Halfway House

IV The Trap

“What,” said Inspector Queen with disgust, “again?” Ellery did not stop whistling as he labored over his bow-tie in the mirror above the bureau. “Seems to me,” grumbled the Inspector, “that ever since those friends of yours got messed up in their private brand of hell in Trenton, you’ve turned into a regular Broadway punk. Where you going?”

“Out.”

“Alone, I s’pose?”

“No, indeed. I have what is technically known as a date with one of the loveliest, wealthiest, most desirable and azure-blooded young females on the Island. Furthermore, she’s engaged to be married. Not,” he squinted critically at his reflection, “that I care a damn, you understand.”

“You sound,” growled the old gentleman, jabbing some snuff into his nostrils, “like anybody but the conceited pup I used to know. At least in the old days you were level-headed enough to lay off the women.”

“Times,” said Ellery, “have a deplorable habit of changing.”

“The Gimball girl, hey?”

“None other. The name Gimball, by the way, is currently anathema in certain circles. It’s Jessica and Andrea Borden, and don’t let the Park Avenue crowd hear you call them anything else.”

“Fat chance. What’s the idea, El?”

Ellery slipped into his coat and fingered the satin lapels lovingly. “The idea,” he remarked, “is largely exploratory.”

“Ha, ha.”

“No, really. Does a man good to get out into society once in a while. Gives you the temporary illusion of special privilege. I’ve been balancing it off with side-trips down to the East Side. Wonderful what a contrast there is.”

“What,” asked the Inspector grumpily, “are you exploring?”

Ellery began to whistle again. Djuna, their boy-of-all-work, clattered into the bedroom. “Again?” he shrilled with disapproval. Ellery nodded, and Inspector Queen threw his hands up. “I guess you got a girl,” said Djuna blackly. “Here’s somethin’.”

“Something?”

“Package. Just came. Messenger. All dolled up like a general.” The boy threw something large and grand on the bed and sniffed.

“See what it is, imp.”

Djuna ripped away the wrappings, disclosing a chaste can, a flattish box, and a note on crested stationery. “You order tobacco from a guy by the name of Pierre?” he demanded.

“Pierre? Pierre? Oh, Lord — the incomparable Miss Zachary! That,” grinned Ellery, seizing the note, “is what comes of hobnobbing with riches, dad.”

The note said, “My dear Mr. Queen: Pray forgive the delay. My blend is made of foreign tobaccoes, and recent labor troubles in Europe held up the last shipment. I trust you will find the tobacco satisfactory and to your taste. Please accept the enclosed box of paper match-packets with my compliments. I have taken the liberty of having your name inscribed on each one, my usual custom. Should you find the tobacco too strong or too mild, we shall be glad in the future to make the required adjustment of blend. I remain, Yours Respectfully.”

“Good old Pierre,” said Ellery, tossing the note aside. “Put the stuff away in the family humidor, Djun’. Well, boys, I’m off.”

“You’re telling me,” said the Inspector glumly. He looked positively anxious as Ellery adjusted his hat to a nicety, tucked a stick under his arm, and departed whistling.

“This,” said Andrea in a severe tone later that evening, “is not the sort of thing I have come to expect from you, Ellery Queen. It’s deadly after all those lovely dives you’ve been taking me to.”

Ellery glanced around the quiet and elegant club in the night-sky above Radio City. “Well, I don’t want to be precipitate, darling. These problems of social education require delicacy of handling. Too consistent a diet of bread and water...”

“Pish! Let’s dance.”

They danced in exquisite silence. Andrea gave herself up to the music with a fluid acquiescence of body that made dancing with her a physical pleasure. She floated in Ellery’s arms, so light and responsive that he might have been dancing alone. But he was very conscious of the aroma of her hair, and he remembered with a guilty feeling the expression on Bill Angell’s face the night she had stood so close to him outside the Trenton shack.

“I like dancing with you,” she said lightly as the music stopped.

“Discretion,” sighed Ellery, “warns me to thank you and let it go at that.” He thought her glance was a little startled. Then she laughed and they strolled back to their table.

“Hello, you two,” said Grosvenor Finch. He was grinning at them. Beside him stood Senator Frueh, as stiff as his pudgy little figure could contrive, and openly disapproving. Both men were in evening clothes. Finch seemed embarrassed.

“Ah, we have company,” said Ellery. He held out Andrea’s chair and she sat down. “Waiter, chairs. Sit down, gentlemen, sit down. I trust you haven’t had too bothersome a chase this evening?”

“Ducky,” said Andrea coldly, “what does this mean?”

Finch looked sheepish; he sat down and ran his hand over his gray hair. Senator Frueh, toying with his soft and beautiful beard, hesitated; then he sat down, too, angrily. He glared at Ellery.

Ellery lit a cigaret. “Come, come, Finch; you look like an overgrown country boy caught in Farmer Jones’s apples. Relax.”

“Ducky!” Andrea stamped her foot. “I was speaking to you.”

“Well,” muttered the big man, rubbing his chin, “it’s this way, Andrea. Your mother...”

“I thought so!”

“But, Andrea, what could I do? And then Simon here, blast him, sided with Jessica. It’s rather a difficult position—”

“Not at all,” said Ellery amiably. “We can take it, Andrea and I. What is it you suspect, gentlemen — a bomb in my right pocket and a copy of The Daily Worker in my left? Or is it simply that you consider me an immoral influence on a growing child?”

“Let me handle this, Mr. Queen,” said Andrea through her small, white teeth. “Now, Ducky, let me get this straight. Mother sent you two skulking after me tonight?”

The Senator’s fat fingers flew about in an outraged way among the hairs of his beard. “Andrea! You’re insulting. Skulking!”

“Oh, stop it, Simon,” said Finch, flushing. “You know that’s virtually what it amounted to. Didn’t care for the idea myself. But from what your mother tells me, Andrea—”

“And what,” said Andrea dangerously, “has my mother told you?”

His hand described a vague arc. “Well... Slumming and things. Queen’s been taking you to what she considers — ah — improper places. She doesn’t like it.”

“Poor Mr. Rockefeller,” said Ellery with a sad shake of his head as he glanced about the room. “I’m sure he’d be mortified by the epithet, Finch.”

“Oh, not this place.” Finch was growing redder. “Damn it all, I told Jessica... I mean, this is perfectly all right, of course, but those other places—”

“By the way, Andrea,” drawled Ellery, “I almost took you down to the Rand School this evening. Think of the time you’d have had then, gentlemen. Those proletarian intellectuals are a hard lot.”

“You think you’re funny,” growled Senator Frueh. “Look here, Queen, why the devil don’t you let Andrea alone?”

“Why the devil,” said Ellery pleasantly, “don’t you mind your own business?”

Finch was ruddy to the roots of his gray hair now. “Blessed if we don’t deserve that, Queen,” he said with a wry grin. “Oh, come on, Simon; it was a rum idea in the first place.”

The lawyer’s beard trembled over the white cloth like a waterfall suddenly arrested in its course. “Queen’s no fool. If Andrea is—”

“That,” said Andrea, “is just about the last straw!”

“Be quiet, Andrea. We can talk plainly to this man. Queen, what are you after?”

Ellery blew smoke; but his eyes were bright with mockery. “What is any man after? A little home in the country, a garden, kiddies—”

“Stop clowning. You don’t fool me for a moment, Queen. You’re still nosing around that Wilson case, aren’t you?”

“Is that an interrogatory question or a rhetorical one?”

“You know what it is!”

“Well,” murmured Ellery, “it’s really none of your affair; but since you’re kind enough to ask — yes. And what has that to do with you?”

“Simon,” said Finch uneasily.

“Don’t be a jellyfish, Grosvenor. Just this. As friends of Andrea’s—”

“No friends of mine,” said Andrea in a frigid tone. But her palms were stroking the cloth and she was pale.

“—we know that it isn’t mere desire for her company that’s made you hound her this way ever since that woman was convicted up in Trenton. Now what the devil is it you want?”

“Peace,” sighed Ellery, “and a complete abruption of intercourse as far as you and I are concerned. Is that fair enough?”

“Why are you hanging around Andrea? What is it you suspect her of?”

“I think,” said Andrea grimly, “that this has gone quite far enough. You forget yourself, Senator Frueh. As for you, Ducky, I’m surprised that you would permit yourself to be... But I suppose it’s Mother again. She always could twist you around her little finger.”

“Andrea,” said the tall man miserably.

“No! And you forget, Senator, that I’m a grown woman with presumably a mind of my own. No one takes me out by force, I assure you. If I’ve chosen to spend my time with Mr. Queen that’s my business, not yours. I know what I’m doing; or if I don’t,” she added with a faint and bitter smile, “I’ll find out soon enough. Now will you please — both of you — go away and let us alone?”

