Calamity Town

by Ellery Queen

  Pat said: “Oh, look, Nor! Letters!”

  “Letters? Where? Of all-They are!”

  One of the volumes which had fallen from Nora’s arms was oversized and fat, bound in tan cloth. From among the leaves some envelopes had tumbled.

  Nora picked them up curiously. They were not sealed.

  “Oh, three poky old envelopes,” said Pat. ”Let’s get going with these books, or we’ll never be through, Nora.”

  But Nora frowned. ”There’s something inside each one, Pat. These are Jim’s books. I wonder if . . . ” She removed a single sheet of folded notepaper from one of the envelopes and spread it smooth, reading slowly to herself.

  “Nora,” said Mr. Queen, “what’s the matter?”

  Nora said faintly: “I don’t understand¯” and returned the sheet to its envelope. She took a similar sheet from the second envelope, read it, returned it to its envelope, the third, read it . . . And as she thrust it back into the third envelope, her cheeks were the color of wet sand. Pat and Ellery glanced at each other, puzzled.

  “Boo!”

  Nora whirled, shrieking. In the doorway crouched a man wearing a papier-mache mask; his fingers were curled before his fantastic face, opening and closing hungrily.

  Nora’s eyes turned up until they were all whites. And then she crumpled, still clutching the three envelopes.

  “Nora!” Jim ripped off the ludicrous Hallowe’en mask. ”Nora, I didn’t mean¯”

  “Jim, you fool,” panted Pat, flinging herself to her knees by Nora’s still body. ”That’s a smart joke! Nora dear¯Nora!”

  “Look out, Pat,” said Jim hoarsely; he seized Nora’s limp figure, scooped her up, half-ran up the stairs with her.

  “It’s only a faint,” said Ellery as Pat dashed into the kitchen. ”She’ll be all right, Patty!”

  Pat came stumbling back with a glass of water, which slopped over with each step.

  “Here, wench.” Ellery took it from her and sped up the stairs with the glass, Pat treading on his heels.

  They found Nora on her bed, in hysterics, while Jim chafed her hands and groaned self-abasements.

  “Excuse me,” said Ellery. He shouldered Jim aside and put the glass to Nora’s blue lips. She tried to push his hand away. He slapped her, and she cried out; but she drank the water, choking. Then she sank back on the pillow, covering her face with her palms. ”Go away,” she sobbed.

  “Nora, you all right now?” asked Pat anxiously.

  “Yes. Please. Leave me alone. Please!”

  “Go on, now,” said Jim. ”Leave us alone.”

  Nora let her hands fall. Her face was swollen and puffed.

  “You, too, Jim.”

  Jim gaped at her. Pat steered him out. Ellery shut the bedroom door, frowning, and they went downstairs.

  Jim made for the liquor cabinet, poured himself a stiff Scotch, and tossed it down with one desperate motion.

  “You know how nervous Nora is,” said Pat disapprovingly. ”If you hadn’t had too much to drink tonight¯”

  Jim was angry, sullen. ”Who’s tight? Don’t you go telling Nora I’ve been drinking! Understand?”

  “Yes, Jim,” said Pat quietly. They waited. Pat kept going to the foot of the stairs and looking up. Jim shuffled around. Ellery whistled a noiseless tune.

  Suddenly Nora appeared. ”Nora! Feeling better?” cried Pat.

  “Worlds.” Nora came downstairs smiling. ”Please forgive me, Mr. Smith. It was just being scared all of a sudden.” Jim seized her in his arms. ”Oh, Nora¯”

  “Forget it, dear,” laughed Nora. There was no sign of the three envelopes.

  Chapter 8

  Hallowe’en: The Scarlet Letters

  When Jim and Nora came up on the porch after dinner, Nora was quite gay.

  “Pat told me about that silly mask, Jim Haight,” said Hermy. ”Nora dearest, you’re sure you’re all right?”

  “Of course, Mother. All this fuss over a scare!”

  John F. was studying his son-in-law in a puzzled, secretive way. Jim seemed a little sheepish; he grinned vaguely.

  “Where’s Carter, Pat?” demanded Hermy. ”Wasn’t he supposed to go with us to Town Hall tonight?”

  “I’ve a headache, Muth. I phoned Cart to say I was going to bed. Night!” Pat went quickly into the house.

