“Just what do you mean?”
Lavery showed his teeth in a smile. “The matter of these window-exhibits, for example. That was wholly Mr. French’s idea, and I do suppose it has resulted in much advertising for the establishment. Certainly the crowds have flocked from the sidewalk outside to the fifth-floor exhibition rooms in such numbers that we have had to call in special ushers to handle them.”
“I see.” The Inspector nodded politely. “So these window-exhibits were Mr. French’s idea? Yes, yes — you have just told me that... How long has this particular window been dressed so, Mr. Lavery?”
“This is the — let me see — the end of the second week of the living-room-bedroom exhibit,” answered Lavery, stroking his short modish beard again. “The fourteenth day, to be exact. Tomorrow we were to have changed the room’s contents, removed them to make way for a model dining-room.”
“Oh, the windows are changed bi-weekly? Then this is the second room you have exhibited?”
“Quite so. The first was a full bedroom.”
Queen mused openly. His eyes drooped with weariness; blackish pouches stood out beneath. He took a short turn up and down the room, halting once more before Lavery.
“It seems to me,” he said, more to himself than to Lavery, “that this unfortunate accident and its attendant circumstances dovetail too fortuitously... However! Mr. Lavery, is this window-exhibit held at the same time each day?”
Lavery stared. “Yes... yes, certainly.”
“At exactly the same time each day, Mr. Lavery?” pursued the Inspector.
“Oh, yes!” said Lavery. “The model has entered this window at noon of each day ever since the institution of the exhibit.”
“Very good!” The Inspector seemed pleased again. “Now, Mr. Lavery — in the month that these demonstrations have taken place, has there ever to your knowledge been one day on which the time-schedule was not adhered to?”
“No,” said Lavery with positiveness. “And I am in a position to know, sir. It has been my habit to stand on the main floor behind the window-room during the model demonstration every day. My lecture upstairs is not scheduled until three-thirty of the afternoon, you see.”
The Inspector raised his eyebrows. “Oh, you lecture, too, Mr. Lavery?”
“But of course!” cried Lavery. “I have been told,” he added gravely, “that my description of the work of the Viennese Hoffman has created something of a stir among the monde artistique.”
“Indeed!” smiled the Inspector. “One question more, Mr. Lavery, and then I think we will have finished with you for the present. — This exhibition as a whole is not entirely a spontaneous thing? I mean,” he added, “steps have been taken to make the public aware both of your window-demonstrations and of your lectures upstairs?”
“Assuredly. The publicity and advertising have been planned most carefully,” rejoined Lavery. “We have circularized all the art-schools and allied organizations. The charge-accounts, I understand, have likewise been covered by personal letters from the management. The bulk of the public attention, however, has been secured by means of newspaper advertisements. Of course you have seen those?”
“Well, I rarely read department store ads,” the Inspector replied hastily. “And I suppose you have received all sorts of publicity?”
“Yes... yes, indeed,” and Lavery again flashed his white teeth. “If you would condescend to examine my scrapbooks—”
“Hardly necessary, Mr. Lavery, and thank you for your patience. That’s all.”
“A moment, please. — May I?” Ellery had stepped forward, smiling. The Inspector glanced at him, waved his hand briefly, as if to say, “Your witness!” and retreated to the bed, where he sat down with a sigh.
Lavery had turned in his tracks and now stood stroking his beard, his eyes politely questioning.
Ellery did not speak for a moment. He twirled his pince-nez, looked up suddenly. “I am quite interested in your work, Mr. Lavery,” he said with a disarming grimace. “Although I fear my esthetic studies have not exhausted the field of modern interior decoration. As a matter of fact, was much interested the other day in your lecture on Bruno Paul...”
“So you attended my impromptu classes upstairs, sir?” exclaimed Lavery, flushing with pleasure. “Perhaps I was a trifle enthusiastic about Paul — I know him quite well, you see...”
“Indeed!” Ellery looked at the floor. “I take it that you have been in America before, Mr. Lavery — your English is quite untouched by Gallicism.”
“Well, I have traveled more or less extensively,” admitted Lavery. “This is my fifth visit to the States — Mr. Queen, is it?”
“I’m sorry!” said Ellery. “I’m Inspector Queen’s unruly scion... Mr. Lavery, how many demonstrations a day are given in this window?”
“Just one.” Lavery raised his black brows.
“How long does each demonstration take?”
“Thirty-two minutes exactly.”
“Interesting,” murmured Ellery. “By the way, is this room kept open at all times?”
“Not at all. There are some very valuable pieces in this room. It is kept locked except when it is being used for demonstration purposes.”
“Of course! That was stupid of me,” smiled Ellery. “You have a key, naturally?”
“A number of keys exist, Mr. Queen,” answered Lavery. “The idea of the lock is more to prevent transient trespassing during the day than to keep out possible night-prowlers. It is presumed that after hours, in an establishment as well guarded as this — provided with modern burglar alarms, guards, and so on — the room would be safe enough against burglary.”
“If you will pardon me for interrupting,” came the mild voice of MacKenzie, the store manager, “I am in a better position to clear up the question of the keys than Mr. Lavery.”
“Delighted to have you,” said Ellery quickly, but he began once more to twirl his pince-nez. The Inspector, seated on the bed, preserved a watchful silence.
“We have a number of duplicate keys,” explained MacKenzie, “to each of the windows. In this particular instance Mr. Lavery has one, Diana Johnson the demonstrator has one (which she leaves at the Employees’ Office desk when she leaves for the day), the floorwalker on this section of the main floor and the store detectives each have one, and there is a complete set of duplicates kept in the general offices on the mezzanine floor. I am afraid very many people could have secured a key.”
Ellery did not seem perturbed. He walked suddenly to the door, opened it, peered out over the main floor for a moment, and returned.
“Mr. MacKenzie, will you please summon that clerk at the leather-goods counter opposite this window?”
MacKenzie departed, returning shortly with a short, stout, middle-aged man. He was white-faced and nervous.
“Were you on duty all this morning?” inquired Ellery kindly. The man jerked his head in the affirmative. “And yesterday afternoon?” Another jerk. “Did you leave your post at any time this morning or yesterday afternoon?”
The clerk found his voice. “Oh, no, sir!”
“Very well!” Ellery spoke softly. “Did you at any time during yesterday afternoon or this morning notice any one entering or leaving this window-room?”
“No, sir.” The man’s tone was assured. “I’ve been on duty all the time; I couldn’t help but notice if any one had used this room, sir. I haven’t been very busy,” he added, with an apologetic side-glance at MacKenzie.
“Thank you.” The clerk left with eager steps.
“Well!” Ellery sighed. “We seem to be progressing, and yet nothing takes definite shape...” Shrugging his shoulders, he turned once more to Lavery.