“I thought I heard a sound—” He flung the door open. The early morning sun streamed in. Then they saw him stoop and pick up something from the porch and rise and look swiftly about outside. But he shook his head and stepped back, closing the door.

  “Package,” he said with a frown. “I thought some one…”

  They looked blankly at the brown-paper bundle in his hands. “Package?” asked Mrs. Owen. Her face lit up. “Oh, it may be from Richard!” And then the light went out, to be replaced by fearful pallor. “Oh, do you think—?”

  “It’s addressed,” said Ellery slowly, “to you, Mrs. Owen. No stamp, no postmark, written in pencil in disguised block-letters. I think I’ll take the liberty of opening this, Mrs. Owen.” He broke the feeble twine and tore away the wrapping of the crude parcel. And then he frowned even more deeply. For the package contained only a pair of large men’s shoes, worn at the heels and soles—sport oxfords in tan and white.

  Mrs. Owen rolled her eyes, her nostrils quivering with nausea. “Richard’s!” she gasped. And she sank back, half-fainting.

  “Indeed?” murmured Ellery. “How interesting. Not, of course, the shoes he wore Friday night. You’re positive they’re his, Mrs. Owen?”

  “Oh, he has been kidnaped!” quavered Mrs. Mansfield “from the rear doorway. “Isn’t there a note, b-blood…”

  “Nothing but the shoes. I doubt the kidnap theory now, Mrs. Mansfield. These weren’t the shoes Owen wore Friday night. When did you see these last, Mrs. Owen?”

  She moaned: “In his wardrobe closet upstairs only yesterday afternoon. Oh—”

  “There. You see?” said Ellery cheerfully. “Probably stolen from the closet while we were all unconscious last night. And now returned rather spectacularly. So far, you know, there’s been no harm done. I’m afraid,” he said with severity, “we’re nursing a viper at our bosoms.”

  But they did not laugh. Miss Willowes said strangely: “Very odd. In fact, insane Mr. Queen. I can’t see the slightest purpose in it.”

  “Nor I, at the moment. Somebody’s either playing, a monstrous prank, or there’s a devilishly clever and warped mentality behind all this.” He retrieved his hat and made for the door.

  “Wherever are you going?” gasped Mrs. Gardner.

  “Oh, out for a thinking spell under God’s blue canopy. But remember,” he added quietly, “that’s a privilege reserved to detectives. No one is to set foot outside this house.”

  He returned an hour later without explanation.

  At noon they found the second package. It was a squarish parcel wrapped in the same brown paper. Inside there was a cardboard carton, and in the carton, packed in crumpled tissue-paper, there were two magnificent toy sailing-boats such as children race on summer lakes. The package was addressed to Miss Willowes.

  “This is getting dreadful,” murmured Mrs. Gardner, her full lips trembling. “I’m all goose-pimples.”

  “I’d feel better,” muttered Miss Willowes, “if it was a bloody dagger, or something. Toy boats!” She stepped back and her eyes narrowed. “Now, look here, good people, I’m as much a sport as anybody, but a joke’s a joke and I’m just a bit fed up on this particular one. Who’s manœuvring these monkeyshines?”

  “Joke,” snarled Gardner. He was white as death. “It’s the work of a madman, I tell you!”

  “Now, now,” murmured Ellery, staring at the green-and-cream boats. “We shan’t get anywhere this way. Mrs. Owen, have you ever seen these before?”

  Mrs. Owen, on the verge of collapse, mumbled: “Oh, my good dear God. Mr. Queen, I don’t—Why, they’re—they’re Jonathan’s!”

  Ellery blinked. Then he went to the foot of the stairway and yelled: “Johnny! Come down here a minute.”

  Master Jonathan descended sluggishly, sulkily. “What you want?” he asked in a cold voice.

  “Come here, son.” Master Jonathan came with dragging feet. “When did you see these boats of yours last?”

  “Boats!” shrieked Master Jonathan, springing into life. He pounced on them and snatched them away, glaring at Ellery. “My boats! Never seen such a place. My boats! You stole ’em!”

  “Come, come,” said Ellery, flushing, “be a good little man. When did you see them last?”

  “Yest’day! In my toy-chest! My boats! Scan’lous,” hissed Master Jonathan, and fled upstairs, hugging his boats to his scrawny breast.

