you been able to explain the T on the floor?”
The District Attorney spread his hands. “Now, I ask you, Mr. Queen. I’m an old hand at this game, and from what I know of you, you’ve had plenty of experience with such things. Could any reasonable man doubt that this is the crime of a maniac?”
“No reasonable man could,” said Ellery, “and no reasonable man would. You’re perfectly right, Mr. Isham. A totem pole! Felicitous, eh, Professor?”
“Post,” said Yardley. “You mean the possible religious significance?” He shrugged. “How anyone could put together symbols of North American fetishism, Christianity, and primitive phallicism is beyond the imagination of even a maniac.”
Vaughn and Isham stared; neither Yardley nor Ellery enlightened them. Ellery stooped to examine something which lay on the floor, near the coagulated blood. It was a long-stemmed brier pipe.
“We’ve looked that over,” said Inspector Vaughn. “Fingerprints on it. Brad’s. His pipe, all right; he was smoking in here. We’ve put it back for you just where we found it.”
Ellery nodded. It was an unusual pipe, of striking shape; its bowl was skillfully carved in the semblance of a Neptune’s head and trident. It was half full of dead gray ashes, and near the bowl on the floor, as Vaughn pointed out, were tobacco ashes of similar color and texture; as if the pipe had been dropped and some of the ashes had spilled.
Ellery stretched his hand out to take the pipe—and stopped. He looked at the Inspector. “You’re positive, Inspector, that this was the victim’s pipe? I mean—you’ve checked up with the residents of the house?”
“As a matter of fact, no,” replied Vaughn stiffly. “I don’t see why the hell we should doubt it. After all, his prints—”
“And he was wearing a smoking jacket, too,” pointed out Isham. “And no other form of tobacco on him—cigarettes or cigars. I can’t see, Mr. Queen, why you should think—”
Professor Yardley smothered a smile in his beard, and Ellery remarked almost idly: “But I don’t think anything of the sort. It’s merely habit with me, Mr. Isham. Perhaps …”
He picked up the pipe and carefully knocked the ashes out on the surface of the table. When no more ashes fell, he looked into the bowl and saw that a covering of half-burnt tobacco remained on the bottom. He produced a glassine envelope from his pocket-kit and, scraping the unsmoked tobacco from the bottom, poured it into the envelope. The others watched in silence.
“You see,” he said, rising, “I don’t believe in taking things for granted. I’m not suggesting that this isn’t Brad’s pipe. I do say, however, that the tobacco in it may be a definite clue. Suppose this is Brad’s pipe, but that he borrowed the tobacco from his murderer. Surely a common enough occurrence. Now, you’ll notice that this tobacco is cube-cut; not a common cut, as you perhaps know. We examine Brad’s humidor; do we find cube-cut tobacco? If we do, then this is his, and he did not borrow it from his murderer. At any rate we have lost nothing; confirmed the previous facts. But if we don’t find cube-cut tobacco, there’s a fair presumption that the tobacco came from his murderer, and that would be an important clue. … Excuse me for babbling.”
“Very interesting,” said Isham. “I’m sure.”
“The minutiae of the detectival science,” chuckled Professor Yardley.
“Well, how does it stack up to you so far?” demanded Vaughn.
Ellery polished the lenses of his pince-nez thoughtfully; his lean face was absorbed. “It’s ridiculous, of course, to make any more concrete statement than this: The murderer was either with Brad when Brad came to the summerhouse, or he was not; there is nothing so far to tell. In any event, when Brad strolled out into his gardens, headed for his summerhouse, he had in his hand a red checker which for some peculiar reason he must have picked up in his house—wherever the
The District Attorney spread his hands. “Now, I ask you, Mr. Queen. I’m an old hand at this game, and from what I know of you, you’ve had plenty of experience with such things. Could any reasonable man doubt that this is the crime of a maniac?”
“No reasonable man could,” said Ellery, “and no reasonable man would. You’re perfectly right, Mr. Isham. A totem pole! Felicitous, eh, Professor?”
“Post,” said Yardley. “You mean the possible religious significance?” He shrugged. “How anyone could put together symbols of North American fetishism, Christianity, and primitive phallicism is beyond the imagination of even a maniac.”
Vaughn and Isham stared; neither Yardley nor Ellery enlightened them. Ellery stooped to examine something which lay on the floor, near the coagulated blood. It was a long-stemmed brier pipe.
“We’ve looked that over,” said Inspector Vaughn. “Fingerprints on it. Brad’s. His pipe, all right; he was smoking in here. We’ve put it back for you just where we found it.”
Ellery nodded. It was an unusual pipe, of striking shape; its bowl was skillfully carved in the semblance of a Neptune’s head and trident. It was half full of dead gray ashes, and near the bowl on the floor, as Vaughn pointed out, were tobacco ashes of similar color and texture; as if the pipe had been dropped and some of the ashes had spilled.
Ellery stretched his hand out to take the pipe—and stopped. He looked at the Inspector. “You’re positive, Inspector, that this was the victim’s pipe? I mean—you’ve checked up with the residents of the house?”
“As a matter of fact, no,” replied Vaughn stiffly. “I don’t see why the hell we should doubt it. After all, his prints—”
“And he was wearing a smoking jacket, too,” pointed out Isham. “And no other form of tobacco on him—cigarettes or cigars. I can’t see, Mr. Queen, why you should think—”
Professor Yardley smothered a smile in his beard, and Ellery remarked almost idly: “But I don’t think anything of the sort. It’s merely habit with me, Mr. Isham. Perhaps …”
He picked up the pipe and carefully knocked the ashes out on the surface of the table. When no more ashes fell, he looked into the bowl and saw that a covering of half-burnt tobacco remained on the bottom. He produced a glassine envelope from his pocket-kit and, scraping the unsmoked tobacco from the bottom, poured it into the envelope. The others watched in silence.
“You see,” he said, rising, “I don’t believe in taking things for granted. I’m not suggesting that this isn’t Brad’s pipe. I do say, however, that the tobacco in it may be a definite clue. Suppose this is Brad’s pipe, but that he borrowed the tobacco from his murderer. Surely a common enough occurrence. Now, you’ll notice that this tobacco is cube-cut; not a common cut, as you perhaps know. We examine Brad’s humidor; do we find cube-cut tobacco? If we do, then this is his, and he did not borrow it from his murderer. At any rate we have lost nothing; confirmed the previous facts. But if we don’t find cube-cut tobacco, there’s a fair presumption that the tobacco came from his murderer, and that would be an important clue. … Excuse me for babbling.”
“Very interesting,” said Isham. “I’m sure.”
“The minutiae of the detectival science,” chuckled Professor Yardley.
“Well, how does it stack up to you so far?” demanded Vaughn.
Ellery polished the lenses of his pince-nez thoughtfully; his lean face was absorbed. “It’s ridiculous, of course, to make any more concrete statement than this: The murderer was either with Brad when Brad came to the summerhouse, or he was not; there is nothing so far to tell. In any event, when Brad strolled out into his gardens, headed for his summerhouse, he had in his hand a red checker which for some peculiar reason he must have picked up in his house—wherever the
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