  “Come along, Smith,” said John F. ”There’s a good speaker¯one of those war correspondents.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Wright, but I’ve some work on my novel. Have a nice time!”

  When Jim’s new car rolled off down the Hill, Mr. Ellery Queen stepped off the Wright porch and, by the light of the pumpkin moon, noiselessly crossed the lawn.

  He circled Nora’s house once, inspecting the windows. All dark. Then Alberta had already left¯Thursday night was her night off.

  Ellery opened the kitchen door with a skeleton key, locked it behind him and, using his flashlight sparingly, made his way through the hall to the living room. He climbed the stairs making no sound.

  At the landing, he paused, frowning. There was a luminous line under Nora’s bedroom door!

  He listened intently. Inside, drawers were being pulled open and pushed shut. A thief? Another Hallowe’en prank?

  Gripping the flashlight like a club, Ellery kicked the door open.

  Miss Patricia Wright screamed as she sprang from her stooped position over the lowest drawer of Nora’s vanity.

  “Hello,” said Mr. Queen affably.

  “Worm!” gasped Pat. ”I thought I’d die.” Then she blushed under his amused glance. ”At least I have an excuse! I’m her sister. But you . . . you’re just a plain snoop, Mr. Ellery Queen!”

  Ellery’s jaw waggled. ”You little demon,” he said admiringly. ”You’ve known me all along.”

  “Of course,” retorted Pat. ”I heard you lecture once on The Place of the Detective Story in Contemporary Civilization. Very pompous it was, too.”

  “Wellesley?”

  “Sarah Lawrence. I thought at the time you were very handsome. Sic transit gloria. Don’t look so concerned. I shan’t give your precious incognito away.”

  Mr. Queen kissed her.

  “Mmm,” said Pat. ”Not bad. But inopportune . . . No, please, Ellery. Some other time. Ellery, those letters¯you’re the only one I can confide in. Muth and Pop would worry themselves sick¯”

  “And Carter Bradford?” suggested Mr. Queen dryly.

  “Cart,” said Miss Wright, flushing, “is . . . Well, I just wouldn’t want Cart to know anything’s wrong. If it is,” she added quickly. ”I’m not sure anything is.”

  Ellery said: “Yes, you are. Delicious lipstick.”

  “Wipe it off. Yes,” said Pat damply, “I am . . . Why didn’t Nora say what was in those letters?” she burst out. ”Why did she come back to the living room tonight without them? Why did she chase us all out of her bedroom? Ellery, I’m . . . scared.”

  Ellery squeezed her cold hands. ”Let’s look for them.”

  * * *

  He found them in one of Nora’s hatboxes. The hatbox lay on the shelf of Nora’s closet, and the three envelopes had been tucked between the tissue paper and the floor of the box, beneath a little flowered hat with a saucy mauve veil.

  “Very clumsy technique,” mourned Mr. Queen.

  “Poor Nor,” said Pat. Her lips were pale. ”Let me see!” Ellery handed her the three letters.

  In the upper right-hand corner of each envelope, where a stamp should have been, appeared a date written in red crayon.

  Pat frowned. Ellery took the envelopes from her and arranged them in chronological order, according to the crayoned dates. The dates were: 11/28, 12/25, and 1/1.

  “And all three,” mused Pat, “are addressed to ‘Miss Rosemary Haight.’ She’s Jim’s only sister. We’ve never met her. But it’s queer there’s no street or city address . . . ”

  “Not necessarily,” said Ellery, his brows together. ”The queerness lies in the use of the crayon.”

  �
�Oh, Jim’s always used a thin red crayon instead of a pencil¯it’s a habit of his.”

  “Then his sister’s name on these envelopes is in Jim’s handwriting?”

  “Yes. I’d recognize this scrawl of Jim’s anywhere. For Pete’s sake, Ellery, what’s in them?”

  Ellery removed the contents of the first envelope, crumpled a bit from Nora’s clutch when she had fainted.

  The note was in Jim’s handwriting, too, Pat said, and written in the same red crayon:

  Nov. 28

  Dear Sis: I know it’s been a long time, but you can imagine I’ve been rushed. Haven’t time to drop you more than a line, because my wife got sick today. Doesn’t seem like much, but I don’t know. If you ask me, the doctor doesn’t know what it is, either. Let’s hope it’s nothing. Of course, I’ll keep you posted. Write me soon.

