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    The Dutch Shoe Mystery
    The Dutch Shoe Mystery
    The Dutch Shoe Mystery
    Ebook323 pages5 hours

    The Dutch Shoe Mystery

    By Ellery Queen

    3.5/5

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    A pre-op murder leads to a hospital whodunit for Ellery Queen—from the author hailed as “the most important American in mystery fiction” (Otto Penzler). The son of a police detective, Ellery Queen grew up in a bloody atmosphere. Since he started lending his deductive powers to the New York City homicide squad, he has seen more than his fair share of mangled corpses. Though he is accustomed to gore, the thought of seeing a living person sliced open makes him ill. So when a doctor invites him to sit in on an operation, Queen braces his stomach. As it happens, his stomach is spared, but his brain must go to work. The patient is Abigail Doorn, a millionairess in a diabetic coma. To prepare her for surgery, the hospital staff has stabilized her blood sugar level and wheeled her to the operating theater—but just before the first incision, the doctors realize she is dead, strangled while lying unconscious on her gurney. Queen came to the hospital to watch surgeons work, but now it’s his time to operate. 
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherMysteriousPress.com Open Road
    Release dateFeb 5, 2013
    ISBN9781453289426
    The Dutch Shoe Mystery
    Author

    Ellery Queen

    Ellery Queen was a pen name created and shared by two cousins, Frederic Dannay (1905–1982) and Manfred B. Lee (1905–1971), as well as the name of their most famous detective. Born in Brooklyn, they spent forty-two years writing, editing, and anthologizing under the name, gaining a reputation as the foremost American authors of the Golden Age “fair play” mystery. Although eventually famous on television and radio, Queen’s first appearance came in 1928, when the cousins won a mystery-writing contest with the book that would eventually be published as The Roman Hat Mystery. Their character was an amateur detective who uses his spare time to assist his police inspector uncle in solving baffling crimes. Besides writing the Queen novels, Dannay and Lee cofounded Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine, one of the most influential crime publications of all time. Although Dannay outlived his cousin by nine years, he retired Queen upon Lee’s death.

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    Reviews for The Dutch Shoe Mystery

    3.5/5

    11 ratings9 reviews

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    • 5/5
      Ellery Queen is similar to the English detective. Horne Fisher, of Chesterton’s The Face in the Target. A similar intellectual yet languid young man, proud of his knowledge and ability to apply that knowledge to the current situation or crime; the difference instead of being attached to the British political scene, Ellery is attached to the New York police. The murder takes place in a hospital, a benefactor of the hospital, Abigail Doorn, has fallen and requires surgery to repair the damage. She is a diabetic so must undergo treatment to bring her insulin in line prior to surgery, fortunately she is in a coma so doesn't require anesthetic. The family is in the waiting room so all those with financial motive for the murder are present. After presenting all the facts of the case Ellery Queen offers the reader a chance to solve the crime for themselves before the denouncement. I have to admit I failed.An enjoyable read, a little slow because the language is from the 1920’s, and I was reading a hard back library copy, so I would have to put it down to pick up my dictionary to check a word.
    • 4/5
      Nice little mystery ... easy to read, with a solid wrap-up at the end.
    • 5/5
      Really enjoyd this, I enjoy the author challenges in Queen's book, but rarely can solve the mystery at the point the challenges are given.
    • 3/5
      Well well well! Third book in the Ellery Queen mystery series read. This one gets 3 stars, while the second one, 'The French Powder Mystery' received 4 stars. There a gulf between the two, in terms of deduction-the quality and brilliancy of it all.At first I felt betrayed. Firstly because no reflection from the hero detective was forthcoming with the solvency of the case. Ellery Queen remained tight-lipped most of the time. Also, once explained, the mystery felt easy to solve. But in the earliest chapter the chronicler assured me that this was Ellery's most taxing case yet. That it was more difficult to solve than previous cases. Not a chance. Blatantly false advertising, is all. But I couldn't feel cheated for long, because I realize that in the title itself, the authors present an obvious clue, one which I disregarded because, fair enough, I was engrossed in the story, and it's rare that I solve a case prematurely, in cold blood.The authors do like some variety in their books. In their first book the Dad Queen was first on the scene of crime. He got single billing for a while before his prodigal son turns up. In the second book, both appear together. In this book, Ellery Queen innocently visits a doctor friend and happens to find himself in the star case of this book. The timing of inspiration for solving the murders in one swoop falls to our hero in a different place in the book. This is the first time that two murders occur in the story.I'm going to compare Ellery Queen-the two authors- with Dame Agatha Christie. I read most of the Poirot books in my mid teens. I found most of them of the highest order, and I found it not easy to be discerning in rating and ranking them. Only the very bad, like 'The Big Four' would I find 'not excellent'. But though Ellery Queen stories are of about the same quality and regularity, I' giving them my -relatively- new found discernment. I enjoy these books with less fervor but I'm happy whenever a great crime mystery novel presents itself.
    • 5/5
      Really enjoyd this, I enjoy the author challenges in Queen's book, but rarely can solve the mystery at the point the challenges are given.
    • 4/5
      This early Ellery Queen takes place in a New York City hospital. The pace is brisk and about the right length. All the reasoning is actually rather straightforward. I would rate it higher but for one logical failure: How did the nurse put the men's pants on over her skirt?
    • 4/5
      An eccentric millionairess is lying in a diabetic coma on a hospital bed in an anteroom of the surgical suite of the Dutch Memorial Hospital, which she founded, awaiting the removal of her gall bladder. When the surgery is about to begin, the patient is found to have been strangled with picture wire. Although the hospital is crowded, it is well guarded, and only a limited number of people had the opportunity to have murdered her, including members of her family and a small number of the medical personnel.
      The apparent murderer is a member of the surgical staff who was actually seen in the victim's vicinity, but his limp makes him easy to impersonate. Ellery Queen examines a pair of hospital shoes, one of which has a broken lace that has been mended with surgical tape. He performs an extended piece of logical deduction based on the shoe, plus such slight clues as the position of a filing cabinet, and creates a list of necessary characteristics of the murderer that narrows the field of suspects down to a single surprising possibility.

