The Mystery of the Vanished Victim

By Ellery Queen

A strange bird leads Gully to a bloody mystery at the United Nations

Gully Queen is lounging around the apartment of his uncle, the world-famous sleuth Ellery Queen, when a knock comes at the door. It is Ellery’s neighbor, a harmless old man, with a beautiful mynah bird perched on his shoulder. He wants Ellery to find out where the bird came from, but Ellery is out of town, so the case falls to his nephew Gully. The bird says but one thing: “Katal! Katal!” Gully is baffled— until he learns that an Indian diplomat’s bodyguard has vanished from his hotel room, and that in Hindi, katal means “kill.”
 
Searching for the bird’s owner takes Gully to the United Nations, where two Indian boys join the hunt for the missing guard. Together, they will find themselves in the thick of an adventure faster than you can say katal!
 
Ellery Queen is one of the world’s finest detectives, but his adventures are nothing compared to the Ellery Queen Jr. Mystery Stories. Join Queen’s nephew, Gully, on adventures filled with danger, suspense, and thrills.
 
The Mystery of the Vanished Victim is the eleventh book in the Ellery Queen Jr. Mystery Stories, but you may enjoy reading the series in any order.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Media
• Release date: Mar 10, 2015
• ISBN: 9781504004022

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.

Book preview

1. KATAL!

THAT fateful morning Gulliver Queen was doing an unusual thing for a teenager spending his summer vacation with city relatives. Other boys were out in the park or headed for the beach, but Gully was hanging around his uncle’s study hoping the telephone would ring.

Gully had no particular reason to believe that it would ring. But when your grandfather is Inspector Queen of the New York police department and your uncle is Ellery Queen, the famous private detective and author, anything could happen—and Gulliver Queen meant to be right there when it did.

The trouble with cases was that they sometimes sneaked up on a fellow.

As this one did.

The telephone did not ring at all. Someone knocked on the apartment door.

It’s probably a grocery delivery, Gully thought in disgust; and he trudged through the living room to the foyer shouting to the Queens’ housekeeper, who was working in the kitchen, I’ll answer it, Mrs. Butterly!

And Gulliver Queen opened the door to find Mr. Jarvis standing there.

Gully’s jaw dropped.

Now ordinarily there was nothing about Mr. Jarvis to amaze anyone. Mr. Jarvis was one of the Queens’ neighbors, a pleasant elderly gentleman who earned his living as a traveling salesman and frequently dropped in to play checkers with Inspector Queen.

It was not Mr. Jarvis who amazed Gully, but what was sitting on Mr. Jarvis’s right shoulder.

It was a bird. A bird about the size of a crow, and just as black. But unlike a crow, this bird had a white patch on each wing and a pair of flat yellow wattles on its head.

Why, Mr. Jarvis, Gully exclaimed, I didn’t know you owned a mynah bird.

Is that what it is? Mr. Jarvis said. He was looking a little alarmed and keeping his head very still. I’m glad you told me, Gully. I wouldn’t know a mynah bird from a Fiji Island whatzis. It’s not mine, by the way. May I come in?

Oh, yes, Gully said. Please!

Mr. Jarvis walked very carefully into the Queens’ sunny living room. The mynah bird kept digging its sharp toenails into Mr. Jarvis’s shoulder as if it were afraid of falling off.

Won’t you sit down? Gully asked.

I don’t think I’d better chance it, Mr. Jarvis said. Is your Uncle Ellery home?

No, sir. Gully was fascinated by the bird, and it stared back at him with equal interest. If it isn’t yours, Mr. Jarvis, whose is it?

That’s what I wanted Ellery Queen to find out, Mr. Jarvis replied. He’s a detective, isn’t he? When will he be back, Gully?

Not for a week at least. But Mr. Jarvis, I don’t understand. Did you find the bird?

It found me, the Queens’ neighbor said helplessly. I was just going to sit down to breakfast when this character zoomed into my dinette through the open window. He started right in on my scrambled eggs. Or is he a she?