“Of course, Andrea, if that’s the way you feel about it,” said the fat man, bouncing out of his chair. “I’m merely discharging my duty to your family. After this—”

Ellery rose and waited politely. No one said anything. So he murmured, “I thought your rôle was legalistic, Senator. Have you turned detective, too? If so, let me welcome you into the ranks.”

“Buffoon!” snarled Senator Frueh, tugging at his beard. “You watch your step.” He flounced off.

“I’m sorry, Andy,” said Finch, taking her hand.

“It’s not really your fault, Ducky.” She smiled at him, but withdrew her hand. He sighed, nodded to Ellery, and followed his stout companion.

“I suppose,” said Ellery, not sitting down, “you’d rather go home, Andrea? The evening must be spoiled for you.”

“Don’t be silly. It’s just begun. Shall we dance?”

Ellery let out the Duesenberg. It roared with steadily mounting violence, as if it were an ancient lion and he had tweaked its tail. It fled down the concrete road as if all the devils in hell were after it. “Whee!” squealed Andrea, holding on to her hat. “How are your reflexes, mister? I’m still young, and life is sweet.”

“I am,” Ellery assured her as he pawed around precariously for a cigaret, “a veritable tower of strength.”

“Here, stop that!” she screamed, sticking her own into his mouth. “This chariot may steer by itself, but I’d rather not chance... Not,” she said suddenly, “that I’d care.”

“Really? Care about what?”

She slumped down beside him, squinting along the spurting ribbon of road without really seeing it. “Oh, about anything. Well, let’s not get maudlin. Where are we going?”

Ellery waved the cigaret. “Does it matter? The broad highway, a lovely companion of the opposite sex, no traffic to speak of, the sun beaming heroically... I’m happy.”

“Good for you.”

“Why?” he said, glancing at her. “Aren’t you?”

“Oh, of course. Deliriously.” She closed her eyes. Ellery drove peacefully. After a while she opened her eyes and said in a gay voice, “Guess what. I found a gray hair this morning.”

“Curses! So soon? You see, Senator Frueh was right. Did you remove it?”

“Idiot. Of course I did.”

“As if,” he said dryly, “grief could be assuaged by baldness.”

“Now what is that supposed to mean? It’s cryptic.”

“Oh, it’s more than that. Tusculanarum Disputationum, in fact. If you’d spent more time learning something than being ‘finished’ at school, you’d know that that’s a pearl tossed off by Senator Cicero. It’s foolish, he remarked, to pluck out one’s hair for sorrow — as if, and so forth.”

“Oh.” She closed her eyes again. “You think I’m unhappy, don’t you?”

“My dear child, who am I to judge? But if you want my opinion, I think you’re going very rapidly to pot.”

She sat up straight with indignation. “I like that! I suppose you don’t realize that I’ve seen more of you in the past few weeks than of anyone else.”

Ellery flicked the Duesenberg around a heat-swollen crevice in the concrete. “If I’ve contributed to your unhappiness, I should be drawn and quartered. I think I know several worthy persons who would assist in the operation. But while I’m not the most cheerful companion in the world, I don’t believe it’s my influence that’s done it to you.”

“Oh, don’t you!” Andrea retorted. “You should have heard what Mother had to say on the subject last night — after I got home and she’d had the eminent Senator’s report.”

“Ah, your mother,” sighed Ellery. “No, I don’t flatter myself that that worthy dowager approves of Inspector Queen’s little boy. Just what is it she suspects me of — designs on your virtue, your bankroll, or what?”

“Don’t be coarse. It’s these little excursions.”

“Not my connection with the tragedy of Ella Amity’s Halfway House?”

“Please,” said Andrea. “Let’s forget that, shall we? No, after you took me to see Waiting for Lefty and to that settlement house on Henry Street and the city lodging-house she simply exploded. She thinks you’re poisoning my mind.”

“A not unreasonable suspicion. Has the virus worked?”

“I won’t say it hasn’t. I never realized what misery...” Andrea shivered a little and took her hat off. Her hair, glinting in the sun, began to whip about her head. “She thinks you’re simply the most terrible person in the world. Not that I care what she thinks — about you.”

“Andrea! This is so sudden. When did it happen?”

“Mother,” frowned Andrea, “is a good deal like those dreadful flying people in that Faulkner book you gave me — you know, Pylon? What was it the reporter said about them? If you squished ’em, they’d squirt cylinder oil instead of blood?”

“I fail to see the analogy. What liquid would your mother squirt?”

“Old wine — wine with a pedigree, you understand — old wine which has unaccountably and tragically turned to vinegar. Poor Mother! She’s had a bruising life; she doesn’t really know what’s happened to her.”

Ellery chuckled. “Described with remarkable point. Nevertheless, Andrea, that’s an extremely unfilial speech.”

“Mother is — well, Mother. You wouldn’t understand.”

“I think I would. Believe it or not, I had a mother once.”

Andrea did not speak for a long time. “Grandfather,” she said at last in a dreamy voice. “Let’s see, now. Yes, of course. All you’d squeeze out of his poor broken body would be leucocytes. Not a trace of red left in him.”

“How about Ducky? You know him better than I do.”

“He should be easy,” said Andrea, sucking the tip of her forefinger. “Ducky, Ducky... Port! No, that’s wine again. Yes! Spirits of camphor. Doesn’t that sound awful?”

“Sickening. Why camphor?”

“Oh, Ducky’s so right. I suppose you don’t see what I mean. My mind — such as it is — always associates camphor with stuffy YMCA bedrooms and colds in the head. Don’t ask me why. It must have been poor conditioning as a child.”

“Andrea, I believe you’re tight. Only alcohol would link that bloated plutocrat with the YMCA.”

“Don’t be foul. You know I don’t drink. That’s why mother’s so shocked; I’m the old-fashioned girl on a sudden bender. Now: Tolstoy.”

“Who?”

“The Senator. I once saw a drawing of Tolstoy that reminded me of him. That obscene beard! He takes better care of it than a woman does of her new permanent. Of course you know what he has in his veins?”

“Tomato juice?”

“No! Pure formaldehyde. If he ever felt an honest emotion, it’s been pickled stiff for forty years. And that,” she sighed, “is the end of the story. What shall we talk about now?”

“Wait a minute,” said Ellery. “How about friend Jones?”

She was very quiet for a moment. “I’d rather not... I haven’t seen Burke for two weeks.”

“Good heavens. If I’ve been the cause of breaking up the social alliance of the century—”

“Please. I’m not fooling. Burke and I are—” She stopped and rested her head against the top of the seat, staring down the road.

“Definitely?”

“Is anything definite in this world? Once — I was so sure. He seemed everything a girl could wish for in a man. Big — I’ve always had a weakness for big men — not too handsome, built like Max Baer, perfect manners...”

“He didn’t impress me,” said Ellery dryly, “as a prince of breeding.”

“He — he was a little upset. Good family, loads of money...”

“And utterly devoid of gray matter.”

“You would say something nasty. Well, I suppose it’s true. I see now that all that was a silly girl’s notion. Those things don’t count, do they?”

“I don’t believe they do.”

“Once—” she smiled a queer, pained little smile — “I wasn’t much better myself, you see.”

Ellery drove for some time in silence. Andrea’s lids drooped again. The miles slid into the gullet of the Duesenberg and spewed out behind in a smooth and soporific stream. Ellery stirred. “You’ve forgotten yourself.”

“What?”

“If someone — Bill Angell, for example — should step on you, to continue the nauseating metaphor...”

“Oh.” After a moment she laughed. “I may as well judge myself nobly; no one else does. The milk of human kindness.”

“Slightly curdled?” asked Ellery in a gentle voice.

She sat up swiftly. “Now, just what does that mean, Ellery Queen?”

“Don’t you know?”

“And why Bill Angell?”

Ellery shrugged. “I beg your pardon. I thought we were playing according to the established rules of honesty, but I see I was mistaken.” He kept looking at the road. She kept looking at his calm, immobile profile. And finally her lips quivered and she looked away. “Corking day, isn’t it?” observed Ellery at last.

“Yes.” Her voice was low.

“Sky blue. Countryside green. Road oyster-white. Cows brown and red — when you see ’em.” He paused. “When you see ’em.”

“I don’t—”

“I said. When you see ’em. Not everybody does, you know.”

She was so quiet that he thought she had not heard; he glanced quickly at her. Her cheeks were whiter than the road. The strands of blond hair curling madly about her face seemed to be straining away from the wind. And her fingers plucked steadily at the hat in her lap.

