Inspector Queen’s Own Case by Ellery Queen Page A

had been dead such a long time, Jessie felt her pulse quicken … This, this was so different. Working over a kitchen sink and drainboard side by side. She couldn’t visualize herself doing that with Clem. Clem had meant excitement, a life of high spots and crises, and long stretches of loneliness. This quiet man, with his fine-boned face and gray brush of mustache, his reserve of strength and knowledge about ordinary people—it was hard to think of anything they couldn’t do together, the everyday little things that made up a life. And she could be very proud of him, she knew that instinctively. Proud and complete … I mustn’t let myself run on this way! Jessie thought despairingly.
    â€œYou’re tired,” Richard Queen said, looking at her. “I think, Jessie, I’m going to send you to bed.”
    â€œOh, no,” Jessie cried. “I’m enjoying this so much. I want to tell you everything that’s happened in the past few days, Richard. Please.”
    â€œAll right. But just for a few minutes. Then up you go.”
    He put the dish towel over the towel bar to dry, and they went into the little living room. He sat her down in the most comfortable chair, lit her cigaret for her, and listened noncommittally while she told him about Sarah Humffrey’s suicide attempt and the substance of her conversation with Alton Humffrey. He made no comment beyond, “He’s a queer duck, all right,” and then he said, “Time’s up, Miss Sherwood.”
    â€œBut aren’t we going to talk about your plans?”
    â€œNot tonight.”
    â€œThen how about mine?”
    He laughed. “I’ve made six-foot police sergeants shake in my time, but I guess I’ll never learn how to handle a woman. All right, Jessie, shoot.”
    â€œI’m coming with you.”
    â€œI know that.”
    â€œYou don’t!” Jessie said, piqued.
    â€œI’m not flattered,” he said dryly. “I didn’t do it. It’s Alton Humffrey who’s made up your mind.”
    â€œWell, it’s true I don’t like to be threatened,” Jessie said, pinching her skirt down, “but that’s not the only reason.”
    â€œThe baby.”
    â€œ And other reasons.”
    The old man looked at her searchingly. “It might not be a picnic, Jessie.” He got up suddenly and began to walk about. “In fact, I’m wondering if I haven’t let you in for something risky out of plain selfishness. This is a very peculiar case. Why was the baby murdered? While Frost was a suspect, with his inheritance motive, it made some sort of crazy sense. With Frost eliminated, the Humffrey fortune doesn’t seem to be involved. So the motive must lie in a different direction. Do you see a lead, Jessie?”
    â€œI’ve thought about it, too,” Jessie said quietly. “The only thing I can think of is that it must be connected with Michael’s adoption.”
    â€œAh,” the Inspector said, and he sat down again, eagerly. “You saw that. Where does it take you, Jessie?”
    â€œIt may have something to do with the real parents. You know, Richard, neither side knows who the other side is. The whole adoption was handled by a lawyer acting for both sides.”
    He nodded. “A lawyer named A. Burt Finner. That was his name, wasn’t it?”
    â€œYes. Do you know him?”
    â€œI know of him. He’s a clever shyster who specializes in black-marketing babies for people who either can’t swing a legitimate adoption or for some reason would rather handle it under the counter. If Humffrey’s had dealings with him, it’s probably because Finner guarantees no trouble and no publicity. The important thing, Jessie, is that Finner knows the real parentage of that baby. So that’s where we start.”
    â€œWith Finner?”
    â€œWith Finner.”
    â€œBut if the real parents don’t know