Inspector Queen’s Own Case

“One of the boys, Pete Angelo, went up to Boston. We figured because of Humffrey’s missing fingertip he’d likely have his gloves made to order, and we were right. Pete located his glovemaker, and got hold of a pair of gloves the old fellow’d made for Humffrey that Humffrey didn’t like. Then we enlisted Willy Kuntzman, who used to be one of the best men in the Bureau of Tech Services” — the old man grinned — “retired, of course — and Willy went to work on the right glove. He came up with a cast of Humffrey’s right hand in that plastic, or whatever it is, that looks and feels like flesh. Then, with Jessie describing the handprint she’d seen on the original pillowcase, Willy doctored the duplicate, and this is the result.”

“Isn’t this taking a hell of a chance?”

Richard Queen returned his friend’s look calmly. “I’m willing to take it, Abe. I was hoping you’d be, too.”

“You want me to pull this on Humffrey.”

“The preliminary work, yes.”

The big man was silent.

“Of course, Abe, it’s not absolutely necessary. I can do the whole thing. But it would have more of an effect if you set it up. The crime was committed in your jurisdiction. You’re the logical man to have found this.”

“Where?”

“You don’t tell him where. It won’t even occur to him to ask. The sight of this ought to throw him for a loop. If he should ask, toss it to me. I’ll be in on the kill.”

“Listen, Dick, you’ve got a rock in this,” the police chief said slowly. “All right, Humffrey left his right handprint on a pillowcase just like this, and disposed of it that night before we got there. How? It must have been burned up, we said. Or it was cut to pieces and flushed down a toilet. Humffrey knows how he disposed of it, doesn’t he? If he burned it, how could we produce it? If he cut it up, how come it’s whole again?” Abe Pearl shook his head. “It won’t work. He’ll know in a flash we’re trying to pull one.”

“I don’t think so, Abe.” The Inspector seemed unperturbed. “I didn’t agree with you and Merrick when you discussed it that night, although I didn’t want to put my two cents in with Merrick there. It’s highly unlikely that Humffrey’d have burned the pillowslip. It was a hot night in August. He’d hardly have risked making a fire that might have been seen or smelled by somebody in the house — Jessie here, a servant, Dr. Wicks, even his wife — and remembered later just because it was a hot night in August.

“As for cutting it to pieces, he didn’t have to, Abe. The material is so fine you can take this thing and crumple it into a small ball. He could have flushed it down a drain in one piece. A man who’s just taken the life of an infant and expects the police any minute — no matter what substitute for blood is flowing through his veins — isn’t going to go in for anything fancy. That only happens in my son’s books. Humffrey had only one thought in mind, to get rid of the pillowcase in the quickest and easiest way.

“Sure, Abe, I don’t deny the risk. But the way I see it, the odds are way over on our side.” He shrugged. “Of course, if you’d rather not have anything to do with it—”

“Don’t be a horse’s patoot, Dick. It’s not that.” Abe Pearl began to pull on his fleshy lower lip.

The old man waited.

“It is that, Abe.” It was Beck Pearl’s soft voice. “You’re thinking of me.”

“Now Becky,” her husband shouted, “don’t start in on me!”

“Or maybe I’m flattering myself. Maybe it’s yourself you’re thinking of. Your job.”

“Becky—” he thundered.

“The trouble is, dear, you’re going soft in Taugus. It’s a nice fat easy job, and you’ve gotten nice and fat and easy along with it.”

“Becky, will you stay out of this? Damn it all—!”

“How would you feel if that little boy had been Donny? Or darling little Lawrence?”

“You would throw my grandchildren up to me!” The big man hurled himself into the armchair with a crash that made the room shake. “All right, Dick! What’s your plan?”

The next morning two police cars shot across the Nair Island causeway, drove into the Humffrey grounds, and eight Taugus detectives and uniformed men, headed by Chief Pearl, jumped out.

Stallings, the caretaker-gardener, was on his knees in one of the flower beds, planting bulbs.

“Something wrong again, Chief?”

“Nothing that concerns you, Stallings,” Chief Pearl said gruffly. “Get on with your work. Borcher, you and Tinny take the house. You other men, fan out on the grounds — you know what we’re after. One of you go down to the beach and keep an eye on that dredger, in case they make the strike.”

“One minute,” Stallings said uneasily, as the officers began to scatter. “I’m responsible, Chief. What are you up to?”

“This is a search party,” the chief barked. “Out of my way.”

“But, Mr. Pearl, I got my instructions from Mr. Humffrey. He specially said I was to keep cops and reporters out.”

“He did, did he? Ever hear of a search warrant, my friend?”

“A warrant?” Stallings blinked.

Chief Pearl waved an official-looking document before the old fellow’s nose and immediately put it back in his pocket and turned away. “All right, men.”