The Tragedy of Z by Ellery Queen Read Free Book Online Page A

loud derisive noise.
    â€œExamined this for fingerprints?”
    Hume nodded; he seemed troubled. “Fawcett’s prints are there, but no one else’s.”
    â€œFound on the desk,” muttered father. “Was it on the desk when Carmichael left the house tonight?”
    Hume raised his eyebrows. “As a matter of fact, I didn’t think it of sufficient value to ask about. Let’s get Carmichael in here and find out.”
    He sent a man for the secretary, who appeared promptly with a courteous and questioning look on his bland face, and then riveted his eyes upon the litle wooden piece in father’s hand.
    â€œI see you’ve found it,” he murmured. “Interesting, eh?”
    Hume stiffened. “You find it so? What do you know about it?”
    â€œIt’s a curious little story, Mr. Hume. I didn’t find the opportunity to tell you about it, or Mr. Kenyon …”
    â€œJust a minute,” drawled father. “Was this dingus on the Senator’s desk tonight when you left the room?”
    Carmichael smiled his thin, even smile. “It was not.”
    â€œThen we can say,” continued father, “that this thing meant enough either to Fawcett or to his murderer to make one or the other prop it up on the desk. Doesn’t that strike you as damn’ important, Hume?”
    â€œPerhaps you’re right. I hadn’t looked at it in that light.”
    â€œOf course we can’t say, for instance, that the Senator didn’t take it out when he was alone for a peep at it. In that case the murder probably had nothing to do with it. Although I’ve found from experience that when somebody who’s been bumped off under circumstances like these—sending everyone away— does something, most times that something is related to his murder. Take your choice. I’d say this piece of junk needs looking into.”
    â€œPerhaps,” suggested Carmichael mildly, “you’d better hear what I have to say, gentlemen, before coming to any conclusions. That section of wooden box has been in the Senator’s desk for weeks. In this drawer.” He circled the desk and opened the top drawer. Its contents were in confusion. ‘Somebody’s been at this!”
    â€œWhat do you mean?” asked the district attorney quickly.
    â€œSenator Fawcett was a fanatic on order. Loved everything neat. I happen to know that yesterday, for instance, this drawer was in perfect order. Now the papers are disarranged. He’d never have it that way, I’m positive. Somebody rummaged in this drawer, I tell you!”
    Kenyon bawled at his men: “Any o’ you lunks been at the desk?” There was a chorus of negatives. “Funny,” he muttered. “I told ’em myself to leave the desk alone till later. Who in hell——?”
    â€œKeep your shirt on, Kenyon,” growled father. “We’re making progress. Offhand, looks like the killer. Now, Carmichael, what the deuce is behind this tomfool contraption. What’s it mean?”
    â€œI wish I could tell you, Inspector,” replied the secretary rergetfully. Their eyes met without expression. “But it’s as much a mystery to me as it is to you. Even the way it got here was mysterious. A few weeks ago—three weeks, I think—it came in a … No, perhaps I’d better start from the beginning.”
    â€œMake it snappy.”
    Carmichael sighed. “The Senator realized that he was in for a hard pre-election fight, Mr. Hume——”
    â€œOh, he did, did he?” said Hume with a grim nod. “And what has that to do with it?”
    â€œWell, Senator Fawcett thought it might add to his popularity as a candidate if he posed—I use the word advisedly—as defender of the local poor. He conceived the idea of putting on a bazaar at which the products of prison labor—from Algonquin Prison, of course—would