The Chinese Orange Mystery

“I won’t tell you, and that’s final,” snapped Kirk with a defiant flare of his pinched nostrils.

“Pity,” murmured Ellery. “I seem to have lost all power of persuasion.” And there was a long and pregnant silence.

“I suppose,” muttered Donald at last, studying the rug, “you’ll turn me in.”

“I?” said Ellery with elaborate astonishment. “My dear Kirk, you grieve me. I’m not¯er¯official, you see. Who am I to go about making people unhappy?”

The cigaret burned down to Kirk’s finger tips and he crushed the fire out between his fingers unconsciously. “You mean/’ he said slowly, “you’ll¯pass it up? Won’t tell any one about it, Queen?”

“I had some such thought,” drawled Ellery.

“By George, that’s white of you!” Kirk sprang to his feet, a revitalized man. “Damned decent, Queen. I¯I don’t know quite how to thank you.”

“I do.”

“Oh,” said the young man in a different voice, and he sat down again.

“Look here, you dithering fool,” said Ellery cheerfully, flipping his cigaret-butt out one of the open windows. “Don’t you think you’ve tortured yourself with that secret of yours just about to a sufficiency? You’re essentially honest, Kirk; haven’t either the flair or the technique for intrigue. Why can’t you get it through that stubborn young skull of yours that the biggest mistake you’ve made in this miserable business was in not confiding in me?”

“I know it,” muttered Donald.

“Then you’ve come to your senses at last? You’ll tell me?”

Kirk raised haggard eyes. “No.”

“But why not, man, for God’s sake?”

The young man rose and began to pace the rug with hungry strides. “Because I can’t. Because¯” the words came reluctantly¯’”because it’s not my secret, Queen.”

“Oh, that,” said Ellery quietly. “That’s scarcely news to me, old chap.”

Kirk stopped short. “Just what . . . You know?” There was a deep sounding of pain and tragic despair in his voice.

Ellery shrugged. “If it had been your secret you would have come out with it long ago. Kirk, my lad, no man would stand by and permit the woman he loves to get a horribly distorted impression about him without taking the obvious defensive measure¯unless his tongue was paralyzed by the necessity of protecting some one else.”

“Then you don’t know,” murmured Kirk.

“Protecting some one else.” Ellery looked sympathetic. “I’d scarcely be worth my salt as an observer of human beings if I couldn’t perceive that the one you’re protecting is¯your sister Marcella.”

“Good God, Queen¯”

“I was right, then. Marcella, eh? . . . Does she know what threatens her, Kirk?”

“No!”

“I thought not. And you’re saving her from it. Perhaps from herself. Stout fellow, Kirk. Knight-in-shining-armor business. I’d no idea lads like you still paced the earth. I suppose Kingsley was right when he said that the age of chivalry is never past so long as there’s a wrong left ‘unredressed.’ And that, of course, is what attracts the female of the species. Your tiny Jo is apparently no exception . . . . No, no, Kirk, don’t clench your fists; I’m not poking fun at you. I mean it. You’re adamant in your refusal, I suppose?”

The veins at Donald’s temple were angry knots. Perspiration materialized on his forehead. But he choked: “No,” and said at once: “I mean¯yes!” and tossed his head about like a restless horse, chafing at the rein of circumstances.

“And still I’m morally certain you were going to tell Papa Queen all about it on the night of the murder. Then we found the body and you pulled in your horns. You were going to ask my advice, weren’t you, Kirk?”

“Yes, but not about¯this. About this Llewes¯Sewell¯woman . . . “

“Ah, then the secret that concerns your sister has nothing to do with your charming Irene?” asked Ellery quickly.

“No, no, I didn’t say that. Oh, good God, Queen, don’t make it so hard for me. I just can’t say any more.”

Ellery rose and went to the open window to stare out inscrutably over the flickering dark canyon below. Then he turned and said lightly: “Since we’ve reached the climax of our little bout of dialectic, I suggest we get out of here before the mistress of this boudoir returns with excursions and alarums. Ready, Kirk?”

“I’m ready,” said Kirk in a muffled voice.

Ellery held the door open for him and then switched off the light. In the darkness they went through the apartment to the front door and passed out into the corridor. There was no one about. They stood still for a moment.

Then Donald Kirk said: “Well, good night,” in the dreariest of tones and trudged off down the corridor toward the stairs without once looking back.

* * *

Ellery watched his drooping shoulders until they vanished.

He turned in a seemingly aimless motion and peered sharply out of the corner of his eyes at the turn of the corridor behind him. There had been . . . But there was nothing to be seen.

For five long minutes Ellery waited without stirring from the spot. No one turned up, no one even looked his way from the far length of the corridor. He strained his ears and kept his eyes open . . . . But the corridor was as still as a cathedral.