      My Review
      I really enjoyed this Ellery Queen novel. It had interesting characters and great plot . Also was an excellent look at the 1920's timeframe of New York City and a medical hospital. Besides all that, it was a pretty good read and a page turner!
    • 3/5
      Penzler Press is releasing The Dutch Shoe Mystery as part of its series of Ellery Queen mysteries, arguably the American paragon of Golden Age Mystery writing. Written by two cousins in the mid/post- World War Era, these puzzlers were extremely popular with readers in their day, and the Ellery Queen Magazine based on them is still being published. Each of the stories follow the same formula: a crime occurs that is seemingly impossible to decipher; writer Ellery and his Police Inspector father collect clues and conduct interviews; there is a summary of the clues along with a challenge to the reader to solve the mystery; the story culminates with a satisfying revelation of the responsible party and a detailed explanation of how the crime was committed. In The Dutch Shoe Mystery, Ellery and Richard Queen are challenged by the murder of a wealthy matriarch just as she was being prepped for surgery at the hospital she financially supported. The family of the woman and other suspects are introduced and questioned about their connections and whereabouts. An abundance of contradictory clues and artifacts are discovered that seem to make the case impenetrable. During the investigation, one of the main suspects also ends up being killed, and the sleuths are confounded by hidden motives and misdirection. Due to the notoriety of the victims, Ellery and Richard are also under pressure from the mayor and DA to solve the case as quickly as possible. Despite some antiquated attitudes and questionable portrayals of women and minorities, the Ellery Queen mysteries are a quaint reminder of classic mystery storytelling. They are a flashback to a time when a good mystery was considered an opportunity for cerebral exercise rather than a chance to merely shock the reader. Fans of Christie, Doyle and other classics would enjoy The Dutch Shoe Mystery and the other Penzler reissues of these entertaining titles.Thanks to Edelweiss and Penzler for an ARC of this book in exchange for an unbiased review.
    • 2/5
      When reading books that were, at one time, influential or popular it is often difficult for someone now to get what appealed to people then. I have written elsewhere about my frustrations on reading Ellery Queen. Although I had similar issues reading Philo Vance as I did Ellery Queen the two are notably different in that S. S. Van Dine’s popularity dropped precipitously several decades after he was first published while Queen, on the other hand, not only continued to be popular but went on to be very influential within the world of mystery writing. In this series of reviews I am trying to understand what made these books so popular at the time they were published, why the trajectories of their popularity were so different and why the modern reader receives them so differently than did their initial audience.Two authorial choices unite these series are the nature of the New Yorks in which they were set and the structures used by the authors allow the detective access to sites, evidence and witnesses and the reader access to the thoughts and actions of the detective.First, the nature of their New Yorks:It is difficult to keep in mind while reading the early works of Queen and Vance that they were published within a few years of Hammett’s The Maltese Falcon and Stout’s Fer-de-Lance. The former was published in 1930 and the latter, the first Nero Wolfe novel, was published in 1934. Those two books seem to have been written in a different universe than either that of Philo Vance or these Ellery Queen novels.One of the first things that strike one on reading either Vance or Queen is that they seem to be set in a world that is a strange amalgam of England and the United States. Both detectives work in New York City and both encounter the rather stereotypical individuals of New York -- the cops with the broad accents and apparently little education. Cab drivers and waiters have broad accents and cheerfully know their places. The rich, the upper classes, live with the same “different set” of rules as to members of the upper class in Ngaio Marsh’s. It is a New York without anything near the broad ethnic diversity one sees in Rex Stout and with a degree of deference from police officers towards “their betters" that no one shows in his books. Compare, if you will, Inspector Queen, with Inspector Cramer. Cramer doesn’t always get his man, true, but Cramer would not have put up with the affected manners and sense of privilege of either Vance or Queen.Reviewers and analysts of murder/detective mysteries refer to a type of novel as a ‘cozy.’ Cozies seem to be set in an alternative universe where all the nice things about the past continue to exist without any of its more unpleasant elements. In some the detectives themselves are an element of that sanitized nostalgia. Ngaio Marsh’s Inspector Alleyn is the son and brother of members of the aristocracy. He is a card carrying gentleman who interviews the upstairs folks while one of his men (often Inspector Fox) interviews the maids, the butler and the rest of the downstairs staff. Not only do servants defer but often the greatest supporters of the class system are members of the “peasantry” whose adherence to an outdated caste system allows for others (their betters) to be protected against that system being breached while presenting themselves as enlightened and even egalitarian. S. S. Van Dine and Ellery Queen can be argued to have been writing the American equivalent of the cozy, although in their cases this is masked by the fact that they set their murders in New York and present their detectives as world traveled and erudite. Make no