I don’t know, Gully confessed. He stepped toward Mr. Jarvis for a closer look. The strange bird promptly took off from the man’s shoulder, just missing a floor lamp. Then it swooped, banked on its dark wings, and dropped neatly on Gully’s head. The tall teenager grinned nervously, screwing his eyes ceilingward in an impossible effort to see the top of his own head. The mynah first tried to find a comfortable position on Gully’s blond crewcut, then hopped onto his shoulder and settled down there, to Gully’s secret relief.

Mr. Jarvis chuckled at Gully’s nervous expression. He seems to like you, he said hopefully.

Well … Gully began, and then he almost jumped.

From the little body of the bird perched on his shoulder came a surprisingly deep voice—deep and very clear.

And the mynah bird’s voice said, Katal! Katal!

He’s a hill mynah, Gully said excitedly. "They’re the best talkers. But what’s he saying, Mr. Jarvis? What does ‘katal’ mean?"

That’s what I was hoping your Uncle Ellery could tell me, Mr. Jarvis said. It’s been saying that word over and over, and I thought it might be a clue to where it comes from.

It might be, at that, Gully said thoughtfully. But then he sighed. I don’t suppose it would be honest to keep him. Why don’t you advertise for his owner, Mr. Jarvis?

I would, except that I have to leave on a sales trip to the Coast this morning, Mr. Jarvis explained. What would I do with it in the meantime?

You could call the A.S.P.C.A., Gully suggested, not too enthusiastically. Somehow, the thought of the mynah on his shoulder being turned over even to the kind people at the A.S.P.C.A. made him unhappy.

Mr. Jarvis’s long experience as a salesman had made him a shrewd judge of people’s facial expressions. "I can think of a better idea, Gully. It seems to have taken a real shine to you. Why don’t you keep it till your uncle gets back? Meanwhile, maybe you can find its owner."

Gully immediately felt relieved. I don’t know how my grandfather will feel about it, Mr. Jarvis.

The inspector? Mr. Jarvis said heartily. Why, he’ll love having a talking bird around, Gully. And you can tell him I said so!

And Mr. Jarvis, smiling, made for the apartment door.

But Mr. Jarvis—

But Mr. Jarvis, with a friendly wave, was gone.

The bird said in its fiercest bass, Katal!, hopped up on Gully’s blond head again, and dropped onto his other shoulder, where it once more settled down.

Well, Gully said to the mynah, it looks as if we’re stuck with each other, doesn’t it?

Katal! Katal! the talking bird replied.

For some reason, Gully felt good. He cautiously sat down in his grandfather’s favorite chair near the fireplace. The mynah, perfectly balanced, sat down with him.

Katal! the bird said in Gully’s ear.

Could Katal be his name? Gully wondered. It was possible, of course. But it didn’t sound like a name. Even a foreign name.

Gully repeated the word to himself several times. It was certainly no foreign word he had ever heard, although that didn’t prove anything. Languages had never been Gully’s best subjects at school.

Well, even if I can’t make sense out of what you’re saying, Gully commented to the mynah, "I can jot it down. In fact, that’s the best reason for jotting it down."

As he got out his pocket notebook—the new red leather one he had run out to buy the moment he knew that his uncle was intending to go away—Gully suddenly recalled the conversation they had had two days ago.

Hand me those socks, Gully, Ellery Queen had said, busy over an open suitcase.

Gully had tossed the socks over. Any instructions for while you’re away, Uncle Ellery?

The usual, his famous uncle had replied. Wash behind your ears, keep out from under Mrs. Butterly’s feet, and be sure not to turn on a TV mystery show when your grandfather’s home. They raise his blood pressure.

Yes, sir, Gully said. But I didn’t mean that kind of instructions. I meant about—well, cases and things.

Oh, cases and things. Of course, of course, Gully. You make notes of any calls. Pertinent details, and so forth.

"Yes, sir! Gully said, brightening. Now suppose it’s important, Uncle Ellery, an emergency or something. Where can I reach you?"

Ah! That is the question, and the answer is that you won’t be able to, because I’m not going to tell you, Ellery Queen said, folding a sports jacket.

But Uncle Ellery! Why?

Gully, let’s face it, his uncle said sadly. Your poor old uncle’s in a jam.