“Where,” she asked in a thick undertone, “are you taking me?”

“Where would you like to go?”

Her eyes flashed. She half rose in the seat; the wind clutched at her, and she grasped the top of the windshield for support. “Stop the car! Stop the car, I say!”

Obediently the Duesenberg rolled toward the soft shoulder of the road and, after a while, came to a stop.

“Here we are,” said Ellery gently. “Now what?”

“Turn around!” she cried. “Where are you going? Where are you taking me?”

“To visit someone,” he said in a quiet way, “who hasn’t your visual advantages. I doubt if this unfortunate can glimpse a bit of sky larger than you could cover with this small palm of yours. I thought it might be kind if someone played the vicarious eye today... for her.”

“For her?” she whispered. He took her hand; it lay limp and cold between his palms.

They sat that way for many minutes. Occasionally, a car rushed by; once a large young man in the horizon-blue uniform of the New Jersey State Police slowed up as his motorcycle whizzed past, looked back, scratched his head, and sped on again. The sun was hot in the motionless car; a film of perspiration sprang up on Andrea’s forehead and little nose. Then her eyes fell, and she pulled back her hand. She did not speak.

Ellery threw the Duesenberg into gear again and the big car moved off, continuing in the direction in which they had been going. There was a faint and anxious line between his brows.

The Amazon in uniform stared at them, heaved aside, and motioned to someone in the dark corridor with a hand as large and abrupt as a traffic officer’s.

They heard Lucy’s feet before they saw her. The sound was a dreadful shuffle, slow, scraping, funereal. They had to strain their eyes as the shuffle became louder. In their nostrils was an indescribable, disagreeable odor: it seemed composed of fragments of smells coarsely blended: carbolic acid, sour bread, starch, old shoes, and the stench of wash.

Then Lucy came in. Her lifeless eyes flickered a little as she blinked at them standing behind the steel-mesh partition, clutching at the mesh like monkeys in a zoo but not chattering, so fixed and quiet that they might have been spectators at a play.

The shuffle quickened; she came to them in her clumsy prison shoes, hands outstretched a little. “I’m so glad. This is so good of you.” Her eyes, deep-set and framed in violet pain, touched Andrea’s set face almost shyly. “Both of you,” she said softly. It was hard to look at her. It was as if she had been run through a wringer and all the sap and vigor of her generous body squeezed out. Her dark skin was olive no longer, but slate, an earthy color that suggested death rather than life.

Andrea groped for her voice before she found it. “Hello,” she said, trying to smile. “Hello, Lucy Wilson.”

“How are you, Lucy? You’re looking well,” said Ellery, striving to make the lie sound natural.

“I’m all right, thank you. Very well. I—” She paused; a spasm of lightning terror flashed over her features like the shadow of a hunted thing. Then it was gone. “Isn’t Bill coming?”

“I’m sure he is. When did you see him last?”

“Yesterday.” Her bloodless fingers gripped the steel mesh; behind it her face looked like a poor engraving made from an already engraved photograph, overlaid with a double screen. “Yesterday. He comes every day. Poor Bill. He looks so badly, Ellery. Can’t you do anything with him? He really shouldn’t worry so.” Her voice drifted off. It was strange, as if everything she said were an afterthought, lying ready on the thin verge of her consciousness to be uttered as a defense against her real, her deeply hidden thoughts.

“You know how Bill is. If he hasn’t something to fret about he’s unhappy.”

“Yes,” said Lucy in a child’s tone. The ghost of a smile was on her lips, as remote from her as her voice. “Bill always was that way. He’s so strong. He always makes me feel” — the voice lifted, fell, lifted again as if in surprise at its own vitality — “good.”

Andrea started to say something but stopped before it was uttered. Her own gloved fingers were entwined in the mesh; Lucy’s face was very near hers. Her fingers contracted on the steel suddenly. “How are they treating you?” she asked, in a rush. “I mean...”

Lucy’s eyes sought hers slowly; deep eyes covered with glass, protected like her voice from the real, the free, the wide world. “Oh, quite well, thank you. I can’t complain. They’re very kind to me.”

“You have enough to...” Andrea’s cheeks began to burn. “I wonder if... Is there anything I can do for you, Mrs. Wilson? I mean, is there anything I can get for you, something you need, perhaps?”

Lucy looked surprised. “Need?” Her thick, vigorous, woman’s brows contracted, as if she were thinking it over. “Why, no. No, thanks.” Then, amazingly, she laughed. It was a pleasant little laugh, quite untouched by irony or scorn, naïve and full-toned. “There’s only one thing I want. But I’m afraid you couldn’t get that for me.”

“What?” pleaded Andrea. “Anything... Oh, I do want to help you. What is it you want, Mrs. Wilson?”

Lucy shook her head, smiling the faint, remote smile again. “My freedom.” The quick terror flashed over her face again and was gone.

The burn left Andrea’s cheeks; she felt Ellery’s elbow dig into her ribs and mechanically she smiled in return, “Oh,” she said. “I’m afraid—”

“I wonder where Bill is.” Lucy’s slow glance went to the visitors’ door. Andrea closed her eyes, the corner of her mouth twitching. After a while Lucy said, “I’ve fixed my — I’ve fixed the cell up so nicely. Bill brought me some flowers and pictures and things. It’s against the rules I guess, but he managed it. Bill’s so good about managing things like that.” She looked at them almost with anxiety. “Really, it’s not so bad. And then it’s only for a while, isn’t it? Bill says he’s sure that I’ll get — get off when my appeal...”

“That’s the spirit, Lucy,” said Ellery. “Chin up.” He tapped her dead fingers through the mesh. “Remember, you have friends who won’t stop working for you — ever, Lucy. You’ll remember that, won’t you?”

“If I forgot it for even a second,” she whispered, “I think I’d go mad.”

“Mrs. Wilson,” stammered Andrea. “Lucy—”

The black eyes went wistful. “How is it outside today? It looks so nice — from here.” There was a window high up in the wall, its thick squat bars straining the sunlight like a sieve. The rectangle of sky was blue there.

“I think,” said Andrea in a choking voice, “it’s going to rain. It’s really not—”

The Amazon leaning against the far stone wall said, without inflection, like an inhuman and detached metallic vocal chord, “Time’s up.”

The terror came again, but this time it did not go away. It made the muscles of Lucy’s jaw quiver as if a blunt finger had poked a raw wound. The glass shivered away from her eyes, revealing the profound and liquid agony beneath. “Oh, so soon,” she whispered, and tried to smile and then frowned and bit her lip and finally, without warning, with a devastating alteration of features, like the bursting of a dam, she began to weep.

“Lucy,” muttered Ellery.

She cried, “Oh, thank you, thank you!”, and her fingers came away from the steel screen crisscrossed with livid marks. And she turned and stumbled toward the yawning dim doorway with its grim bulk of sexless guard.

They heard her shoes scraping on the stone floor long after nothing was left behind the mesh but the woman’s scent of her hanging in the still fetid air. There was a spot of bright blood on Andrea’s lower lip.

“What the devil,” demanded a harsh voice from the visitors’ doorway, “are you doing here?”

Ellery came about like a startled cat. He had not wanted this. Bill Angell’s big right hand was clenched about the paper-covered butt of a bouquet of flowers whose blossoms drooped toward the floor.

“Bill,” he said swiftly. “We’ve come to—”

“Well,” growled Bill; his eyes were fixed on Andrea with a remorseless glare. “How do you like it here? Swell, eh?”

Andrea groped for Ellery’s arm; he felt her fingers tighten on his biceps. “Oh,” she said faintly. “I—”

“It’s a wonder to me you don’t collapse of sheer shame. The damned brazenness of it!” The words were arrows, bitter to the mark. “Coming here! To gloat? Well, you’ve seen her. Do you think you’ll sleep comfortably tonight?”

Ellery’s biceps hurt. Her eyes were so wide they looked unnatural. Then she released him and ran toward Bill. Her stride broke as she reached him. Reluctantly he stepped aside, still glaring. She sped past with her head lowered.

“Bill,” said Ellery quietly. Bill did not answer. He looked down at the flowers and deliberately turned his back on Ellery.

Andrea was waiting at the end of the corridor, leaning against the blank wall and sobbing. “All right, Andrea,” said Ellery. “Stop that.”

“Take me home,” she choked. “Oh, take me away from this horrible place.”

Ellery knocked at the door and Bill Angell’s weary voice said: “Come on in.” Ellery opened the door on one of the Astor’s long, old-fashioned rooms to find Bill bent over the brass bed packing a bag.