mistake, though, these are cozies. In the world of Van Dine and Queen there is an attempt to transpose what the authors believe to be the English class system into the world of New York. The run-of-the-mill police officer in Queen treat Ellery with such a degree of respect that one imagines them tugging their forelocks when reporting to him. The idea that any of the monied and well-connected witnesses in the early Queen books would not have called their lawyers immediately upon being detained and questioned by a man whose only authority is a “pass” written out for him by his father is laughable. The idea that no one in the police force or at city hall would direct charges of nepotism and incompetence toward Inspector Queen is similarly ludicrous. However in these books the reader is assured that in a United States much changed over the last few decades, by immigration as well as the farm boys who returned from war duty overseas only to see their families wiped out by the crash of 1929.The New York of these American urban cozies seems far more like the moderate sized towns than many readers lived or grew up in. There are important families and, without doubt, those important families can exert pressure on the police. But this pressure isn’t presented as a form of corruption rather as the natural consequence of people being important and monied. The daughter of a rich man may be a “drug fiend”* but it isn’t portrayed as a form of inappropriate wielding of power and influence for the police to treat her differently than they would the daughter of a working class man.Second, the structural issues of both Van Dine and Queen:The further frustrating thing about the Ellery Queen novels arose from their very structure. The original conceit is that they are written, years after the actual occurrences by a friend who had not witnessed the actual cases. The manuscripts are supposedly based on the notes that Ellery kept of the cases and from the clippings he and his father kept from contemporary coverage. It thus makes no sense for the writer to not “open up” the mind of Queen throughout the book. Why is the reader kept ignorant of Ellery’s deductions and even some of the information he has until the final unfolding of the criminal? The authors may have felt that if the reader was aware of everything Ellery thought and witnessed the reader would not be attempting to solve the problem themselves they would be witnessing Ellery solving it. The books themselves are set up with the premise that at a certain point the reader has all the information necessary to deduce who “did it” and they are invited to work it out for themselves before turning the page. From that point on the reader is supposed to have a front row seat as Ellery demonstrates his superior abilities to deduce.This particular mystery demonstrates the problem with that format. The identity of the murderer and accomplice in the case of the first murder are actually quite obvious from the beginning if one ignores the author’s attempts to make Ellery’s questions and comments important and looks merely at the physical evidence. The authors make this difficult by having the behaviour of the police subsequent to the crime so unorganized and scattered that it is difficult to put together a coherent picture of the scene. In the case of the second murder the only person who could have committed it would have been immediately obvious if a major character had not changed the nature of the crime scene and if all the people who walked in and out of it had not been oblivious to the absence of key piece of furniture that they had either every reason to believe should be there and/or that they had actually seen themselves many times.This structure/conceit will be dropped over time. The problem that the authors face, the difficulty of presented someone as having an outstanding deductive brain and giving that person reasonable access to the information, sites and people necessary to solve the crime remained. Reading these books underlines the brilliance of the formula that Rex Stout devised for his Nero Wolfe books where it is Archie Goodwin’s POV that is presented to the reader and where much of the setup of many books involves giving Wolfe and Goodwin a reason to have the type of access given so unquestioningly to Ellery Queen and Philo Vance.If you want to amuse yourself imagine the field day any defense lawyer would have with evidence collected by and witnesses interviewed by someone who was not a sworn officer of the court and not a member of the police force. Of course these books were written long before the birth of the CSI franchise and it is likely that few readers would have heard of the concept of “chain of custody” but certainly any adequate lawyer would be able to call into question evidence and information gathered by the son of the man whose job would be in question if someone was not arrested with due speed. S. S. Van Dine’s alternative to access through nepotism is scarcely more palatable since his detective gains access to persons and places because of a private relationship with the DA. One imagines that defense lawyers would enjoy the opportunities this irregular relationship would give them to undermine any evidence Vance might have had access to and any statements made to witnesses in response to Vance’s questions. In summary, both the Philo Vance and Ellery Queen series provided for their readers the same type of reassuring universe that the English cozies did for theirs and neither solve the problem of how to entwine a private detective into the world of the police procedural. It will be interesting to see whether in future books the coziness continues and if the practical problems are handled more believably.* Drug Fiend is the authors term not mine. The demonization of drug taking, including misleading descriptions of its symptoms has a long history in American crime fiction.