On a case? Gully cried. Somebody after you, a gangster or somebody?

Somebody’s after me, all right, but he’s not a gangster. He’s my publisher.

Oh, Gully said, disappointed.

My novel’s way overdue, and I have to finish it. So—no interruptions. Would you hand me those swim trunks?

Yes, sir, Gully said. But if you’re going away to work, Uncle Ellery, why do you need swim trunks?

Because people are arrested for going swimming without them.

It doesn’t sound much like work to me, Gully said suspiciously. After you swim, you always lie on the beach for hours.

Of course I do. I have to dry off, don’t I?

Then when will you be working?

While I’m drying off.

With your eyes closed, Uncle Ellery?

I think better that way.

Gully grinned. Between snores?

You ask too many questions, Gulliver Queen! Let me have the rest of that stuff.

Gully handed his uncle a diving mask, a pair of rubber flippers and a beach robe. The open suitcase now held a mountain of clothes, beach gear, typewriter paper, and manuscript notebooks.

Ellery Queen regarded it critically. Then he glanced at his nephew. Over here, Gully. Put that beef to work.

Beef? Gully said indignantly. He was proud of his trim figure and worked hard at keeping in shape.

Muscle, muscle, his uncle soothed him. Park your muscles on this suitcase.

Between them they managed to shut the suitcase and secure it. Then Ellery Queen grabbed the case with one hand and his portable typewriter with the other and made for the apartment door.

I’ll help you downstairs, Uncle Ellery—

Thanks, no, Gully, I’m doing fine. So long.

Gully had run ahead to hold the door open. Don’t you worry about a thing. If a case comes along I’ll take down all the facts for you!

You do that. Yes, sir, use that notebook, Gully. It’s a detective’s best friend. ’Bye! And Ellery Queen had hurried down the hall and disappeared into the elevator.

Use that notebook, his famous uncle had said. The very last thing before he had left.

So now Gulliver Queen used it, making his first entry on the blank opening page of the little red book.

He wrote: Katal! Katal!, putting in exclamation points because the mynah bird always seemed to exclaim the word.

Gully shut the notebook. Now what?

Well, what would Ellery Queen’s first step have been in such a problem?

Gully’s eyes lit up. He offered his hand to the mynah, and rather to his surprise, the bird obligingly hopped onto it, clutching Gully’s forefinger. Gully hurried into his uncle’s study, which was lined from floor to ceiling with books.

Katal! Katal! the mynah boomed again. Gully set it down on Ellery Queen’s desk, where it began to walk around inquisitively.

He ran over to the shelf of dictionaries. Selecting a French-English dictionary, Gully looked through the entire K section. But he could find no word remotely like katal. On a sudden thought, he tried the C listings, too, even though something told him that the word began with K. There was no catal, either.

The mynah plodded across the leather-inlaid top of the desk, its yellow wattles bobbing. Katal! its sharp voice repeated. It almost sounded as if the bird was trying to help.

Gully put the French-English dictionary back and took down a bulky German-English dictionary. Still no luck. He tried the Italian dictionary, the Spanish—all the foreign dictionaries his uncle had. No katal or catal.

Suddenly a thought struck him. Mynah birds were Asiatic.

Something clicked in Gulliver Queen’s memory. Only this morning he had noticed a photograph in the newspaper …

Gully leaped for the kitchen, where the Queens’ housekeeper was busy peeling potatoes.

Where’s this morning’s paper, Mrs. Butterly? Gully yelled. I left it in the living room.

You certainly did, Gulliver, Mrs. Butterly said grimly. All over the living room floor.

I’m sorry! I was going to pick it up—later. Where is it now, Mrs. Butterly?

Under these potato peelings, the housekeeper replied, where it’s going to stay. You’re not messing up my nice clean kitchen, too, Gulliver Queen!

"But I’ve got to see it, Gully pleaded. It’s important!"

The housekeeper’s hand came down just quickly enough to slap Gully’s hand before he

Reviews for The Mystery of the Vanished Victim

[Kathy Hamm · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Fast reading. Going to read more of Ellery Queen books.♥♥♥♥