“The prodigal returns,” he said. “Hello, you fool.” He closed the door and set his back against it. Bill’s hair was tousled and there was a defiant jut to his chin. He continued packing as if no one had been there. “Don’t be an ass, Bill. Stop fiddling with those socks and listen to me.” Bill did not reply. “I’ve chased you over three States. What are you doing in New York?”

Bill straightened up then. “Isn’t this a peculiar time to be showing an interest in my affairs?”

“My interest has never flagged, old boy.”

Bill laughed. “Look here, Ellery. I don’t want any trouble with you. I don’t blame you. Your life is your own; it certainly isn’t mortgaged to me or Lucy. But since you’ve chosen to step out, please stay out. You’ll oblige me by getting the hell out of here.”

“Who says I’ve stepped out?”

“Don’t think I’m blind to what’s been going on. You’ve been rushing that Gimball girl ever since Lucy’s conviction.”

Ellery murmured, “Have you been spying on me, Bill?”

“Call it what you like.” Bill flushed. “I think it’s damned funny. I wouldn’t think so if I thought you were working on her, if your interest was professional. But I never heard of a professional interest in a woman that manifests itself by taking her to clubs and dances and dives night after night for weeks. What do you think I am, anyway — a damned fool?”

“Yes.”

Ellery pushed away from the door, tossed his hat and stick on the bed, and poked Bill so hard in the stomach that Bill gasped and fell back on the bed. “Now stay there and listen, you idiot.”

Bill jumped up, his fists flailing. “Why—”

“Pistols at dawn, eh?” Bill flushed more deeply and sat down. “In the first place,” continued Ellery calmly, lighting a cigaret, “you wouldn’t be acting such a twerp if your brain were functioning normally. But it isn’t, and so I forgive you. You’re madly in love with that girl.”

“Rot. You’re crazy yourself.”

“The mental battle to reconcile your passion with your conscience and sense of duty toward Lucy has addled your wits completely. Jealous of me! Bill, you ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

“Jealous!” Bill laughed bitterly. “As for you, I don’t mind giving you a bit of friendly advice. With all your self-confidence, you’re still just a male. Watch yourself with that girl. She’ll make as big a sucker of you as she made out of me.”

“Emotionally, you’ve gone back to a vernal seventeen, my son. The trouble with you is that you can’t recognize your own symptoms. Don’t tell me you don’t dream about her. You can’t forget that moment in the dark when she kissed you. You’re all tied up in knots and you’re fighting yourself twenty-four hours a day. I’ve had my eye on you from afar since the trial. Bill, you’re an ass.”

“I don’t know why I’m listening to you,” said Bill savagely.

“It doesn’t take a Freud to see what’s making the wheels spin so crazily. And your analysis, therefore, of a ‘professional interest’ in Andrea is just as adolescent.”

“In love. Why, I despise every inch of that—”

“Of course you do,” grinned Ellery. “But I haven’t come here to lecture on the intricacies of the tender passion. Let me explain matters and give you a chance to apologize.”

“I’ve heard enough—”

“Sit down! When Lucy was convicted in Trenton one thing stood out so prominently as to overshadow everything else. That was Andrea’s peculiar behavior — before, during, and after her session on the stand. It set me to thinking.” Bill grunted derisively. “My thoughts led me to certain conclusions. My conclusions led me to cultivate the girl. There was nothing else I could do; all other leads had failed. I’ve checked and rechecked every angle of the case; I’ve found nothing suspicious anywhere, and everything’s wound up at a blank wall.”

Bill frowned. “What the devil could you hope to accomplish by taking her out? You can’t blame me if I thought—”

“Ah, we’re rational again. As a matter of fact, my assiduous devotion to the young lady has worried more than your own noble ego. Mrs. Gimball — I should say Jessica Borden — is on the verge of prostration, Senator Frueh is frothing at the mouth, and Finch is chewing his immaculate fingernails. As for young Jones, from last reports he’s been trying to kill some of his polo ponies. Excellent! Exactly what I wanted. I’ve accomplished something.”

Bill shook his head. “I’ll be jiggered if I see what.”

Ellery pulled a chair over to the bed, “Answer my questions first. What are you doing in New York?”

“Cleaning up.” Bill lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. “Going through the motions. After the trial I made a demand payment of the National Life by filing the usual proof-of-death form. Just a gesture, of course. The National ignored the formal demand, refusing in effect to pay the face value of the policy on the ground that the beneficiary had been convicted of the murder of the insured.”

“I see.”

“The company notified Gimball’s executor — some bigwig friend of the family — that they were prepared to pay over to him for the Gimball estate the cash-surrender value of the policy on release of all future claims. I understand that’s already been done.”

“The conviction invalidates the policy?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

“And how’s the appeal going?”

“We’ve forced New Jersey to finance it; I suppose you’ve read that in the papers. I’ve managed on various technical grounds to delay matters; it will be next year before final action is taken. Meanwhile,” Bill’s face darkened, “Lucy’s in Trenton. Better than the Pen.” He scowled at the ceiling. Then he said: “What was the idea of bringing her...?”

“Who?”

“The — damn it all, all right! Andrea!”

“Look here, Bill,” said Ellery quietly. “Why was Andrea so terrified at the thought of going on the witness-stand?”

“Blessed if I know. Her testimony certainly didn’t bring out anything of a damaging or significant nature.”

“That’s approximately true. It makes her reluctance even more astonishing. It couldn’t have been, of course, that she was so averse to revealing that she had visited the scene of the crime. That aversion may have motivated her in keeping mum about the visit before we dug it out, but it wouldn’t have when you asked her to testify. In fact, she had every reason to accede to your wishes.”

Bill sneered. “Yes, she had!”

“Stop being a child. The girl likes you — I shan’t sicken you by employing a stronger term.” Bill colored. “She felt sorry for Lucy—”

“An act! She was playing me—”

“You’re more sensible than that remark indicates, Bill. She’s a fine lassie; there’s good solid stuff in her that her environment hasn’t been able to spoil. And she’s not a hypocrite. Under normal circumstances she should have been glad, as I say, to help Lucy. Instead... well, you saw how she acted.”

“She wouldn’t do anything for us. She’s on the other side of the fence. She’s sore at both of us because of Gimball.”

“Nonsense. She was the only one that night at the shack to show any sign of human sympathy toward Lucy.”

Bill plucked at the white spread, pinching it, smoothing it down, pinching it again. “All right. What’s the answer?”

Ellery went to the window. “What would you say has been her predominant emotion since the business of her visit to the shack came out?”

“Fear.”

“Exactly. Fear of what?”

“I wish I knew,” growled Bill.

Ellery came back and gripped the footrail of the bed. “Obviously, fear of telling her story. Now, why should she be afraid of that?” Bill shrugged; he was pinching the spread again. “Don’t you see that it’s fear not from inside that poor girl, but from outside? Fear under pressure? Fear induced by threats?”

“Threats?” Bill blinked.

“You’ve forgotten that charred cork.”

“Threats!” Bill was on his feet; it was astonishing how his eyes had brightened with hope. “Good Lord, Ellery. I never — Poor kid!” He began to walk up and down before the bed, muttering to himself.

Ellery gave him a quizzical look. “L’affaire marche, I see. It’s been evident to me for some time. It’s the only theory that takes all the facts, physical and psychological, into consideration. She wanted to help you; yet she couldn’t bring herself to it. If you had seen that girl’s face the night... Well, you didn’t; you’re blind as a bat, anyway. She’s been through hell. Why should she submit herself to such torture unless it were an ulterior fear that kept her silent? It’s fear clearly not for herself, you see.”

“So that’s why—”

“The problem admitted of a crude sort of analysis. If she had been threatened by someone — warned to keep her mouth shut — it was obvious that the threatener was afraid of something within her power to disclose. My course of action was therefore dictated to me. By monopolizing her time, I tended to accomplish two things: one, to play on her better nature so that she would finally disclose what she knew despite everything. Two,” Ellery blew a quick puff of smoke, “to force the hand of the person who had threatened her!”

Bill said swiftly: “But, Ellery, that means—”

“That means,” murmured Ellery, “that I’ve plunged Andrea into danger. Quite true.”

“But you’ve no right to!”

“The tune changes. Up in arms in her defense already?” Ellery chuckled. “Well, we mustn’t take personalities into account, Bill. Whoever’s warned Andrea must know by this time that I’ve been cultivating her acquaintance. They know my interest in this case. They will be wondering what I’ve managed to accomplish with the girl. They’ll be nervous. In a word, they’ll take action.”

“Well,” roared Bill, “what the hell are we waiting for?”