    Book preview

    The Dutch Shoe Mystery - Ellery Queen

    The Dutch Shoe Mystery

    Ellery Queen

    To DR. S. J. ESSENSON

    FOR HIS INVALUABLE ADVICE ON CERTAIN MEDICAL MATTERS

    CONTENTS

    FOREWORD

    CHARACTER LIST

    PART I

    TALE OF TWO SHOES

    1 OPERATION

    2 AGITATION

    3 VISITATION

    4 REVELATION

    5 STRANGULATION

    6 EXAMINATION

    7 IMPERSONATION

    8 CORROBORATION

    9 IMPLICATION

    10 MANIFESTATION

    11 INTERROGATION

    12 EXPERIMENTATION

    13 ADMINISTRATION

    14 ADORATION

    15 COMPLICATION

    16 ALIENATION

    17 MYSTIFICATION

    18 CONDENSATION

    PART II

    DISAPPEARANCE OF A CABINET

    19 DESTINATION

    20 CAPITULATION

    21 DUPLICATION

    22 ENUMERATION

    23 TRIPLICATION???

    24 REEXAMINATION

    25 SIMPLIFICATION

    26 EQUATION

    Challenge TO THE READER

    PART III

    DISCOVERY OF A DOCUMENT

    27 CLARIFICATION

    28 ARGUMENTATION

    29 TERMINATION

    30 EXPLANATION

    FOREWORD

    THE DUTCH SHOE MYSTERY (a whimsicality of title which will explain itself in the course of reading) is the third adventure of the questing Queens to be presented to the public. And for the third time I find myself delegated to perform the task of introduction. It seems that my labored articulation as oracle of the previous Ellery Queen novels discouraged neither Ellery’s publisher nor that omnipotent gentleman himself. Ellery avers gravely that this is my reward for engineering the publication of his fictionized memoirs. I suspect from his tone that he meant reward to be synonymous with punishment!

    There is little I can say about the Queens, even as a privileged friend, that the reading public does not know or has not guessed from hints dropped here and there in Opus 1* and Opus 2.* Under their real names (one secret they demand be kept) Queen père and Queen fils were integral, I might even say major, cogs in the wheel of New York City’s police machinery. Particularly during the second and third decades of the century. Their memory flourishes fresh and green among certain ex-officials of the metropolis; it is tangibly preserved in case records at Centre Street and in the crime mementoes housed in their old 87th Street apartment, now a private museum maintained by a sentimental few who have excellent reason to be grateful.