  “Stolen at the same time,” said Ellery helplessly. “By thunder, Miss Willowes, I’m almost inclined to agree with you. By the way, who bought those boats for your son, Mrs. Owen?”

  “H-his father.”

  “Damn,” said Ellery for the second time that impious Sunday, and he sent them all on a search of the house to ascertain if anything else were missing. But no one could find that anything had been taken.

  It was when they came down from upstairs that they found Ellery regarding a small white envelope with puzzlement.

  “Now what?” demanded Gardner wildly.

  “Stuck in the door,” he said thoughtfully. “Hadn’t noticed it before. This is a queer one.”

  It was a rich piece of stationery, sealed with blue wax on the back and bearing the same pencilled scrawl, this time addressed to Mrs. Mansfield.

  The old lady collapsed in the nearest chair, holding her hand to her heart. She was speechless with fear.

  “Well,” said Mrs. Gardner huskily, “open it.”

  Ellery tore open the envelope. His frown deepened. “Why,” he muttered, “there’s nothing at all inside!”

  Gardner gnawed his fingers and turned away, mumbling. Mrs. Gardner shook her head like a dazed pugilist and stumbled toward the bar for the fifth time that day. Emmy Willowes’s brow was dark as thunder.

  “You know,” said Mrs. Owen almost quietly, “that’s mother’s stationery. And there was another silence.

  Ellery muttered: “Queerer and queerer. I must get this organized….The shoes are a puzzler. The toy boats might be construed as a gift; yesterday was Jonathan’s birthday; the boats are his—a distorted practical joke….” He shook his head. “Doesn’t wash. And this third—an envelope without a letter in it. That would seem to point to the envelope as the important thing. But the envelope’s the property of Mrs. Mansfield. The only other thing—ah, the wax!” He scanned the blue blob on the back narrowly, but it bore no seal-insignia of any kind.

  “That,” said Mrs. Owen again in the quiet unnatural voice, “looks like our wax, too, Mr. Queen, from the library.”

  Ellery dashed away, followed by a troubled company. Mrs. Owen went to the library desk and opened the top drawer.

  “Was it here?” asked Ellery quickly.

  “Yes,” she said, and then her voice quivered. “I used it only Friday when I wrote a letter. Oh, good…”

  There was no stick of wax in the drawer.

  And while they stared at the drawer, the front doorbell rang.

  It was a market-basket this time, lying innocently on the porch. In it, nestling crisp and green, were two large cabbages.

  Ellery shouted for Gardner and Millan, himself led the charge down the steps. They scattered, searching wildly through the brush and woods surrounding the house. But they found nothing. No sign of the bell-ringer, no sign of the ghost who had cheerfully left a basket of cabbages at the door as his fourth odd gift. It was as if he were made of smoke and materialized only for the instant he needed to press his impalpable finger to the bell.

  They found the women huddled in a corner of the living room, shivering and white-lipped. Mrs. Mansfield, shaking like an aspen, was at the telephone ringing for the local police. Ellery started to protest, shrugged, set his lips, and stooped over the basket.

  There was a slip of paper tied by string to the handle of the basket. The same crude pencil-scrawl….“Mr. Paul Gardner.”

  “Looks,” muttered Ellery, “as if you’re elected, old fellow, this time.”

  Gardner stared as if he could not believe his eyes. “Cabbages!”

  “Excuse me,” said Ellery curtly. He went away. When he returned he was shrugging. “From the vegetable-bin in the outside pantry, says Cook. She hadn’t thought to look for missing vegetables, she told me with scorn.”

  Mrs. Mansfield was babbling excitedly over the telephone to a sorely puzzled officer of the law. When she hung up she was red as a newborn baby. “That will be quite enough of this crazy nonsense, Mr. Queen!” she snarled. And then she collapsed in a chair and laughed hysterically and shrieked: “Oh, I knew you were making the mistake of your life when you married that beast, Laura!” and laughed again like a madwoman.

  The law arrived in fifteen minutes, accompanied by a howling siren and personified by a stocky brick-faced man in chief’s stripes and a gangling young policeman.

  “I’m Naughton,” he said shortly. “What the devil’s goin’ on here?”

  Ellery said: “Ah, Chief Naughton. I’m Queen’s son—Inspector Richard Queen of Centre Street. How d’ye do?”

