by Ellery Queen
“Distinctly.”
“Where did he mix them?”
“In the butler’s pantry off the kitchen.”
“Did you follow him there from the living room?”
“Yes, by way of the hall. The hall leads from the foyer to the rear of the house. He entered the kitchen and went into the pantry; I was just behind him but stopped in the hall, beside the door.”
“Did he see you?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea.”
“But you were careful not to be seen?”
Mr. Queen smiled. ”I was neither careful nor careless. I just stood there beside the half-open hall door to the kitchen.”
“Did the defendant turn around to look at you?” persisted Bradford.
“No.”
“But you could see /z/m?”
“Clearly.”
“What did the defendant do?”
“He prepared some Manhattan cocktails in a mixing glass. He poured some into each of a number of clean glasses standing on a tray. He was reaching for the bottle of maraschino cherries, which had been standing on the pantry table, when there was a knock at the back door. He left the cocktails and went out into the kitchen to see who had knocked.”
“That was when Miss Lola Wright and the defendant had the conversation just testified to?”
“Yes.”
“The tray of cocktails left in the butler’s pantry were visible to you all during the period in which the defendant conversed with Lola Wright at the kitchen back door?”
“Yes, indeed.”
Carter Bradford hesitated. Then he asked flatly: “Did you see anyone go near those cocktails between the time the defendant left them in the pantry and the time he returned?”
Mr. Queen replied: “I saw no one, because there wasn’t anyone.”
“The pantry remained absolutely empty during that period? “
“Of organic life¯yes.”
Bradford could scarcely conceal his elation; he made a brave but unsuccessful effort. On the mourners’ bench inside the railing the Wrights turned stone-faced.
“Now, Mr. Smith, did you see the defendant return to the pantry after Lola Wright left?”
“I did.”
“What did he do?”
“He dropped a maraschino cherry from the bottle into each cocktail, using a small ivory pick. He picked up the tray in both hands and carefully walked through the kitchen toward the door at which I was standing. I acted casual, and we went into the living room together, where he immediately began distributing the glasses to the family and guests.”
“On his walk from the pantry to the living room with the tray, did anyone approach him except yourself?”
“No one.”
Ellery waited for the next question with equanimity. He saw the triumph gather in Bradford’s eyes.
“Mr. Smith, wasn’t there something else you saw happen in that pantry?”
“No.”
“Nothing else happened?”
“Nothing else.”
“Have you told us everything you saw?”
“Everything.”
“Didn ‘t you see the defendant drop a white powder into one of those cocktails? “
“No,” said Mr. Queen. ”I saw nothing of the sort.”
“Then on the trip from the pantry to the living room?”
“Both Mr. Haight’s hands were busy holding the tray. He dropped no foreign substance of any kind into any of the cocktails at any time during their preparation or while he carried the tray into the living room.”
And then there was an undercurrent jabber in the room, and the Wrights glanced at one another with relief while Judge Martin wiped his face and Carter Bradford sneered almost with sound.
“Perhaps you turned your head for two seconds?”
“My eyes were on that tray of cocktails continuously.”
“You didn’t look away for even a second, eh?”
“For even a second,” said Mr. Queen regretfully, as if he wished he had, just to please Mr. Bradford.
Mr. Bradford grinned at the jury¯man to man¯and at least five jurors grinned back. Sure, what could you expect? A friend of the Wrights’. And then everybody in town knew why Cart Bradford had stopped seeing Pat Wright. This Smith bird had a case on Patty Wright. So . . .
“And you didn’t see Jim Haight drop arsenic into one of those cocktails?” insisted Mr. Bradford, smiling broadly now.
“At the risk of seeming a bore,” replied Mr. Queen with courtesy, “no, I did not.” But he knew he had lost with the jury; they didn’t believe him.
He knew it, and while the Wrights didn’t know it yet, Judge Martin did; the old gentleman was beginning to sweat again. Only Jim Haight sat unmoved, unchanged, wrapped in a shroud.