    As for contemporary history, it may be dismissed with this: the entire Queen ménage, comprising old Inspector Richard, Ellery, his wife, their infant son and gypsy Djuna, is still immersed in the peace of the Italian hills, to all practical purpose retired from the manhunting scene. …

    I remember clearly the gasp of horror, the babble of conjecture that rippled outward from New York, spreading through the civilized world, when it was learned that Abigail Doorn, the mighty, had been murdered like any poor defenseless devil. She was of course a figure of international stature—an eccentric whose least financial operation, whose quietest benefaction, whose most ordinary family affair were automatically front-page news. Distinctly a press personality, she was one of perhaps two dozen in the past decade who, struggle or protest as they might, could not escape the all-seeing eye of the journalistic and consequently the lay world.

    Ellery’s pertinacity in resolving the strange and perplexing circumstances which accompanied Abigail Doorn’s death, his masterly manipulation of the many people involved—some famous, some wealthy, some merely notorious—and his astonishing revelations at the last, added considerably to the prestige of the old Inspector and privately, needless to say, magnified Ellery’s reputation as adviser extraordinary to the Police Department.

    Please bear in mind that the story about which The Dutch Shoe Mystery revolves is in essence truth, although from policy names have been altered and for fictional purposes certain details revised.

    In this puzzling chase Ellery indisputably reaches the full blossom of his mental prowess. Not even the maze of the Monte Field investigation or the remarkable complexity of the French murder case demanded more of that amazing intellect. I firmly believe that no keener deductive mind has ever, in fact or fiction, probed the murky depths of criminal psychology or unraveled the twisted skeins of criminal deception. I wish you pleasure in the reading!

    J. J. McC.

    *The Roman Hat Mystery; The French Powder Mystery; Signet Books, The New American Library, Inc.

    CHARACTERS

    ABIGAIL DOORN a millionairess

    HULDA DOORN an heiress

    HENDRIK DOORN an ovis ebenus

    SARAH FULLER a companion

    DR. FRANCIS JANNEY a Head Surgeon

    DR. LUCIUS DUNNING a diagnostician

    EDITH DUNNING a sociologist

    DR. FLORENCE PENNINI an obstetrician

    DR. JOHN MINCHEN a Medical Director

    DR. ARTHUR LESLIE a surgeon

    DR. ROBERT GOLD an interne

    DR. EDWARD BYERS an anæsthetist

    LUCILLE PRICE a trained nurse

    GRACE OBERMANN a trained nurse

    MORITZ KNEISEL a genius

    JAMES PARADISE a superintendent

    ISAAC COBB a special

    PHILIP MOREHOUSE an attorney

    MICHAEL CUDAHY a racketeer

    THOMAS SWANSON a mystery

    LITTLE WILLIE, JOE GECKO, SNAPPER a bodyguard

    BRISTOL a butler

    PETE HARPER a newspaperman

    HENRY SAMPSON a District Attorney

    TIMOTHY CRONIN an assistant D. A.

    DR. SAMUEL PROUTY a Medical Examiner

    THOMAS VELIE a Detective-Sergeant

    LIEUTENANT RITCHIE a District Detective

    FLINT, RITTER, PIGGOTT, HESSE, JOHNSON a detective squad

    INSPECTOR RICHARD QUEEN a policeman

    ELLERY QUEEN an analyst

    Part One

    TALE OF TWO SHOES

    "There are only two detectives for whom I have felt, in my own capacity as hunter-of-men, any deeply underlying sympathy … transcending racial idiosyncrasies and overleaping barriers of space and time. …These two, strangely enough, present the weird contrast of unreality, of fantasm and fact. One has achieved luminous fame between the boards of books; the other as kin to a veritable policeman. …I refer, of course, to those imperishables—Mr. Sherlock Holmes of Baker Street, London, and Mr. Ellery Queen of West 87th Street, New York City."

    —from 30 YEARS ON THE TRAIL

    —by Dr. Max Pejchar *

    *Ed. Note: Viennese police-consultant

    Chapter One

    OPERATION

    INSPECTOR RICHARD QUEEN’S ALTER ego, which was in startling contrast with his ordinarily spry and practical old manner, often prompted him to utter didactic remarks on the general subject of criminology. These professorial dicta were habitually addressed to his son and partner-in-crime-detection, Ellery Queen, in moments when they browsed before their living-room fire, alone except for the slippery shadow of Djuna, the wraith-like gypsy lad who served their domestic needs.

    The first five minutes are the most important, the old man would say severely, remember that. It was his favorite theme. The first five minutes can save you a heap of trouble.

    And Ellery, reared from boyhood on a diet of detectival advice, would grunt and suck his pipe and stare into the fire, wondering how often a detective was fortunate enough to be on the scene of a crime within three hundred seconds of its commission.