Ellery smiled and jabbed his cigaret out against the tray. “In either event, I’ve managed matters so that we’re on the road to a discovery. I took Andrea up to Trenton the other day to break down her last defense. I knew a sight of Lucy in her present condition and surroundings would do the trick. She cried all the way back to New York. I think today...”

But Bill was already in the corridor punching the elevator bell.

The fish-faced man frowned. “Miss Andrea is not at home.” His tone suggested that Miss Andrea would never be at home as he stared at Bill.

“Come off it,” said Bill curtly, pushing the man aside. They stepped into the duplex living-room of the Borden-Gimball apartment. Bill looked around quickly. “Well, where is she? We haven’t all day!”

“I beg your pardon, sir?”

Bill put his hand on the narrow chest and pushed. The fish-faced man’s nose came down and he staggered back with a look of fright. “Will you talk or do I have to shake it out of you?”

“I–I’m sorry, sir, but Miss Andrea isn’t at home.”

“Where is she?” snapped Ellery.

“She went out about an hour ago, sir, very suddenly.”

“Didn’t she say where she was going?”

“No, sir; she left no word.”

“Who is home?” demanded Bill.

“Only Mr. Borden, sir; it’s the nurse’s afternoon off and he is asleep in his room. I’m sorry, sir, but in his condition he really shouldn’t be disturbed.”

“Where’s Mrs. Gimball?”

The man looked distressed. “She’s out, too, sir. She left for Mr. Borden’s country estate on Oyster Bay.”

“Alone?” asked Ellery queerly.

“Yes, sir, at noon. For a few days’ rest, I believe, sir.”

Ellery’s face became very grave. Bill, looking at him, felt himself go suddenly cold. “Was Miss Andrea at home when her mother left?”

“No, sir.”

“You say Miss Andrea went out without explanation an hour ago? Alone?”

“Yes, sir. You see, sir, she had received a telegram—”

Ellery said, “Good Lord, man.”

“We’re too late!” shouted Bill. “Now you’ve done it, damn you, Ellery. Why didn’t you—”

“Now, Bill, this may be nothing at all. Where is this wire? Do you know? Hurry!”

The man’s eyes stared wildly now. “I took it to her boudoir, sir. It must still be—”

“Show us to her room!”

The butler scuttled off toward the stairs, leading them up to the second floor of the apartment. He indicated a door and backed away, looking scared. Ellery opened the door; the room was empty. There were evidences of a hasty departure. In the cool green-and-white chamber the silence was, somehow, ominous.

Bill cried out and pounced on a crumpled yellow paper lying where it had been thrown on the rug. It was a telegram, and it said: SOMETHING DREADFUL HAS HAPPENED COME AT ONCE ALONE SAY NOTHING TO ANYONE STOP AM AT NORTH SHORE INN BETWEEN ROSLYN AND OYSTER BAY ON MAIN ROAD HURRY... MOTHER

Ellery said slowly, “That’s bad, Bill. The North Shore Inn is Ben Duffy’s place — the orchestra-leader. It’s been shut down for months.”

Bill’s face worked. Then without a word he flung the telegram on the floor and sprang through the doorway. Ellery stooped, picked up the yellow paper, hesitated, thrust it in his pocket, and followed. Bill was already downstairs. Ellery said to the butler, who seemed fixed to the spot, “Were there any unusual callers today?”

“Callers, sir?”

“Yes, yes. Visitors. Speak up, man!”

“O-oh, yes, sir. A lady from the newspapers, sir. Some peculiar name. I think—”

Ellery blinked. “A Miss Ella Amity?”

“Yes, sir! That was her name.”

“When? Whom did she see?”

“She was here early this morning, sir. I don’t believe she saw anyone... Well, I don’t know, sir. I was off duty—”

“Rats,” said Ellery, and sped down the stairs.

The sun was low when Ellery’s Duesenberg rolled into the driveway before the sprawling, garish structure whose rather streaky sign said NORTH SHORE INN. The place was boarded up. There was no sign of life.

They jumped out of the car and made for the entrance. Ominously, the door stood ajar. They plunged into a vast chamber, dusty and stripped, its bare tables piled high with gilt chairs. In the gloom they could make out no details. Bill swore; and Ellery put his hand out. “Whoa, Bucephalus. There’s no sense in charging blindly into the unknown.” He paused and muttered, “I didn’t really believe... It does look as if we’re too late. The damned cheek of that woman!”

Bill shook him off and lunged forward. He began running up the room, knocking chairs and tables aside and raising dry dust. Ellery stood still, frowning. Then he turned aside and went to a half-door with a ledge above which a sign said CHECK ROOM. He leaned over the edge, eyes narrowed. “Bill!” he called in a low voice, and then he vaulted the ledge. Bill came pounding back, his face frantic. He found Ellery kneeling inside the tiny room beside the crumpled figure of Andrea. She was sprawled on the dirty floor, her knees drawn up, her hat off and her hair tumbled about, and she was very still. In the gloom her face was ashen.

“Good God,” whispered Bill. “She’s — she’s—”

“Nothing of the sort. Rustle a pail of water. There must be some sort of tap working in the kitchen. Where’s your nose? She’s been chloroformed!”

Bill swallowed hard and sped away. When he came back he found Ellery still on his knees, supporting the unconscious girl in a half sitting position and methodically slapping her cheeks. The imprints of his fingers were visible; but she was still as motionless as a corpse.

“No good,” said Ellery quietly. “She got a real dose. Put that pail down, Bill, and find some towels, a tablecloth, napkins — anything in the line of linen. Don’t be finicky about cleanliness. This is going to take heroic measures. Pick up a couple of chairs, too.”

When Bill returned, staggering under two chairs and an armful of dusty linen Ellery was bent over the girl’s torso, working swiftly. Bill’s eyes widened with shock. “What the devil are you doing?” he shouted.

“Turn your eyes away if you can’t bear the sight of female flesh. I’m exposing her chest, if you must know. What a moral young man! It’s part of the treatment, idiot. But first put those chairs on the path outside — together. She needs fresh air most of all.”

Bill gulped and hurried to the main door, yanked it open, looked back, gulped again, and disappeared. A moment later Ellery strode outside carrying Andrea’s limp body. “Get the pail. Together, I said! Right. Now get the pail.”

When Bill came back with the pail Andrea was lying face up on the two chairs, her head drooping far backward. Ellery had ripped open the waist under her sports suit, revealing her brassière. It was very pink and lacy.

Bill stood by, rather helplessly. Ellery worked in silence. He stuffed a tablecloth under the small of the girl’s back; he flung the napkins into the pail of cold water. Then he fished one out, sopping as it was, and curled it about Andrea’s pale face like a barber’s hot towel, so that only the tip and nostrils of her nose showed.

“Don’t stand there like a politician,” growled Ellery. “Come around and pick up her legs. Hold ’em high — and don’t let her drop off these chairs, either. What the deuce is the matter with you, Bill? Haven’t you ever seen a girl’s legs before?”

Bill stood there with his arms about Andrea’s silk-sheathed legs, blushing like a boy and every once in a while plucking at her skirt to keep it decently covering her. Ellery soaked more napkins and applied them to her bare chest. He lifted them off and slapped them down again, sharply.

“What’s the idea?” asked Bill from dry lips.

“Simple enough. Head low, feet high — get the blood rushing to the brain. Restore circulation. It’s a method,” grunted Ellery, “that I learned from a chap by the name of Holmes some years ago. Young surgeon. My father was the victim then — it was more of an emergency in that case, considering dad’s age. The case of those Siamese twins, remember?”

Bill said in a strangled voice: “Oh, yes. Oh, yes.” He kept looking at the darkening sky.

“Keep those legs of hers elevated! There... How’s that, young lady? The position isn’t especially recommended by Miss Agatha’s Dancing School, but I believe you’ll come around in a moment.” Ellery changed napkins on her chest. “Hmm. There was something else. What in thunder was it, now? Yes! Artificial respiration. Blessed if it wasn’t one of the most important parts of the treatment!” He thrust his hand under the napkin rolled about the girl’s face and by main force opened her jaws. His hand knocked the napkin off, revealing a face already a little less pale, and dripping wet. “Pshaw! Well, it did its work; let it lie.” With a grimace he pulled her tongue out. Then he stooped over her torso and began to pump her arms up and down.

Bill said with a feeble grin, “It’s something out of Rube Goldberg.”

And Andrea suddenly opened her eyes to the sky.

Bill stood there stupidly, still holding her legs high and gaping down at her. Ellery put his arm under her head and raised it. Her eyes, bewildered at first, rolled about and then fixed on Bill.

