Ellery grinned. Child’s play! He rearranged the hearts, diamonds, and clubs, put them all together, and read the message.
WORRIED CAN YOU CONTINUE
KEEP OP FROM TALKING
Ellery shuffled and reshuffled the cards, shuffled them again. He spread them, pushed them together, dropped them on the floor, picked them up. No point in arousing Valerie’s suspicions. He was sure she had not had time to rearrange the cards and read the message before Fitzgerald’s telephone call.
Op. Op. Queer. It might mean “operative.” Operative? Private investigator. Detective. Detective! Whom did Jardin mean? Could he possibly be referring to a gentleman who called himself Hilary King? Had they seen through his shrieking sport jacket? “Keep op from talking.” No, that didn’t gel.
He shook his head and returned the cards to the refectory drawer.
He was about to put his leg over the sill when he caught sight of a piece of white paper stuck between one of the cushions of the sofa and its back.
So he went back and pulled the paper out. It was a hotel envelope with “V. Jardin” scrawled on its face in pencil. Ellery fished under the cushion and soon found a crumpled sheet of hotel stationery.
Walter Spaeth’s note to Valerie Jardin. Without qualm, and with relish, Ellery read it.
Button-Nose: Pink got the dicto, and we’re going over to Souci to plant it. Over the wall, of course — we won’t let any one see us. If we’re caught by the gendarmes, Godelpus.
Darling, I love you. I LOVE you. I love YOU. Damn it, I do.
The note was signed “Walter” and at the bottom of the sheet there was a gargantuan “X” which Ellery, who knew everything, recognized as the universal lover’s shibboleth for “kiss.” He had the grace to feel ashamed of himself.
But only for a moment. He replaced the sheet and envelope exactly, climbed out the window, reached in and pulled the cord and lowered the Venetian blind to its precise position before his illegal entry, and went down the fire-escape.
Valerie trudged into the lobby of the La Salle a long time later.
“What was it, Miss Jardin?” asked Mibs Austin eagerly.
“Mibs, you listened in!” Val sighed. “It wasn’t anything. Mr. Fitzgerald heard a rumor that my father was about to be released. But when I got downtown I found out nobody knew anything about it.”
Ellery, hidden in the music-room off the lobby, chuckled to himself. Rather a dirty trick. But then Fitz was remorseless, with the efficiency and moral temperament of a Japanese war-lord.
He kept himself hidden while Val went to the elevator. He timed her movements. Now she was getting out at the third floor. Now she was at the door of 3-C. Now she was locking it from inside. Now she was at the refectory table. Now she was arranging the cards. Now she was reading the message...
The switchboard buzzed. Ellery hid behind a drape, listening.
“What?” he heard Mibs Austin say. “Okay, Miss Jardin. I’ll be right up.”
There was a scrambled noise and then the blonde girl called: “Mr. Max! Take the board a minute, will you? I’ll be right back.”
And a moment later Mibs Austin passed the doorway of the music room bound for the elevator.
Op... Operator. Telephone operator. Mibs Austin!
So it was imperative to continue to keep Mibs Austin from talking, was it?
Ellery lit a cigaret and quietly went through the lobby to the street. He was about to step into his green coupé when another coupé darted into the curb and Walter Spaeth jumped out.
“Hullo!” Walter’s lean face was flushed with excitement. “King, we’ve pulled it off!”
“Good for you.”
“It was easy. There’s only one detective on duty at Sans Souci and Pink and I got in without being spotted. Winni was out, so we had a clear field.”
“You planted the dictograph?”
“It’s all set. We took along a couple of spare transmitters, just to be on the safe side. We’ve got one hidden in the study, one in Winni’s quarters upstairs, and one in the living-room. And we led the wires over to the empty Jardin house.”
“Where’s Pink?”
“In the Jardin house stripped for action.”
“When are you going to tackle Winni?”
“Tonight.”
“Make it eight o’clock and I’ll be there to listen in.”
“Right.” And Walter raced into the La Salle.
XVII
Alarums and Discursions
Ellery shut Fitz’s door and made for one of the five telephones on Fitz’s desk. “Get me Inspector Glücke at headquarters, please.”
“What’s doing?” asked Fitz eagerly.
“Glücke? This is Hilary King of the Independent.”
“What’s on your mind?”
“Plenty. Can you take a friendly tip and keep your mouth shut?”
“Try me,” said the Inspector.
“Investigate the telephone records of all calls from the La Salle switchboard on Monday afternoon starting around five o’clock.”
“What’s up?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out. Work through the manager and warn him to keep it under his hat. It’s especially important not to tip off the switchboard operator, a girl named Austin. She mustn’t know the records are being inspected.”
“I get you,” said the Inspector slowly.
“Any luck with that fingerprint investigation of the iron table and the binoculars?”
“The rain spoiled the prints. Well, thanks for the tip, King.”
“I’ll be around to collect ’em in person.”
Ellery hung up and sat down in Fitz’s best chair, rubbing his chin. Fitz opened a drawer and produced a bottle and two glasses. They drank two quick ones.
“Well, Fitz,” said Ellery, “your little white-haired figment of the imagination is beginning to smell a large rodent.”
“You’re worse than the State Department! What’s on the fire, for the love of Mike?”
Ellery tipped his absurd hat over his tinted glasses. “Let me think a while.”
“I want news, not ratiocination,” growled Fitz. “You’re beginning to get my goat.”
“Ah, that reminds me,” said Ellery. He reached for one of Fitz’s ’phones again. “Get me the Magna Studios — Mr. Jacques Butcher.”
“What’s Butcher got to do with this?”
“Nothing. Hello! Butcher?... I don’t want his secretary, damn it all! I want Butcher himself, in the flesh, Little Napoleon, the Genius...” Ellery sat up excitedly. “My dear young lady, you haven’t heard any language. I’m reserving my choicest words for that vanishing American you work for. Goodbye!”
He sat back, snorting, and tipped his hat over his eyes again. Fitz looked disgusted and took another drink.
When Ellery left the Independent building Fitz was with him, grumbling that he’d get some news if he had to leg it all over the pueblo himself.
They found Inspector Glücke communing darkly with his thoughts. He jumped up when he saw Ellery.
“What’s behind this, King?” he exclaimed. “Oh, Fitzgerald.” He scowled.
“You take a flying leap at the moon,” snarled Fitz, planting himself in the best chair.
“Peace,” said Ellery. “What did you turn up, Inspector?”
“The La Salle telephone records show that a call was made Monday at five-thirty-five to Hillcrest 2411!”