“Well, then, Mr. Smith, answer this question: Did you see anyone else who had the opportunity to poison one of those cocktails?”
Mr. Queen gathered himself; but before he could reply, Bradford snapped: “In fact, did you see anyone else who did poison one of those cocktails¯anyone other than the defendant?”
“I saw no one else, but¯”
“In other words, Mr. Smith,” cried Bradford, “the defendant James Haight was not only in the best position, but he was in the only position, to poison that cocktail?”
“No,” said Mr. Smith. And then he smiled.
You asked for it, he thought, and I’m giving it to you. The only trouble is, I’m giving it to myself, too, and that’s foolishness. He sighed and wondered what his father, Inspector Queen, no doubt reading about the case in the New York papers and conjecturing who Ellery Smith was, would have to say when he discovered Mr. ”Smith’s” identity and read about this act of puerile bravado.
Carter Bradford looked blank. Then he shouted: “Are you aware that this is perjury, Smith? You just testified that no one else entered the pantry! No one approached the defendant while he was carrying the cocktails into the living room! Allow me to repeat a question or two. Did anyone approach the defendant during his walk to the living room with the tray?”
“No,” said Mr. Queen patiently.
“Did someone else enter the pantry while the defendant was talking to Lola Wright at the back door?”
“No.”
Bradford was almost speechless. ”But you just said¯! Smith, who but James Haight could have poisoned one of those cocktails, by your own testimony?”
Judge Martin was on his feet, but before he could get the word “Objection” out of his mouth, Ellery said calmly: “I could.”
There was a wholesale gasp before him and then a stricken silence. So he went on: “You see, it would have been the work often seconds for me to slip from behind the door of the hall, cross the few feet of kitchen to the pantry unobserved by Jim or Lola at the back door, drop arsenic into one of the cocktails, return the same way . . . ”
And there was Babel all over again, and Mr. Queen looked down upon the noisemakers from the highest point of his tower, smiling benignly.
He was thinking: It’s full of holes, but it’s the best a man can do on short notice with the material at hand.
* * *
Over the shouting, and Judge Newbold’s gavel, and the rush of reporters, Carter Bradford bellowed in triumph: “Well, DID you poison that cocktail, Smith? “
There were several instants of quiet again, during which Judge Martin’s voice was heard to say feebly: “I object¯” and Mr. Queen’s voice topped the Judge’s by adding neatly: “On constitutional grounds¯”
Then hell broke loose, and Judge Newbold broke his gavel off at the head, and roared to the bailiff to clear the damn courtroom, and then he hog-called a recess until the next morning and practically ran into his chambers, where it is presumed he applied vinegar compresses to his forehead.
Chapter 25
The Singular Request of Miss Patricia Wright
By the next morning several changes had taken place.
Wrightsville’s attention was temporarily t
ransferred from one Jim Haight to one Ellery Smith.
Frank Lloyd’s newspaper came out with a blary edition reporting the sensational facts of Mr. Smith’s testimony; and an editorial which said, in part:
The bombshell of Mr. Smith’s testimony yesterday turns out to be a dud. There is no possible case against this man. Smith had no possible motive. He had not known Nora or James Haight or any of the Wrights before he came to Wrightsville last August. He has had practically no contact with Mrs. Haight, and less than that with Rosemary Haight. Whatever his reason for the quixotic nature of his farcical testimony yesterday¯and Prosecutor Bradford is to be censured for his handling of the witness, who obviously led him on¯it means nothing. Even if Smith were the only other person aside from Jim Haight who could have poisoned the fatal cocktail on New Year’s Eve, he could not possibly have been sure that that one poisoned cocktail would reach Nora Haight, whereas Jim Haight could have and, in effect, did. Nor could Smith have written the three letters, which are indisputably in the handwriting of James Haight. Wrightsville and the jury can only conclude that what happened yesterday was either a desperate gesture of friendliness on Smith’s part or a cynical bid for newspaper space by a writer who is using Wrightsville as a guinea pig.
