“I better ankle over there,” said Sergeant Velie, “see Her Nibs, get the note, and arrange for—”
“You will not be received,” said Ellery dreamily. “Mrs. Clementa Van Swicken Van Dome has just passed a Law. It is to the effect that if she wants to pay blackmail, she’ll pay blackmail, and if the City of New York sends so much as one policeman or detective to the rendezvous, she’ll sue said City for a large number of millions.”
“You mean—” cried the Inspector.
“She’s afraid that you’d scare off the blackmailer, Dad. Then he’d give the full and documented story of Margreta’s little vice to the newspapers. To prevent that, she’s ready to pay ten thousand dollars, and so on. She was quite nasty about it in an imperial sort of way.”
“So our hands are tied,” groaned the Inspector. “If only we knew what was in that note!”
“Oh, that. I have it here on my pad, word for word.”
“She read it to you?”
“It seems that I,” said Ellery, “am a gentleman—of a lower order, to be sure—but still... Oh, you heard my line. Here’s the note: ‘Mrs. Van Dome. I have the proof your daughter is a crook. Be in the south Waiting Room at Penn Station at eight P.M. tonight. Bring ten thousand dollars in nothing bigger than twenties. Wear a black hat with a purple nose-veil. Wrap the dough in red paper, hold it under your left arm. Don’t tell police. If there’s any sign of gumshoes or cops tonight I’ll see to it every paper in town gets the lowdown—with photostats—on how your daughter’s been lifting stuff from New York department stores for years. Be smart. Play ball. I mean business.’ No signature.”
“It sounds like that gold-tooth man,” said Nikki, but doubtfully.
“I think it’s Vince,” said Mike excitedly.
“Might be either,” grunted the Inspector. “Ziggy being extra-careful about his English, or Vince being purposely sloppy. Good work, son. Well be there and—”
“Oh, no, you won’t.”
“You think I won’t?”
“City. Suit.”
His father ground the inspectorial jaws.
“Besides,” said Ellery, “I gave Mrs. Van D. my word as a gentleman that no policeman or city detective would be at the rendezvous tonight.”
“Ellery,” groaned his father.
“On the other hand, I’m not a policeman or city detective, am I? Nor is Mike. And certainly Nikki isn’t.”
“Ellery!”
“Mike, you don’t look pleased.”
“Pleased! Today is March the fifteenth,” said Mike through his teeth, “the rat won’t show till eight P.M. — the deadline for income-tax returns is midnight—and he says I don’t look pleased.”
“Why, Michael,” said Ellery soothingly. “That gives us all of four hours.”
“To collar this skunk, find out where he’s hid my tax stuff, get ’em, finish workin’ out my return, and have it in the mail—all between eight and twelve!”
“Cinch,” said Ellery. “Michael, my boy, it’s as good as in the bag—the mail bag—right now.”
Prophecy is a perilous art.
At twelve minutes of eight o’clock on the evening of March fifteenth a large stout woman wearing a black hat and a purple nose-veil, carrying a fat parcel wrapped in red paper under her left arm, appeared suddenly in the entrance to the south Waiting Room at Pennsylvania Station.
Mrs. Clementa Van Swicken Van Dome surveyed her fellow Americans. There was an expression of excitement on those remote features. So these were the People, it said. One gathered that this was at least as great an adventure.
The People stared back, rather uneasily. The steamfitter jaw bunched, and Mrs. Van Dome swept regally to the nearest bench. A Negro soldier moved over to make room for her. On the other side a young mother was struggling to diaper a kicking, screaming infant. Mrs. Van Dome was seen to take a long, deep breath. Then she sat down, and she sat rigidly. She grew red in the face.
She was trying not to breathe.
At twelve minutes of ten she was still seated there. By now her neighbors were an old man without a tie who was carrying a paper bag, and a girl in a mink coat and no hat who was smoking a cigaret.
The three watchers crossed glances over their newspapers.
“All this excitement,” muttered Nikki, “is killing me—” she stirred tenderly — “and you know where.”
“He couldn’t have spotted us,” mumbled Mike. “Ellery, he couldn’t have.”
“It’s unlikely,” said Ellery. “Unless he was here at six o’clock and saw us enter the Station. If he wasn’t, it’s even unlikelier because, from where we’re sitting, we’re invisible unless you come into the Waiting Room, or at least stand in the entrance. That’s why I picked this spot.”
“But then we’d have seen him,” winced Nikki.
“Exactly.” Ellery rose. “We’ve either been gulled, or he got cold feet at the last moment.”
“But what about Mrs. Van Dome?” asked Nikki.
“Let her stay here inhaling the odors of America,” said Ellery. “Do her good. Come on.”
“My income tax,” groaned Mike Magoon.
And the first people they saw when they entered Inspector Queen’s anteroom at Police Headquarters were Leonardo Vince and Jack Ziggy.
“Ellery—” cried Nikki; but then she saw the Inspector’s face, and she stopped.
“Ah, here’s a man who’ll be interested in your yarn, Mr. Vince,” said the Inspector genially. “Ellery, guess what. — Oh, by the way, son. Did you have a good dinner?”
“Disappointing.”
“You can’t always tell from those fancy menus, can you? As I was saying. At seven-thirty this evening Mr. Vince marches into Headquarters here. Mr. Vince, tell my son what you told me.”
“I was home painting,” said Leonardo Vince wearily. “About a quarter of seven my phone rang. It was Western Union. They read me a telegram. It said: ‘Want to commission daughter’s portrait. Am leaving town tonight but will have few minutes discuss it with you before train time. Meet me eight tonight south Waiting Room Penn Station. Will be wearing black hat and purple nose-veil and carrying red parcel.’”
“Signed,” said Inspector Queen, “‘Clementa Van Swicken Van Dome.’”
“Have you—?” began Ellery.
“Sure, Maestro,” said Sergeant Velie. “That’s the copy I myself got from the telegraph office this evenin’ when I checked. The message was phoned in to a midtown station in the middle of the afternoon. They can’t tell us who phoned it in. They had instructions to deliver the wire to the addressee at a quarter of seven tonight.”
Then Ellery turned to the artist and asked pleasantly: “Well, why didn’t you keep the appointment, Mr. Vince?”
The artist bared his woody-looking teeth. “Oh, no,” he grinned. “Not little Leonardo. You develop an animal instinct for danger when you’ve been hunted in this world as long as I have. Riches descend on me the very same day I become a suspect in a murder case? Ha, ha! I came straight to Inspector Queen.”
“And he’s been here,” said Inspector Queen dryly, “ever since.”
“Can’t get him out of the office,” complained the Sergeant.
“It’s such a nice, safe office,” said Leonardo Vince.
“And Mr. Jack Ziggy?” asked Ellery suddenly.
The little bookmaker started. Then he said: “It’s a frame. I don’t know—”
“Nuttin,” said the Inspector. “Mr. Jack Ziggy, Ellery, was picked up at seven-thirty this evening in a routine raid on a big bookie joint on 34th Street and Eighth Avenue.”
“When the boys found out who they had,” said Velie, “they brought him right here.” He looked baleful.
“Where he’s been keeping Mr. Vince company. Velie, stay here and entertain these gentlemen. We’re going into my office.”