The Mystery of the Vanished Victim (11 page)

The inspector sighed, ran his hand affectionately over Gully’s still moist blond hair, and went to the phone.

Half an hour later, as Gully finished making the latest entries in his notebook, Inspector Queen poked his face into the room.

“Detective Layne says no one answers the buzzer up there. The superintendent says he saw Johnson go out earlier and is ready to swear he lives up there alone. The super hasn’t seen anyone even go up to visit him.”

“Well, what now?”

“I’ve told Layne to wait around for another hour and see if Johnson returns. If not, I’ll send someone over there in the morning to call on him; and that, Gulliver, is all I can do tonight.”

“And the bullet?”

“On its way to Ballistics.”

The door closed with finality. Gulliver Queen knew that despite his gruffness, his grandfather was deeply concerned with the recent turn of events.

Gully’s eyes focused on the notebook in his hand. The challenge was too great to resist. If his notebook would give his uncle Ellery an insight into the case, why mightn’t
he
come to some conclusion? He opened the red leather cover and scanned the pages, pausing on certain words … “Shamshir Singh … chess area … speedometer reading … lonely spot … violence in room … bracelet on street … moved from Sixty-fourth Street … man with mustache behind the wheel … rifle … telescopic gunsight … phone call … embarrass the United States … rain could spoil plan … bullet …”

Gully blinked. He sank lower on the bed. The notebook slipped from his hand and fell to the floor. Despite the bright lamp, Gulliver Queen, exhausted physically and mentally, fell sound asleep.

Suddenly Gully awoke.

He swung his feet off the bed and glanced at the clock on his night table. It was one-thirty in the morning, but he knew he had to wake up his grandfather.

Rushing barefoot down the hallway, Gully tapped on his grandfather’s door and burst in. The turning of the door knob and switching on of a small lamp awakened Inspector Queen. He bolted up in bed, alarmed.

“Don’t you feel well, Gully—”

“I know why Shamshir Singh was kidnaped!” Gully blurted out.

“What?” the inspector said feebly.

“I was looking over my notes for Uncle Ellery, when I fell asleep—”

“I envy you,” his grandfather groaned.

“Grandfather, suddenly all the pieces fit—”

“In your dreams, I suppose.”

“Yes, but … well, I think I know what’s behind the kidnaping of Shamshir Singh. A plot to assassinate somebody!”

“Assassination?”

“Suppose Balbir’s father happened to overhear a plot while he was in the park? And they caught him listening?”

“That,” commented Inspector Queen, “is a very big ‘if’!”

“They’d have to take Shamshir Singh so he wouldn’t reveal the plot. I’m sure it must be an assassination because of three things—the rifle, the telescopic gunsight, and the mustached man’s remark that it would ‘embarrass the United States.’”

Gully paused for breath, then continued.

“It ties in with what I heard at the United Nations. What if some important foreign figure were shot here? That would show the world it wasn’t safe for the UN to meet here.”

The inspector’s bristly brows drew together in a thoughtful frown. “Any idea who, when— or how?”

“I don’t know …”

His grandfather nodded. He thought a little while longer, then he said, “There may be something in what you say, Gully. It certainly seems to hang together.” The inspector sighed. “The trouble is, my dear grandson, theories don’t constitute sufficient cause for police action— not in a democracy, anyway. Well, we’ll take all proper security measures. Now how about getting back to sleep?”

“But Grandpa—”

“Oh, lord,” Inspector Queen moaned, “having two of them in the same family is too much!
Gulliver, march!
”

Gully watched his grandfather roll back under the covers and close his eyes. With a resigned sigh, Gully turned off the light and slowly padded back to his room. Somehow, he felt he was right, even if he couldn’t nail down the details. He lay in the dark, thinking and thinking … and soon was fast asleep.

“Grandpa!” Gully called, as he entered the kitchen next morning.

“He’s been gone a good fifteen minutes, Gulliver,” advised Mrs. Butterly. “He said to let you sleep. He thought you were up a bit late last night.”

Gulliver nodded, reaching for a piece of cold toast on a plate by his grandfather’s place.

“Get dressed first,” Mrs. Butterly suggested. “And I’ll make some more toast and some fried eggs. You should have a good breakfast, young man.”

Taking one nibble on the cold piece of toast, Gully went off to his room. As he dressed, he listened to the radio.

