Ellery chuckled. “You searched in the house, around the house, even under the house, so to speak, but you didn’t search on
top
of the house. So it all ties in very neatly, and if you find that missing half-scissors lying on the gable or in the eaves-trough on the roof, then I’m right and you’re wrong.”
So that was the gamble, Dr. MacClure thought grimly; and he saw now with clarity what a gamble it was. The whole thread of Ellery’s reasoning was fine and gossamer; it seemed real – but was it? Only the roof could tell. And if the roof disappointed them … He pressed Eva’s hand, and Eva returned the pressure convulsively. None of them was capable of a word, and all of them were painfully aware on what a slender thread Eva’s safety hung.
The Inspector frowned. “I’ll admit it’ll look different if we find it where you say it is. But even so, why couldn’t this girl still have murdered her aunt, then released the bird from the cage herself, and sent it flying away through the bars with the half-scissors? Tell me that!”
It was such a startling thought that the three huddled together stiffened with a single movement.
But Ellery shook his head. “What would Miss MacClure’s motive have been?”
“To get rid of the weapon!”
“Ah, but if she murdered Karen Leith the best illusion she could hope to create would be that of suicide! Yet by disposing of the weapon she would accomplish what? That which actually happened – to make the crime look like murder and herself like the only possible murderess. No, dad, that doesn’t wash.”
The Inspector grunted, defeated.
“I’m hoping,” continued Ellery quietly, “that we’re lucky. There’s one thing in our favor. It hasn’t rained since the crime. If the half-scissors was dropped by the jay in a protected spot, like the eaves-trough, it should still show fingerprints. The worst we have to contend with is the effect of the dew. But if the weapon hasn’t rusted, you’ll have absolute proof of Miss MacClure’s innocence.”
“It’ll show the Leith woman’s prints!” shouted Terry.
“Yes, and hers only. And if you find that, dad, even you will have to admit that the last doubt of Karen Leith’s suicide will have been removed.”
Gloomily the Inspector put in a call to Police Headquarters; and gloomily he commandeered two cabs and had the party driven downtown to the Leith house in Washington Square.
Two men from Headquarters were waiting for them when they arrived – fingerprint experts.
Sergeant Velie scoured the neighborhood for a long ladder. Then Ellery clambered from the garden up to the sloping roof, and the first thing he saw was the glitter of the missing half-scissors with its broken point lying in a semi-protected position in the eaves-trough almost directly over Karen Leith’s oriel windows.
As Ellery straightened up, waving the blood-tipped weapon, Terry sent up a shout from below that almost tumbled Ellery into the garden; and from where they stood in a group, craning, there was a cry of hysterical joy from Eva as she threw her arms about Dr. MacClure.
The fingerprint men found clear, unmistakable impressions of Karen Leith’s fingers all over the rust-proof metal. And the fingerprints of no one else. And, as a last proof, one of them fitted the tiny triangular sliver of steel from Karen Leith’s throat to the broken end of the half-scissors, and it matched exactly.
On Friday night the MacClures were shepherded by Terry Ring into a swanky place in the East Fifties and had a dinner which did not “smell,” as Terry put it with characteristic candor, “of the East Side.”
They were subdued, and for the most part dined with only monosyllabic conversation. The doctor looked tired, and Eva positively exhausted.
“Thing about you,” said Terry at last, “is you need a rest. Change. Vacation. Something to take your mind off things. Now you can go off and marry this Park Avenue guy.”
“Didn’t Eva tell you?” asked Dr. MacClure subtly. “She’s returned Scott’s ring.”
“No!” Terry set his fork down and stared. “Well, what do you know about that,” he said, staring some more.
Eva flushed. “It was a mistake, that’s all.”
“Well, say,” mumbled Terry. “That’s swell – I mean too bad.” And he seized his fork and attacked his
filet
with such zest that Dr. MacClure hid a smile behind his napkin.
“Why didn’t Mr. Queen come?” asked Eva hastily, to change the subject.
“He’s got a headache or something,” said Terry. He flung his fork down again, to the horror of the hovering waiter. “Look, gorgeous. How about you and me …” He picked it up again. “Forget it.”
“I think,” said Dr. MacClure, rising, “you two will have to suffer along by yourselves. I’m going.”
“No,” cried Eva. “Don’t go, daddy.”
“No, really,” said the doctor, “you’ll have to excuse me. I’d expected to see Queen this evening. I haven’t really thanked him properly for all he’s done.”
