The Big Book of Christmas Mysteries

by Otto Penzler (ed)

  “No, no, Dad. Something clever. He’s always pulled something clever.”

  “Well, there’s the diamond,” said the lawyer comfortably. “He didn’t.”

  “Disguise …” muttered Ellery. “It’s always been a disguise. Santa Claus costume—he used that once—this morning in front of the bank … Did we see a Santa Claus around here today?”

  “Just Velie,” said the Inspector, grinning. “And I hardly think—”

  “Wait a moment, please,” said Attorney Bondling in a very odd voice. He was staring at the Dauphin’s Doll.

  “Wait for what, Mr. Bondling?”

  “What’s the matter?” said Ellery, also in a very odd voice.

  “But … not possible …” stammered Bondling. He snatched the doll from its black velvet repository. “No!” he howled. “This isn’t the dauphin! It’s a fake—a copy!”

  Something happened in Mr. Queen’s head—a little click! like the turn of a switch. And there was light.

  “Some of you men!” he roared. “After Santa Claus!”

  “Who, Mr. Queen?”

  “What’s he talkin’ about?”

  “After who, Ellery?” gasped Inspector Queen.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I dunno!”

  “Don’t stand here! Get him!” screamed Ellery, dancing up and down. “The man I just let out of here! The Santa who made for the men’s room!”

  Detectives started running, wildly.

  “But, Ellery,” said a small voice, and Nikki found that it was her own, “that was Sergeant Velie.”

  “It was not Velie, Nikki! When Velie ducked out just before two o’clock to relieve himself, Comus waylaid him! It was Comus who came back in Velie’s Santa Claus rig, wearing Velie’s whiskers and mask! Comus has been on this platform all afternoon!” He tore the dauphin from Attorney Bondling’s grasp. “Copy …! Somehow he did it, he did it.”

  “But, Mr. Queen,” whispered Attorney Bondling, “his voice. He spoke to us … in Sergeant Velie’s voice.”

  “Yes, Ellery,” Nikki heard herself saying.

  “I told you yesterday Comus is a great mimic, Nikki. Lieutenant Farber! Is Farber still here?”

  The jewelry expert, who had been gaping from a distance, shook his head as if to clear it and shuffled into the enclosure.

  “Lieutenant,” said Ellery in a strangled voice. “Examine this diamond … I mean, is it a diamond?”

  Inspector Queen removed his hands from his face and said froggily, “Well, Gerry?”

  Lieutenant Farber squinted once through his loupe. “The hell you say. It’s strass—”

  “It’s what?” said the Inspector piteously.

  “Strass, Dick—lead glass—paste. Beautiful job of imitation—as nice as I’ve ever seen.”

  “Lead me to that Santa Claus,” whispered Inspector Queen.

  But Santa Claus was being led to him. Struggling in the grip of a dozen detectives, his red coat ripped off, his red pants around his ankles, but his whiskery mask still on his face, came a large shouting man.

  “But I tell you,” he was roaring, “I’m Sergeant Tom Velie! Just take the mask off—that’s all!”

  “It’s a pleasure,” growled Detective Hagstrom, trying to break their prisoner’s arm, “we’re reservin’ for the Inspector.”

  “Hold him, boys,” whispered the Inspector. He struck like a cobra. His hand came away with Santa’s face.

  And there, indeed, was Sergeant Velie.

  “Why it’s Velie,” said the Inspector wonderingly.

  “I only told you that a thousand times,” said the Sergeant, folding his great hairy arms across his great hairy chest. “Now who’s the so-and-so who tried to bust my arm?” Then he said, “My pants!” and, as Miss Porter turned delicately away, Detective Hagstrom humbly stooped and raised Sergeant Velie’s pants.

  “Never mind that,” said a cold, remote voice.

  It was the master, himself.

  “Yeah?” said Sergeant Velie, hostilely.

  “Velie, weren’t you attacked when you went to the men’s room just before two?”

  “Do I look like the attackable type?”

  “You did go to lunch?—in person?”

  “And a lousy lunch it was.”

  “It was you up here among the dolls all afternoon?”

  “Nobody else, Maestro. Now, my friends, I want action. Fast patter. What’s this all about? Before,” said Sergeant Velie softly, “I lose my temper.”

