Inspector Queen’s Own Case

“Come in, come in,” he said testily, indicating the open door of his office. “Miss Roberts, I’m not to be disturbed.” He followed the old man in and shut the door. “And you are Inspector—?”

“Queen.” He looked around. The office was like an M-G-M set, with massive blond furniture, potted plants, and tropical fish tanks inset in the walls. “I know you’re a busy man, so I’ll get right to the point. I want to see Mrs. Sarah Humffrey.”

Dr. Duane frowned. He seated himself at his immaculate desk and straightened a pile of medical charts.

“Impossible, I’m afraid.”

The old man’s brows went up. “How come, Doctor?”

“She’s in no condition to see anyone. Besides, Mr. Humffrey’s instructions were specific.”

“Not to allow his wife to speak to a police officer?” Inspector Queen asked dryly.

“I didn’t say that, Inspector. The circumstances under which Mrs. Humffrey came to us, as I take it you know, make Mr. Humffrey’s wishes quite understandable. She has seen no one since being admitted here except our staff and her husband.”

“How is she?”

“Better. The prognosis now is considerably more optimistic. However, any emotional upset...”

The man was nervous. He kept fidgeting with his bow tie, the papers, the telephone cord.

“Incidentally, just what’s wrong with her?”

“Now, Inspector Queen, you can’t expect me to tell you that. If Mr. Humffrey wishes to discuss his wife’s illness, that’s his affair. As her physician, I can’t.”

He took out a small black notebook and leafed through it. Duane watched him alertly.

“Now, Doctor, there’s that business of your phone call on the afternoon of Saturday, August 20th, to the New York office of a lawyer named Finner—”

Dr. Duane stiffened as if his chair were wired. “My call?” he cried. “Why do you say that?”

“Because you made it.”

“You people are hounding me! I told those detectives long ago I knew nothing about a phone call to such a person.”

“Oh, some of the boys were up here on that?” the Inspector murmured. “When was this, Dr. Duane?”

“The last week in August. It seems that in investigating the murder of this man — Finner, was it? — the New York police claimed to have found a telephone company record of a toll call from this New Haven number to the man’s office... Didn’t you know they’d been here?” he asked, breaking off suspiciously.

“Of course. I also know, Doctor, that you did make that call.”

“Prove it,” Dr. Duane snapped. “You people prove it! I told your men at the time that it was a mistake. We have never had a patient named Finner here, or a patient directly connected with a person of that name. I showed them our records to prove that. It’s always possible some member of my staff put in such a call, but they have all denied it, and the only explanation I can offer is the one I gave — that someone here did call a New York number but got this fellow Finner’s number by mistake...”

“In a way it’s a break,” Richard Queen said thoughtfully to Jessie when he got back to her cottage in Rowayton. “His lie about the phone call to Finner’s office the afternoon of the murder stopped New York cold. Their one lead to Humffrey in this case was choked off at the source.”

“You haven’t said one word about whether you like my house,” Jessie said. She was surrounded by mops and pails, and she was furious.

“It’s pretty as a picture, Jessie. But about Duane’s lying. Privacy means money to Duane. His whole high-toned establishment is based on it. He can’t afford to have his name kicked around in a murder case. He’s not protecting Humffrey, he’s protecting himself.” He scowled into his coffee cup.

“Those people!”

“What people?”

“My tenants! The condition they left my beautiful little matchbox in! Pigs, that’s what they must be. Look at this filth, Richard!”

“I think I’ll run over and see Abe Pearl while I’m in the neighborhood,” he said philosophically.

“Would you? That will give me a chance to clean at least some of this mess.”

He grinned. “Never knew a woman who could look at a dirty house and think of anything else. All right, Jessie, I’ll get out of here.”

Abe Pearl almost tore his arm out of the socket.

“What’s happening, for God’s sake?” When the old man brought him up to date, he shook his head. “That Humffrey dame might just as well be rotting in solitary somewhere. Do you suppose she’s gone clean off her rocker, Dick, and that’s why they won’t let anyone see her?”

“No,” Richard Queen said slowly. “No, Abe, I don’t think so. What happened up there today only confirms a suspicion I’ve had.”

“What’s that?”

“I think Humffrey’s main reason for putting his wife out of circulation in a place where he can be sure she can’t be got at — and himself staying away, now that he’s being tailed day and night — is to keep us from her.”

“I don’t get it,” Chief Pearl said.

“He’s put her where nobody can talk to her. He’d like us to forget she ever existed. Abe, Humffrey is scared to death of something his wife might tell us.”

“About him?” The big man was puzzled.