“There,” said Ellery with satisfaction. “How’s that for a perfect job by Dr Queen? It’s all right, Andrea; you’re with friends again.”

Awareness rapidly filled her bloodshot eyes. Her cheeks stained with crimson. She gasped, “What are you doing?”

Bill still gaped. “For heaven’s sake,” snapped Ellery, “put her legs down, Bill! What do you think this is, anyway?” Bill dropped them as if they burned. They fell with a thud, and she winced at the shock.

“Oh, you fool!” groaned Ellery. “Fat lot of help you are. Take it easy, Andrea. Sit up, now... There! Feel better?”

“I’m so dizzy.” She sat up, Ellery’s arm still supporting her, and touched her forehead. “What happened? Oh, I’m filthy!” Her glance went from the pail to the unclean napkins strewn about the gravel, and then to herself. Her stockings were torn at the knees, her suit was plastered with wet dust, and her hands were smudged in a dozen places. Then she looked down at her chest.

“Oh,” she gasped, and with a snatching gesture covered herself with the lapels of the suit. “I’m — you — did you—”

“You are, and we did,” said Ellery cheerfully. “It’s all right, Andrea; Bill didn’t look, and I’m virtually sexless. The important thing is that we pulled you out of that stupor. How do you feel?”

She smiled wryly. “Rotten. Sick as the deuce. My stomach feels as if somebody had been punching it for an hour.”

“That’s the effect of the chloroform. It will pass soon.”

She glanced, still blushing, at Bill. He had turned his broad back and was staring with remarkable interest at a weather-beaten and quite illegible billboard across the road. “Bill,” she whispered. “Bill Angell.”

His shoulders jerked. “I’m sorry about the other day,” he said abruptly, without turning.

She sighed and leaned back against Ellery’s arm. “That was the other day.”

He swung about. “Andrea—”

“Don’t talk, please.” She closed her eyes. “Just let me — let me pull myself together. Everything’s so mixed up now.”

“Damn it, Andrea, I’ve been a fool.”

The air chilled a little as dusk deepened. “You?” Andrea smiled rather bitterly. “If you’ve been a fool, Bill, what have I been?”

“I’m glad,” remarked Ellery, “that you’ve both saved me the trouble of characterizing you.”

“It was a trap.” He felt her stiffen against his arm. “The wire—”

“We know all about the wire. What happened?”

She jumped up suddenly. “Mother! I must get to Mother—”

“There’s nothing to be afraid of now, Andrea. The telegram was a hoax; it wasn’t sent by your mother, obviously. It was meant to lure you here.”

She shivered. “Take me to Mother, please.”

“Didn’t you drive down?”

“No. I came by train and walked from the station. Please.”

“Surely,” said Ellery, “you’ve something to tell us now, Andrea?”

Her hand went to her lips, leaving a smudge. “I–I’d rather think things over first.”

Ellery stared at her. Then he said lightly, “My car’s a two-seater, you know. Rumbleseat’s working, though, if you—”

“I’ll sit in the rumbleseat,” said Bill thickly.

“I’m sure,” said Andrea, “we can all three sit—”

“Would you rather sit on Bill’s lap or mine?”

“I’ll drive,” said Bill.

“Not you,” said Ellery. “Nobody drives this car but Dr. Queen. I’m afraid you’re stuck, Andrea. I’ve been told by habitués that Bill’s is the most uncomfortable lap in the world.”

Bill strode off; his back was stiff. And Andrea plucked at her hair and said softly, “I’ll take a chance.”

Ellery drove with a negligent air, whistling. Bill sat like a lump beside him, his hands at his sides. Andrea was very quiet on Bill’s lap. There was no conversation; only occasionally Andrea murmured a direction to Ellery. The car bounced around rather more than seemed necessary; for some reason Ellery seemed unable to resist the smallest bump in the road.

Andrea joined them in the sloping gardens within fifteen minutes of their arrival. She had changed from her dusty clothing into something cool and pastel, of indeterminate color in the dusk. She sat down in a basketwork chair and for a moment none of them said anything. The gardens still exuded a moist warmth, aftermath of the gardener’s hose and the afternoon sun, soothing their tired skins as the scent of the flower-beds about them filled their nostrils. Below and far away the waters of the Sound were deep blue velvet, gently restless. It was quiet and peaceful. Andrea leaned back and said, “Mother’s not here. I’m glad.”

“Not here?” Ellery frowned slightly over his pipe.

“She’s off visiting the Carews, old friends. I’ve warned the servants not to say anything about... the way I came here. There’s no point in alarming her.”

“Of course not... You remind me of the heroine in one of those careless movies, Andrea. Finding a fresh wardrobe so conveniently!”

She smiled, too tired to answer. But Bill said in tones hardened by the tension of his throat, “Well?”

She did not reply at once, looking up into the cool heart of a tree. A catfooted man materialized among them balancing a tray on which were three tall frosty glasses. An assistant bore a table, linen. For a moment they were busy; then they were gone. Inexplicably Andrea sipped once, set her glass down, and rose to begin a drifting patrol before them, moving from bush to flower-cluster, her face always turned from them.

“Andrea,” said Ellery patiently, “hasn’t the time come?”

Bill sat forward gripping his glass; he did not stir thereafter. His eyes were magnetized by the languid course of the girl. Andrea’s fingers jerked, snapping the long stem of a gladiolus. She whirled about, pressing her fingers to her temples. “Oh, I’m so tired of keeping it to myself!” she cried. “It’s been such a nightmare. If I had to choke it back another day I think I’d go completely mad. You don’t know, you can’t know the torture I’ve been through. It wasn’t fair; it isn’t right!”

“Do you remember Browning’s reference in The Ring and the Book,” murmured Ellery, “to ‘the great right of an excessive wrong’?”

She grew quiet at that, and moved over to finger a jonquil, and then sighed and sat down in the basketwork chair. “I think I see what you mean. Perhaps this wrong was right. I thought it was. I had to think so. Now,” she whispered, “I don’t know. I don’t know anything surely any more. I’m dizzy with thinking about it. Now I’m just... afraid.”

“Afraid?” asked Ellery quietly. “Yes, I should think you would be afraid, Andrea. Because of that fear, won’t you understand that we want to help you, to help poor Lucy Wilson? Don’t you see that with a united front we may palliate this fear of yours and fight off the danger?”

“You know?” she said in a panting voice.

“Not everything. Not half enough. I know that on the night you visited the shack near the Delaware something happened. Something happened to you. I think, Andrea, that those match-stubs and that charred cork were correctly evaluated during Lucy’s trial. The murderess wrote a note using that cork as a pencil; the note is gone; but so were you, you see. The note, then, must have been meant for you. And your subsequent actions showed clearly that the note threatened you.” His hand lifted and impatiently brushed away the drifting smoke from his pipe. “But these are conjectures. I want the facts, the truth, from you as the only person besides the murderess who can establish the truth.”

“But it won’t do you any good,” she whispered across the barrier of dusk. “It can’t possibly. Oh, don’t you think I’ve been all through that with my conscience? Despite everything, don’t you think I would have told if I’d thought it would help Lucy?”

“Why not let me be the judge of that, Andrea?”

Her sigh was surrender. “Most of what I told you before was true. Not all. But I did receive that telegram, and I did borrow Burke’s roadster and drive out that Saturday afternoon to Trenton.”

“Yes?” said Ellery.

“It was eight o’clock when I got there. I mean when I drove up. I honked the horn; no one came out. So I went in. The shack was empty. I saw the man’s suits hanging on the wall, the table, everything — it struck me as terribly queer, and I began to feel... funny. Something told me that a dreadful thing had happened or was about to happen. I ran out, jumped into the car, and drove off toward Camden to think things out.” She paused and they were silent. In the gathering darkness Bill strained his eyes to see her, a quiet, pale curve on a shadowy chair. His own face was as colorless as her gown.

“And then you returned,” murmured Ellery. “And it wasn’t at nine as you told us, was it, Andrea? It was considerably before nine.”

“It was eight thirty-five by the clock on the dashboard.”

Bill said hoarsely: “You’re sure? God, Andrea, don’t make a mistake this time! You’re sure?”

“Oh, Bill,” she wailed, and to their consternation she began to sob. Bill stiffened, then he kicked over his chair and bounded across the glade. “Andrea.” The words tumbled out. “I don’t care any more. About anything. Please don’t cry. I’ve treated you so shabbily. Just don’t cry. But I didn’t know. You see that, don’t you? I was frantic about my sister. If only—”

Her hand crept into his. He held it timidly, scarcely breathing, as if it were something incredibly precious. And he stood that way for ever so long, while she began to talk again. It was quite dark now and only the glow from Ellery’s motionless pipe-bowl was visible. “When I’d come at eight,” she said with a curious tremor in her voice, “the shack was rather dim inside. I’d turned on the lamp — the lamp on that table. When I returned at a little after eight-thirty the lamp was still burning. I saw the light shining through the front windows.”

