing side by side, like a trio of tightly ranked soldiers, before the office-door, concealing the dead man. The fingerprint men, the photographers, had vanished. Except for Sergeant Velie, Detective Piggott and one other officer the men from headquarters who had thronged the room were gone, most of them dispatched by the Sergeant on various investigatory errands. In the corridor outside, in charge of two uniformed men, stood a group of people—Nye, Brummer, Mrs. Shane, a few others—surrounded by clamoring newspapermen.
    Sergeant Velie shut the door in their faces.
    The Inspector looked his audience over carefully. Marcella Kirk stood beside her father’s wheelchair with a restraining hand on his shoulder. Miss Diversey drooped behind. The black-gowned little woman, Miss Temple was eying Donald Kirk with the queerest attention; he seemed unconscious of her scrutiny and stared directly before him. Glenn Macgowan, grimacing with distaste, lounged beside Marcella. And, by herself, in the shimmering tight gown, her eyes quite fathomless, stood Irene Llewes; and she, too, was studying Donald Kirk’s face. Behind them all were the valet-butler Hubbell and Osborne, who was trying hard not to look at Miss Diversey.
    The Inspector took out his worn snuff-box and thrust a pinch up each slender nostril. He sneezed three times, amiably, and put the box away. “Now, ladies and gentlemen,” he began in a genial tone, “a murder’s been committed in this room. The body is lying behind Mr. Kirk, Mr. Queen, and Detective Piggott.” Their eyes wavered and shrank. “Dr. Kirk, you indicated a moment ago that you wanted no fuss. Nor do we. I’m inviting the man or woman who killed that poor little chap to step forward.”
    Some one gasped, and Ellery from his vantage-point searched their faces swiftly. But they all looked petrified. Dr. Kirk, his hair standing on end, half-rose in his chair and gasped: “Do you mean—are you insinuating that some one here—Why, this is infamous!”
    “Sure is,” smiled the Inspector. “That’s the hell of murders, Dr. Kirk. Well?”
    Their shocked eyes fell.
    The Inspector sighed. “All right, then. Step aside, boys.” Silently Kirk, Ellery, and Piggott obeyed.
    For an instant they glared with fascinated horror at the serene dead face smiling up at them. Then they began to stir. Marcella Kirk swallowed convulsively and swayed, looking ill. Macgowan placed his big brown hand on her bare arm, and she stiffened. Miss Temple shivered suddenly and turned her head away; she did not look at Donald Kirk any longer. Only Irene Llewes seemed unmoved; except for her pallor