The first thing Bradford said to Ellery on the stand the next morning was: “I show you the official transcript of your testimony yesterday. Will you please begin to read?”
Ellery raised his brows, but he took the transcript and read: “ ‘Question: What is your name? Answer: Ellery Smith¯’ “
“Stop right there! That is what you testified, isn’t it¯that your name is Ellery Smith?”
“Yes,” said Ellery, beginning to feel cold.
“Is Smith your real name?”
Ho hum, thought Ellery. The man’s a menace. ”No.”
“An assumed name, then?”
“Order in the court!” shouted the bailiff.
“Yes.”
“What is your real name?”
Judge Martin said quickly: “I don’t see the point of this line of questioning, Your Honor. Mr. Smith is not on trial¯”
“Mr. Bradford?” said Judge Newbold, who was looking curious.
“Mr. Smith’s testimony yesterday,” said Bradford with a faint smile, “raised a certain logical question about what the People allege to have been the defendant’s unique opportunity to poison the cocktail. Mr. Smith testified that he himself was in a position to have poisoned the cocktail. My examination this morning, then, must necessarily include an examination of Mr. Smith’s character¯”
“And you can establish Mr. Smith’s character by bringing out his true name?” asked Judge Newbold, frowning.
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“I think I’ll allow this, Counsel, pending testimony.”
“Will you please answer my last question,” said Bradford to Ellery. ”What is your real name?”
Ellery saw the Wrights looking bewildered¯all but Pat, who was biting her lip with vexation as well as perplexity. But it was quite clear to him that Bradford had been busy through the intervening night. The name “Queen” carried no theoretical immunity against a charge of murder, of course; but as a practical measure its revelation would banish from the minds of the jury any notion that its well-known bearer could have had anything to do with the crime.
The jig was up.
Ellery Queen sighed and said: “My name is Ellery Queen.”
* * *
Judge Martin did his best, under the circumstances. The punctuality of Bradford’s timing became evident. By putting Ellery on the stand, Bradford had given the defense a handhold to an important objective. But the objective was lost in the revelation of Ellery’s true identity.
Judge Martin hammered away at the anvil of one point.
“Mr. Queen, as a trained observer of criminal phenomena, you were interested in the possibilities of this case?”
“Immensely.”
“That is why you kept James Haight under unrelaxing observation New Year’s Eve?”
“That, and a personal concern for the Wright family.”
“You were watching for a possible poisoning attempt on Haight’s part?”
“Yes,” said Ellery simply.
“Did you see any such attempt on Haight’s part? “
“I did not!”
“You saw James Haight make no slightest gesture or motion which might have concealed a dropping of arsenic into one of the cocktail glasses?”
“I saw no such gesture or motion.”
“And you were watching for that, Mr. Queen?”
“Exactly.”
“That’s all,” said Judge Martin in triumph.
The newspapers all agreed that Mr. Ellery Queen, who was in Wrightsville seeking material for a new detective story, had seized upon this hell-sent opportunity to illuminate the cause of dark letters with some national publicity.
And Bradford, with a grim look, rested for the people.
* * *
The weekend intervened, and everybody involved in the case went home or to his hotel room or, as in the case of the out-of-town newspa-perpeople, to their cots in the lobby of the Hollis; and all over town people were agreeing that it looked black for Jim Haight, and why shouldn’t it¯he did it, didn’t he?
The roadhouses and taverns were jammed over the weekend, and there was considerable revelry.
On Friday night, however, the unofficial committee for the defense of James Haight met again in the Wright living room, and the atmosphere was blue with despair.
Nora said to Ellery, to Judge Martin, to Roberta Roberts: “What do you think?”¯painfully and without hope; and all they could do was shake their heads.
“Queen’s testimony would have helped a great deal more,” growled old Judge Eli, “if that jury weren’t so dad-blamed set on Jim’s guilt. No, Nora, it looks bad, and I’m not going to tell you anything different.”