  “Oh!” said Naughton. He turned on Mrs. Mansfield sternly. “Why didn’t you say Mr. Queen was here, Mrs. Mansfield? You ought to know—”

  “Oh, I’m sick of the lot of you!” screamed the old lady. “Nonsense, nonsense, nonsense from the instant this weekend began! First that awful actress-woman there, in her short skirt and legs and things, and then this—this—”

  Naughton rubbed his chin. “Come over here, Mr. Queen, where we can talk like human beings. What the deuce happened?”

  Ellery with a sigh told him. As he spoke, the Chief’s face grew redder and redder. “You mean you’re serious about this business?” he rumbled at last. “It sounds plain crazy to me. Mr. Owen’s gone off his nut and he’s playing jokes on you people. Good God, you can’t take this thing serious!”

  “I’m afraid,” murmured Ellery, “we must….What’s that? By heaven, if that’s another manifestation of our playful ghost—!” And he dashed toward the door while Naughton gaped and pulled it open, to be struck by a wave of dusk. On the porch lay the fifth parcel, a tiny one this time.

  The two officers darted out of the house, flashlights blinking and probing. Ellery picked up the packet with eager fingers. It was addressed in the now familiar scrawl to Mrs. Paul Gardner. Inside were two identically shaped objects: chessmen, kings. One was white and the other was black.

  “Who plays chess here?” he drawled.

  “Richard,” shrieked Mrs. Owen. “Oh, my God, I’m going mad!”

  Investigation proved that the two kings from Richard Owen’s chess-set were gone.

  The local officers came back, rather pale and panting. They had found no one outside. Ellery was silently studying the two chessmen.

  “Well?” said Naughton, drooping his shoulders.

  “Well,” said Ellery quietly. “I have the most brilliant notion, Naughton. Come here a moment.” He drew Naughton aside and began to speak rapidly in a low voice. The others stood limply about, twitching with nervousness. There was no longer any pretense of self-control. If this was a joke, it was a ghastly one indeed. And Richard Owen looming in the background…

  The Chief blinked and nodded. “You people,” he said shortly, turning to them, “get into that library there.” They gaped. “I mean it! The lot of you. This tomfoolery is going to stop right now.”

  “But, Naughton,” gasped Mrs. Mansfield, “it couldn’t be any of us who sent those things. Mr. Queen will tell you. we weren’t out of his sight today—”

  “Do as I say, Mrs. Mansfield,” snapped the officer.

  They trooped, puzzled, into the library. The policeman rounded up Millan, the cook, the maid, and went with them. Nobody said anything; nobody looked at any one else. Minutes passed; a half-hour; an hour. There was the silence of the grave from beyond the door to the living room. They strained their ears….

  At seven-thirty the door was jerked open and Ellery and the Chief glowered in on them. “Everybody out,” said Naughton shortly. “Come on, step on it.”

  “Out?” whispered Mrs. Owen. “Where? Where is Richard? What—”

  The policeman herded them out. Ellery stepped to the door of the den and pushed it open and switched on the light and stood aside.

  “Will you please come in here and take seats,” he said dryly; there was a tense look on his face and he seemed exhausted.

  Silently, slowly, they obeyed. The policeman dragged in extra chairs from the living room. They sat down. Naughton drew the shades. The policeman closed the door and set his back against it.

  Ellery said tonelessly: “In a way this has been one of the most remarkable cases in my experience. It’s been unorthodox from every angle. Utterly nonconforming. I think, Miss Willowes, the wish you expressed Friday night has come true. You’re about to witness a slightly cock-eyed exercise in criminal ingenuity.”

  “Crim—” Mrs. Gardner’s full lips quivered. “You mean—there’s been a crime?”

  “Quiet,” said Naughton harshly.

  “Yes,” said Ellery in gentle tones, “there has been a crime. I might say—I’m sorry to say, Mrs. Owen—a major crime.”

  “Richard’s d—”

  “I’m sorry.” There was a little silence. Mrs. Owen did not weep; she seemed dried out of tears. “Fantastic,” said Ellery at last. “Look here.” He sighed. “The crux of the problem was the clock. The Clock That Wasn’t Where It Should Have Been, the clock with the invisible face. You remember I pointed out that, since I hadn’t seen the reflection of the luminous hands in that mirror there, the clock must have been moved. That was a tenable theory. But it wasn’t the only theory.”