“… Starting at Idlewild Airport, the motorcade should reach the United Nations at three o’clock. Prince Behar will be escorted from the airport by the Jalpuri Ambassador to the United Nations, Dr. Sujit Jind, who will introduce him to the Assembly, which the Prince will then address. It will be a fine afternoon for the motorcade, clear and sunny. A high-pressure center moving eastward has canceled the earlier prediction of rain—”

Gully stood absolutely still for a whole minute, staring at the radio. Then he snapped it off and grabbed his jacket. As he rushed into the kitchen, still fumbling with his tie, Mrs. Butterly was neatly sliding two perfectly fried eggs onto his plate.

“You’re just in time, Gulliver. Sit down.”

“I haven’t time! I’m going to Headquarters. I’ve got to see my grandfather right away!”

“Without your breakfast?” said the startled Mrs. Butterly. “What on earth for?”

“To save a man’s life!”

“Gulliver Queen, you come back here—”

But Gully was already gone.

A
LL THE WAY
downtown, Gully was filled with a sense of desperate urgency.

He rushed into the big police building and headed for his grandfather’s office, but a uniformed man caught him by the arm, bringing him to a sudden halt.

“You can’t go in now, Gully. The inspector’s busy—”

“But this is important!” Gully protested, freeing himself from the policeman’s grip.

“He’s got two captains in with him, Gully. That’s even more important.”

“But I tell you, this is a matter of life or death!”

“Okay,” the officer sighed. “You’re
his
grandson. But you be sure to tell the inspector I tried to stop you, hear?”

“Thanks, Officer!” Gully cried, and dashed toward Inspector Queen’s door. He rapped thunderously.

His grandfather’s voice called out, “Come in.”

Gully went in so fast he almost fell on his face.

“You,”
his grandfather said.

Gully pulled up, embarrassed. The inspector’s tone and look were grim, not a bit grandfatherly. The two uniformed police captains with Inspector Queen were also staring at Gully. They were big, grizzled men with wide shoulders and weatherbeaten faces out of which glittered the iciest, toughest, blue eyes Gully had ever seen—aside from his grandfather’s, of course.

“I’m s-sorry to break in on you this way, Grandfather,” Gully began, “but—”

“I’m sorry to break in on
you
this way, Gulliver,” the inspector said softly—very softly. “Because what you have to tell me is far more important, I realize, than any trivial little conversation I might be having with Captain Kahn and Captain Jennings. I suppose nobody told you outside that I was—well, yak-yakking in here?”

“Oh, yes, they certainly did, Grandpa, it’s not their fault at all,” Gully said quickly, “but, as I told them, this is a matter of life and death and there’s so little time—”

“You hear that, Kahn? Jennings?” his grandfather said, turning to the two captains. “Sound familiar to you?”

The officers just sat there, chilling Gully to the bone.

“Yes, I see it does,” Inspector Queen went on, shaking his head sadly. “Well, this young man has inherited his uncle’s gift for predicting gloom and doom under any and all circumstances, and never mind a closed door. Like my eminent son, Ellery, my grandson specializes in matters of life and death, and my conferences with mere police captains are as the buzzing of flies—annoyances to be brushed aside.”

The inspector swiveled his chair back toward Gully, and this time his tone was sharp. But Gully, wishing he were anywhere but where he was, thought he caught a glint of humor in those frosty old Queen eyes.

“All right, Gulliver. You woke up this morning with the whole thing figured out—right?”

“Yes, sir, I—”

To Gully’s surprise, his grandfather leaned back in his swivel-chair and said genially, “Then tell us about it.”

Gully collected his thoughts. They had been sort of scattered by the events of the last few minutes. Now that he was challenged to explain, he would have to do it quickly and clearly.

“Yes, sir,” Gully began, swallowing a gulp. “Last night, Grandpa, I said I thought the facts indicated that Balbir’s father—I mean, Mr. Shamshir Singh—was taken from the Jalpuri embassy because he’d overheard an assassination being plotted. An assassination that would ‘embarrass the United States’ and maybe get the UN to transfer their headquarters to some other country, where the other side could say the UN people would be safer than here.”

The two tough captains were looking at Gully with their mouths slightly open. Inspector Queen glanced at them and raised his hand to his face to hide a smile.

“Keep going, Gulliver.”

