Read Online French Powder Mystery by Ellery Queen - Free Book Online
Authors: Ellery Queen
Ads: Link
to leave things alone. I know that much, Inspector!”
“Mr. Lavery!” The Frenchman sauntered up. No, he had seen no sign of a lipstick. Perhaps the model—?
“Hardly! Piggott, send some one up to the infirmary and find out if this Johnson girl saw it.”
The Inspector turned back to Ellery with a frowning brow. “Now, that’s funny, isn’t it, Ellery? Could some one here have appropriated the darned thing?”
Ellery smiled. “‘Honest labor,’ as old Tom Dekker had it, ‘bears a lovely face,’ but I’m very much afraid, dad. … No, your efforts in the direction of finding a lipstick thief are wasted. I could almost make a nice conjecture. …”
“What do you mean, Ellery?” groaned the Inspector. “Where is it, then, if no one took it?”
“We’ll come to that in the course of inexorable time,” said Ellery imperturbably. “But examine the face of our poor clay again, dad—particularly the labial portion. See anything interesting aside from the color of the lipstick?”
“Eh?” The Inspector turned startled eyes to the corpse. He felt for his snuff-box and nervously took a generous pinch. “No, I can’t say that I—By jiminy!” He muttered beneath his breath. “The lips—unfinished. …”
“Precisely.” Ellery twirled his pince-nez about his finger. “Observed the phenomenon the moment I looked at the body. What amazing juxtaposition of circumstances could have caused a handsome woman still in her prime to leave her lips only half painted?” He pursed his mouth, fell into deep thought. His eyes did not leave the dead woman’s lips, which showed the pinkish color of the lipstick on both the upper and lower lip, on the upper two dabs of unsmeared color and on the lower one a dab exactly in the center. Where the lipstick had not yet been smeared, the lips were a sickly purple—the color of unadorned death.
The Inspector passed his hand wearily across his brow just as Piggott returned.
“Well?”
“The girl fainted,” reported the detective, “just as the body fell out of the wall-bed. Never saw anything, much less a lipstick.” Inspector Queen draped the sheet over the body in baffled silence.
8.
The Watcher
T HE DOOR OPENED AND Sergeant Velie entered, accompanied by a steady-eyed man dressed in black. This newcomer saluted the inspector respectfully and stood waiting.
“This is Robert Jones, Inspector,” said Velie in his deep clipped tones. “Attached to the store force, and I’ll vouch for him personally. Jones was the man called by Mr. Weaver this morning to stand outside the apartment door during the directors’ meeting.”
“How about it, Jones?” asked Inspector Queen.
“I was ordered to Mr. French’s apartment this morning at eleven,” replied the store detective. “I was told to stand guard outside and see that no one disturbed the meeting. According to my instructions. …”
“And where did your instructions come from?”
“I understood that Mr. Weaver had ’phoned, sir,” replied Jones. The Inspector looked at Weaver, who nodded, and then motioned the man to continue.
“According to my instructions,” said Jones, “I strolled about outside the apartment without interrupting the meeting. I was in the sixth floor corridor near the apartment until about twelve-fifteen. At that time the door opened and Mr. French, the other directors and Mr. Weaver ran out and took the elevator, going downstairs. They all seemed excited. …”
“Did you know why Mr. French, Mr. Weaver and the others ran out of the apartment that way?”
“No, sir. As I said, they seemed excited and paid no attention to me. I didn’t hear about Mrs. French being dead until one of the boys dropped by about a half-hour later with the news.”
“Did the directors close the door when they left the apartment?”
“The door closed by itself—swung shut.”
“So you didn’t enter the apartment?”
“No, sir!”
“Did any one come up to the apartment while you stood
“Mr. Lavery!” The Frenchman sauntered up. No, he had seen no sign of a lipstick. Perhaps the model—?
“Hardly! Piggott, send some one up to the infirmary and find out if this Johnson girl saw it.”
The Inspector turned back to Ellery with a frowning brow. “Now, that’s funny, isn’t it, Ellery? Could some one here have appropriated the darned thing?”
Ellery smiled. “‘Honest labor,’ as old Tom Dekker had it, ‘bears a lovely face,’ but I’m very much afraid, dad. … No, your efforts in the direction of finding a lipstick thief are wasted. I could almost make a nice conjecture. …”
“What do you mean, Ellery?” groaned the Inspector. “Where is it, then, if no one took it?”
“We’ll come to that in the course of inexorable time,” said Ellery imperturbably. “But examine the face of our poor clay again, dad—particularly the labial portion. See anything interesting aside from the color of the lipstick?”
“Eh?” The Inspector turned startled eyes to the corpse. He felt for his snuff-box and nervously took a generous pinch. “No, I can’t say that I—By jiminy!” He muttered beneath his breath. “The lips—unfinished. …”
“Precisely.” Ellery twirled his pince-nez about his finger. “Observed the phenomenon the moment I looked at the body. What amazing juxtaposition of circumstances could have caused a handsome woman still in her prime to leave her lips only half painted?” He pursed his mouth, fell into deep thought. His eyes did not leave the dead woman’s lips, which showed the pinkish color of the lipstick on both the upper and lower lip, on the upper two dabs of unsmeared color and on the lower one a dab exactly in the center. Where the lipstick had not yet been smeared, the lips were a sickly purple—the color of unadorned death.
The Inspector passed his hand wearily across his brow just as Piggott returned.
“Well?”
“The girl fainted,” reported the detective, “just as the body fell out of the wall-bed. Never saw anything, much less a lipstick.” Inspector Queen draped the sheet over the body in baffled silence.
8.
The Watcher
T HE DOOR OPENED AND Sergeant Velie entered, accompanied by a steady-eyed man dressed in black. This newcomer saluted the inspector respectfully and stood waiting.
“This is Robert Jones, Inspector,” said Velie in his deep clipped tones. “Attached to the store force, and I’ll vouch for him personally. Jones was the man called by Mr. Weaver this morning to stand outside the apartment door during the directors’ meeting.”
“How about it, Jones?” asked Inspector Queen.
“I was ordered to Mr. French’s apartment this morning at eleven,” replied the store detective. “I was told to stand guard outside and see that no one disturbed the meeting. According to my instructions. …”
“And where did your instructions come from?”
“I understood that Mr. Weaver had ’phoned, sir,” replied Jones. The Inspector looked at Weaver, who nodded, and then motioned the man to continue.
“According to my instructions,” said Jones, “I strolled about outside the apartment without interrupting the meeting. I was in the sixth floor corridor near the apartment until about twelve-fifteen. At that time the door opened and Mr. French, the other directors and Mr. Weaver ran out and took the elevator, going downstairs. They all seemed excited. …”
“Did you know why Mr. French, Mr. Weaver and the others ran out of the apartment that way?”
“No, sir. As I said, they seemed excited and paid no attention to me. I didn’t hear about Mrs. French being dead until one of the boys dropped by about a half-hour later with the news.”
“Did the directors close the door when they left the apartment?”
“The door closed by itself—swung shut.”
“So you didn’t enter the apartment?”
“No, sir!”
“Did any one come up to the apartment while you stood
Similar Books
