The New Adventures of Ellery Queen (36 page)

And Joanie dutifully looked surprised, her breath coming a little faster; and Pop drew out of the right-hand pocket of his jacket a long leather case, and opened it, and said with a chuckle: “Wasn't going to show it to you till tonight, but Roddy told me before he left that you look so beautiful I ought to give you a preview as a reward. From me to you, Joanie. Like 'em?”

Joan gasped: “
Like
them!” and there were exclamations of “Oh!” and “Ah!” and they saw lying upon black velvet eleven superb sapphires, their stars winking royally—a football team of perfectly matched gems.

“Oh,
Pop
!” moaned Joan, and she flung her arms about him and wept on his shoulder, while he looked pleased and blustery, and puffed and closed the case and returned it to the pocket from which he had taken it.

“Formal opening tonight. Then you can decide whether you want to make a necklace out of 'em or a bracelet or what.” And Pop stroked Joan's hair while she sniffled against him; and Mr. Queen, watching the Grand Duke Ostrov,
n
é Batterson, and Madame Mephisto,
n
é
e
Lucadamo, thought they were very clever to have concealed so quickly those startling expressions of avarice.

Surrounded by his guests, Pop strode directly to the Trojans' dressing room, waving aside officials and police and student athletic underlings as if he owned the Rose Bowl and all the multitudinous souls besieging it.

The young man at the door said: “Hi, Pop,” respectfully, and admitted them under the envious stares of the less fortunate mortals outside.

“Isn't he grand?” whispered Paula, her eyes like stars; but before Mr. Queen could reply there were cries of: “Hey! Femmes!” and “Here's Pop!” and the coach came over, wickedly straight-arming Mr. Roddy Crockett, who was lacing his doeskin pants, aside, and said with a wink: “All right, Pop. Give it to 'em.”

And Pop very pale now, shucked his coat and flung it on a rubbing table; and the boys crowded round, very quiet suddenly; and Mr. Queen found himself pinned between a mountainous tackle and a behemoth of a guard who growled down at him: “Hey, you, stop squirming. Don't you see Pop's gonna make a speech!”

And Pop said, in a very low voice: “Listen, gang. The last time I made a dressing-room spiel was in '33. It was on a January first, too, and it was the day USC played Pitt in the Rose Bowl. That day we licked 'em thirty-three to nothing.”

Somebody shouted: “Yay!” but Pop held up his hand.

“I made three January first speeches before that. One was in '32, before we knocked Tulane over by a score of twenty-one to twelve. One was in 1930, the day we beat the Panthers forty-seven to fourteen. And the first in '23, when we took Penn State by fourteen to three. And that was the first time in the history of Rose Bowl that we represented the Pacific Coast Conference in the intersectional classic. There's just one thing I want you men to bear in mind when you dash out there in a few minutes in front of half of California.”

The room was very still.

“I want you to remember that the Trojans have played in four Rose Bowl games. And I want you to remember that the Trojans have
won
four Rose Bowl games,” said Pop.

And he stood high above them, looking down into their intent young faces; and then he jumped to the floor, breathing heavily.

Hell broke loose. Boys pounded him on the back; Roddy Crockett seized Joan and pulled her behind a locker; Mr. Queen found himself pinned to the door, hat over his eyes, by the elbow of the Trojan center, like a butterfly to a wall; and the coach stood grinning at Pop, who grinned back, but tremulously.

“All right, men,” said the coach. “Pop?” Pop Wing grinned and shook them all off, and Roddy helped him into his coat, and after a while Mr. Queen, considerably the worse for wear, found himself seated in Pop's box directly above the fifty-yard line.

And then, as the two teams dashed into the Bowl across the brilliant turf, to the roar of massed thousands, Pop Wing uttered a faint cry.

“What's the matter?” asked Joan quickly, seizing his arm. “Aren't you feeling well, Pop?”

“The sapphires,” said Pop Wing in a hoarse voice, his hand in his pocket. “They're gone.”

Kick-off! Twenty-two figures raced to converge in a tumbling mass, and the stands thundered, the USC section fluttering madly with flags … and then there was a groan that rent the blue skies, and deadly, despairing silence.

For the Trojans' safety man caught the ball, started forward, slipped, the ball popped out of his hands, the Carolina right end fell on it—and there was the jumping, gleeful Spartan team on the Trojans' 9-yard line, Carolina's ball, first down, and four plays for a touchdown.

