The Mystery of the Merry Magician (20 page)

Prema Jind looked Gully over critically. At last she gave her decision. “Cool,” she said.

“Cool?” the ambassador echoed, puzzled. “I myself think it is rather a warm day for New York.”

“Oh, Father, it has nothing to do with
weather
,” Prema said. “I meant about Gully.” Gully noticed that, unlike Balbir, Prema did not have to be asked to use his nickname. “Now we have two detectives on the case.”

“Not really,” Gully stammered.

“Oh, dear, the modest type,” the Jalpuri girl said. “We’ll have to do something about
that
, Balbir, won’t we?”

“Yes,” Balbir said worshipfully. It was clear that he would have jumped off the roof if Prema had asked him to.

“Anyway,” she said, “I think it’s just super the way you figured out where the mynah came from.”

Gully felt his cheeks heat up. “I wish finding Balbir’s father were as simple, Miss Jind,” he mumbled.

“Miss Jind? Are you kidding? What’s wrong with Prema?”

“Well, I thought—”

“You just unthink, Gully Queen. You call me Prema. Unless,” the girl asked impishly, “you don’t want to be friends?”

“Oh, it’s not that, Miss—I mean, Prema!” Gully said. “I certainly do!”

“I am happy that the issue has been resolved,” Prema’s father said dryly. “I wish we could resolve some of the United Nations’ issues so easily. Inspector, is there anything I can do to assist your investigation?”

“Well, Dr. Jind,” Inspector Queen said, “I’d like to ask a few questions. I’ve gone through the statements made by your staff yesterday, but you may be able to add something.”

“I wish that I could, Inspector. But frankly, I am at a loss over the entire affair. You see, from the signs in Shamshir Singh’s room, he was obviously removed by force. And I cannot understand why anyone should wish to do violence to such a worthy man as Shamshir.”

“Did he have enemies you know of, Dr. Jind?”

“No, Inspector. Do you know of any, Balbir?”

“No, sir,” the missing guard’s son said. “He has never spoken to me of an enemy.” He added proudly, “My father is greatly esteemed by the Jalpuri and Indian community in New York.”

“So I understand.” Inspector Queen frowned. “This disappearance—it occurred on Mr. Singh’s day off. Does anyone know how he spent the morning and early afternoon?”

Balbir glanced at the ambassador, as if for permission to speak. Dr. Jind nodded.

“My father left this building at about eleven o’clock in the morning, sir. I myself went out shortly afterward and returned about half-past four. That was when I found the room upset. I inquired of the others here, but my father had not been seen by anyone. Yet he must have come back.”

There was a gold bracelet on Prema’s wrist, shaped like a serpent, its head biting its tail. The two ruby chips of its eyes glittered as Prema spun it absently. “I know! He must have come in through the side entrance in the basement. Doesn’t your father have a key for that door, Balbir?”

Inspector Queen glanced at Balbir, who muttered, “It is true that my father almost always uses the basement alley-door to come to our rooms.”

“Is it likely that anyone would have seen him come in that way?” Gully’s grandfather asked the turbaned boy.

“I think that no one would have noticed him, sir. This house shares the alley with the apartment building next door. Delivery boys, service men—many people use it.”

“That is unfortunately true, Inspector Queen,” Dr. Jind said, shaking his fine head. “I regret that we cannot be more helpful.”

“May I see Mr. Singh’s rooms?”

“Certainly. Balbir, show Inspector Queen and Gulliver your father’s quarters.” With a glance at his daughter, the Jalpuri UN ambassador quickly added, “Prema, you will bid our guests good-by and come with me.”

Prema Jind dutifully did so, then followed her father up the marble staircase. But once behind his back she turned, made a face in Gully’s direction, and shrugged. The face and the shrug said:
Parents!

Balbir led the way to the basement. They passed a large modern kitchen from which spicy odors scented the air, and entered the employees’ quarters. Balbir paused at the last door in the long corridor, threw it open, and stood respectfully aside.

Gully quickly took in the small sitting room with its comfortable Western-style easy chairs, its small television set, and piles of American books and magazines. The only exotic note was a huge scimitar with an intricately chased silver and gold handle that hung on one of the walls.

“The struggle took place in here,” Balbir said, and he ushered them into a bedroom off the sitting room. It was the room Gully had seen in the newspaper photo, of modest size, with two beds that looked more like cots, and furnished in East Indian style. A large round wicker bird-cage rested on a tall stand in one corner.

