Ellery Queen - 1930 - The French Powder Mystery by Ellery Queen

Author:Ellery Queen [Queen, Ellery]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2012-01-15T12:07:39+00:00

Queen.”

“Not at the moment,” smiled Ellery. “Fingerprint powder, eh? Did you find any more in the glue?”

“You got nearly all of them,” said the little bald-headed man. “Did find a few, though. Found a bit of foreign matter, of course—some dust chiefly. But the grains are what I’ve told you. There’s not a print on either of them, except your own, Mr. Queen.”

Inspector Queen stared from “Jimmy” to Weaver to Ellery, a strange light dawning on his face. His hand fumbled nervously for his snuff-box.

“Fingerprint powder!” he said in a stunned voice. “Is it possible that

—?”“No, I’ve checked on what you’re thinking, dad,” said Ellery soberly.

“This room was not entered by the police before I myself found the grains in the glue. As a matter of fact, I suspected their identity at once, but of course I wished to be certain . . . . No, if you’re thinking that one of your men sprinkled the powder on these book-ends, you’re mistaken. They couldn’t have, possibly.”

“You realize what this means, of course?” The Inspector’s voice grew shrill with excitement. He took a short turn on the rug. “I have had all sorts of experience,” he said, “with criminals who use gloves. That’s one of the accepted habits of the law-breaking profession, it seems—maybe it’s an outgrowth of fiction and newspaper exposes. Gloves, canvas, cheese-cloth, felt—they’re all used either to prevent leaving fingerprints or to destroy what prints may be left. But this—this is the work of a—”

“A super-criminal?” suggested Weaver timidly.

“Exactly. A super-criminal!” replied the old man. “Sounds dime-nov-elish, does it, El? Coming from me, too—with comparative butchers like Tony the Wop and Red McCloskey waiting for me down at the Tombs.

Most cops scoff at the mere suggestion of super-criminals. But I’ve known them—rare and precious birds when they do crop out . . . He looked at his son defiantly. “Ellery, the man—or woman, for that matter—who committed this crime is not the usual criminal. He—or she—is so careful as to do the job and then, not satisfied with possibly using gloves and letting it go at that, sprinkles the room with the policeman’s pet crime-de-tector, fingerprint powder, to bring out his or her own prints in order to wipe them out of existence! . . . There isn’t the slightest doubt in my mind

—we’re dealing with a most unusual character, a habitual criminal who’s risen far above the stupidity of his generally dull-witted kind.”

“Super-criminal . . . “ Ellery thought for a moment, then shrugged his shoulders lightly. “It does look that way, doesn’t it? . . . Commits the murder in this room, then goes about the enormously ticklish job of cleaning up afterward. Has he left prints? Perhaps. Perhaps the work he had to do was so delicate as to make it impossible for him to use gloves—-

there’s a thought, eh, dad?” He smiled.

“Doesn’t make sense, though—that last,” muttered Queen. “Can’t see what he might possibly have to do that he couldn’t do with gloves on.”

“I have a little idea about that,” remarked Ellery.

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