    Here he would put his doubt into words, and the old man would nod sadly and agree—yes, it wasn’t very often that such luck came one’s way. By the time the investigator reached the scene the trail was cold, very cold. Then one did what one could to atone for the unsympathetic tardiness of fate. Djuna, hand me my snuff! …

    Ellery Queen was no more the fatalist than he was the determinist, or pragmatist, or realist. His sole compromise with isms and ologies was an implicit belief in the gospel of the intellect, which has assumed many names and many endings through the history of thought. Here he swung wide of the fundamental professionalism of Inspector Queen. He despised the institution of police informers as beneath the dignity of original thinking; he pooh-poohed police methods of detection with their clumsy limitations—the limitations of any rule-plagued organization. I’m one with Kant at least to this extent, he liked to say, that pure reason is the highest good of the human hodge-podge. For what one mind can conceive another mind can fathom …

    This was his philosophy in its simplest terms. He was very near to abandoning his faith during the investigation of Abigail Doorn’s murder. Perhaps for the first time in his sharply uncompromising intellectual career, doubt assailed him. Not doubt of his philosophy, which had proved itself many times over in former cases, but doubt of his mental capacity to unravel what another mind had conceived. Of course he was an egoist—bobbing my head vigorously with Descartes and Fichte, he used to remark … but for once in the extraordinary labyrinth of events surrounding the Doorn case he had overlooked fate, that troublesome trespasser on the private property of self-determination.

    Crime was on his mind that raw blue Monday morning in January, 192-, as he strode down a quiet street in the East Sixties. Heavy black ulster bundled about him, fedora pulled low over his forehead shading the cold gleam of his pince-nez glasses, stick cracking against the frosty pavement, he made for a low-slung group of buildings clustered solidly on the next block.

    This was an unusually vexing problem. Something must have occurred between the moment of death and rigor mortis. … His eyes were tranquil but the skin of his smooth brown cheek tightened and his stick struck the concrete with force.

    He crossed the street and made rapidly for the main entrance to the largest building of the group. Looming before him were the red granite steps of an immense curving stairway which rose from two distinct points of the pavement to meet on a stone platform above. Carved in stone over a huge iron-bolted double door appeared the legend:

    THE DUTCH MEMORIAL HOSPITAL

    He ran up the steps and, panting a little from his exertions, heaved on one of the big doors. He was looking into a serene, high-ceilinged vestibule. The floor was of white marble, the walls heavily coated with dull enamel. To his left was an open door displaying a white plaque marked: OFFICE. To his right was a door similarly marked: WAITING ROOM. Directly ahead, beyond the vestibule, he could see through a glass swinging door the grillwork of a large elevator, in the entrance to which sat an old man in spotless white.

    A burly, hard-jawed, red-faced man similarly dressed in white trousers and jacket, but wearing a black-visored cap, stepped out of the Office as Ellery paused to look around.

    Visitin’ hours from two t’ three, he said gruffly. Can’t see nobody in the Horspit’l till then, mister.

    Eh? Ellery plunged his gloved hands deeper into his pockets. I want to see Dr. Minchen. Quickly.

    The attendant rasped his jaw. Dr. Minchen, is it? D’ya have an appointment with th’ Doctor?

    Oh, he’ll see me, I said quickly, please. He fumbled in his pocket, brought out a piece of silver. Now get him, won’t you? I’m in the devil of a hurry.

    Can’t take tips, sir, said the attendant regretfully. And I’ll tell th’ Doctor who—?

    Ellery blinked his eyes, smiled, put the coin away. Ellery Queen. No tips, eh? What’s your name? Charon?

    The man looked dubious. No, sir. Isaac Cobb, sir. ‘Special.’ He indicated a nickel badge on his coat, shuffled off.

    Ellery stepped into the Waiting Room and sat down. The room was empty. He wrinkled his nose unconsciously. A faint odor of disinfectant pinched the sensitive membrane of his nostrils. The ferrule of his stick tapped nervously on the tiled floor.

    A tall athletic man in white burst into the room. Ellery Queen, by thunder! Ellery rose swiftly; they shook hands with warmth. What on earth brings you down here? Still snooping around?

    The customary thing, John. A case, murmured Ellery. Don’t like hospitals as a rule. They depress me. But I need some information—

    Only too glad to be of service. Dr. Minchen spoke incisively; he had very keen blue eyes and a quick smile. Grasping Ellery’s elbow he steered him through the door. But we can’t talk here, old man. Come into my office. I can always find time for a chat with you. Must be months since I’ve seen you. …

    They passed through the glass door and turned to the left, entering a long gleaming corridor lined on both sides with closed doors. The odor of disinfectant grew stronger.

