Read Online French Powder Mystery by Ellery Queen - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ellery Queen
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man.
“I did, sor,” replied O’Flaherty. “She used to come to th’ store sometimes after closing when Mr. French was still here.”
“Often?”
“No, sor, Not so very. But I knowed her right enough, sor.”
“Hmmm.” Inspector Queen relaxed. “Now, O’Flaherty, answer carefully—and truthfully. As truthfully as if you were on the witness-stand.—Did you see Mrs. French last night?”
Silence had fallen in the room—a silence pregnant with beating hearts and racing pulses. All eyes were on the broad mottled face of the old watchman. He licked his lips, seemed to reflect, squared his shoulders.
“Yes, sor,” he said, with a little hiss.
“At what time?”
“’Twas just eleven-forty-five, sor,” replied O’Flaherty. “Y’see, there ain’t but one night entrance to th’ store after hours. All th’ other doors and exits are ironed up. That one door is on 39th Street, th’ Employees’ Entrance. There ain’t no way but that t’get in or out o’ the buildin’. I—”
Ellery moved suddenly, and everybody turned toward him. He smiled deprecatingly at O’Flaherty. “Sorry, dad, but I’ve just thought of something. … O’Flaherty, do I understand you to say that there is only one way into the store after hours—the Employees’ Entrance?”
O’Flaherty champed his blue old jaws reflectively. “Why, yes, sor,” he said. “And what’s wrong about that?”
“Very little,” smiled Ellery, “except that I believe there is a night freight-entrance on the 39th Street side as well. …”
“Oh, that!” snorted the old watchman. “Tain’t hardly an entrance, sor. Mostly always shut. So, as I was sayin’—”
Ellery lifted a slender hand. “One moment, O’Flaherty. You say, ‘Mostly always shut.’ Just what do you mean by that?”
“Well,” replied O’Flaherty, scratching his poll, “it’s shut down tighter’n a drum all night exceptin’ between eleven o’clock and eleven-thirty. So it don’t hardly count.”
“That’s your point of view,” said Ellery argumentatively. “I thought there must be a good reason for having a special nightwatchman at the spot all night. Who is he?”
“That’s Bloom over here,” said O’Flaherty. “Bloom, step out, man, and let the gentlemen look ye over.”
Bloom, a sturdy middle-aged man with reddish, graying hair, stepped uncertainly forward. “That’s me,” he said. “Nothin’ wrong in my freight department last night, if that’s what you wanna know. …”
“No?” Ellery eyed him keenly. “Exactly why is the freight-entrance opened between eleven and eleven-thirty?”
“Fer the delivery of groceries an’ meats an’ such,” answered Bloom. “Big turn-over every day in the store restaurant, and then there’s the Employees’ Restaurant too. Get supplies fresh every night.”
“Who is the trucker?” interrupted the Inspector.
“Buckley & Green. Same driver an’ unloader every night sir.”
“I see,” said the Inspector. “Get it down, Hagstrom, and make a note to question the men on the truck. … Anything else, Ellery?”
“Yes.” Ellery turned once more to the red-haired nightwatchman. “Tell us just what happens every night when the Buckley & Green truck arrives.”
“Well, I go on duty at ten,” said Bloom. “At eleven every night the truck rolls up and Johnny Salvatore, the driver, rings the night bell outside the freight door. …”
“Is the freight door kept locked after five-thirty?”
MacKenzie, the store manager, interrupted. “Yes, sir. It’s automatically locked at closing-time. Never opened till the truck comes up at eleven.”
“Go on, Bloom.”
“When Johnny rings, I unlock the door—it’s sheet iron—and roll ’er up. Then the truck drives inside, an’ Marino, the unloader, unpacks the stuff and stores it, while Johnny and myself check it over in my booth near the door. That’s all. When they’re through, they take the truck out, I unroll the door, and lock
“I did, sor,” replied O’Flaherty. “She used to come to th’ store sometimes after closing when Mr. French was still here.”
“Often?”
“No, sor, Not so very. But I knowed her right enough, sor.”
“Hmmm.” Inspector Queen relaxed. “Now, O’Flaherty, answer carefully—and truthfully. As truthfully as if you were on the witness-stand.—Did you see Mrs. French last night?”
Silence had fallen in the room—a silence pregnant with beating hearts and racing pulses. All eyes were on the broad mottled face of the old watchman. He licked his lips, seemed to reflect, squared his shoulders.
“Yes, sor,” he said, with a little hiss.
“At what time?”
“’Twas just eleven-forty-five, sor,” replied O’Flaherty. “Y’see, there ain’t but one night entrance to th’ store after hours. All th’ other doors and exits are ironed up. That one door is on 39th Street, th’ Employees’ Entrance. There ain’t no way but that t’get in or out o’ the buildin’. I—”
Ellery moved suddenly, and everybody turned toward him. He smiled deprecatingly at O’Flaherty. “Sorry, dad, but I’ve just thought of something. … O’Flaherty, do I understand you to say that there is only one way into the store after hours—the Employees’ Entrance?”
O’Flaherty champed his blue old jaws reflectively. “Why, yes, sor,” he said. “And what’s wrong about that?”
“Very little,” smiled Ellery, “except that I believe there is a night freight-entrance on the 39th Street side as well. …”
“Oh, that!” snorted the old watchman. “Tain’t hardly an entrance, sor. Mostly always shut. So, as I was sayin’—”
Ellery lifted a slender hand. “One moment, O’Flaherty. You say, ‘Mostly always shut.’ Just what do you mean by that?”
“Well,” replied O’Flaherty, scratching his poll, “it’s shut down tighter’n a drum all night exceptin’ between eleven o’clock and eleven-thirty. So it don’t hardly count.”
“That’s your point of view,” said Ellery argumentatively. “I thought there must be a good reason for having a special nightwatchman at the spot all night. Who is he?”
“That’s Bloom over here,” said O’Flaherty. “Bloom, step out, man, and let the gentlemen look ye over.”
Bloom, a sturdy middle-aged man with reddish, graying hair, stepped uncertainly forward. “That’s me,” he said. “Nothin’ wrong in my freight department last night, if that’s what you wanna know. …”
“No?” Ellery eyed him keenly. “Exactly why is the freight-entrance opened between eleven and eleven-thirty?”
“Fer the delivery of groceries an’ meats an’ such,” answered Bloom. “Big turn-over every day in the store restaurant, and then there’s the Employees’ Restaurant too. Get supplies fresh every night.”
“Who is the trucker?” interrupted the Inspector.
“Buckley & Green. Same driver an’ unloader every night sir.”
“I see,” said the Inspector. “Get it down, Hagstrom, and make a note to question the men on the truck. … Anything else, Ellery?”
“Yes.” Ellery turned once more to the red-haired nightwatchman. “Tell us just what happens every night when the Buckley & Green truck arrives.”
“Well, I go on duty at ten,” said Bloom. “At eleven every night the truck rolls up and Johnny Salvatore, the driver, rings the night bell outside the freight door. …”
“Is the freight door kept locked after five-thirty?”
MacKenzie, the store manager, interrupted. “Yes, sir. It’s automatically locked at closing-time. Never opened till the truck comes up at eleven.”
“Go on, Bloom.”
“When Johnny rings, I unlock the door—it’s sheet iron—and roll ’er up. Then the truck drives inside, an’ Marino, the unloader, unpacks the stuff and stores it, while Johnny and myself check it over in my booth near the door. That’s all. When they’re through, they take the truck out, I unroll the door, and lock
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