Dr. Prouty, steadily enough. “I want to get that crowd in here for a possible identification.”
“I’ve got him about ready now. Where do you want to put him?”
“Better take him out of the coffin and stretch him on the floor. Thomas, get a blanket and cover up everything but his face.”
“I’ve got to get hold of some rosewater or something to drown that awful smell,” complained Dr. Prouty facetiously.
It seemed, when the preliminaries had been taken care of and the corpse of the second man hurriedly made presentable, that not one of the fearful, pallid people who filed in and out of the drawing-room could identify the dead face. Were they certain? Yes. They had never, they said, seen the man before. You, Sloane? Oh, no!—for Sloane was very, very ill; the sight had turned his stomach, and he had a little bottle of smelling-salts in his hand which he applied to his nostrils frequently. Joan Brett had looked, through eyes held steady only by a straining of her will, thoughtful. Mrs. Simms, roused out of her sick-bed, was led in by Weekes and a detective; she had no idea of what was occurring and, after one long horrified glimpse at the face of a strange dead man, promptly screeched and fainted, requiring the combined efforts of Weekes and three detectives to haul her back to her room on the upper floor.
They were all herded back into Khalkis’ library. The Inspector and Ellery hurried after, leaving Dr. Prouty alone in the drawing-room with two corpses for company. Pepper, a very excited Pepper, was waiting impatiently for them by the door.
His eyes shone. “Cracked the nut, Inspector!” he said in a low eager voice. “I knew I’d seen that face somewhere before. And I’ll tell you where you saw it—in the Rogues’ Gallery!”
“Seems likely. Who is he?”
“Well, I just called up Jordan, my old law-partner—you know, sir, before I was appointed to Sampson’s office. I had an idea I knew who the fellow was. And Jordan refreshed my memory. He was a guy by the name of Albert Grimshaw.”
“Grimshaw?” The Inspector stopped short. “Not the forger?”
Pepper smiled. “Good memory, Inspector. But that was only one of his accomplishments. I defended him about five years ago when we were Jordan & Pepper. We lost, and he was sentenced to five years, says Jordan. Say, he must have just got out of the pen!”
“That so? Sing Sing?”
“Yes!”
They moved into the room; everybody looked at them. The Inspector said to a detective, “Hesse, scoot back to h.q. and go over the files on Albert Grimshaw, forger, in Sing Sing for the past five years.” The man disappeared. “Thomas.” Velie loomed over him. “Put somebody on the job of tracing Grimshaw’s movements since his release from stir. Find out how long ago he was let out—might have got time off for good behavior.”
Pepper said: “I called the Chief, too, and notified him of the new development. Told me to take care of his end down here—he’s busy on that bank investigation. Anything on the body to make identification certain?”
“Not a thing. Just a few odds and ends, a couple of coins, an old empty wallet. Not even an identifying mark on his clothing.”
Ellery caught Joan Brett’s eye. “Miss Brett,” he said quietly, “I couldn’t help noticing a moment ago, when you looked at the body in the drawing-room, that … Do you know the man? Why did you say you had never seen him?”
Joan colored; she stamped her foot. “Mr. Queen, that’s insulting! I shan’t—”
The Inspector said coldly: “Do you know him or don’t you?”
She bit her lip. “It’s a dashed long story, and I didn’t see that it would do any good, since I didn’t know his name. …”
“The police are generally good judges of that,” said Pepper with conscientious severity. “If you know anything, Miss Brett, you can be prosecuted for withholding information.”
“Can I, indeed?” She tossed her head. “But I’m not withholding
“I’ve got him about ready now. Where do you want to put him?”
“Better take him out of the coffin and stretch him on the floor. Thomas, get a blanket and cover up everything but his face.”
“I’ve got to get hold of some rosewater or something to drown that awful smell,” complained Dr. Prouty facetiously.
It seemed, when the preliminaries had been taken care of and the corpse of the second man hurriedly made presentable, that not one of the fearful, pallid people who filed in and out of the drawing-room could identify the dead face. Were they certain? Yes. They had never, they said, seen the man before. You, Sloane? Oh, no!—for Sloane was very, very ill; the sight had turned his stomach, and he had a little bottle of smelling-salts in his hand which he applied to his nostrils frequently. Joan Brett had looked, through eyes held steady only by a straining of her will, thoughtful. Mrs. Simms, roused out of her sick-bed, was led in by Weekes and a detective; she had no idea of what was occurring and, after one long horrified glimpse at the face of a strange dead man, promptly screeched and fainted, requiring the combined efforts of Weekes and three detectives to haul her back to her room on the upper floor.
They were all herded back into Khalkis’ library. The Inspector and Ellery hurried after, leaving Dr. Prouty alone in the drawing-room with two corpses for company. Pepper, a very excited Pepper, was waiting impatiently for them by the door.
His eyes shone. “Cracked the nut, Inspector!” he said in a low eager voice. “I knew I’d seen that face somewhere before. And I’ll tell you where you saw it—in the Rogues’ Gallery!”
“Seems likely. Who is he?”
“Well, I just called up Jordan, my old law-partner—you know, sir, before I was appointed to Sampson’s office. I had an idea I knew who the fellow was. And Jordan refreshed my memory. He was a guy by the name of Albert Grimshaw.”
“Grimshaw?” The Inspector stopped short. “Not the forger?”
Pepper smiled. “Good memory, Inspector. But that was only one of his accomplishments. I defended him about five years ago when we were Jordan & Pepper. We lost, and he was sentenced to five years, says Jordan. Say, he must have just got out of the pen!”
“That so? Sing Sing?”
“Yes!”
They moved into the room; everybody looked at them. The Inspector said to a detective, “Hesse, scoot back to h.q. and go over the files on Albert Grimshaw, forger, in Sing Sing for the past five years.” The man disappeared. “Thomas.” Velie loomed over him. “Put somebody on the job of tracing Grimshaw’s movements since his release from stir. Find out how long ago he was let out—might have got time off for good behavior.”
Pepper said: “I called the Chief, too, and notified him of the new development. Told me to take care of his end down here—he’s busy on that bank investigation. Anything on the body to make identification certain?”
“Not a thing. Just a few odds and ends, a couple of coins, an old empty wallet. Not even an identifying mark on his clothing.”
Ellery caught Joan Brett’s eye. “Miss Brett,” he said quietly, “I couldn’t help noticing a moment ago, when you looked at the body in the drawing-room, that … Do you know the man? Why did you say you had never seen him?”
Joan colored; she stamped her foot. “Mr. Queen, that’s insulting! I shan’t—”
The Inspector said coldly: “Do you know him or don’t you?”
She bit her lip. “It’s a dashed long story, and I didn’t see that it would do any good, since I didn’t know his name. …”
“The police are generally good judges of that,” said Pepper with conscientious severity. “If you know anything, Miss Brett, you can be prosecuted for withholding information.”
“Can I, indeed?” She tossed her head. “But I’m not withholding
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