A fine and Private Place

* * *

The first of the anonymous messages (they could not be classified as anonymous letters since some were not written communications) arrived by first class mail on the morning of Tuesday, September 19. It had been posted the previous day the date on the envelope was September 18 somewhere in the area served by the Grand Central postal station. The envelope was the ordinary medium sized stamped type purchasable at any United States post office from Maine to Hawaii. It was addressed to Inspector Richard Queen, New York Police Department, Centre Street, New York, N.Y. 10013. The address had been inscribed, the experts said, by one of the hundreds of millions of blue ink ball point pens in daily use throughout the civilized world, and for that matter in some places not civilized. The writing was not script, which might have given them something to work on, but block printed capital letters so meticulously featureless that they had no distinguishable character whatever and consequently provided nothing at all to work on.

The first comment Inspector Queen made when he saw the contents of the envelope was, “Why me?” The question was not altogether Joblike, in spite of the “0 Lord” he was tempted to tack onto it. There were numerous other department brass involved in the Importuna investigation, some considerably more elevated in the hierarchy of command than Richard Queen. “Why me?” indeed? It seemed to portend fine deductions if only its inner meaning could be penetrated. But no one was to answer it until Ellery answered the other questions, too.

Curiously, there was not the smallest hesitation on the part of the Inspector in connecting the September 18th communication, cryptic as it appeared to the uninitiated, with the Importuna murder. He linked them instantly, without benefit of Ellery, so well had he been briefed in the 9 ness of the case.

The Grand Central Station point of origin led nowhere (although later after Ellery pointed out that its zip code was 10017, and that in all likelihood future messages from the anonymous sender would come through post offices whose zip codes also added up to 9 there were hopes that stakeouts at such stations might result in a lucky grab. Succeeding messages from Anonymous did indeed come through the Triborough station, 10035, the Church Street station, 10008, and the Morningside station, 10026, but Anonymous remained ungrabbed).

No fingerprints or other identifiable marks were found on the contents of any of the envelopes. As for the envelopes themselves, what latents the print men developed could not be matched with the finger impressions of anyone directly or indirectly connected with Importuna, the Importunatos, or Importuna Industries. They were eventually proved to have got on the envelopes through routine handling by specific postmen and postal clerks. An automatic check out of the civil service employees involved turned up none with even a remote link to the Importuna family or organization.

When it was generally acknowledged that the first communication (“If you can call it that!” Inspector Queen groused to one of his superiors) was from the murderer they were massively seeking, the order came down from on high to keep its arrival and contents, indeed its very existence, confidential within the department, and even there only on a restricted need to know basis. Word was passed along from the office of the First Deputy Commissioner himself that any violation of this order resulting in a leak to the press or broadcast media would immediately be turned over to the Deputy Commissioner Trials for severe disciplinary action. When other messages in the vein of the first were received, the injunction was repeated in even stronger terms.

* * *

What Inspector Queen pulled out of the commonplace envelope bearing the Grand Central Station postmark that morning of September 19 was part of a quite remarkable, crisp, never played with Bicycle brand playing card with the red design on the back. What was remarkable about it was that the card had, with great care, been torn in half from side to side.

It was half a 9 of clubs.

The instant the Inspector spotted the figure 9 in the corner, a vision of 9 pips on a whole 9 of clubs flashed through his head. Thereupon he handled the half card as if it had been presoaked in a solution guaranteed to kill on contact.

“It’s from Importuna’s killer,” the Inspector said to Ellery, who had winged to his father’s office at the old man’s call. “The 9 card tells us that.”

“Not only the 9 card.”

“There’s something else?” his father said, nettled. He had expected a pat on the back for having learned his lesson so well.

“When was this mailed?”

“September 18, according to the postmark.”

“The 9th month. And 18 adds up to 9. And I point out further,” Ellery went on, “that Importuna was murdered on the 9th of September 9 days before this was mailed.”

The Inspector clasped his head. “I know I’m going to wake up any minute!… All right,” he said, taking hold of himself. “A 9 of clubs torn in half. The 9’s as good as a trademark all by itself. I admit it, I admit the 9 days business, everything! This has to do with the Importuna case, no question about it. Only what, son, what?”

The silver eyes of the younger Queen held a glitter of high adventure. “Didn’t you ever have your fortune told by cards in Coney Island?”

“Coney Island.” His father chomped on the words as if he tasted them and they tasted foul. “Fortune telling… No!”

“Fortune telling yes. Each card of the 52 in the deck has its individual meaning, not duplicated by any of the others. For example, the 5 of diamonds in the modern referent system means a telegram. The jack of hearts indicates a preacher. The ace of spades ”

“I know that one, thanks,” the Inspector said grimly. “What’s the 9 of clubs supposed to mean?”

“Last warning.”

“Last warning ?” The Inspector chewed on it in a surprised way.

“But this doesn’t mean last warning, dad.”

“Make up your mind, son, will you? First you say it means last warning, then you say it doesn’t mean last warning! Ellery, I’m in no mood for jokes!”

“I’m not joking. It means last warning when it’s a whole 9 of clubs. But this one was torn in half. When a card is torn in half its meaning is reversed. That’s the rule.”

“The rule… reversed.” The Inspector looked dazed. “You mean… like… first warning?”

“That seems obvious.”

“It does? Why? First warning about what?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“You can’t? Why not?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? Ellery, you can’t march into my office and get off a lot of of stuff about fortune telling, and then leave me with my tonsils hanging out! I’ve got to make a report on this.”

“I wish I could help you, dad. But I simply have no idea what he’s warning you about. First or last.”

The Inspector muttered, “Helpful Henry!” and hurried off with his mysterious clue to his fated rendezvous at Golgotha. It was only late that night, tossing from one side of his bed to the other, when he could no longer hide the memory of the day’s subsequent developments, that it popped up in all its hideous clarity. Last warning… cut in half means first warning… What does that mean, Queen?… I don’t know what it means, sir… Doesn’t that weirdo I mean that son of yours have an opinion, Queen? This is his weirdo kind of case… No, sir, Ellery doesn’t… Those growling executive voices and those concrete executive faces would constitute the stuff of many a future nightmare.