“I cleaned the room last night, sir, after the policemen had left,” Balbir said. He picked up the broken leg of a low Jalpuri stool and offered it to the inspector. “This I could not put back together again.”

Inspector Queen examined it. The break was ragged and splintered. Gully knew just what his grandfather was thinking: If the stool from which it came had been used as a weapon, either of offense or defense, the fight must have been a fierce one. Getting down on his hands and knees, the inspector made an inch-by-inch examination of the brightly colored Jalpuri carpet on the floor. He got to his feet, shaking his head.

“Where is that side door to the alley, Balbir?”

The silent boy in the blue turban, still carrying the mynah bird, led them back to the hall. They followed him to a door at the end of the corridor, some fifteen feet from Shamshir Singh’s quarters. While Inspector Queen checked the lock, Gully’s eyes suddenly focused upon a thick straw-colored entrance mat lying on the gleaming linoleum which covered the hall floor. There were a few small dark stains on the mat.

The inspector turned from the alley door, satisfied that it could only be opened from the outside with a key. His eyes narrowed as they followed the direction of Gully’s gaze. He immediately knelt for a closer look at the stains.

“What is it, sir?” Balbir asked anxiously.

“Oh, just some dirt stains, Balbir,” the inspector said casually, rising and brushing off his knees. “Well, Gully, we’d better be on our way.”

“Sir, if you learn anything about my father—anything—”

“You’ll be the first to be notified,” Inspector Queen said, pressing the Sikh boy’s broad shoulder reassuringly. He opened the alley door. “Coming, Gully?”

“It was nice meeting you, Balbir,” Gully said, offering his hand.

Balbir gripped it hard. “I have enjoyed meeting you, too, Gully. I should enjoy also meeting your uncle, the famous detective, when he returns from his journey.”

“ ’Tective! ’Tective!” Rajah the mynah bird suddenly said.

The two boys laughed. Then Gully said, “I’ll see to that, Balbir,” waved, and joined his grandfather in the alley. “Grandpa—” he began tensely.

“Shut up, Gully,” Inspector Queen said in a sharp undertone, seizing Gully’s arm. “Not here!” He, too, waved at Balbir, and he led Gully down the alley toward the street. Not until they heard the door close behind them did Gully speak again.

“Grandpa—” he began again.

“I know,” the inspector said. “I know, Gully.”

“Those weren’t dirt stains, were they, Grandpa?”

The inspector was silent.

“They were bloodstains, weren’t they—and recently made, too.”

“Yes, Gully,” Inspector Queen said, quietly but grimly, “I’m afraid you’re right—on both counts.”

B
ACK
at the Queens’ apartment half an hour later, Gully carefully checked his notebook, making certain he had jotted down all the facts he had heard or observed. Satisfied, he snapped it shut and slipped the pencil into the holder attached to the inside cover. Then he sat back in Ellery Queen’s big leather desk chair. But Gully was not having delusions of grandeur. True, he had written down two pages of facts, but none of them seemed to help solve the mystery of the missing Sikh guard.

Gully knew his grandfather was checking every lead. In the squad car after their visit, he had heard Inspector Queen talking on the car radio with Sergeant Velie, ordering him to run down a telephone tip that the turbaned Sikh had been seen wandering around in the Wall Street district. No clue was too slim to ignore, no lead too fantastic to follow up. Gully was feeling powerless. He was wishing he could help with the search when the front door bell interrupted him.

“I’ll get it, Mrs. Butterly!” Gully called quickly.

When he opened the apartment door, his mouth opened in surprise.

“Well,” said Prema Jind, tossing her head, “aren’t you going to ask us in?”

“Of course! Please, come in. It’s just that I didn’t—well, expect to see you again so soon.”

Prema swept into the Queens’ living room confidently, her blue and silver
sari
clinging to her. And there, right behind her, was Balbir Singh.

“I am sorry you did not expect us,” Balbir began apologetically. “We should not have come without calling first.”

“It was my idea,” Prema interrupted, her black eyes examining everything. “Balbir doesn’t understand that Americans don’t mind people dropping in.”

“Of course we don’t mind!” Gully said cordially. “I only wish I had some news for you, Balbir.”