And Gabby, who had not heard Pop Wing's exclamation, was on his feet shrieking: “But they can't
do
that! Oh, heavens—Come
on
, USC! Hold that line!”

Pop glanced at Mr. Huntswood with bloodshot surprise, as if a three-thousand-year-old mummy had suddenly come to life; and then he muttered: “Gone. Somebody's—picked my pocket.”

“
What
!” whispered Gabby; and he fell back, staring at his employer with horror.

“But theese ees fantastic,” the Grand Duke exclaimed.

Mr. Queen said quietly: “Are you positive, Mr. Wing?”

Pop's eyes were on the field, automatically analyzing the play; but they were filled with pain. “Yes, I'm sure. Some pickpocket in the crowd …”

“No,” said Mr. Queen.

“Ellery, what do you mean?” cried Paula.

“From the moment we left Mr. Wing's car until we entered the Trojan dressing room we surrounded him completely. From the moment we left the Trojan dressing room until we sat down in this box, we surrounded him completely. No, our pickpocket is one of this group, I'm afraid.”

Madame Mephisto shrilled: “How dare you! Aren't you forgetting that it was Mr. Crockett who helped Mr. Wing on with his coat in that dressing room?”

“You—” began Pop in a growl, starting to rise.

Joan put her hand on his arm and squeezed, smiling at him. “Never mind her, Pop.”

Carolina gained two yards on a plunge through center. Pop shaded his eyes with his hand, staring at the opposing lines.

“Meester Queen,” said the Grand Duke coldly, “that ees an insult. I demand we all be—how you say?—searched.”

Pop waved his hand wearily. “Forget it. I came to watch a football game.” But he no longer looked like a small boy.

“His Highness's suggestion,” murmured Mr. Queen, “is an excellent one. The ladies may search one another; the men may do the same. Suppose we all leave here together—in a body—and retire to the rest rooms?”

“Hold 'em,” muttered Pop, as if he had not heard. Carolina gained 2 yards more on an off-tackle play; 5 yards to go in two downs. They could see Roddy Crockett slapping one of his linesmen on the back.

The lines met, and buckled. No gain.

“D'ye see Roddy go through that hole?” muttered Pop.

Joan rose and, rather imperiously, motioned Madame and Paula to precede her. Pop did not stir. Mr. Queen motioned to the men. The Grand Duke and Gabby rose. They all went quickly away.

And still Pop did not move. Until Ostermoor rifled a flat pass into the end zone, and a Carolina end came up out of the ground and snagged the ball. And then it was Carolina 6, USC 0, the big clock indicating that barely a minute of the first quarter's playing time had elapsed.

“
Block that kick
!”

Roddy plunged through the Spartan line and blocked it. The Carolina boys trotted back to their own territory, grinning.

“Hmph,” said Pop to the empty seats in his box; and then he sat still and simply waited, an old man.

The first quarter rolled along. The Trojans could not get out of their territory. Passes fell incomplete. The Spartan line held like iron.

“Well, we're back,” said Paula Paris. The great man looked up slowly. “We didn't find them.”

A moment later Mr. Queen returned, herding his two companions. Mr. Queen said nothing at all; he merely shook his head, and the Grand Duke Ostrov looked grandly contemptuous, and Madame Mephisto tossed her turbaned head angrily. Joan was very pale; her eyes crept down the field to Roddy, and Paula saw that they were filled with tears.

Mr. Queen said abruptly: “Will you excuse me, please?” and left again with swift strides.

The first quarter ended with the score still 6 to 0 against USC and the Trojans unable to extricate themselves from the menace of their goal post … pinned back with inhuman regularity by the sharp-shooting Mr. Ostennoor. There is no defense against a deadly accurate kick.

When Mr. Queen returned, he wiped his slightly moist brow and said pleasantly: “By the way, Your Highness, it all comes back to me now. In a former incarnation—I believe in that life your name was Batterson, and you were the flower of an ancient Bronx family—weren't you mixed up in a jewel robbery?”

“Jewel robbery!” gasped Joan, and for some reason she looked relieved. Pop's eyes fixed coldly on the Grand Duke's suddenly oscillating beard.

“Yes,” continued Mr. Queen, “I seem to recall that the fence tried to involve you, Your Highness, saying you were the go-between, but the jury wouldn't believe a fence's word, and so you went free. You were quite charming on the stand, I recall—had the courtroom in stitches.”