  While divers Headquarters orators delivered impromptu periods before the silent Sergeant, Inspector Richard Queen spoke.

  “Ellery. Son. How in the name of the second sin did he do it?”

  “Pa,” replied the master, “you got me.”

  Deck the hall with boughs of holly, but not if your name is Queen on the evening of a certain December twenty-fourth. If your name is Queen on that lamentable evening you are seated in the living room of a New York apartment uttering no falalas but staring miserably into a somber fire. And you have company. The guest list is short, but select. It numbers two, a Miss Porter and a Sergeant Velie, and they are no comfort.

  No, no ancient Yuletide carol is being trolled; only the silence sings.

  Wail in your crypt, Cytherea Ypson; all was for nought; your little dauphin’s treasure lies not in the empty coffers of the orphans but in the hot clutch of one who took his evil inspiration from a long-crumbled specialist in vanishments.

  Speech was spent. Should a wise man utter vain knowledge and fill his belly with the east wind? He who talks too much commits a sin, says the Talmud. He also wastes his breath; and they had now reached the point of conservation, having exhausted the available supply.

  Item: Lieutenant Geronimo Farber of Police Headquarters had examined the diamond in the genuine dauphin’s crown a matter of seconds before it was conveyed to its sanctuary in the enclosure. Lieutenant Farber had pronounced the diamond a diamond, and not merely a diamond, but a diamond worth in his opinion over one hundred thousand dollars.

  Question: Had Lieutenant Farber lied?

  Answer: Lieutenant Farber was (a) a man of probity, tested in a thousand fires, and (b) he was incorruptible. To (a) and (b) Inspector Richard Queen attested violently, swearing by the beard of his personal Prophet.

  Question: Had Lieutenant Farber been mistaken?

  Answer: Lieutenant Farber was a nationally famous police expert in the field of precious stones. It must be presumed that he knew a real diamond from a piece of lapidified glass.

  Question: Had it been Lieutenant Farber?

  Answer: By the same beard of the identical Prophet, it had been Lieutenant Farber and no facsimile.

  Conclusion: The diamond Lieutenant Farber had examined immediately preceding the opening of Nash’s doors that morning had been the veritable diamond of the dauphin, the doll had been the veritable Dauphin’s Doll, and it was this genuine article which Ellery with his own hands had carried into the glass-enclosed fortress and deposited between the authenticated Sergeant Velie’s verified feet.

  Item: All day—specifically, between the moment the dauphin had been deposited in his niche until the moment he was discovered to be a fraud; that is, during the total period in which a theft-and-substitution was even theoretically possible—no person whatsoever, male or female, adult or child, had set foot within the enclosure except Sergeant Thomas Velie, alias Santa Claus. Question: Had Sergeant Velie switched dolls, carrying the genuine dauphin concealed in his Santa Claus suit, to be cached for future retrieval or turned over to Comus or a confederate of Comus’s, during one of his two departures from the enclosure?

  Answer (by Sergeant Velie):*

  Confirmation: Some dozens of persons with police training and specific instructions, not to mention the Queens themselves, Miss Porter, and Attorney Bondling, testified unqualifiedly that Sergeant Velie had not touched the doll, at any time, all day.

  Conclusion: Sergeant Velie could not have stolen, and therefor
e he did not steal, the Dauphin’s Doll.

  Item: All those deputized to watch the doll swore that they had done so without lapse or hindrance the everlasting day; moreover, that at no time had anything touched the doll—human or mechanical—either from inside or outside the enclosure.

  Question: The human vessel being frail, could those so swearing have been in error? Could their attention have wandered through weariness, boredom, et cetera?

  Answer: Yes; but not all at the same time, by the laws of probability. And during the only two diversions of the danger period, Ellery himself testified that he had kept his eyes on the dauphin and that nothing whatsoever had approached or threatened it.

  Item: Despite all of the foregoing, at the end of the day they had found the real dauphin gone and a worthless copy in its place.

  “It’s brilliantly, unthinkably clever,” said Ellery at last. “A master illusion. For, of course, it was an illusion …”

  “Witchcraft,” groaned the Inspector.

