“My stuffing,” began the inspector.
“I’ve had those dolls catalogued. The result is ominous! Did you know there’s no set market for the damnable things? And aside from a few personal possessions, the Dollection constitutes the old lady’s entire estate. Sank every nickel she had in it.”
“But it should be worth a fortune,” remarked Ellery.
“To whom, Mr. Queen? Museums always want such things as free and unencumbered gifts. I tell you, except for one item, those hypothetical orphans won’t realize enough from that sale to keep them in-in bubble gum for two days!”
“Which item would that be, Mr. Bondling?”
“Number Six-seventy-four,” the lawyer snapped. “This one.”
“Number Six-seventy-four,” read Inspector Queen from the fat catalogue Bondling had fished out of a large greatcoat pocket. “The Dauphin’s Doll. Unique. Ivory figure of a boy Prince eight inches tall, clad in court dress, genuine ermine, brocade, velvet. Court sword in gold strapped to waist. Gold circlet crown surmounted by single blue brilliant diamond of finest water, weight approximately 49 carats-”
“How many carats?” exclaimed Nikki.
“Larger than the Hope and the Star of South Africa,” said Ellery, with a certain excitement.
“-appraised,” continued his father, “at one hundred and ten thousand dollars.”
“Expensive dollie.”
“Indecent!” said Nikki.
“This indecent-I mean exquisite, royal doll,” the inspector read on, “was a birthday gift from King Louis XVI of France to Louis Charles, his second son, who became dauphin at the death of his elder brother, in 1789. The little dauphin was proclaimed Louis XVII by the royalists during the French Revolution while in custody of the sans-culottes. His fate is shrouded in mystery. Romantic, historic item.”
“Le prince perdu. I’ll say,” muttered Ellery, “Mr. Bondling, is this on the level?”
“I’m an attorney, not an antiquarian,” snapped their visitor. “There are documents attached, one of them a sworn statement-holograph-by Lady Charlotte Atkyns, the English actress-friend of the Capet family-she was in France during the Revolution-on purporting to be in Lady Atkyns’s hand. It doesn’t matter, Mr. Queen. Even if the history is bad, the diamond’s good!”
“I take it this hundred-and-ten-thousand-dollar dollie constitutes the bone, as it were, or that therein lies the rub?”
“You said it!” cried Mr. Bondling, cracking his knuckles in a sort of agony. “For my money the Dauphin’s Doll is the only negotiable asset of that collection. And what’s the old lady do? She provided by will that on the day preceding Christmas the Cytherea Ypson Dollection is to be publicly displayed…on the main floor of Nash’s Department Store! The day before Christmas, gentlemen! Think of it!”
“But why?” asked Nikki, puzzled.
“Why? Who knows why? For the entertainment of New York’s army of little beggers, I suppose! Have you any notion how many peasants pass through Nash’s on the day before Christmas? My cook tells me-she’s a very religious woman-it’s like Armageddon.”
“Day before Christmas,” frowned Ellery. “That’s tomorrow.”
“It does sound chancy,” said Nikki anxiously. Then she brightened. “Oh, well, maybe Nash’s won’t cooperate, Mr. Bondling.”
“Oh, won’t they!” howled Mr. Bondling. “Why, old lady Ypson had this stunt cooked up with that gang of peasant-purveyors for years! They’ve been snapping at my heels ever since the day she was put away!”
“It’ll draw every crook in New York,” said the inspector, his gaze on the kitchen door.
“Orphans,” said Nikki. “The orphans’ interests must be protected.” She looked at her employer accusingly.
“Special measures, Dad,” he said.
“Sure, sure,” said the inspector, rising. “Don’t you worry about this, Mr. Bondling. Now, if you’ll be kind enough to excu-”
“Inspector Queen,” hissed Mr. Bondling, leaning forward tensely, “that is not all.”
“Ah,” said Ellery briskly, lighting a cigarette. “There’s a specific villain in this piece, Mr. Bondling, and you know who he is.”
“I do,” said the lawyer hollowly, “and then again I don’t. I mean, it’s Comus.”
“Comus!” the inspector screamed.
“Comus?” said Ellery slowly.
“Comus?” said Nikki. “Who dat?”
“Comus,” nodded Mr. Bondling. “First thing this morning. Marched right into my office, bold as day-must have followed me, I hadn’t got my coat off, my secretary wasn’t even in. Marched in and tossed this card on my desk.”
Ellery seized it. “The usual, Dad.”
“His trademark,” growled the inspector, his lips working.
“But the card just says ‘Comus,’ ” complained Nikki. “Who-?”
“Go on, Mr. Bondling!” thundered the inspector.
“And he calmly announced to me,” said Bondling, blotting his cheeks with an exhausted handkerchief, “that he’s going to steal the Dauphin’s Doll tomorrow, in Nash’s.”
“Oh, a maniac,” said Nikki.
“Mr. Bondling,” said the old gentleman in a terrible voice, “just what did this fellow look like?”
“Foreigner-black beard-spoke with a European accent of some sort. To tell you the truth, I was so thunderstruck I didn’t notice details. Didn’t even chase him till it was too late.”
The Queens shrugged at each other, Gallically.
“The old story,” said the inspector; the corners of his nostrils were greenish. “The brass of the colonel’s monkey, and when he does show himself nobody remembers anything but beards and foreign accents. Well, Mr. Bondling, with Comus in the game it’s serious business. Where’s the collection right now?”
“In the vaults of the Life Bank & Trust, Forty-third Street branch.”
“What time are you to move it over to Nash’s?”
“They wanted it this evening. I said nothing doing. I’ve made special arrangements with the bank, and the collection’s to be moved at seven-thirty tomorrow morning.”
“Won’t be much time to set up,” said Ellery thoughtfully, “before the store opens its doors.” He glanced at his father.
“You leave Operation Dollie to us, Mr. Bondling,” said the inspector grimly. “Better give me a buzz this afternoon.”
“I can’t tell you, Inspector, how relieved I am-”
“Are you?” said the old gentleman sourly. “What makes you think he won’t get it?”
WHEN ATTORNEY BONDLING had left, the Queens put their heads together, Ellery doing most of the talking, as usual. Finally, the inspector went into the bedroom for a session with his direct line to headquarters.
“Anybody would think,” sniffed Nikki, “you two were planning the defense of the Bastille. Who is this Comus, anyway?”
“We don’t know, Nikki,” said Ellery slowly. “Might be anybody. Began his criminal career about five years ago. He’s in the grand tradition of Lupin-a saucy, highly intelligent rascal who’s made stealing an art. He seems to take a special delight in stealing valuable things under virtually impossible conditions. Master of make-up-he’s appeared in a dozen different disguises. And he’s an uncanny mimic. Never been caught, photographed, or fingerprinted. Imaginative, daring-I’d say he’s the most dangerous thief operating in the United States.”
“If he’s never been caught,” said Nikki skeptically, “how do you know he commits these crimes?”
“You mean, and not someone else?” Ellery smiled pallidly. “The techniques mark the thefts as his work. And then, like Arsène, he leaves a card-with the name ‘Comus’ on it-on the scene of each visit.”