  Love, Jim

  “I can’t understand it,” said Pat slowly. ”Nora’s never felt better. Muth and I were just remarking about it the other day. Ellery¯”

  “Has Nora seen Dr. Willoughby recently?”

  “No. Unless . . . But I’m sure she hasn’t.”

  “I see,” said Ellery in a voice that told nothing. ”Besides, that date¯November twenty-eighth. That’s a month away, Ellery! How could Jim know . . . ?” Pat stopped. Then she said hoarsely: “Open the second one!”

  The second note was shorter than the first, but it was written in the same red crayon in the same scrawl.

  December 25th Sis: I don’t want to worry you. But I’ve got to tell you. It’s much worse.

  My wife is terribly ill. We’re doing everything we can.

  In haste, Jim

  “In haste, Jim,” repeated Pat. ”In haste¯and dated December twenty-fifth!”

  Ellery’s eyes were clouded over now, hiding.

  “But how could Jim know Nora’s illness is worse when Nora isn’t even sick?” cried Pat. ”And two months in advance!”

  “I think,” said Mr. Queen, “we’d best read the third note.” And he took the sheet of paper from the last envelope.

  “Ellery, what . . . ?”

  He handed it to her and began to walk up and down Nora’s bedroom, smoking a cigarette with short, nervous puffs.

  Pat read the note wide-eyed. Like the others, it was in Jim’s hand, a red-crayon scrawl. It said:

  Jan. 1

  Dearest Sis: She’s dead. She passed away today.

  My wife, gone. As if she’d never been. Her last moments were¯

  I can’t write anymore.

  Come to me if you can.

  Jim Ellery said: “Not now, honey child,” and threw his arm about Pat’s waist.

  “What does it mean?” she sobbed.

  “Stop blubbering.”

  Pat turned away, hiding her face.

  Ellery replaced the messages in their envelopes and returned the envelopes to their hiding place exactly as he had found them. He set the hatbox back on the shelf of the closet, closed the vanity drawer in which Pat had been rummaging, straightened Nora’s hand mirror. Another look around, and he led Pat from the room, switching off the ceiling light by the door.

  “Find the door open?” he asked Pat.

  “Closed,” she replied in a strangled voice.

  He closed it.

  “Wait. Where’s that fat tan book¯the one the envelopes fell out of this evening?”

  “In Jim’s study.” Pat seemed to have difficulty pronouncing her brother-in-law’s name.

  They found the book on one of the newly installed shelves in the bedroom Nora had converted into a study for her husband. Ellery had switched on the mica-shaded desk lamp, and it threw long shadows on the walls.

  Pat clung to his arm, throwing glances over her shoulder.

  “Pretty fresh condition,” said Ellery in a mutter, plucking the book from the shelf. ”Cloth hasn’t even begun to fade, and the edges of the pages are clean.”

  “What is it?” whispered Pat.

  “Edgcomb’s Toxicology.’’’’

  “Toxicology!” Pat stared at it in horror.

  Ellery sharply scrutinized the binding. Then he let the book fall open in his hands.

  It broke obediently to a dog-eared page¯the only dog-eared page he could find. The book’s spine showed a deep crack which ran parallel with the place in the book where it had broken open to reveal the dog-eared page.

  The three envelopes, then, had been lying between these two pages, thought Ellery. He began to read¯to himself.

  “What,” said Pat feverishly, “what would Jim Haight be doing with a book on toxicology?”

  Ellery looked at her. ”These two facing pages deal with various arse-nious compounds¯formulae, morbific effects, detection in organs and tissues, antidotes, fatal dosages, treatment of diseases arising from arse-nious poisoning¯”

  “Poisoning!”

  Ellery laid the book down within the brightest focus of the lamp. His finger pointed to the words in bold type: Arsenious Oxid (AS2O3).

  His finger moved down to a paragraph which described arsenious oxid as “white, tasteless, poisonous,” and gave the fatal dosage.

  This paragraph had been underlined in light red crayon.

  In a quite clear voice that emerged from between wry, unwilling lips, Pat said: “Jim is planning to murder Nora.”

  PART TWO

  Chapter 9

  Burnt Offering

  “Jim is planning to murder Nora.”

  Ellery set the book upon the shelf. With his back to Pat, he said: “Nonsense.”