  “Richard’s dead,” said Mrs. Owen, in a wondering voice.

  “Mr. Gardner,” continued Ellery quickly, “pointed out one possibility: that the clock may still have been over this door, but that something or some one may have been standing in front of the mirror. I told you why that was impossible. But,” and he went suddenly to the tall mirror, “there was still another theory which accounted for the fact that I hadn’t seen the luminous hands’ reflection. And that was: that when I opened the door in the dark and peered in and saw nothing, the clock was still there but the mirror wasn’t!”

  Miss Willowes said with a curious dryness: “But how could that be, Mr. Queen? That—that’s silly.”

  “Nothing is silly, dear lady, until it is proved so. I said to myself: How could it be that the mirror wasn’t there at that instant? It’s apparently a solid part of the wall, a built-in section in this modern room.” Something glimmered in Miss Willowes’s eyes. Mrs. Mansfield was staring straight before her, hands clasped tightly in her lap. Mrs. Owen was looking at Ellery with glazed eyes, blind and deaf. “Then,” said Ellery with another sigh, “there was the very odd nature of the packages which have been descending upon us all day like manna from heaven. I said this was a fantastic affair. Of course it must have occurred to you that some one was trying desperately to call our attention to the secret of the crime.”

  “Call our at—” began Gardner, frowning.

  “Precisely. Now, Mrs. Owen,” murmured Ellery softly, “The first package was addressed to you. What did it contain?” She stared at him without expression. There was a dreadful silence. Mrs. Mansfield suddenly shook her, as if she had been a child. She started, smiled vaguely; Ellery repeated the question.

  And she said, almost brightly: “A pair of Richard’s sport oxfords.”

  He winced. “In a word, shoes. Miss Willowes,” and despite her nonchalance she stiffened a little, “you were the recipient of the second package. And what did that contain?”

  “Jonathan’s toy boats,” she murmured.

  “In a word, again—ships. Mrs. Mansfield, the third package was sent to you. It contained what, precisely?”

  “Nothing.” She tossed her head. “I still think this is the purest drivel. Can’t you see you’re driving my daughter—all of us—insane? Naughton, are you going to permit this farce to continue? If you know what’s happened to Richard, for goodness’ sake tell us!”

  “Answer the question,” said Naughton with a scowl.

  “Well,” she said defiantly, “a silly envelope, empty, and sealed with our own wax.”

  “And again in a word,” drawled Ellery, “sealing-wax. Now, Gardner, to you fell the really whimsical fourth bequest. It was—?”

  “Cabbage,” said Gardner with an uncertain grin.

  “Cabbages, my dear chap; there were two of them. And finally, Mrs. Gardner, you received what?”

  “Two chessmen,” she whispered.

  “No, no. Not just two chessmen, Mrs. Gardner. Two things.” Ellery’s gray eyes glittered. “In other words, in the order named we were bombarded with gifts…” he paused and looked at them, and continued softly, “ ‘of shoes and ships and sealing-wax, of cabbages and kings.’ ”

  There was the most extraordinary silence. Then Emmy Willowes gasped: “The Walrus and the Carpenter. Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland!”

  “I’m ashamed of you, Miss Willowes. Where precisely does Tweedledee’s Walrus speech come in Carroll’s duology?”

  A great light broke over her eager features. “Through the Looking Glass!”

  “Through the Looking Glass,” murmured Ellery in the crackling silence that followed. “And do you know what the subtitle of Through the Looking Glass is?”

  She said in an awed voice: “And What Alice Found There.”

  “A perfect recitation, Miss Willowes. We were instructed, then, to go through the looking glass and, by inference, find something on the other side connected with the disappearance of Richard Owen. Quaint idea, eh?” He leaned forward and said brusquely: “Let me revert to my original chain of reasoning. I said that a likely theory was that the mirror didn’t reflect the luminous hands because the mirror wasn’t there. But since the wall at any rate is solid, the mirror itself must be movable to have been shifted out of place. How was this possible? Yesterday I sought for two hours to find the secret of that mirror—or should I say…looking glass?” Their eyes went with horror to the tall mirror set in the wall, winking back at them in the glitter of the bulbs. “And when I discovered the secret, I looked through the looking glass and what do you suppose I—a clumsy Alice, indeed!—found there?”