Inspector Queen applied snuff to his thin nostrils, sneezed, and said very deliberately, “Was there anything amiss in this room when you came in that morning?”
“I don’t see . . . Why, of course not. Everything was as usual. Normal, I should say.”
“Was he alone?”
“Oh, yes. He did remark that Demmy had gone out.”
“Tell me exactly what happened while you were with him.”
“Nothing important, Inspector, I assure you―
The Inspector snapped: “Everything, I said. I’ll judge what’s important and what isn’t, Mr. Sloane!”
“As a matter of fact,” commented Pepper, “nobody here seems to consider anything important, Inspector.”
Ellery murmured, in a jingly rhythm: “
“Wie machen wir’s, dass alles frisch und neu―Und mit Bedeutung auch gefallig sei?”” *
Pepper blinked. “Eh?”
“Goethe in a twinkling mood,” said Ellery gravely.
“Oh, don’t mind him . . . . Well, we’ll change their attitude about that, Pepper!” The Inspector glared at Sloane. “Go on, Mr. Sloane. Go on. Spill it all. Even if it’s a matter of Khalkis having cleared his throat.”
Sloane looked bewildered. “But . . . Well, sir, we went through the business of the day quickly. Georg seemed to have something on his mind aside from sales and collections.”
“Good!”
“He was brusque with me, very brusque. I was quite put out, I assure you, Inspector. I didn’t like his tone, and I told him so. Yes. He half-apologized in the growl he used when he was angry. Perhaps he felt that he’d overstepped himself, because he changed the subject abruptly. He was fingering the red tie he was wearing, and he said, in a much calmer tone: “I think this tie is losing its shape, Gilbert.” Of course, he was just making conversation. I reassured him, saying: “Oh, no, Georg, it looks quite all right.” He said, “Well, it’s flabby―I can feel it’s flabby, Gilbert. Before you leave remind me to call Barrett’s and order some new ties like the one I’m wearing.” Barrett’s is his haberdasher―I should say “was’ . . . . Well, that was Georg’s way; there was nothing wrong with the necktie, but he was very fussy about his appearance. I don’t know if all this―” he said doubtfully.
Before the Inspector could speak, Ellery said sharply: “Go on, Mr. Sloane. And did you remind him before you left?”
Sloane blinked. “Naturally. I think Miss Brett will bear me out. You remember, don’t you, Miss Brett?” he asked anxiously, turning to the girl. “You had come into the room just before Georg and I finished talking over the day’s affairs―you were waiting to take some dictation.” Joan nodded emphatically. “There, you see?” said Sloane in a triumphant voice. “That’s just what I was about to say. Before I left, I said to Georg: “You asked me to remind you, Georg, about the ties.” He nodded, and I left the house.”
“And that’s all that happened between you and Khalkis that morning?” demanded the Inspector.
“That’s all, sir. Everything exactly as I’ve told you―our exact words. I didn’t go to the Galleries at once―I had a business appointment downtown―so it wasn’t until I got to the Galleries two hours later that I was informed by one of our employees, Miss Bohm, that Georg had died not long after I’d left the house. Mr. Suiza here had already gone to the house. I went back at once―the Galleries are only a few blocks away, you know, on Madison Avenue.”
Pepper whispered to the Inspector, Ellery stuck his head into the circle, and the three men had a hurried conference. The Inspector nodded and turned to Sloane with a gleam in his eye. “I asked you before, Mr. Sloane, whether you noticed anything amiss in his room last Saturday morning and you said no. A few minutes ago you heard Miss Brett testify that the man we found murdered, Albert Grimshaw, called upon Khalkis the night before Khalkis died, with a mysterious fellow who tried hard to keep his identity secret. Now what I’m getting at is this: That mysterious fellow may be an important lead. Think hard: Was there anything in the library here, on the desk perhaps, that shouldn’t have been here? Something that this secretive man may have left―something that might give us a clue to his identity?”
Sloane shook his head. “I don’t recall anything like that. And I was seated right by the desk. I’m sure that if there was something there which didn’t belong to Georg I should have noticed it.”
“Did Khalkis say anything to you about his having had visitors the night before?”
“Not a word, Inspector.”
“All right, Mr. Sloane. Stick around.” Sloane sank into a chair beside his wife with a relieved sigh. The Inspector beckoned familiarly to Joan Brett, a little smile of benevolence on his grey face. “Now, my dear,” he said in a fatherly voice, “you’ve been very helpful thus far―you’re a witness after my own heart. I’m really interested in you. Tell me something about yourself.”
Her blue eyes sparkled. “Inspector, you’re transparent! I assure you I haven’t a dossier. I’m just a poor menial, what we call in England “lady help”.”
“Dear, dear, and such a nice young lady,” murmured the old man. “Nevertheless―”
“Nevertheless you want to know all about me,” she smiled. “Very well, Inspector Queen.” She arranged her skirt primly over her round knees. “My name is Joan Brett. I worked for Mr. Khalkis for slightly over a year. I am, as perhaps my British accent, now a little blurred by your hideous New Yorkese, had already told you―I am a lady, a lady, Inspector!―of English extraction. Shabby gentility, you know. I came to Mr. Khalkis with a recommendation from Sir Arthur Ewing, the British art-dealer and expert, for whom I had worked in London. Sir Arthur knew Mr. Khalkis by reputation and gave me a very nice character indeed. I arrived at an opportune time; Mr. Khalkis required assistance badly; and he engaged me, at a jolly honorarium, I assure you, to act as his confidential secretary. My knowledge of the business swayed him, I fancy.”
“Hmm. That’s not quite what I wanted―”
“Oh! More personal details?” She pursed her lips. “Let me see, now. I’m twenty-two―past the marrying age, you see, Inspector―I have a strawberry on my right hip, I’ve a perfectly frightful passion for Ernest Hemingway, I think your politics are stuffy, and I just adore your undergrounds. Cela suffit?”
“Now, Miss Brett,” said the Inspector in a feeble voice, “you’re taking advantage of an old man. I want to know what happened last Saturday morning. Did you notice anything in this room that morning that might have indicated the identity of the previous night’s mysterious visitor?”
She shook her head soberly. “No, Inspector, I did not. Everything seemed quite in order.”
“Tell us just what occurred.”
“Let me see.” She placed her forefinger on her pink lower lip. “I entered the study, as Mr. Sloane has told you, before he and Mr. Khalkis had finished talking. I heard Mr. Sloane remind Mr. Khalkis about the cravats. Mr. Sloane then left and I took Mr. Khalkis’s dictation for about fifteen minutes. When he had finished, I said to him: “Mr. Khalkis, shall I telephone Barrett’s and order the new cravats for you?” He said: “No, I’ll do that myself.” Then he handed me an envelope, sealed and stamped, and asked me to post it at once. I was a bit surprised at this―I generally attended to all his correspondence ..