    Shades of Aesculapius! gasped Ellery. Doesn’t this awful smell affect you at all? I should think you’d choke after a day in here.

    Dr. Minchen chuckled. They turned at the end of the corridor and strode along another at right angles to the one they had just traversed. You get used to it. And it’s better to inhale the stink of lysol, bichloride of mercury and alcohol than the insidious mess of bacteria floating about. … How’s the Inspector?

    Middling. Ellery’s eyes clouded. A stubborn little case just now—I’ve got everything but one detail. … If it’s what I think …

    Again they turned a corner, proceeding down a third hall parallel to the first through which they had passed. To their right, along the entire length of the corridor, there was blank wall broken only at one spot by a solid-looking door labeled: AMPHITHEATER GALLERY. To their left they passed in succession a door marked: DR. LUCIUS DUNNING, CHIEF INTERNIST; a little farther on another door inscribed: WAITING ROOM; and finally a third door at which Ellery’s companion halted, smiling. The door was lettered: DR. JOHN MINCHEN, MEDICAL DIRECTOR.

    It was a large, sparsely furnished room dominated by a desk. Several cabinets with metallic instruments gleaming on glass shelves stood against the walls. There were four chairs, a low wide bookcase filled with heavy volumes, a number of steel filing-cases.

    Sit down, take your coat off and let’s have it, said Minchen. He flung himself into the swivel-chair behind the desk, leaned backward, placed his square-fingered hard hands behind his head.

    Just one question, muttered Ellery, throwing his ulster over a chair and striding across the room. He leaned forward over the desk, stared earnestly at Minchen. "Are there any circumstances which will alter the length of time in which rigor mortis usually sets in?"

    Yes. What did the patient die of?

    Gunshot …

    Age?

    I should judge about forty-five.

    Pathology? I mean—any disease? Diabetes, for example?

    Not to my knowledge.

    Minchen rocked gently in his chair. Ellery retreated, sat down, groped for a cigarette.

    Here—have some of mine, said Minchen. … "Well, I’ll tell you, Ellery. Rigor mortis is tricky, and generally I should like to examine the body before making a decision. I asked about diabetes particularly because a person over forty affected by an excess saccharine condition in the blood will almost inevitably stiffen up after a violent death in about ten minutes—"

    Ten minutes? Good God! Ellery stared at Minchen, the cigarette drooping from his thin firm lips. Ten minutes, he repeated to himself softly. Diabetes. … John, let me use your ‘phone!

    Help yourself. Minchen waved, relaxed in his chair. Ellery snapped a number, spoke to two people, made connection with the Medical Examiner’s office. Prouty? Ellery Queen. … Did the autopsy on Jiminez show traces of sugar in the blood? … What? Chronic diabetic condition, eh? I’ll be damned!

    He replaced the receiver slowly, drew a long breath, grinned. The lines of strain had vanished from his face.

    All’s well that ends ill, John. You’ve rendered yeoman service this morning. One call more, and I’m through.

    He telephoned Police Headquarters. Inspector Queen … Dad? It’s O’Rourke … Positive. The broken leg. … Yes. Broken after death, but within ten minutes. … Right! … And so am I.

    Don’t go, Ellery, said Minchen genially. I’ve a bit of time on my hands and I haven’t seen you for ages.

    They sat back in their chairs, smoking. Ellery wore a singularly peaceful expression.

    Stay here all day, if you want me to. He laughed. You’ve just provided the straw that broke a stubborn camel’s back. … After all, I mustn’t be too harsh with myself. Not having studied the mysteries of the Galenic profession, I couldn’t possibly have known about diabetes.

    Oh, we’re not a total loss, said Minchen. "As a matter of fact, I had diabetes on my mind. Just about the most important personage in the Hospital—chronic case of diabetes mellitus—had a bad accident this morning on the premises. Nasty fall from the top of a flight of stairs. Rupture of the gall bladder and Janney’s getting ready to operate immediately."

    Too bad. Who is your first citizen?

