“Probably not. You see, Gilbert Sloane had the strongest motive for the theft of the will in the first place, since he was the only one of our suspects affected by it. This means that the theft of the will by Sloane has nothing to do with the crime itself―it’s merely a fortuitous detail. And naturally we have no evidence with which to pin the theft to Sloane. On the other hand, when you find Cheney you will probably discover that he destroyed the will. When he buried Grimshaw, he must have found the new will hidden in the coffin―where Sloane had put it―read it, saw that Grimshaw was the new beneficiary, and took it away, box and ail, to destroy it. The destruction of the will would mean that Khalkis died intestate, and Cheney’s mother, Khalkis’s next of kin, would inherit most of the estate through later apportionment by the Surrogate.”
Sampson looked worried. “And how about all those visitors to Grimshaw’s hotel-room the night before the murder? Where do they fit?”
Ellery waved his hand. “Mere froth, Sampson. They aren’t important. You see―”
Someone rapped on the door and the Inspector said with irritation, “Come!” It opened to admit the small, drab detective named Johnson. “Well, well, Johnson?”
Johnson quickly crossed the room and bent over the Inspector’s chair. “Got the Brett gal outside, Chief,” he whispered. “She insisted on coming down here.”
“To see me?”
Johnson said apologetically, “She did say she wanted to see Mr. Ellery Queen, Chief . . . .”
“Show her in.”
Johnson opened the door for her. The men rose. Joan was looking especially lovely in something grey-and-blue, but her eyes were tragic and she faltered at the door.
“You wanted to see Mr. Queen?” the Inspector asked crisply. “We’re engaged at the moment, Miss Brett.”
“It’s―I think it may be important, Inspector Queen.”
Ellery said swiftly: “You’ve heard from Cheney!” but she shook her head. Ellery frowned. “Stupid of me. Miss Brett, may I present Mr. Knox, Mr. Sampson . . . .” The District Attorney nodded briefly; Knox said: “Had the pleasure.” There was a little awkward silence. Ellery offered the girl a chair, and they all sat down.
“I―I scarcely know where or how to begin,” Joan said, fumbling with her gloves. “You will think I’m silly. It seems so ridiculously petty. And yet . . . “
Ellery said encouragingly, “Something you’ve discovered, Miss Brett? Or something you forgot to tell us?”
“Yes. I mean―something I forgot to tell you.” She spoke in a very small voice, a ghost of her full voice. “Something―something about the tea-cups.”
“The tea-cups!” The words shot out of Ellery’s mouth like a missile.
“Why―yes. You see, when I was originally questioned, I really didn’t recall . . . . It’s only just come to me. I’ve been―I’ve been thinking things over, you see.”
“Go on, please,” said Ellery sharply.
“It was the―the day when I moved the tabouret with the tea-things from the desk to the alcove. I moved it out of the way―”
“You told us that once before, Miss Brett.”
“But I didn’t tell you everything, Mr. Queen. I remember now that there was something different about those teacups.”
Ellery sat on his father’s desk like a Buddha perched on a mountain-top. Grotesquely still . . . . All his poise had fled. He was staring at Joan idiotically.
She went on with a little rush. “You see, when you found the tea-cups in the study there were three dirty cups―” Ellery’s lips moved soundlessly. “And now I recall that when I moved the tabouret out of the way, the afternoon of the funeral, there was only one dirty cup . . . .”
Ellery rose abruptly. All the humoui had fled his face, and its lines were harsh, almost unpleasant. “Be very careful, Miss Brett.” His voice cracked. “This is extremely important. You say now that last Tuesday, when you shifted the tabouret from the desk to the alcove, there were two clean cups on the tray―that only one showed signs of having been used?”
“Exactly. I’m frightfully sure. In fact, I remember now that one cup was nearly full of stale cold tea; there was a piece of dried lemon in the saucer, and a dirty spoon. Everything else on the tray was perfectly clean―unused.”
“How many pieces of lemon were there in the lemon-plate?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Queen, I can’t recall that. We Britishers don’t use lemon, you know. That’s a filthy Russian habit. And teaballs!” She shuddered. “But I’m positive about the cups.”
Ellery asked doggedly: “This was after Khalkis’s death?”
“Yes, indeed,” sighed Joan. “Not only after his death, but after his funeral. Tuesday, as I said.”
Ellery’s teeth dug into his lower lip; his eyes were like stone. “Thank you a thousand times, Miss Brett.” His voice was low. “You have saved us from a most embarrassing situation . . . . Please go now.”
She smiled timidly, looked about as if for warm commendation, a word of praise. Nobody paid the slightest attention to her; they were all looking quizzically at Ellery. She rose without another word and left the room; Johnson followed her and closed the door softly behind him.
Sampson was the first to speak. “Well, my boy, that was a fiasco.” He said kindly, “Come now, Ellery, don’t take it so hard. We all make mistakes. And yours was a brilliant one.”
Ellery waved one limp hand; his head was on his chest and his voice was muffled. “Mistake, Sampson? This is utterly inexcusable. I should be whipped and sent home with my tail between my legs . . . .”
James Knox rose suddenly. He examined Ellery shrewdly, with a glint of humour. “Mr. Queen. Your solution depended upon two major elements―”
“I know, sir, I know,” groaned Ellery. “Please don’t rub it in.”
“You’ll learn, young man,” said the great one, ‘that there can be no success without failure . . . . Two elements. One was the tea-cups. Ingenious, very ingenious explanation, Mr. Queen, but Miss Brett has exploded it. You now have no reason to claim that only two people were present. You said from the tea-cups that only two were involved from first to last, Khalkis and Grimshaw; that a deliberate attempt had been made to make it appear that three were involved; that there never was a third man, but that Khalkis himself was the second.”
“That’s right,” said Ellery sadly, “but now―”
“That’s wrong,” said Knox in his soft voice, “because there was a third man. And I can prove it by direction, not inference.”
“What’s that?” Ellery’s head snapped up as if it were set on springs. “What’s that, sir? There was? You can prove it? How do you know?”
Knox chuckled. “I know,” he said, “because I was the third man!”
Chapter 16. Yeast
Years later Ellery Queen was to go back in memory to this moment with the sad remark: “I date my maturity from Knox’s revelation. It changed my entire conception of myself and my faculties.”
The whole delicate structure of his reasoning, so glibly outlined, toppled and shivered into fragments at his feet. This in itself would not have been so disastrous to his ego had it not been coupled with a strong element of personal mortification. He had been ‘smart” about it. He had been so clever and subtle . . . . The very phenomenon―of Knox’s august presence―that originally inspired him to make a show of himself now faced about to leer at him and burn his cheeks with shame.