“It's a damn lie,” said the Grand Duke thickly, without the trace of an accent. His teeth gleamed wolfishly at Mr. Queen from its thicket.

“You thieving four-flusher—” began Pop Wing, half-rising from his seat.

“Not yet, Mr. Wing,” said Mr. Queen.

“I have never been so insulted—” began Madame Mephisto.

“And you,” said Mr. Queen with a little bow, “would be wise to hold your tongue, Madame Lucadamo.”

Paula nudged him in fierce mute inquiry, but he shook his head. He looked perplexed.

No one said anything, until near the end of the second quarter, Roddy Crockett broke loose for a 44-yard gain, and on the next play came to rest on Carolina's 26-yard line.

Then Pop Wing was on his feet, cheering lustily, and even Gabby Huntswood was yelling in his cracked, un-oiled voice: “Come on, Trojans!”

“Attaboy, Gabby,” said Pop with the ghost of a grin. “First time I've ever seen you excited about a football game.”

Three plays netted the Trojans 11 yards more: first down on Carolina's 15-yard line! The half was nearly over. Pop was hoarse, the theft apparently forgotten. He groaned as USC lost ground, Ostermoor breaking up two plays. Then, with the ball on Carolina's 22-yard line, with time for only one more play before the whistle ending the half, the Trojan quarterback called for a kick formation and Roddy booted the ball straight and true between the uprights of the Spartan's goal.

The whistle blew. Carolina 6, USC 3.

Pop sank back, mopping his face. “Have to do better. That damn Ostermoor! What's the matter with Roddy?”

During the rest period Mr. Queen, who had scarcely watched the struggle, murmured: “By the way, Madame, I've heard a good deal about your unique gift of divination. We can't seem to find the sapphires by natural means; how about the supernatural?”

Madame Mephisto glared at him. “This is no time for jokes!”

“A true gift needs no special conditions,” smiled Mr. Queen.

“The atmosphere—scarcely propitious—”

“Come, come, Madame! You wouldn't overlook an opportunity to restore your host's hundred-thousand-dollar loss?”

Pop began to inspect Madame with suddenly keen curiosity.

Madame closed her eyes, her long fingers at her temples. “I see,” she murmured, “I see a long jewel case … yes, it is closed, closed … but it is dark, very dark … it is in a, yes, a dark place.…” She sighed and dropped her hands, her dark lids rising. “I'm sorry. I can see no more.”

“It's in a dark place, all right,” said Mr. Queen dryly. “It's in my pocket.” And to their astonishment he took from his pocket the great man's jewel case.

Mr. Queen snapped it open. “Only,” he remarked sadly, “it's empty. I found it in a corner of the Trojans' dressing room.”

Joan shrank back, squeezing a tiny football charm so hard it collapsed. The millionaire gazed stonily at the parading bands blaring around the field.

“You see,” said Mr. Queen, “the thief hid the sapphires somewhere and dropped the case in the dressing room. And we were all there. The question is: Where did the thief cache them?”

“Pardon me,” said the Grand Duke. “Eet seems to me the theft must have occurred in Meester Wing's car, after he returned the jewel case to his pocket. So perhaps the jewels are hidden in the car.”

“I have already,” said Mr. Queen, “searched the car.”

“Then in the Trojan dressing room!” cried Paula.

“No, I've also searched there—floor to ceiling, lockers, cabinets, clothes, everything. The sapphires aren't there.”

“The thief wouldn't have been so foolish as to drop them in an aisle on the way to this box,” said Paula thoughtfully. “Perhaps he had an accomplice—”

“To have an accomplice,” said Mr. Queen wearily, “you must know you are going to commit a crime. To know that you must know there will be a crime to commit. Nobody but Mr. Wing knew that he intended to take the sapphires with him today—is that correct, Mr. Wing?”

“Yes,” said Pop. “Except Rod—Yes. No one.”

“Wait!” cried Joan passionately. “I know what you're all thinking. You think Roddy had—had something to do with this. I can see it—yes, even you, Pop! But don't you see how silly it is? Why should Rod steal something that will belong to him, anyway? I
won't
have you thinking Roddy's a—a thief!”

“I did not,” said Pop feebly.

“Then we're agreed the crime was unpremeditated and that no accomplice could have been provided for,” said Mr. Queen. “Incidentally, the sapphires are not in this box. I've looked.”