A fine and Private Place

* * *

The second communication came in the same kind of envelope as the first, and it was similarly addressed to Inspector Queen. This one, however, yielded no playing card, half or whole. Instead, it contained a small sheet of cheap white paper, 4 inches by 5%, which under magnification revealed fragments of glue and red cloth binding on one of the short edges. The paper was unwatermarked.

“This sheet,” the laboratory report said, “was torn off an ordinary memorandum pad of the type purchasable for 100 at any stationery, drug, or 5 and 10 cent store. It would be impossible to trace to its retail outlet, and even if it could be so traced… “

What was block lettered in capitals by ballpoint pen on the little sheet radiated no more light than the lab report: one of nino’s boyhood pals became supreme court justice.

Unsigned.

The brass jury weighing the evidence of their eyes brought in a verdict of nol pros for Richard Queen; by this time briefed through the father by the son, they had come themselves to recognize the 9 manship of the message even though its import conveyed absolutely nothing to any of them, including the briefer. So one of Nino’s boyhood pals had made it all the way to the United States Supreme Court. Good for him, whoever he is, as the Deputy Commissioner in charge of Legal Matters commented sourly, but I ask you, what of it? (No one considered for an instant that the Supreme Court referred to might be the Supreme Court of New York State, or of some other state, for that matter. After all, there was only one famous Supreme Court composed of 9 members.)

And the message itself contained 9 words.

“You know something?” the First Deputy Commissioner said. “Goddamit.”

Nevertheless, sheer technique dictated that an inquiry be launched officially, all police inquiries were launched into “Nino’s boyhood pals” and their ultimate destinations in life; and an investigation to that end was so ordered.

* * *

The third message was reminiscent of the first in that the envelope contained a new, red backed Bicycle playing card.

But this time it was a whole card.

The 9 of hearts.

“I’ll bite,” Inspector Queen growled. “What does the 9 of hearts mean in fortune telling?”

“Usually,” Ellery replied, “disappointment.”

“Disappointment? What’s that supposed to mean? Whose disappointment?”

“He may be trying to tell us,” Ellery said, pulling his nose so hard it brought tears to his eyes, “that it’s going to be ours.”

* * *

The next communication reverted to the more intelligible direct message: early career nino semipro shortstop binghamton new york team.

“Did Importuna ever play semipro ball?” the Inspector wanted to know.

“Are you asking me?” Ellery cried. “I don’t know!” His responses tended to be uttered these days in very loud tones, as if he, or the world, or both, were going deaf.

“Just thinking out loud, son. Baseball teams take the field with ”

“With 9 men, yes. I’ve already seen that, thank you.”

“And the message ”

“Composed of 9 words again. I’ve seen that, too. What I don’t see is what all this means. Where it’s going. ”

Memorandum to R. Queen, Inspector, from Lew B. Malawan, chief of detectives: Institute investigation baseball career Nino Importuna or Tullio Importunato.

“It’s catching,” the Inspector groaned. “9 words!”

* * *

The pattern persisted. The following message was again delivered in terms of a playing card, apparently from the same deck.

This time it was the 9 of spades.

“Grief,” Ellery said.

“You’re telling me?” the Inspector said. “But what I meant was, what’s the 9 of spades mean?”

“I just told you. Grief.”

“It means grief? That’s all?”

“Well, obviously, grief for somebody.”

“Who?”

“Whom,” Ellery said. “I can’t imagine. Or maybe I can. Virginia Importuna? After all, she did find herself divested of a husband in a particularly nasty way.”

“But that doesn’t get us anywhere, Ellery.”

“I know. On the other hand, dad, I don’t suppose the killer who’s sending all these messages is especially eager for us to get anywhere. It’s likelier he’s trying to drive us into Loony Park.”

“I think that’s exactly what he’s trying to do. For the ducks of it.”

“I couldn’t agree less.”

“You just said he was!”

“Do you believe everything people say? These messages have a more rational purpose a more practical one than playing ring a lievio with the New York City Police Department. But the trouble is… for the life of me… Oh, hell, dad, I’m going back home and tackle my novel again.”

“That thing still hanging around?” his father asked coldly.

Ellery slunk out. nino’s palm springs rancho has excellent private golf course.

Same type of envelope, same kind of paper, same capital lettering in similar ink by the same sort of pen.

No clues.

Nothing to follow up.

“Reads like a blasted real estate agent’s ad,” Ellery grumbled. “You see what he’s driving at in this one, of course?”

“What am I, a dumdum? A 9 year old I mean a kid could figure it out,” the Inspector said glumly. “Private golf courses usually have 9 holes.”

“But even if Nino’s has 18 ”

“I know, Ellery, 1 and 8 make 9.”

“And exactly 9 words again in the message. God!” Ellery implored with no trace or tinge of impiety. “I wish … I wish I knew why this character is doing this!”

* * *

If the latest message smacked of real estate advertising, its successor ranged far, far afield by accusation, at least, into the competence of Baron Richard von Krafft Ebing: nino got his jollies cat of nine tails whippings.

“The question is,” Ellery ruminated aloud, “does the late Mr. Importuna rest accused of being a devotee of Sacher Masoch or of le Comte de Sade?”

“Wouldn’t this make a juicy bit for the newshounds,” the Inspector said, shaking his head. “Do you suppose it’s true?”

“How should I know?” Ellery asked crossly. “I wasn’t privy to the secrets of Importuna’s bedroom. Although why not? When you’ve got $500,000,000 to play around with, a conventional sex life might well seem too parochial. I wonder if this guy doesn’t know any better, or cuts his cloth to measure.”

“Sometimes you sound like a flea in a foreign dictionary,” his father complained. “If who doesn’t know any better?”

“The lad who’s sending you all these informative messages. ‘Nino got his jollies cat of nine tails whippings.’ Note what he does. To get four of the 9 words he wants in this one, he separates the compound word cat o ’ ninetails into its four components. I consequently ask, Doesn’t he know any better, or was it a deliberate mistake of convenience? Not that it matters. But I’m desperate. Aren’t you?”

“I’ll buy that.” Inspector Queen rose with the new message protected by a manila envelope. “Oh. Ellery, one thing. Why the devil is it called ca￡ o’ nine tails?”

“Because the marks left on the victim’s skin after a flogging, by the 9 cords that constitute the whip, are supposed to resemble scratches from a cat’s claws. Of course, I don’t testify to that as either a participant or an eyewitness. It’s strictly hearsay.”

“Then the hell with it.” And Inspector Queen left his office to report this latest development, stomping as he went.

“Wait! Cat? 9 lives? ” Ellery cried to his father’s dwindling back. “Don’t forget to mention that one!”