The tide was fairly high. He dropped his things on the sand, plunged into the water, and with powerful strokes headed out to sea.
He opened his eyes to a blunt touch on his shoulder. Inspector Moley was leaning over him. On the Inspector’s massive red features there was an expression so peculiar that Ellery snapped into wakefulness and sat up in the sand abruptly. The sun was very low on the horizon.
“This,” said Inspector Moley, “is a hell of a time to sleep.”
“What time is it?” Ellery shivered; the breeze against his naked chest was chilly.
“After seven.”
“Hmm. I had a long swim and when I got back to the Cove I couldn’t resist this soft white sand. What’s happened, Inspector? Your face is eloquent. I left a message with your deskman, you know, to have you call me back. That was early this afternoon. Haven’t you been to your office since two-thirty?”
Moley compressed his lips and turned his head in an exploratory way. But the terrace was deserted except for the trooper on duty, and the rims of the cliffs on both sides were blank and stark against the sky. He squatted down in the sand beside Ellery and dug into his pocket, which bulged.
“Take a look,” he said quietly, “at this.” His hand emerged with a flat small packet.
Ellery rubbed his nose with the back of his hand, sighed: “So soon?” and took the packet.
“Eh?”
“I beg your pardon, Inspector. I was thinking aloud.”
It had been done up in plain brown wrapping-paper and tied with cheap, rather soiled white string. Inspector Moley’s name and the address of his Poinsett office had been block-lettered on one face of the packet in watery blue ink that had a suspiciously post-office look. Ellery removed paper and string; out tumbled a thin bundle of envelopes, a small photograph, and a tiny reel of what appeared to be motion-picture film. He opened one of the letters, glanced briefly at the signature, inspected the photograph with a flickering annoyance, unwound a few feet of the film and held the celluloid strip up to the light... Then he restored everything to its original state and returned the packet to Moley.
“Well?” growled Moley after a moment. “You don’t seem very surprised. Aren’t you even interested?”
“To number one — I’m not. To number two — profoundly. Have you a cigaret? I’ve forgotten mine.” Ellery nodded as the Inspector held a match for him. “I was going to tell you about this, Inspector, when I called.”
Moley spluttered: “You knew?”
Patiently Ellery recited the details of the conversation he had overheard between Mrs. Constable and the mysterious caller. Moley listened with a thoughtful frown. “Hmm,” he said when Ellery had finished. “So this bird, whoever it is, made good his threat to send the stuff to me. But tell me, Mr. Queen.” He stared directly into Ellery’s eyes. “How’d you know there was going to be a call?”
“I didn’t know; it seemed, however, a likely happenstance. Let’s defer discussion of the actual thought-process; I’ll tell you about it some day. Now suppose you tell me what’s happened.”
Moley balanced the packet in his paw. “I was out checking up on what looked like a hot trail to this Pitts woman. Took me to Maartens. But it fizzled out, and when I got back to my office my man told me you’d called. I was about to call you back — this was more than an hour ago — when the messenger came.”
“Messenger?”
“Yeah. Boy about nineteen. Came in an old Ford he told me he’d picked up for twenty bucks last year. Just a kid. We’ve checked up on him and he’s absolutely all right.”
“How did he happen to have the packet?”
“He’s a Maartens boy. Well-known in town; lives with a widowed mother. We worked fast by ‘phone with the Maartens police. But the kid’s story checked with his mother’s. Around three o’clock or so this afternoon the boy and his mother were in the house when they heard a thud on their front porch. They went out and found this package. Attached to it was a note in a faked handwriting and a ten-dollar bill. The note simply said the package was to be delivered to me in Poinsett immediately. And the boy took out his old Ford and delivered it. They needed that ten bucks.”
“And they didn’t see the person who threw the package on their porch?”
“By the time they got out he was gone.”
“Too bad.” Ellery smoked thoughtfully, eyes on the purpling sea.
“And that’s not the worst of it,” muttered Moley, scooping a fistful of sand from the beach and letting the grains cascade through his big fingers. “The minute I got these things and had a look at ’em I called up Mrs. Constable—”
“You what?” Ellery came to life with a start, the cigaret slipping from his fingers.
“What else could I do? I didn’t know that you’d listened in and heard the whole story. I wanted information. When I spoke to her I thought she sounded funny. I told her—”
“Don’t tell me,” groaned Ellery, “you said anything about having received these letters and things!”
“Well...” The Inspector looked miserable. “I suppose I did sort of hint at it. And, since I expected to be busy at the office keeping in touch with the Maartens police on the trail of the one who’d sent this stuff, I asked her to jump into her car and come down to my office for a chat — told one of my boys over the ‘phone it would be all right. She... well, she said she would, right away. Then I got busy on the ‘phone and by the time I woke up almost an hour had passed. And the fat dame hadn’t come. She should have been there by that time. Doesn’t take more than a half-hour slow driving to get to Poinsett from here. I called one of my men here and he said she hadn’t left the estate. So... well, here I am.” A note of desperation crept into his voice, born of conscience. “I’m going to find out what the hell changed her mind.”
Ellery blinked at the sea, his eyes stormy; and then he grabbed his robe and canvas shoes and sprang to his feet. “You’ve messed this business horribly, Inspector,” he snapped, struggling into his shoes and robe. “Come along!”
Inspector Moley rose docilely, brushed himself off, and followed like a lamb.
They found Jorum transplanting a bed of flowers in the patio. “Have you seen Mrs. Constable?” panted Ellery. He was breathing hard after their swift climb from the terrace.
“Th’ fat one?” The old man shook his head. “Nope.” He continued stolidly with his work without looking up.
They made directly for Mrs. Constable’s room. There was no answer to Ellery’s knock and he pushed the door open and they went in. It was untidy — bedclothes crushed and wrinkled, a dressing-gown lying in a heap on the floor, an ashtray on the night-table overflowing with acrid butts... Silently they looked at each other and went out.
“Where the deuce is she?” growled Moley, refusing to meet Ellery’s eyes.
“Where the deuce is who?” asked a mild baritone, and they turned to find fudge Macklin in the middle of the corridor, opposite the staircase.
“Mrs. Constable! Have you seen her?” asked Ellery sharply.
“Certainly. Is anything wrong?”
“I trust not. Where?”
The old gentleman looked at them. “On the other side of the Cape. Just a few minutes ago. I’d been over there on the links, you know, strolling about and enjoying myself. I saw her sitting on the very edge of the cliff-feet hanging over — staring at the sea. North side. I walked over that way and said something to her. Poor soul, she looked desperately lonely. She didn’t even turn her head; just as if she hadn’t heard me. Kept staring down at the water. So I left her to her thoughts and—”