Nora stared blindly into the fire.
“To think that you’ve been Ellery Queen all along,” sighed Hermy. ”I suppose there was a time when I’d have been thrilled, Mr. Queen. But I’m so washed-out these days¯”
“Momsy,” murmured Lola, “where’s your fighting spirit?”
Hermy smiled, but she excused herself to go upstairs to bed, her feet dragging.
And after a while John F. said: “Thanks, Queen,” and went off after Hermy, as if Hermy’s going had made him a little uneasy.
And they sat there without speaking for a long time, until Nora said: “At least, Ellery, what you saw confirms Jim’s innocence. That’s something. It ought to mean something. Heavens,” she cried, “they’ve got to believe you!”
“Let’s hope they do.”
“Judge Martin,” said Roberta suddenly. ”Monday’s your day to begin howling. What are you going to howl about?”
“Suppose you tell me,” said Judge Martin.
Her glance fell first. ”I have nothing to tell that could help,” she said in a faint voice.
“Then I was right,” murmured Ellery. ”Don’t you think others might make better judges¯”
Something crashed. Pat was on her feet, and the sherry glass from which she had been sipping lay in little glittery fragments in the fireplace, surrounded by blue flames.
“What’s the matter with you?” demanded Lola. ”If this isn’t the screwiest family!”
“I’ll tell you what’s the matter with me,” panted Pat. ”I’m through sitting on my¯sitting around and imitating Uriah Heep. I’m going to do something!”
“Patty,” gasped Nora, looking at her younger sister as if Pat had suddenly turned into a female Mr. Hyde.
Lola murmured: “What in hell are you babbling about, Patticums?”
“I’ve got an idea!”
“The little one’s got an idea,” grinned Lola. ”I had an idea once. Next thing I knew I was divorcing a heel and everybody began to call me an amptray. Siddown, Snuffy.”
“Wait a moment,” said Ell
ery. ”It’s possible. What idea, Pat?”
“Go ahead and be funny,” said Pat hotly. ”All of you. But I’ve worked out a plan, and I’m going through with it.”
“What kind of plan?” demanded Judge Martin. ”I’ll listen to anyone, Patricia.”
“Will you?” jeered Pat. ”Well, I’m not talking. You’ll know when the time comes, Uncle Eli! You’ve got to do just one thing¯”
“And that is?”
“To call me as the last witness for the defense/”
The Judge began in bewilderment: “But what¯?”
“Yes, what’s stewing?” asked Ellery quickly. ”You’d better talk it over with your elders first.”
“There’s been too much talk already, Grandpa.”
“But what do you think you’re going to accomplish?”
“I want three things.” Pat looked grim. ”Time, last crack at the witness stand, and some of your new Odalisque Parfum, Nora . . . Accomplish, Mr. Queen? I’m going to save Jim!”
Nora ran out of the room, using her knitting as a handkerchief.
“Well, I will!” said Pat, exasperated. And she added, in a gun-moll undertone: “I’ll show that Carter Bradford!”
Chapter 26
Juror Number 7
“We will take,” said old Eli Martin to Mr. Queen in the courtroom Monday morning, as they waited for Judge Newbold to enter from chambers, “what the Lord provides.”
“Meaning what?” asked Ellery.
“Meaning,” sighed the lawyer, “that unless Providence intercedes, my old friend’s son-in-law is a fried squab. If what I’ve got is a defense, may God help all petitioners for justice!”
“Legally speaking, I’m a blunderbuss. Surely you’ve got some sort of defense?”
“Some sort, yes.” The old gentleman squinted sourly at Jim Haight, sitting nearby with his head on his breast. ”I’ve never had such a case!” he exploded. ”Nobody tells me anything¯the defendant, the Roberts woman, the family . . . Why, even that snippet Patricia won’t talk to me!”
“Patty . . . ” said Ellery thoughtfully.
“Pat wants me to put her on the stand, and I don’t even know what for! This isn’t law, it’s lunacy.”