  “Mass mesmerism,” suggested Nikki Porter.

  “Mass bird gravel,” growled the Sergeant.

  Two hours later Ellery spoke again.

  “So Comus had a worthless copy of the dauphin all ready for the switch,” he muttered. “It’s a world-famous dollie, been illustrated countless times, minutely described, photographed … All ready for the switch, but how did he make it? How? How?”

  “You said that,” said the Sergeant, “once or forty-two times.”

  “The bells are tolling,” sighed Nikki, “but for whom? Not for us.” And indeed, while they slumped there, Time, which Seneca named father of truth, had crossed the threshold of Christmas; and Nikki looked alarmed, for as that glorious song of old came upon the midnight clear, a great light spread from Ellery’s eyes and beatified the whole contorted countenance, so that peace sat there, the peace that approximateth understanding; and he threw back that noble head and laughed with the merriment of an innocent child.

  “Hey,” said Sergeant Velie, staring.

  “Son,” began Inspector Queen, half-rising from his armchair; when the telephone rang.

  “Beautiful!” roared Ellery. “Oh, exquisite! How did Comus make the switch, eh? Nikki—”

  “From somewhere,” said Nikki, handing him the telephone receiver, “a voice is calling, and if you ask me it’s saying ‘Comus.’ Why not ask him?”

  “Comus,” whispered the Inspector, shrinking.

  “Comus,” echoed the Sergeant, baffled.

  “Comus?” said Ellery heartily. “How nice. Hello there! Congratulations.”

  “Why, thank you,” said the familiar deep and hollow voice. “I called to express my appreciation for a wonderful day’s sport and to wish you the merriest kind of Yuletide.”

  “You anticipate a rather merry Christmas yourself, I take it.”

  “Laeti triumphantes,” said Comus jovially.

  “And the orphans?”

  “They have my best wishes. But I won’t detain you, Ellery. If you’ll look at the doormat outside your apartment door, you’ll find on it—in the spirit of the season—a little gift, with the compliments of Comus. Will you remember me to Inspector Queen and Attorney Bondling?”

  Ellery hung up, smiling.

  On the doormat he found the true Dauphin’s Doll, intact except for a contemptible detail. The jewel in the little golden crown was missing.

  “It was,” said Ellery later, over pastrami sandwiches, “a fundamentally simple problem. All great illusions are. A valuable object is placed in full view in the heart of an impenetrable enclosure, it is watched hawkishly by dozens of thoroughly screened and reliable trained persons, it is never out of their view, it is not once touched by human hand or any other agency, and yet, at the expiration of the danger period, it is gone—exchanged for a worthless copy. Wonderful. Amazing. It defies the imagination. Actually, it’s susceptible—like all magical hocus-pocus—to immediate solution if only one is able—as I was not—to ignore the wonder and stick to the fact. But then, the wonder is there for precisely that purpose: to stand in the way of the fact.

  “What is the fact?” continued Ellery, helping himself to a dill pickle. “The fact is that between the time the doll was placed on the exhibit platform and the time the theft was discovered no one and no thing touched it. Therefore between the time the doll was placed on the platform and the time the theft was discovered the dauphin could not have been stolen. It follows, simply and inevitably, that the dauphin must have been stolen outside that period.

  “Before the period began? No. I placed the authentic dauphin inside the enclosure with my own hands; at or about the beginning of the period, then, no hand but mine had touched the doll—not even, you’ll recall, Lieutenant Farber’s.

  “Then the dauphin must have been stolen after the period closed.”

  Ellery brandished half the pickle. “And who,” he demanded solemnly, “is the only one besides myself who handled that doll after the period closed and before Lieutenant Farber pronounced the diamond to be paste? The only one?”

  The Inspector and the Sergeant exchanged puzzled glances, and Nikki looked blank.

  “Why, Mr. Bondling,” said Nikki, “and he doesn’t count.”

  “He counts very much, Nikki,” said Ellery, reaching for the mustard, “because the facts say Bondling stole the dauphin at that time.”

  “Bondling!” The Inspector paled.

  “I don’t get it,” complained Sergeant Velie.

  “Ellery, you must be wrong,” said Nikki. “At the time Mr. Bondling grabbed the doll off the platform, the theft had already taken place. It was the worthless copy he picked up.”