“Well, you asked me who they were plotting to assassinate—I mean
whom
—and when, and where,” Gully continued with more confidence, “and I couldn’t tell you, Grandpa. But now I think I can. I think the facts indicate that the victim is going to be either Prince Behar of Sundastan or Dr. Jind of Jaipur—or maybe even both. And I think the assassination is planned to take place during the Prince’s and Dr. Jind’s ride from Idlewild Airport to the UN!”

The two police officers exchanged startled glances. “And here we were,” exclaimed Captain Kahn, “figuring out the security plan for the motorcade! What is this kid, Inspector, a fortune teller?”

The inspector rocked gently back and forth in his chair, which had a bad squeak. “You said, Gulliver, that the facts indicate all this. What facts?”

“The man with the mustache said the only thing that could ruin his plan was rain. The weather is to be sunny today, and that reminded me of the fact that, because Dr. Jind’s limousine broke down last night, he’ll be escorting the Prince in an open convertible. That limousine might not have broken down by accident. But if it rained, they’d have to rent a closed car.”

This time there was neither fun nor criticism in his grandfather’s voice. It was all business.

“Gully, the car’s breaking down may be pure coincidence. And if Dr. Jind didn’t have a convertible, the city would certainly have supplied him with an open car so the crowds could see Prince Behar. We do that with all important visiting dignitaries.”

The police captains nodded in agreement.

“But the rifle with telescopic sights—” Gully started to protest.

“Gulliver, stop fretting. As the captain just said, this meeting is being held to provide protection for Prince Behar and Dr. Jind along the route of the motorcade. Captain Kahn, go over your end of the plan for this young worry-wart’s benefit.”

Captain Kahn’s wintry face definitely thawed as he turned to Gully.

“Thirty-seven uniformed men from my division will be spread along the route this side of the Queensboro Bridge. In addition, twenty plainclothes detectives will circulate in the watching crowd from the bridge to the United Nations. An additional couple of dozen men will be stationed on the roofs of strategically located buildings that command a view of the immediate motorcade route. There isn’t one block from the bridge to the United Nations that doesn’t have several men on watch!”

Inspector Queen turned to the other officer.

“Jennings, suppose you inform my grandson of your department’s assignment.”

“My men will form a motorcycle escort in front of the open car, alongside it, and behind the motorcade. A closed car will be immediately behind the car of Prince Behar and Dr. Jind. At the first sign of trouble, the motorcycle escort will close around their car, shielding them till they get into the closed car. The windows of that car are bulletproof.”

“So you see, Gulliver,” the inspector said dryly, “while maybe we’re not as smart as some people think we ought to be, we aren’t leaving anything to chance, either. Satisfied?”

Gully swallowed. “No, sir,” he said.

This time all three men exchanged glances.

“Stubborn one, isn’t he?” growled Captain Kahn.

“Boy, if he was my grandson—” Captain Jennings muttered.

“We don’t seem to have impressed you, Gulliver,” Inspector Queen said, the frost back in his voice. “Did we leave out something? And if so, what?”

“I don’t
know
, Grandpa,” Gully cried. “All I know is—well, it doesn’t stand to reason that these men are
fools
. I mean, I’m sure they’ve studied American methods of protecting motorcades. They’d
expect
all these precautions, wouldn’t they? So they must be planning the assassination in such a way that your usual safety measures won’t keep Prince Behar or Dr. Jind from being killed.”

“Boy,” Captain Jennings said again.

Captain Kahn just shook his head.

Inspector Queen’s neck was turning red; Gully was quite fascinated watching the process. “They are, are they? Even if you knew who ‘they’ are, which you don’t! Well, Mr. Queen, and how
are
they going to pull it? What’s their plan of attack? Tell this poor old dodo of a grandfather of yours!”

“Grandpa, if I knew, I’d tell you!” To Gully’s horror, the trembling voice he heard was his own. But desperation drove him on. “But I’ll tell you who does know! Why don’t you ask that man with the mustache and the foreign accent in the top-floor apartment at 1385 East Forty-eighth Street—the one who calls himself Mr. Johnson?”

Inspector Queen jabbed a buzzer-button on his desk.

“I guess you’ll have to learn your lesson the hard way, Gully,” he said, leaning back. To Gully’s surprise, his grandfather sounded almost sorrowful. “Oh. While we’re waiting for the answer to your question—excuse me, gentlemen,” he interrupted himself and turned to the two police captains, “but you understand this is an important family matter.”