“Then I’ll go, too,” said Eva, beginning to push back from the table. “I owe him more than anyone.”
“You’ll stay right here,” growled Terry, hauling her back. “Go on, Doc, scram. I’ll fix
her
wagon.”
“Daddy,” wailed Eva.
But Dr. MacClure shook his head and smiled and left.
“Look,” said Terry eagerly, leaning far across the table. “I’m not much – I know that. But if you –”
“Poor daddy,” said Eva. “He looks simply awful. All this suspense and worry have aged him ten years. He looks worse to-night than he looked yesterday. He –”
“He’s a swell guy,” said Terry heartily. “Say, he’s got tact! We’ll get along all right. Eva, would you …”
“I’m worried about him,” frowned Eva, poking at her chop. “He’s going to plunge right into work at that Foundation of his like a madman. I know
him
. He really ought to go away again.”
“You and him and me, too,” cried Terry. “We could all go together!”
“Why, what do you mean?” asked Eva, widening her eyes.
“I mean – say we all – Look.” Terry bellowed at her. “The first thing I’m going to do is hie me up Park Avenue a way and take a poke at that palooka who ran out on you!”
“Terry!”
“Well, all right, I won’t if you say so,” grumbled Terry. His brown features twisted desperately; he took a deep breath and leaned forward again. “Eva, what say you and I –”
“
Pardon
,” whispered a firm voice. They looked up. It was the headwaiter. “
Pardon
,
pardon
,
Monsieur
,
mais vous faites trop de bruit!
”
“Huh?” said Terry blankly.
“
Monsieur
will be so kind!”
“Go away, Lafayette,” said Terry, seizing Eva’s hands. “Look, hon, what I mean was –”
“He says,” said Eva faintly, pulling away, “that you’re making too much noise.”
“And if
Monsieur
does not abate the tone,” added the headwaiter even more firmly, “I shall ask him to depart!”
Terry stared up. Then he said flatly to Eva: “Stay right where you are.” He got to his feet and faced the Gallic gentleman spread-legged. “Did I understand you to say,” he asked in a gentle voice, “that I’m making too much
bruit
for this dump?”
The headwaiter took a backward step. “Philippe! Antoine!” Two large and swarthy
garçons
came up. “Escort
Ma’m’selle
and
Monsieur
–”
“Hold everything, Antoine,” said Terry.
A silence fell. All over the restaurant people were staring, shocked. Eva felt herself grow hot and cold by turns. She could have crawled under the table.
“Please, Terry,” she whispered. “Don’t forget where – Please don’t –”
“Proceed, Antoine,” said the headwaiter nervously.
Antoine’s brawny fist reached for Terry. Terry crouched a little, and Eva shut her eyes. She knew what was coming. A brawl. In a nice restaurant. Where did he think – It would be in the newspapers … The last straw!
“I said hold it,” she heard Terry say, in such a peculiar tone that she opened her eyes quickly.
Terry was hanging on to Antoine’s fist almost imploringly. And he was perspiring. “Listen, Antoine,” he said, licking his lips. “You ever been in … love?”
Antoine gaped. He looked at the headwaiter. The headwaiter paled. He said, quavering: “Perhaps
Monsieur
does not feel well? Perhaps a doctor –”
“Love! Love!” said Terry tensely: “You know what love is, don’t you?
A
-
mour
! Kitchy-koo! L-o-v-e!”
“He is cra-zee,” muttered Antoine, carefully retreating.
“Sure I’m crazy!” shouted Terry, waving his long arms. “I’m off my nut trying to figure out a way to propose to my girl, and
he
tells me I’m making too much noise!”
Eva thought she knew what Joan of Arc had gone through at the stake. Her cheeks felt burned to crisps. She had never been so humiliated in her life. The restaurant was in an uproar. Everybody was laughing. Even the headwaiter smiled, definitely relieved.
“You
oaf !
” panted Eva, jumping up. “After all I’ve been through!”
And she fled, pursued by bellows of delight from all sides. It was like a nightmare. How could he – The – the –
But she got only as far as the rubber mat under the canopy outside. There, inexplicably, she found Terry facing her.
“Listen, kid,” he said hoarsely. “Marry me and put me out of my misery!”
“Oh, Terry,” sobbed Eva, putting her arms around his neck. “I’m so happy. You’re such a fool. I love you so much.”
There was an enthusiastic huzza behind them, and they wheeled to find the restaurant doorway thronged and the headwaiter bowing gallantly in their direction.