Abruptly, Ellery asked, “There was a Ford in that semicircular driveway when you got there the second time, wasn’t there?”

“Yes. I parked just behind it. I remember wondering whose it was. It was an old Ford coupé and no one was in it. Later—” She bit her lip. “Later I knew it was Lucy’s. But then I didn’t know. I went into the shack, expecting to see Joe.”

“Yes?” said Ellery. “Yes?”

She laughed, a bitter little laugh. “I was disturbed, but I never expected to see... what I saw. I pushed open the front door and stopped on the threshold. All I could see was that table, the plate on it, the glowing lamp. I think I was scared to death even then. Something told me — I took a few steps into the room, and then...”

“Andrea,” muttered Bill. Her hand fluttered in his.

“I saw two legs on the floor behind the table. They were so still. I put my hand to my mouth — I couldn’t think for a moment... Then everything exploded. Went absolutely black. All I was conscious of was a sharp pain at the back of my head, and that I was falling.”

“She hit you?” shouted Bill.

The echo died away before anyone spoke. Then Ellery said: “Whoever it was who heard your car drive up knew someone was coming. She might have escaped by the side door, but she wanted to drive that Ford away; that was part of her plan to implicate Lucy. So she lay in wait behind the front door. When you came in she struck you on the back of the head. I should have seen that. The note... Go on, Andrea.”

“I was lucky I was wearing a hat,” replied Andrea with a half-hysterical giggle. “Or perhaps she — she didn’t strike me hard. I came to at a few minute past nine; I remember looking at my wristwatch in a daze. The place was empty again. I thought it was empty, at first. I was on the floor in front of the table, where I’d been struck down. My head was aching hideously. My mouth felt like flannel. I got to my feet and leaned on the table, still weak and stunned. Then I became conscious that there was something in my hand...”

“Which hand?” asked Ellery quickly.

“The right. My gloved hand. It was a scrap of paper, wrapping-paper. Like the paper I’d seen on the mantelpiece above the fireplace. Ripped off.”

“What a bungler I am! I should have examined that wrapping-paper more carefully. But it was so torn... I’m sorry, Andrea. Go on.”

“Still dazed, I looked at it. It had marks on it. I was at the table, by the lamp. I read what was written on the note.”

“Andrea,” said Ellery softly. “If only... Where is that note? Lord, be good to us! Did you save that note, Andrea?”

He could not see in the dark. But Bill, still holding her hand as if it were a lifeline stretched wonderfully across an abyss, sensed her eagerness, the swiftness with which her other hand went to the bosom of her gown, vanished, and reappeared.

“I knew some day... Despite everything,” she said simply, “I saved it.”

“Bill!” snapped Ellery. He was out of his chair and before them so quickly that they drew back a little in alarm. “A light. Dig that box of matches out of my pocket. I must have a light. Heavens, man, you can do your hand-holding later! Give me light.”

There was a confused scuffling; and after a while a match fizzed. Bill’s cheeks were dark with blood. Andrea closed her eyes to the tiny blob of illumination. But Ellery was bent over the note, swallowing every mark, every letter, every word as if the torn and crumpled scrap of paper were an ancient and blessed holograph.

The match sputtered out. Bill struck another. And another. He used up most of the box before Ellery straightened, still studying the crudely printed capitals with a detached puzzlement, a frown, the faintest disappointment.

“Well?” said Bill, safe in darkness again. “What does it say?”

“Eh?” Ellery grunted and went back to his chair. “Not much, but what’s here is to the point. I believe I’ll keep this, Andrea, if you don’t mind. It says, ‘Say nothing about anything you have seen or heard tonight, if you value the life of your mother.’ The word ‘anything’ is heavily underscored. I think, Bill, we both owe this young woman an apology de profundis.”

“Andrea,” said Bill in a pleading, humble voice. But he did not seem able to say anything more. Ellery heard Andrea sigh from across the glade; Bill felt the hand in his, recaptured, tighten a little.

“Interesting,” continued Ellery in an absent tone. “Of course it’s plain now, for one thing, Andrea, why you felt you had to keep quiet. Upon your silence, imposed by someone who had proved herself a murderess, depended your mother’s life. It’s so clear now, after the event.” They heard him make an annoyed, clicking little sound. “I’m to be severely censured for my attack of stupidity. You didn’t know when or where the blow would fall. Yes, yes, very interesting indeed. Your mother knows nothing of this, I take it?”

“Oh, no!”

“You’ve confided in no one at all until tonight?”

“How could I?” She shivered a little.

“That’s a load,” said Ellery grimly, “I shouldn’t particularly care to carry about myself.”

“But now — tonight. She must be frightened now. I mean this awful, awful person. It was I who was stupid, not you. I should have known better. But when the wire came this afternoon I was frantic. It took me in completely. I imagined all sorts of dreadful things. So I rushed out to that inn and... Whoever it was took no chances. I’d no sooner run into the lobby there — I had no time even to realize how I had been fooled — when a hand holding something soft and smelly pressed it to my nose and I passed out. The next thing I knew I woke up outside on those chairs with Bill—” She stopped, and Bill squirmed like a child.

“Didn’t you see anything — the face, a hand, a scrap of garment?”

“Nothing.”

“How did the hand feel?”

“I didn’t feel the hand at all. I suppose it was a hand. Just that cloth — it must have been a handkerchief — saturated in chloroform.”

“A warning. Again a warning. Remarkable!”

“What’s remarkable about it?” demanded Bill.

“Forgive me; I was thinking aloud. Well, the warning didn’t work, did it, Andrea? Instead of inducing you to clamp your lips tighter, it parted them completely.”

“Don’t you see?” cried Andrea. “As soon as you got me out of that stupor I saw it. The woman who attacked me this afternoon must have been the same woman who attacked me in the shack that day and put the note in my hand. I realized that at once. And so I was sure — sure at last.”

“Of what?” asked Bill blankly.

“Sure that your sister hadn’t been that woman, silly! I never really believed, Bill, that Lucy killed Joe and attacked me that day, but I didn’t know. This afternoon I knew. Lucy’s in prison; so she couldn’t possibly have been — don’t you see? That was one thing I was clear about at last. It made up my mind for me. It’s still important to protect mother, more important than ever; but the terrible injustice to Lucy — I had to tell you my story.”

“But your mother—”

“Do you think,” she whispered, “that anyone...”

“No one knows we’re here, Andrea,” said Ellery gently. “And when your mother returns we’ll see to it that she’s well protected without her knowledge. This note, however... No salutation, no signature. That was to be expected. Can’t get anything typical out of the phraseology, either. On the the other hand, the comparative length of the message was a little troublesome to the writer. The words ‘of your mother’ — the last phrase in the message — grew regularly fainter, with ‘mother’ virtually illegible. Of course the length of the note explains the many matches used. A singeing of cork carbonizes only the upper surface; a stroke or two and the carbon is gone, necessitating another application of fire. Andrea, when you went in — and before you were struck on the head — did you see the knife lying on the table with the cork imbedded on its point?”

“No. I mean it wasn’t there then. I saw it only when I recovered from the blow.”

“That’s something. Before you were struck the knife therefore was in Gimball’s heart. Between the time you were struck and the time you recovered the murderess withdrew the knife, stuck the cork on its tip, charred it, tore off a piece of the wrapping-paper, and wrote the note to you. Before you recovered she stuck the note in your hand and fled in Lucy’s Ford. You didn’t catch even a glimpse of the one who struck you, Andrea?”

“No.”

“Not even her hand — anything?”

“It was a complete surprise.”

“What happened when you recovered?”

“I read the note. I was really frightened then. And I looked over the table and saw Joe. He was lying on the floor with blood on his chest. He looked dead. When I recognized him I must have screamed.”

“I’ve heard that scream of yours,” muttered Bill, “a hundred times in my dreams.”

“Poor Bill. I grabbed my bag and ran for the door. I saw a car’s headlights on the main road nearby. I realized then what a dangerous position I was in — alone with a dead man, my stepfather. I jumped into the roadster and drove off, putting a handkerchief to my face as I passed the car. Of course I didn’t know whose car it was, or who was in it. I left the main road going back and managed to reach the city by dodging in and out about eleven-thirty. I slipped into the apartment without being seen, changed into my evening things, and drove down to the Waldorf. I did say something to the others about having had a headache, or something; they didn’t question me. The rest,” she sighed with an infinitude of weariness, “you know.”

