Chinese Orange Mystery by Ellery Queen Page B

worth that foul crossing from Havre. My dear Miss Temple, if your book on China is half so esoteric, I’m afraid we’re in for a merry time with the reviewers.”
    “Felix,” said Kirk. “That’s not kind.”
    “Miss Temple,” said Miss Llewes in a velvety murmur, “evidently knows what she’s talking about. Really brilliant! I don’t see how in the world you ever grasped that, Miss Temple.”
    The tiny woman was pale; one of her small hands on the stem of her wine-glass was trembling.
    And Berne said again, in the same cool casual voice: “I thought, Donald, you’d found a new Pearl Buck, but it begins to look as if you’ve unearthed merely a feminine Sherlock Holmes.”
    “Damn it!” growled Kirk, stumbling to his feet. “That’s the rottenest thing I’ve ever heard you say, Felix. Take that back—”
    “Heroics, Donald?” said Berne, raising his eyebrows.
    “Donald!” roared Dr. Kirk. The tall dishevelled young man sank back in his chair, quivering. “Enough of that, Felix! I’m sure you will want to apologize to Miss Temple.” There was an iron note in his rumbling voice.
    Berne, who had not stirred, murmured: “No offense intended, Miss Temple.” But his black eyes glittered strangely.
    Ellery coughed. “Uh—my fault entirely. Really my fault.” He fingered his wine-glass, studying its clear ruby contents.
    “But for heaven’s sake,” said Marcella in a shrill voice, “ I can’t bear this much longer myself. I must know. Jo, you said … Mr. Queen, who could have done such a thing? Left all those backward signs? The murderer? That poor little dead man?”
    “Now, Marcella,” began Macgowan.
    “Not the victim,” cooed Miss Llewes. “He died instantly, my dear, or so I’ve heard.”
    “Nor the murderer,” said Kirk harshly. “No man would be fool enough to leave a clue pointing to himself. Unless he left the clue to point to some one else, some one he—he wanted to frame for the crime. That’s a possibility, by God! I’ll wager that’s it!”
    Dr. Kirk was scowling ferociously.
    “Or,” murmured Miss Temple in a hurried breathless voice, “all that may have been done by some one who came in after the crime, had seen or divined who did it, and took that very complicated way of leaving a trail to the criminal for the police.”
    “Score again, Miss Temple,” said Ellery quickly. “You’ve the analytical mind par excellence .”
    “Or,” drawled Felix Berne, “the murderer was the Mad Hatter, and he did the whole thing to incriminate the Walrus and the Carpenter. Or might it have been the Cheshire Cat?”
    “You will please,” thundered Dr. Kirk, his eyes blazing, “stop this nonsensical speculation at once. At once, do you hear? Mr. Queen, I hold you accountable. Strictly accountable! If it is your intention, sir, to hold an inquiry—obviously you’re suspicious of all of us—I should appreciate your doing it under official circumstances, and not when you are a guest at my table. Otherwise, I shall be obliged to ask you to leave!”
    “Father!” whispered Marcella in a sick voice.
    “Father, for heaven’s sake—”
    Ellery said quietly: “I assure you, Dr. Kirk, I had no such intention. However, since my presence seems undesirable, I’m sure you will excuse me. I’m sorry, Kirk.”
    “Queen,” muttered Kirk miserably, “I—”
    Ellery pushed back his chair and rose. In the act of rising he tipped over his wine-glass, and the red liquid splashed over Donald Kirk’s tweeds.
    “Clumsy of me,” murmured Ellery, seizing a napkin with his left hand and dabbing at the stains. “And such excellent port, too. …”
    “It’s nothing, nothing. Don’t—”
    “Well, good evening,” said Ellery pleasantly, and strode from the room leaving a thick and heavy silence behind him.

Tangerine
    M R. ELLERY QUEEN DEPOSITED his ash stick upon his father’s desk and applied a match to his third cigaret of the morning. The Inspector’s old nose was buried in a