Inspector Queen’s Own Case

“Stallings, the gardener,” Alton Humffrey said, “is a local man, but we’ve employed him since we purchased this property. He stays on as caretaker during the winters. Henry Cullum, the chauffeur, drove for my father as a young man. I’ll vouch for both of them. For that matter, for the women, too. We’re very careful about our servants, Mr. Pearl.”

“How about Miss Sherwood?” Chief Pearl asked casually.

Jessie said, “I resent that!”

“Miss Sherwood has been with us only since a week or so before the baby came. However, she was highly recommended both by Dr. Holliday of Greenwich, our pediatrician, and Dr. Wicks of Taugus, who is our family physician during the summers.”

“Check her references, Mr. Humffrey?”

“Very thoroughly indeed.”

“I’ve been a registered nurse for twenty-three years,” Jessie Sherwood snapped, “and I’ve taken an awful lot in my time, but this is the limit. If I’d been in cahoots with some psychopath to kidnap this darling baby, do you think I’d have let out a yell and chased him away?”

Chief Pearl said mildly, “Just getting the picture,” and went out.

Inspector Queen said to nobody in particular, “Don’t blame the chief. It’s his job.”

Nurse Sherwood tossed her head.

When Abe Pearl came back he said to Humffrey, “There’s dust on the ladder. We might get some prints. Miss Sherwood, I suppose you can’t say whether the man you saw was wearing anything on his hands?”

“I can’t say,” Jessie replied shortly.

“Well, there’s nothing else we can do tonight, Mr. Humffrey. Personally, I don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about. But if you want me to leave a man, I’ll leave one.”

“I wish you would,” Alton Humffrey said slowly. “And, Mr. Pearl...”

“Yes, sir?”

“I don’t want any publicity about this.”

“I’ll see that the boys over at Headquarters keep quiet about it. Dick?” The chief glanced at his friend.

“One thing.” Richard Queen stepped forward. “If you don’t mind my asking, Mr. Humffrey — is this your own child?”

Sarah Humffrey started. Alton Humffrey looked at the old man almost for the first time.

“No offense,” Inspector Queen went on, “but you told Chief Pearl you have no other children. It struck me you people are a little on in years to be having a first baby.”

“Is this one of your men, Chief?” the millionaire demanded.

“Inspector Queen of the New York police department, retired,” Abe Pearl said quickly. “He was my lieutenant when I pounded a Manhattan beat, Mr. Humffrey. He’s visiting me for the summer.”

“The man who sent me a check for a dollar and fifty cents,” Alton Humffrey said. “Are you in the habit of helping yourself to other people’s gasoline, sir?”

“I explained that in my note.”

“Yes. Well, Inspector, I don’t see the relevance of your question.”

“You haven’t answered it,” Richard Queen smiled.

“Michael is an adopted child. Why?”

“There might be something in his background to explain this, Mr. Humffrey, that’s all.”

“I assure you that’s quite impossible.” The millionaire’s tone was frigid. “If there’s nothing else, gentlemen, will you excuse Mrs. Humffrey and me?”

Jessie Sherwood wondered if Chief Pearl’s friend was going to say anything to her before he left.

But he merely glanced politely in her direction and followed the chief out.

Tuesday evening after dinner, Jessie Sherwood went upstairs, peeped in at the baby, changed into a cool blue summer cotton, tidied her hair, powdered her nose, and slipped out of the house.

Jessie wondered as she sauntered down the driveway what the Humffreys talked about when they were alone. They were on the terrace now, sipping cherry brandy and staring silently to sea. In company they were articulate enough — Mrs. Humffrey was a positive chatterbox, of the corded-neck variety, while her husband had a caustic volubility — but Jessie had come upon them dozens of times alone together, and not once had she interrupted a conversation. They were strange people, she thought.

And jumped. A man had stepped suddenly from behind a tall clump of mountain laurel at the driveway entrance and flashed a light on her face.

“Oh. Sorry, Miss Sherwood.”

“It’s all right,” Jessie said untruthfully, and strolled into the road. He was the second of the three guards hired by Alton Humffrey early that morning from a private detective agency in Bridgeport. They were rock-faced men who turned up and disappeared like alley cats.

When she rounded the curve in the road she began to walk fast. The air was salty sweet from the sea breeze and flowering gardens; and the road lights, great wrought-iron affairs shaped like sailing-ship lanterns, were besieged by platoons of moths and beetles cheerfully banging away. It was all very peaceful and lovely, but Jessie hurried on.

The gate was across the road at the Island end of the causeway.

“Mr. Peterson?”

The big private guard loomed in the gatehouse doorway.

“You walking across?” His voice was sulky.

“No, I’m just out for some air. What’s the matter, Mr. Peterson? You sound sour on the world.”