Chinese Orange Mystery by Ellery Queen Page A

room to—murder him?”
    “Why not?” cried Macgowan. “Why look for complications when there’s a simple explanation?”
    “But, my dear Macgowan,” murmured Ellery sadly, “we haven’t a simple crime.”
    Macgowan muttered: “But I don’t see—”
    “I mean that the killer went in for embroidery.” They were very silent now. “He removed the dead man’s outer garments and reclothed him so that his garments clothed the body in the reverse of the normal position. Backwards, you see. He turned every piece of furniture in the room which normally faced into the room so that it faced the wall. Backwards again. All movable objects suffered the same inexplicable fate—the lamps, the bowl of fruit—” he paused—“the bowl of fruit,” he repeated, “the rug, the pictures, the Impi shield on the wall, the humidor. … You see, it wasn’t merely a question of killing a man. It was a question of killing a man in specific surroundings under specific circumstances. That’s why I challenge your theory, Mr. Macgowan.”
    There was another silence while the fish plates were removed.
    Then Berne, who was staring at him with fixed attention, said: “Backwards?” in a surprised voice. “I did notice that things were upset, and his clothes—”
    “Twaddle,” growled Dr. Kirk. “Young man, you’re being intrigued by an obvious attempt at pure mystification. I can perceive no sensible motive for the criminal’s having turned everything backwards except that of creating confusion for the sake of confusion. He was making it harder for the police. He was attempting to foster the illusion of a subtle crime to obscure its very naïveté . Or else he was a maniac.”
    “I’m not so sure of that, Doctor,” said Miss Temple in her soft voice. “There’s something about this—Mr. Queen, what do you think about it? I’m convinced you have some theory to account for this extraordinary crime.”
    “Generally, yes.” Ellery mused, unsmiling, his eyes on the cloth. “Specifically, no. I should say, Doctor, that you’d hit the essential truth about this affair if not for one fact. But that fact, unfortunately, invalidates your argument.”
    “What’s that, Mr. Queen?” asked Marcella breathlessly.
    Ellery waved his hand. “Oh, it’s nothing sensational, Miss Kirk. It’s merely that there is in this crime, far from confusion—as your father maintains—actual pattern .”
    “Pattern?” frowned Macgowan.
    “Unquestionably. Had one thing, or two, or three, or even four been turned backwards, I should agree to a certain feeling of confusion. But when everything movable has been turned backwards, when everything is confused—so to speak—then the confusion takes on meaning per se . It becomes a pattern of confusion; no longer, then, confusion at all. Here everything has been confused in the identical way . Everything movable has been turned backwards. Don’t you see what that suggests?”
    Berne said slowly: “Rot, Queen, rot. I don’t believe it.”
    “I have the feeling,” Ellery smiled, “that Miss Temple also sees what I mean, Mr. Berne—and perhaps even agrees with me. Eh, Miss Temple?”
    “It may be the Chinese part of me again,” the tiny woman said with a charming shrug. “You mean, Mr. Queen, that there’s something about the crime, or some one connected with the crime, that possesses a backward significance ? That some one turned everything backwards to point to something backwards about some one, if I make myself clear?”
    “Jo—Miss Temple,” cried Donald Kirk, “you can’t believe that. It’s—why, it’s as far-fetched as anything I’ve ever heard!”
    She glanced briefly at him and he fell back, silent. “It is esoteric,” she murmured, “but then in China you come to accept queer, queer things.”
    “In China,” grinned Ellery, “you apparently improve even a fine natural intelligence. That’s precisely what I do mean, Miss Temple.”
    Berne chuckled. “This has been