A Study in Terror

Ellery Succeeds

He had typed steadily through the night; dawn found him blinking, stubbled, and famished.

Ellery went into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator and brought out a bottle of milk and the three sandwiches he had failed to eat the previous afternoon. He wolfed them down, drained what was left of the milk, wiped his mouth, yawned, stretched, and went to the phone.

“Morning, dad. Who won?”

“Who won what?” Inspector Queen asked querulously, from Bermuda.

“The horseshoe game.”

“Oh, that. They rang in some stacked shoes on me. How’s the weather in New York? Lousy, I hope.”

“The weather?” Ellery glanced at the window, but the Venetian blinds were closed. “To tell you the truth, dad, I don’t know. I worked all night.”

“And you sent me down here for a rest! Son, why don’t you join me?”

“I can’t. It’s not only this book I’ve got to finish, but Grant Ames dropped in yesterday. He drank me dry and left a package.”

“Oh?” said the Inspector, coming to life. “What kind of package?”

Ellery told him.

The old man snorted. “Of all the baloney. Somebody’s pulling a funny on you. Did you read it?”

“A few chapters. I must say it’s pretty well done. Fascinating, in fact. But then―out of nowhere―lightning struck, and I got back to my typewriter. How do you plan to spend your day, dad?”

“Frying myself on that damned beach. Ellery, I’m so bored I’m beginning to chew my nails. Son, won’t you let me come home?”

“Not a chance,” said Ellery. “You fry. Tell you what. How would you like to read an unpublished Sherlock Holmes?”

Inspector Queen’s voice took on a cunning note. “Say, that’s an idea. I’ll call the airline and book a stray seat―I can be in New York in no time―”

“Nothing doing. I’ll mail the manuscript down to you.”

“To hell with the manuscript!” howled his father.

“So long, daddy,” said Ellery. “Don’t forget to wear your dark glasses on the beach. And you eat everything they put on your plate.”

He hung up hastily, not a second too soon.

He peered at the clock. It had the same bloodshot look as the typewriter.

He went into his bathroom, took a shower, and came back in his pajamas. The first thing he did in his study was to yank the telephone jack out of the wall socket. The second thing he did was to seize Dr. Watson’s journal.

It will put me to sleep, he said to himself cunningly.