“They’re both exactly alike,” said Friederich Ulm. “Even to the initials.”
“Very interesting,” said Ellery, returning the case. The brothers scurried back, placed the stamp in a drawer of the safe, and locked the safe with painful care. “You closed the cabinet, of course, after your three visitors looked over the stamps inside?”
“Oh, yes,” said Friederich Ulm. “I closed the case of the one-penny black itself, and then I locked the cabinet.”
“And did you send the three invitations yourself? I noticed you have no typewriter here.”
“We use a public stenographer in Room 1102 for all our correspondence, Mr. Queen.”
Ellery thanked the dealers gravely, waved to the insurance man, nudged Sergeant Velie’s meaty ribs, and the two men left the office. In Room 1102 they found a sharp-featured young woman. Sergeant Velie flashed his badge, and Ellery was soon reading carbon copies of the three Ulm invitations. He took note of the names and addresses, and the two men left.
They visited the collector named John Hinchman first. Hinchman was a thick-set old man with white hair and gimlet eyes. He was brusque and uncommunicative. Yes, he had been present in the Ulms’ office two mornings before. Yes, he knew Peters. No, he’d never met Beninson before. The one-penny black? Of course. Every collector knew of the valuable twin stamps owned by the Ulm brothers; those little scraps of paper bearing the initials of a queen were famous in stampdom. The theft? Bosh! He, Hinchman, knew nothing of Beninson, or whoever it was that impersonated Beninson. He, Hinchman, had left before the thief. He, Hinchman, furthermore didn’t care two raps in Hades who stole the stamp; all he wanted was to be left strictly alone.
Sergeant Velie exhibited certain animal signs of hostility; but Ellery grinned, sank his strong fingers into the muscle of the sergeant’s arm, and herded him out of Hinchman’s house. They took the subway uptown.
J. S. Peters, they found, was a middle-aged man, tall and thin and yellow as Chinese sealing wax. He seemed anxious to be of assistance. Yes, he and Hinchman had left the Ulms’ office together, before the third man. He had never seen the third man before, although he had heard of Beninson from other collectors. Yes, he knew all about the one-penny blacks, had even tried to buy one of them from Friederich Ulm two years before; but the Ulms had refused to sell.
“Philately,” said Ellery outside to Sergeant Velie, whose honest face looked pained at the word, “is a curious hobby. It seems to afflict its victims with a species of mania. I don’t doubt these stamp-collecting fellows would murder each other for one of the things.”
The sergeant was wrinkling his nose. “How’s she look now?” he asked rather anxiously.
“Velie,” replied Ellery, “she looks swell — and different.”
They found Avery Beninson in an old brownstone house near the river; he was a mild-mannered and courteous host.
“No, I never did see that invitation,” Beninson said. “You see, I hired this man who called himself William Planck, and he took care of my collection and the bulky mail all serious collectors have. The man knew stamps, all right. For two weeks he was invaluable to me. He must have intercepted the Ulms’ invitation. He saw his chance to get into their office, went there, said he was Avery Beninson...” The collector shrugged. “It was quite simple, I suppose, for an unscrupulous man.”
“Of course, you haven’t had word from him since the morning of the theft?”
“Naturally not. He made his haul and lit out.”
“Just what did he do for you, Mr. Beninson?”
“The ordinary routine of the philatelic assistant — assorting, cataloguing, counting, answering correspondence. He lived here with me for the two weeks he was in my employ.” Beninson grinned deprecatingly. “You see, I’m a bachelor — live in this big shack all alone. I was really glad of his company, although he was a queer one.”
“A queer one?”
“Well,” said Beninson, “he was a retiring sort of creature. Had very few personal belongings, and I found those gone two days ago. He didn’t seem to like people, either. He always went to his own room when friends of mine or collectors called, as if he didn’t want to mix with company.”
“Then there isn’t anyone else who might be able to supplement your description of him?”
“Unfortunately, no. He was a fairly tall man, well advanced in age, I should say. But then his dark glasses and heavy black mustache would make him stand out anywhere.”
Ellery sprawled his long figure over the chair, slumping on his spine. “I’m most interested in the mem’s habits, Mr. Beninson. Individual idiosyncrasies are often the innocent means by which criminals are apprehended, as the good sergeant here will tell you. Please think hard. Didn’t the man exhibit any oddities of habit?”
Beninson pursed his lips with anxious concentration. His face brightened. “By George, yes! He was a snuff-taker.”
Ellery and Sergeant Velie looked at each other. “That’s interesting,” said Ellery with a smile. “So is my father — Inspector Queen, you know — and I’ve had the dubious pleasure of watching a snuff-taker’s gyrations ever since my childhood. Planck inhaled snuff regularly?”
“I shouldn’t say that exactly, Mr. Queen,” replied Beninson with a frown. “In fact, in the two weeks he was with me I saw him take snuff only once, and I invariably spent all day with him working in this room. It was last week; I happened to go out for a few moments, and when I returned I saw him holding a carved little box, sniffing from a pinch of something between his fingers. He put the box away quickly, as if he didn’t want me to see it — although I didn’t care, lord knows, so long as he didn’t smoke in here. I’ve had one fire from a careless assistant’s cigaret, and I don’t want another.”
Ellery’s face had come alive. He sat up straight and began to finger his pince-nez eyeglasses studiously. “You didn’t know the man’s address, I suppose?” he asked slowly.
“No, I did not. I’m afraid I took him on without the proper precautions.” The collector sighed. “I’m fortunate that he didn’t steal anything from me. My collection is worth a lot of money.”
“No doubt,” said Ellery in a pleasant voice. He rose. “May I use your telephone, Mr. Beninson?”
“Surely.”
Ellery consulted a telephone directory and made several calls, speaking in tones so low that neither Beninson nor Sergeant Velie could hear what he was saying. When he put down the instrument he said: “If you can spare a half-hour, Mr. Beninson, I’d like to have you take a little jaunt with us downtown.”
Beninson seemed astonished; but he smiled, said: “I’d be delighted,” and reached for his coat.
Ellery commandeered a taxicab outside, and the three men were driven to Forty-ninth Street. He excused himself when they got out before the little bookshop, hurried inside, and came out after a moment with old Uneker, who locked his door with shaking fingers.
In the Ulm brothers’ office they found Heffley, the insurance man, and Hazlitt, Uneker’s customer, waiting for them. “Glad you could come,” said Ellery cheerfully to both men. “Good afternoon, Mr. Ulm. A little conference, and I think we’ll have this business cleared up to the Queen’s taste. Ha, ha!”
Friederich Ulm scratched his head; Albert Ulm, sitting in a corner with his hatchet knees jack-knifed, his green shade over his eyes, nodded.
“We’ll have to wait,” said Ellery. “I’ve asked Mr. Peters and Mr. Hinchman to come, too. Suppose we sit down?”
They were silent for the most part, and not a little uneasy. No one spoke as Ellery strolled about the office, examining the rare stamps in their wall cases with open curiosity, whistling softly to himself. Sergeant Velie eyed him doubtfully. Then the door opened, and Hinchman and Peters appeared together. They stopped short at the threshold, looked at each other, shrugged, and walked in. Hinchman was scowling.