“Who the devil,” said a cool bass voice, “are you?”
“Ah, the police,” said Ellery. “Come in, gentlemen, come in.” He flipped something negligently on the table. “Wipe your shoes off before you walk on this rug.”
The side door was crowded with men, at the head of whom stood a tall broad man with flinty eyes. The two men regarded each other for a moment; then the tall man said curtly, “Clean your shoes, boys,” and scraped his own soles on the sill. He glanced from the fawn rug to Ellery and strode in to pick up what Ellery had thrown on the table. “Oh,” he said, handing it back. “Glad to have you, Mr. Queen. This man Angell outside didn’t mention your name. I’ve met your dad once or twice. I’m De Jong, chief of police in Trenton.”
Ellery nodded. “I’ve just been poking about. I hope you haven’t been tramping all over the driveways?”
“Angell told us what you said; good hunch. I’m having the drives boarded over. Let’s see this stiff.”
The room dwindled. Men scuffed about, packing it. De Jong went down on his knees beside the dead man. A fatherly-looking old gentleman with a black bag pushed him aside. Flash lamps burst silently. Bill Angell stood in a corner out of the way and watched with stones in his eyes. “Tell me everything that’s happened, Mr. Queen,” said a wheedling woman’s voice from behind Ellery.
He turned from his puzzled scrutiny of the dead man’s face to find a tall young woman with red hair and vivid lips, pencil poised over a notebook, smiling at him. Her hat, which looked like a large discus, was pushed dowdily back on her head and a red curl drooped over one bright eye.
“And why,” asked Ellery, “should I?”
“Because,” said the young woman, “I am the voice and conscience of the pee-pul. I represent public opinion and some damn’ captious advertisers. Give, Mr. Queen.”
Ellery lit his pipe and carefully dropped the match-stub into his pocket. “It seems to me,” he said, “that I’ve seen you somewhere before.”
“Mister Queen! That line had whiskers when Cleo suckled the asp. I was sitting only a few feet away in the lobby of the Stacy-Trent when your boy-friend called you up. Good work, Sherlock; you’re living up to your reputation. Who’s the pretty lad on the floor?”
“Now you and I,” said Ellery patiently, “haven’t been formally introduced.”
“Rats! I’m Ella Amity, feature-writer for the Trenton Times. Come on now, sport. I’ve got the jump on everybody, but it won’t last long. Open up!”
“Sorry. You’ll have to see De Jong.”
“Stuck-up,” said Miss Amity, and she scowled. Then she burrowed in between the old gentleman with the bag and Chief De Jong, and began scribbling like mad in her notebook. De Jong winked at Ellery and slapped her round rump. She giggled, lunged at Bill Angell, hurled questions at him, scribbled some more, threw him a kiss, and darted out of the shack. Ellery heard her screaming: “Where in hell’s the nearest telephone?” and a man’s gruff: “Hey, you, walk on the weeds.” A moment later he heard the sound of a motor retreating toward the Marine Terminal.
De Jong said, “Angell,” in a friendly voice. The men stepped aside to let Bill pass. Ellery slipped into the group standing over the body.
“Let’s have it,” said the tall man. “Murphy, notes. You said outside this man was your brother-in-law. His name?”
“Joseph Wilson.” The dazed look had gone out of Bill’s eyes; his chin was forward. He mentioned an address in the Fairmont Park section of Philadelphia.
“What’s he doing here?”
“I don’t know.”
“And where do you come in on this, Mr. Queen?”
Ellery related the story of his meeting with the young lawyer in Trenton and, before either man could interrupt, the tale Bill had told him about his first journey to the shack.
“Veiled, Wilson said, eh?” De Jong frowned. “Do you think you’d recognize this dame who beat it in the Cadillac, Angell?”
“All I saw were her eyes, and they were distorted with fright. I’d know the car, though.” He described it.
“Who owns this dump?”
Bill muttered, “I haven’t the faintest idea. This is the first time I’ve been here.”
“One hell of a hole,” grunted De Jong. “I remember now. It used to be a squatter’s shack. They were kicked out years ago. I didn’t know anyone was living here; land belongs to the city... Where’s your sister, Angell?”
Bill stiffened. Ellery murmured, “Bill’s tried to get her on the ’phone, but she’s out. He’s sent her a wire.”
De Jong nodded coldly and went away. When he came back he demanded, “What business was this Wilson in?” Bill told him. “Hmn. Well, this whole thing begins to smell. What’s the verdict, Doc?”
The old gentleman struggled to his feet. “A knife through the heart. Deep wound, De Jong; very neat job. It’s a miracle he didn’t die instantly.”
“Particularly,” said Ellery, “since the weapon was removed from the wound soon after the attack.”
The chief looked at him sharply, and then at the blood-crusted paper-knife on the table. “That is funny. And what the hell’s that thingamabob doing on the tip? What is it, anyway?”
“On consideration,” said Ellery, “I believe you’ll find it to be a cork.”
“Cork!”
“Yes, the kind that’s often stuck on the tip of a letter-opener when it’s bought.”
“Hmn. It’s a cinch this lad wasn’t skewered with that on it. Somebody put it on the tip of the knife after the kill.” De Jong studied the burnt match-stubs on the plate with irritation. “And charred the cork good and plenty. In the name of hell, why?”
“That,” said Ellery, puffing at his pipe, “is technically an epic question. Most pertinent. By the way, it might be wise not to drop any matches about. I’m an intolerant believer in leaving things as they are on the scene of a crime.”
“Nobody’s smoking but you,” said De Jong in a surly way. “I’m not much on this fancy business, Mr. Queen. Let’s get down to brass tacks. You say you had an appointment with your brother-in-law, Angell? Let’s have the whole story.”
Bill did not move for a moment; and then he put his hand in his pocket and produced a crumpled yellow envelope. “I suppose I may as well,” he said harshly. “Joe came home from one of his trips last Wednesday. He left again this morning—”
“How d’ye know that?” snapped the chief, eyes on the envelope.
“He called at my office Friday afternoon — yesterday — to see me about something, and he told me he was going away the next morning — that is, today. That’s how I know.” Bill’s eyes flickered. “About noon today I received this wire at my office. Read it, and you’ll know as much about this ghastly business as I do.”
De Jong opened the envelope and extracted a telegram. Ellery read it over the big man’s shoulder.
IMPORTANT I SEE YOU TONIGHT WITHOUT FAIL STOP PLEASE KEEP SECRET FROM EVERYONE THIS MEANS A GREAT DEAL TO ME STOP I WILL BE AT AN OLD HOUSE ON DELAWARE THREE MILES SOUTH OF TRENTON ON LAMBERTON ROAD SEVERAL HUNDRED YARDS SOUTH OF MARINE TERMINAL STOP IT IS ONLY HOUSE OF ITS KIND IN VICINITY YOU CANNOT MISS IT STOP HAS A HALF CIRCLE DRIVEWAY AND A BOATHOUSE IN REAR STOP MEET ME THERE AT NINE PM SHARP STOP VERY URGENT AM IN GREAT TROUBLE AND NEED YOUR ADVICE STOP NINE PM TONIGHT DO NOT FAIL ME... JOE
“Queer, all right,” muttered De Jong. “Sent from downtown Manhattan, too. Was he supposed to go to New York, Angell, on this last business trip of his?”