  “That,” said Ellery, reaching for another sandwich, “was the focal point of his illusion. How do we know it was the worthless copy he picked up? Why, he said so. Simple, eh? He said so, and like the dumb bunnies we were, we took his unsupported word as gospel.”

  “That’s right!” mumbled his father. “We didn’t actually examine the doll till quite a few seconds later.”

  “Exactly,” said Ellery in a munchy voice. “There was a short period of beautiful confusion, as Bondling knew there would be. I yelled to the boys to follow and grab Santa Claus—I mean, the Sergeant here. The detectives were momentarily demoralized. You, Dad, were stunned. Nikki looked as if the roof had fallen in. I essayed an excited explanation. Some detectives ran; others milled around. And while all this was happening—during those few moments when nobody was watching the genuine doll in Bondling’s hand because everyone thought it was a fake—Bondling calmly slipped it into one of his greatcoat pockets and from the other produced the worthless copy which he’d been carrying there all day. When I did turn back to him, it was the copy I grabbed from his hand. And his illusion was complete.

  “I know,” said Ellery dryly. “It’s rather on the let-down side. That’s why illusionists guard their professional secrets so closely; knowledge is disenchantment. No doubt the incredulous amazement aroused in his periwigged London audience by Comus the French conjuror’s dematerialization of his wife from the top of a table would have suffered the same fate if he’d revealed the trap door through which she had dropped. A good trick, like a good woman, is best in the dark. Sergeant, have another pastrami.”

  “Seems like funny chow to be eating early Christmas morning,” said the Sergeant, reaching. Then he stopped. Then he said, “Bondling,” and shook his head.

  “Now that we know it was Bondling,” said the Inspector, who had recovered a little, “it’s a cinch to get that diamond back. He hasn’t had time to dispose of it yet. I’ll just give downtown a buzz—”

  “Wait, Dad,” said Ellery.

  “Wait for what?”

  “Whom are you going to sic the dogs on?”

  “What?”

  “You’re going to call Headquarters, get a warrant, and so on. Who’s your man?”

  The Inspector felt his head. “Why … Bondling, didn’t you say?”

  “It might
be wise,” said Ellery, thoughtfully searching with his tongue for a pickle seed, “to specify his alias.”

  “Alias?” said Nikki. “Does he have one?”

  “What alias, son?”

  “Comus.”

  “Comus!”

  “Comus?”

  “Comus.”

  “Oh, come off it,” said Nikki, pouring herself a shot of coffee, straight, for she was in training for the Inspector’s Christmas dinner. “How could Bondling be Comus when Bondling was with us all day?—and Comus kept making disguised appearances all over the place … that Santa who gave me the note in front of the bank—the old man who kidnapped Lance Morganstern—the fat man with the mustache who snatched Mrs. Rafferty’s purse.”

  “Yeah,” said the Sergeant. “How?”

  “These illusions die hard,” said Ellery. “Wasn’t it Comus who phoned a few minutes ago to rag me about the theft? Wasn’t it Comus who said he’d left the stolen dauphin—minus the diamond—on our doormat? Therefore Comus is Bondling.

  “I told you Comus never does anything without a good reason,” said Ellery. “Why did ‘Comus’ announce to ‘Bondling’ that he was going to steal the Dauphin’s Doll? Bondling told us that—putting the finger on his alter ego—because he wanted us to believe he and Comus were separate individuals. He wanted us to watch for Comus and take Bondling for granted. In tactical execution of this strategy, Bondling provided us with three ‘Comus’-appearances during the day—obviously, confederates.

  “Yes,” said Ellery, “I think, Dad, you’ll find on backtracking that the great thief you’ve been trying to catch for five years has been a respectable estate attorney on Park Row all the time, shedding his quiddities and his quillets at night in favor of the soft shoe and the dark lantern. And now he’ll have to exchange them all for a number and a grilled door. Well, well, it couldn’t have happened at a more appropriate season; there’s an old English proverb that says the Devil makes his Christmas pie of lawyers’ tongues. Nikki, pass the pastrami.”

  * * *

  * Deleted.—Editor.

  MORSE’S GREATEST MYSTERY