    Abby Doorn. Minchen looked grave. She’s over seventy, and although she’s well preserved for her age the diabetic condition makes the operation for rupture fairly serious. The only compensating feature of the whole business is that she is in a coma, and anæsthesia won’t be necessary. We’ve all been expecting the old lady to go under the knife for mildly chronic appendicitis next month, but I know that Janney won’t touch the appendix this morning—just not to complicate her condition. It’s not so serious as I’m probably making it sound. If the patient weren’t Mrs. Doorn, Janney would consider the case interesting but nothing more. He consulted his wrist watch. Operation’s at 10:45—it’s almost 10:00 now—how would you like to witness Janney’s work?

    Well …

    He’s a marvel, you know. Best surgeon in the East. And Head Surgeon of the Dutch Memorial, partly because of Mrs. Doorn’s friendship and of course through his genius with the knife. Why not stay? Janney will pull her through—he’s operating in the Amphitheater across the corridor. Janney says she’ll be all right and when he says so, you can bank on it.

    I suppose I’m in for it, said Ellery ruefully. To tell the truth, I’ve never witnessed a surgical operation. Think I’ll have the horrors? I’m afraid I’m a wee bit squeamish, John. … They laughed. Millionaire, philanthropist, social dowager, financial power—damn the mortality of the flesh!

    It hits us all, mused Minchen, stretching his legs comfortably under the desk. Yes, Abigail Doorn. … I suppose you know she founded this Hospital, Ellery? Her idea, her money—really her institution. … We were all shocked, I can tell you. Janney more than the rest of us—she’s been fairy godmother to him practically all his life—sent him through Johns Hopkins—Vienna—the Sorbonne—just about made him what he is to-day. Naturally he insisted on operating, and naturally he’ll do the job. No finer nerves in the business.

    How did it happen? asked Ellery curiously.

    Fate, I guess. … You see, Monday mornings she always comes down here to inspect the Charity Wards—her pet idea—and as she was about to walk down a flight of steps on the third floor she went into a diabetic coma, fell down the stairs and landed on her abdomen. … Luckily Janney was here. Examined her at once, and even from a superficial examination saw that the gall bladder had been ruptured by the fall—abdomen swollen, bloated. … Well, there was only one thing to do. Janney began to give her the insulin-glucose emergency treatment. …

    What caused the coma?

    We’ve discovered it was negligence on the part of Mrs. Doorn’s companion, Sarah Fuller—middle-aged woman who has been with Abby for years, runs the house, keeps her company. You see, Abby’s condition called for an insulin injection three times a day. Janney’s always insisted on doing it himself, although in most cases of this sort even the patient may inject the insulin. Last night Janney was kept by a very important case, and as he usually did when he couldn’t run over to the Doorn house, he ’phoned for Hulda, Abby’s daughter. But Hulda wasn’t home, and he left word with this Fuller woman to tell Hulda when she got in to administer the insulin. Fuller woman forgot or something. Abby is generally careless about it—the result was the dose wasn’t given last night. Hulda slept late this morning, never knowing of Janney’s message, and again this morning Abby didn’t get her injection. And on top of it ate a hearty breakfast. The breakfast finished the job. Sugar content in her blood quickly overbalanced the insulin, and coma inevitably followed. As luck would have it, it struck her at the top of a flight of stairs. And there you are.

    Sad! murmured Ellery. I suppose everybody’s been notified? There’ll be a sweet family party here, I’ll wager.

    Not in the operating-room, there won’t, said Minchen grimly. The whole kit and boodle of ’em will be in the Waiting Room next door. Family’s barred from the theater, don’t you know that? Well! How’d you like to take a little walk around? Love to show you the place. If I do say so, it’s a model of hospitalization.

    With you, John.

    They left Minchen’s office and walked down the North Corridor the way they had come. Minchen pointed out the door to the Amphitheater Gallery, from which they would later view the operation; and the door to the Waiting Room. Some of the Doorn crowd are probably in there now, commented Minchen. Can’t have ’em wandering around. … Two auxiliary operating-rooms off the West Corridor, he went on as they rounded the corner. We’re pretty busy at all times—have one of the largest surgical staffs in the East. … Across the corridor, on the left here, is the main operating-room—called the Amphitheater—which has two special rooms, an Anteroom and an Anæsthesia Room. As you can see, there’s a door to the Anteroom off this corridor—the West—and another entrance, to the Anæsthesia Room, around the corner in the South Corridor. … Amphitheater’s where the big operations take place; it’s also used for demonstration purposes to the internes and nurses. Of course, we have other operating-rooms upstairs.

    The Hospital was strangely quiet. Occasionally a white-garbed figure flitted through the long halls. Noise seemed to have been entirely eliminated; doors swung on heavily oiled hinges and made no sound when they slipped shut. A soft diffused light bathed

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