He ushered them into the study as Mrs. Butterly, attracted by the unfamiliar voices, popped her head into the doorway. Her eyes widened at the sight of the turbaned boy and the
sari
-clad girl.

“This is Prema Jind and Balbir Singh, Mrs. Butterly, friends of mine. Do we have anything cold to drink?”

As Mrs. Butterly bustled off to her kitchen, Balbir reverently touched the leather-topped desk.

“Is this the desk where Ellery Queen writes his mysteries?”

“Yes, Balbir,” Gully said.

“What Balbir is really trying to say, Gully,” Prema explained, “is that he would like to ask your uncle’s help.”

“I know your grandfather is doing everything he can,” Balbir blurted out. “It is just that—well, a special case like my father’s disappearance needs special help.”

“I’m sorry, Balbir, but Uncle Ellery is away finishing a book. I don’t even know where to reach him.”

Gully offered the tray of soft drinks Mrs. Butterly brought in to his guests, trying not to notice the disappointment on Balbir’s face.

“Poor Balbir,” Prema said softly. “He was so afraid to ask you, Gully. And you can’t help him after all.”

“All I can do is gather facts for Uncle Ellery until he comes back,” Gully said, feeling miserable.

“If you gather facts, Gully, does that mean you just wait for them to come to you—or do you go out and look for them?” Prema asked, her black eyes snapping.

Gully rose to the bait. “You’re right! The more facts I can have ready for Uncle Ellery, the better his chances of finding Mr. Singh—I mean,” he added hastily, “if Mr. Singh hasn’t been found by then.”

“Then you will help?” Balbir asked joyfully.

“Yes! Now … where to start?”

Prema and Balbir sat watching Gully pace up and down as they sipped their cold drinks. Suddenly Gully stopped and snapped his fingers.

“The day off! Let’s see if we can find anyone who knows where Mr. Singh was after he left the house. Balbir, what does your father usually do on his day off?”

“He visits friends,” Balbir said promptly.

“Who are they? Where can we find them?”

Prema and Balbir talked rapidly in Hindi.

“I’m sorry,” Prema said, turning to Gully. “Balbir speaks too slowly in English. We were discussing where his father’s friends might be found. He thinks a good place to start looking would be the All-India Restaurant. Have you ever eaten Indian food?”

“No,” Gully said doubtfully. “Is it like Jalpuri food?”

“Exactly. Balbir, Gully’s going to have his first Indian meal with us!”

“But he may find our food too spicy. Just as I found American food so flat at first.”

“You learned, didn’t you?” Prema said scornfully. “Then so can Gully! Come on, we’ll be just in time for lunch.”

Before Gully could object, Prema was streaking for the door, her
sari
floating behind her like a sail. Balbir’s turban bobbed close behind. Gully stuffed the red notebook into his jacket pocket, shouted to Mrs. Butterly that he was going out, and ran after his exotic new friends.

Gully stepped down first from the Broadway bus when it stopped at West 45th Street. He offered Prema his hand, and she stepped lightly to the sidewalk, followed by Balbir.

“This way,” Prema said. The traffic light was green, and they started across the busy intersection. Balbir gaped as he took in the crowded wonders of world-famous Times Square, the heart of America’s greatest city. But Prema crossed with a bored look, as if to say, “This is an old story to me.” Gully noticed, however, that her eyes danced with pleasure as heads turned to admire her brilliant costume.

Prema stopped in front of the All-India Restaurant, and Gully jumped forward to open the door. This time it was Gully’s turn to gape. The first thing he saw was a large marble sink with bright brass fixtures in the restaurant’s entry hall. Prema went to the sink, turned on the water—which came out of a faucet shaped like a serpent’s mouth—and washed her hands. Balbir did the same. Noticing Gully’s puzzled look, Prema smiled and explained that a public sink was a standard fixture in Indian restaurants, since the Hindu religion required washing before and after eating. Balbir told Gully that in this respect his Sikh religion agreed with the Hindu. Gully, who had not even known that Sikhism was a religion, could only nod and politely follow suit.

An Indian waiter with a friendly manner offered menus, but Prema waved them aside.

“I’ll order. I want Gully to have a good sampling of Indian cooking.”

While Gully sat apprehensively toying with his napkin, Prema and the waiter rattled on in Hindi. Once Balbir interrupted, apparently with a suggestion. When the waiter hurried off, Gully gulped, wondering just how strange an experience this lunch was going to be.