Inspector Queen’s Own Case

“I know of him. He’s a clever shyster who specializes in black-marketing babies for people who either can’t swing a legitimate adoption or for some reason would rather handle it under the counter. If Humffrey’s had dealings with him, it’s probably because Finner guarantees no trouble and no publicity. The important thing, Jessie, is that Finner knows the real parentage of that baby. So that’s where we start.”

“With Finner?”

“With Finner.”

“But if the real parents don’t know who got Michael—”

“One step at a time,” Richard Queen said. “We’ll go into the city in the morning. Meanwhile, you’re going to bed.”

He got up and took her hand.

Jessie giggled. “You make me feel like a little girl. Don’t I have any say about things like where I’m going to stay?”

“Not a word,” he said firmly. “You’re staying at my apartment in town.”

“Inspector Queen,” Jessie murmured. “I’m going to do no such thing.”

Even his neck reddened. “I mean I’ll go to the Y or some place. Ellery isn’t due back from abroad for a long time yet—”

“Silly. I’m hardly at the age when I’m worried about my reputation.” Jessie giggled again, enjoying his embarrassment. “But I wouldn’t dream of putting you out of your own home.”

“I’d come up every morning and have breakfast with you—”

“No, Richard,” Jessie said softly. “I have loads of friends in New York, nurses who live alone in little apartments and don’t particularly like it. But... thank you. So much.”

He looked so forlorn that Jessie impulsively squeezed his hand. Then she ran upstairs.

For some reason he felt very good suddenly. He walked about the cottage with long strides, smiling at his thoughts and occasionally glancing at the ceiling, until the Pearls came home.

Jessie spent nearly an hour Thursday morning on the telephone, running up New York City toll calls.

“I’m in luck,” she told Richard Queen. “Belle Berman, she’s a supervisor I know, wants me to move right in with her. And Gloria Sardella, a nurse I took my training with, is leaving tomorrow on her vacation. She’s going on a six-week cruise, and she’s offered me her apartment.”

“Where are the two places?”

“Belle’s down in the Village — West 11th Street. Gloria’s place is on 71st Street off Broadway, in a remodeled walk-up.”

“The Sardella apartment,” he said promptly.

“That’s my thought, because I’ll get Gloria to sublet it to me for whatever her rent is, whereas Belle wouldn’t hear of my sharing expenses.” Jessie looked at him. “What’s your reason, Richard?”

“Geography,” he said sheepishly. “I’m on West 87th. We’d be less than a mile apart.”

“You want to watch this man, Jessie,” Beck Pearl said. “He’s a regular wolf.”

“Don’t I know it!”

He mumbled something about having to pack, and beat a retreat.

Jessie phoned her friend again to arrange for her stay in the West 71st Street apartment, paid for the calls over Mrs. Pearl’s protests, and at last they were off in Jessie’s car, Beck Pearl waving from her doorway like a happy relative.

“She’s such a lamb,” Jessie said, turning into the Taugus road that led to the Merritt Parkway. “And so is Abe Pearl. Do you know what he said to me this morning before he left?”

“What?”

“He said you were a changed man since — well, since the Fourth of July. He seemed tickled to death, Richard. The Pearls have been very worried about you.”

He seemed flustered and pleased. “A man needs an interest in life.”

“Yes. This case—”

“Who’s talking about the case?”

“You know, I do believe you are a wolf!”

They chattered happily all the way into New York.

Jessie had decided to take her coupé into the city because Richard Queen had no car, and his son’s car was in summer storage. “What good is an assistant without a car?” she had said. “It isn’t as if you still had a police driver at your disposal, Richard. My jalopy may come in handy.”

“All right, if you’ll let me pay the garage bills.”

“Richard Queen. Nobody pays my bills but me!”

They stopped at the old brownstone on West 87th Street to drop his bags. Jessie got one whiff of the Queen apartment and threw the windows wide. She aired the beds, inspected the kitchen with horror, and began opening closets.

“What are you looking for?” he asked feebly.

“Fresh linen, a vacuum cleaner. You have to sleep here tonight! Who takes care of your apartment, anyway?”

“A Mrs. Fabrikant. She’s supposed to have come in once a week—”

“She hasn’t stuck her nose in this place for two months. You go on — make your phone calls, or whatever you have to do. I’ll make your bed and straighten up a bit. First chance I get I’ll do a thorough housecleaning. Imagine your son coming home to this!”

He retreated to Ellery’s study with a warm feeling. He did not even think about the blank space on his bedroom wall, where his direct line to Headquarters used to be.

When he went back to the bedroom he found Jessie moaning. “It’s hopeless. Take hours to do just this room properly.”

“Why, it looks as clean as a hospital room,” he exclaimed. “How’d you do it so fast?”