“
Vive la France
,” said Terry feebly, and he kissed her.
Dr. MacClure’s ring was answered by Djuna, who looked first surprised, then angry, and finally philosophical. Djuna was accustomed to people who appeared, hat in hand, at the conclusion of a case.
“Hello,” said Ellery slowly, getting out of the arm-chair before the fireplace. “Come in, Doctor.”
“I won’t keep you long,” said Dr. MacClure. “I felt that I hadn’t thanked you properly, and of course –”
“Oh, that.” Ellery seemed embarrassed. “Sit down, Doctor. Dad’s at Headquarters cleaning up the last details and satisfying the reporters. So I’m rather alone.”
“Terry says you aren’t feeling especially well,” remarked the doctor, accepting a cigaret. “I suppose it’s the reaction. Really wonderful piece of rationalization. You don’t look well. How do you feel exactly?”
“Low. It’s funny, but it struck me that you’re rather peaked yourself.”
“Oh, I.” The doctor shrugged over his cigaret. “Well, I’m human. No matter how calloused the human temperament becomes, there are some things that penetrate it. One is danger to someone you love. Another is shock – there was Esther, and finding out she was alive, only to find out she was dead after all. And there was,” he added quietly, “Karen.”
Ellery nodded, staring into the dark fireplace. The doctor sighed and rose. “Well, it’s hardly necessary for me to put into words –”
“Doctor, sit down.”
Dr. MacClure looked at him.
“I must talk to you.”
The big man’s arm remained poised, the cigaret smouldering in his fingers. “There’s something the matter, Queen?”
“Yes.”
Dr. MacClure seated himself again. The anxiety returned to his gaunt, chunky face. His brows met.
Ellery got out of his chair and went to the mantel. “I’ve been thinking hard all afternoon and evening. I’ve hardly got out of that chair … Yes, there’s something the matter.”
“Vital?”
“Extremely.”
“If you mean,” began the doctor slowly, ‘that Karen didn’t really commit suicide …”
“Oh, she committed suicide, all right,” said Ellery scowling at the crossed sabres above the mantel. “That part of it is right.”
“Then what
do
you mean?” The big man jumped up. “You can’t mean that somehow Eva – that she’s still –”
Ellery turned round. “There are certain aspects of this case, Doctor, which have not yet been touched upon. The case is not closed by any means. It’s closed as far as the police are concerned – my father, too – but that’s not enough. I have a terrible problem to solve – the most difficult in my experience. I don’t know, frankly, what to do.”
The doctor sank back in bewilderment. “But if Eva isn’t – if Karen committed suicide – I fail to see –”
“I’m glad you’ve come. Apparently there’s a design in human relations that isn’t quite material.” Ellery removed his
pince-nez
and began to polish them absently. “Your coming resolves some of the difficulty. Have you a little time, Doctor?”
“Of course. As long as you want me.” The big man stared at him anxiously.
Ellery went to the kitchen. “Djuna.” Djuna appeared like Jack-in-the-box. “How would you like to take in a movie?”
“I don’t know,” said Djuna doubtfully. “I saw all the pictures around here.”
“I’m sure you’ll find something.” Ellery pressed a bill into the boy’s hand. Djuna stared up at him. Their eyes locked.
Then Djuna said: “Sure. I guess so,” and he went quickly to the closet and got his hat and let himself out of the apartment.
“You see,” said Ellery, as soon as the door closed, “my dilemma is an unusual one: Shall I tell my father what I know and he doesn’t, or shan’t I? And since there’s a delicate point involved that isn’t amenable to the usual methods, I’m forced to ask for your help.”
“But how can I help you, Queen? Do you mean that it has something to do with Eva, after all?”
Ellery sat down and slowly lit a cigaret. “Suppose I begin at the beginning. In the final analysis, it’s not an ordinary decision; it’s not even my decision. You’ll have to make it. And I’ll be guided by your advice – whether to leave the case officially closed, as it is to-night, or open it to-morrow with a bang that will rock New York.”
Dr. MacClure was pale. But he said in a steady voice: “I’ve stood almost every shock possible to human flesh, so I suppose I can stand another. Go on, Queen.”
Ellery took a folded sheet of paper out of the pocket of his dressing-gown. The doctor waited quietly as Ellery unfolded it.
“I have here,” began Ellery, ‘my father’s copy of the suicide note left by your sister-in-law Esther in Philadelphia.”