  “You saw the letters yourself! You read them!”

  Mr. Queen sighed. They went downstairs in the dark, his arm about her waist.

  Outside, there was the old moon and a stencil of cold stars. Pat shivered against him, and his clasp tightened. They drifted across the silver lawn and came to rest beneath the tallest elm.

  “Look at the sky,” said Ellery, “and tell me that again.”

  “Don’t feed me philosophy! Or poetry. This is the good old U.S.A. in the Year of Our Madness nineteen-forty. Jim is insane. He must be!” She began to cry.

  “The human mind¯” began Mr. Queen, and he stopped. He had been about to say that the human mind was a curious and wonderful instrument. But it occurred to him in time that this was a two-way phrase, a Delphic hedge. The fact was . . . it looked bad. Very bad.

  “Nora’s in danger,” sobbed Pat. ”Ellery, what am I going to do?”

  “Time may spade up some bones of truth, Patty.”

  “But I can’t take this alone! Nora¯you saw how Nora took it. Ellery, she was scared green. And then . . . just as if nothing had happened. She’s decided already, don’t you see? She’s decided not to believe it. If you waved those letters under her nose, Nora wouldn’t admit anything now! Her mind opened for just a second; now it’s shut down tight, and she’d lie to God.”

  “Yes,” said Ellery, and his arms comforted her.

  “He was so much in love with her! You saw it all happen. You saw the look on his face that night when they came downstairs to say they were going to be married. Jim was happy. When they got back from their honeymoon, he seemed even happier.” Pat whispered: “Maybe he has gone mad. Maybe that’s been the whole thing all along. A dangerous maniac!”

  Ellery said nothing.

  “How can I tell Mother? Or my father? It would kill them, and it wouldn’t do any good. And yet¯I’ve got to!”

  A car throbbed up the Hill in the darkness.

  “You’re letting your emotions get in the way of your thinking, Pat,” said Ellery. ”A situation like this calls for observation and caution. And a disciplined tongue.”

  “I don’t understand . . . ”

  “One false accusation, and you might wreck the lives not only of Jim and Nora, but of your father and mother, too.”

  “Yes . . . And Nora waited so long¯”

  “I said there’s time. There is. We’ll watch, and we’ll see, and meanwhile it will be a secret between us . . . Di
d I say ‘we’?” Ellery sounded rueful. ”It seems I’ve declared myself in.”

  Pat gasped. ”You wouldn’t back out now? I took it for granted. I mean, I’ve counted on you from that first awful moment. Ellery, you’ve got to help Nora! You’re trained to this sort of thing. Please don’t go away!” Pat shook him.

  “I just said ‘we,’ didn’t I?” said Ellery, almost irritably. There was something wrong. A sound had gone wrong somewhere. A sound that had stopped. A car? Had that been a car before? It hadn’t passed . . . ”Cry it out now; but when it’s over, it’s over. Do you understand?” And now he shook her.

  “Yes,” wept Pat. ”I’m a snuffling fool. I’m sorry.”

  “You’re not a fool, but you must be a heroine. No word, no look, no attitude. As far as the rest of Wrightsville is concerned, those letters don’t exist. Jim is your brother-in-law, and you like him, and you’re happy about him and Nora.” She nodded against his shoulder. ”We mustn’t tell your father or mother or Frank Lloyd or¯”

  Pat raised her head. ”Or whom?”

  “No,” said Ellery with a frown. ”I can’t make that decision for you, too.”

  “You mean Cart,” said Pat steadily.

  “I mean the Prosecutor of Wright County.”

  Pat was silent. Ellery was silent. The moon was lower now, its bosom ruffled with slate flounces of cloud.

  “I couldn’t tell Carter,” murmured Pat. ”It never even occurred to me. I can’t tell you why. Maybe it’s because he’s connected with the police. Maybe it’s because he’s not in the family¯”

  “I’m not in the family, either,” said Mr. Queen.

  “You’re different!”

  Despite himself, Mr. Queen experienced a chill of pleasure. But his voice was impersonal. ”At any rate, you’ve got to be my eyes and ears, Pat. Stay with Nora as much as possible without arousing her suspicions. Watch Jim without seeming to. Report everything that happens. And whenever possible, you must work me into your family gatherings. Is all that clear?”