“Have you had any further messages, Andrea?” asked Ellery absently.

“One. It came the day after the... you know. A wire. It merely said, ‘Say nothing.’”

“Where is it?”

“I destroyed it. I didn’t think a wire—”

“What office was it sent from?”

“I don’t believe I noticed. I was practically petrified.” Her voice rose. “Oh, how could I say anything to you when I knew someone was watching from the dark, ready to — to harm Mother if I said a word?”

“Don’t, Andrea,” said Bill tenderly.

“But doesn’t this story of mine change things for Lucy, Bill? You — you could see to it that Mother and I were both protected from now on. The attack on me today proves that Lucy couldn’t have been the one who—”

“No, Andrea. From the legal standpoint it’s no proof at all. Pollinger would say that the attack on you today was engineered by friends of Lucy’s for the very purpose of making her appear innocent of the murder for which she’s been convicted.”

“I agree with Bill,” said Ellery suddenly. “As a matter of fact, our plan from now on must be entirely different. Andrea, I shall give you what is popularly known as the air — a generous gift, under the circumstances. You will say nothing to anyone about the attack on you at the North Shore Inn today, not even to your mother. Your assailant, inferring that I have given you up as a bad job, that you took her warning to heart and said nothing, will feel more comfortable — ample protection, I believe, against further assaults. Whoever it was who chloroformed you, my dear, isn’t bloodthirsty; you’ll be safe enough.”

“Whatever you think best,” murmured Andrea.

“But, Ellery—” protested Bill.

“No, no, I’m sure there’s no danger if we let matters rest, Bill.” Ellery’s chair scraped. ‘I think we’d better be on our way, Bill. Andrea’s mother will be along soon and there’s no point in remaining for awkward explanations. Shall we see you—”

Someone was crashing through the underbrush. Ellery stopped talking. The sounds grew louder. It was as if a large animal, blind, were blundering toward them through the bushes and trees.

“Not a word, Bill,” whispered Ellery. “Come out of that. Quickly! Andrea, sit tight. At the first sign of anything, run like the devil.”

Bill stole toward him in the darkness. Ellery grasped his arm and squeezed. Across the glade Andrea was very still. A man’s voice shouted, “Andrea!” with a queer thickness.

“Burke,” whispered Andrea.

“Andrea!” It was an angry roar. “Where the hell are you? Can’t see a thing in this blasted darkness.”

They heard him thrash through the last barrier of undergrowth into the glade. His breath came in gusts, as if he had been running. “Here I am, Burke,” said Andrea quietly from the basketwork chair.

Jones grunted; he was clearly groping about for her. Bill, crouching beside Ellery, was glaring toward the source of the noise. “Here you are,” Jones’s heavy laughter rolled out from the glade. “Dodging me, Andy? That’s a hell of a way to treat your fiancé. Had to trail you, by God. Telephoned your apartment and some servant said you’d come out here with the old lady. How about a kiss? Come on—”

“Take your hands off me,” said Andrea. “You’re drunk as a swill-filled pig.”

“What’s a couple o’ drinks between friends? Come on, now, Andy, gimme a kiss and make it hot.”

The listening men heard a scuffling noise and then, sharp as a punctuation mark, a slap. “I said take your hands off me,” said Andrea evenly. “I don’t like drunks pawing me. Now get out, Burke.”

“So that’s the way it is, hey?” growled Jones. “All right, Andrea; you asked for it. What you need is a li’l old-fashioned lovin’. Now, now...”

“Stop that, you filthy—”

“Like that sheep-eyed Philadelphia lawyer better, don’t you? Well, I don’t want my fiancée playing around with other men, see? No, sir, not my fiancée. My property, Andy; t’have and t’hold. Now gimme that kiss and be quick about it!”

“Burke, we’re through. Will you go now, please?”

“Through? Oh, no, we’re not. What d’ye mean — through?”

“Washed up. I’m breaking our engagement. It was a mistake. You aren’t yourself; you’re tight, Burke. Go now, before you do something you’ll be sorry for.”

“What you need, li’l one, is a touch of the whip. Break ’em... You come here!”

They were struggling across the glade. Bill shook off Ellery’s hand and silently streaked forward. Ellery hesitated, shrugged, and retreated more deeply into the protection of the tree above him. He heard a tearing sound, as if something had been ripped forcibly away. Jones grunted in pure surprise. “What the—”

“This is Angell speaking,” said Bill grimly. “I can’t see you, you swine, but I could smell you all the way across the glade. How’s that flipper of yours?”

“Leggo my collar, damn you!”

“Arm healed yet?”

“Sure! You going to leggo, or do I have to—” A fist thudded against bone, and a body crashed to the grass.

“It’s a shame to take advantage of a drunk,” growled Bill from the darkness, “but you had it coming to you.”

Jones scrambled to his feet. “Oh, it’s little Bill, is it?” he snarled. “Arranging pretty rendezvous in the dark, hey?” He said something obscene very clearly, and struck out.

“Bill, don’t!” cried Andrea.

Bill’s fists played a momentary tattoo, and again Jones went down. “That will teach you to be a good little polo-player, Jones. Now are you going peacefully, or do I have to boot you out?”

“Bill!”

Jones was silent now; Ellery could almost see him crouching on the grass. Then he sprang again. For several seconds Ellery heard nothing but panting exhalations and the soggy sounds of fists striking flesh. Then someone fell again. Jones cursed; Ellery heard him pick himself up and stagger away. And after a while they heard the sound of a motor retreating in the distance. Ellery stepped into the glade again. “My hero,” he said dryly. “Do you know what you are, Sir Galahad? You’re a fool.”

“Go sit on a tack,” said Bill defiantly. “I itched to maul that egotistical pillar of society the first time I set eyes on his ugly map. And nobody talks to Andrea that way—”

“Where is Andrea? It’s uncommonly quiet here.”

“I’m here,” murmured Andrea.

“Where?”

“The location,” she said softly, “is somewhat private, sir.”

Ellery threw up his hands. “I never knew an investigation that was materially assisted by the presence of little Eros. Disgusting! Well, there’s nothing I can do about it. Bless you, my children. Shall we see you back to the house, Andrea?”

“I’ll meet you at the car,” said Bill in a rather dreamy voice. Ellery grinned under cover of the darkness. He heard them walking slowly away.

When Bill rejoined Ellery he was silent and his face was shining. Ellery glanced at him once in the light of the Duesenberg’s dashboard, chuckled to himself, and drove off. Ellery parked the car on the main street of Roslyn, excused himself, and hurried into a drug-store. He was gone for a long time. When he came out he strode up the street toward a telegraph office and went in. Five minutes later he was back, looking thoughtful.

“What’s the idea?” demanded Bill.

“A few chores. By telephone. One to Trenton.”

“Trenton?”

“I wanted to speak to Ella Amity. But she hasn’t been in her office at the newspaper all day. Off on some tangent of her own, no doubt. Brainy female. And then I spoke to Sergeant Velie.”

“Oh, private business?” Bill slumped down as Ellery put the car into gear again, the dreamy look reappearing on his face.

“You might call it private,” chuckled Ellery. “The Sergeant, you know, is a veritable rock of ages. I always lean on his brawny shoulders when I’m weary — he’s my father’s Man Friday, you know, and as tongueless as a mummified Pharaoh. Well, Velie knew a good agency and promised to set the hounds on the trail instanter.”

Bill sat up abruptly. “Ellery! So you did—”

“Of course, you idiot. Your little attack of gallantry back there at Oyster Bay has made me change my plans. I deliberately concealed myself to keep him ignorant of my presence; but if he talks he may do damage nevertheless. Your having been there might strike a suspicious note in someone’s mind.”

“I couldn’t let that bird—” began Bill doggedly.

“Yes, yes, Romeo, I quite understand. The way it’s worked out there’s an additional advantage. A guard is always more effective when the guardee is unaware of his presence. Velie’s friends will watch Andrea and her mother closely enough, never fear. So we’ve given them protection under the best possible circumstances.”

“But won’t this blamed shadow of a murderess find out?”

Ellery looked hurt. “My dear Bill. If the arrangements give me a sense of security, they should satisfy you. I’m rather finicky in these delicate matters.”

“All right, all right. But it would be hell if she did. She’d know that Andrea had spilled—”

“Spilled what?”

“What?”

“What did Andrea spill?” asked Ellery patiently.

“Why, she told us exactly what happened that night—”

“Yes, and does it mean anything?”

Bill scowled. “I don’t get you.”

Ellery drove silently for a long time. He murmured at last, “Don’t you see, Bill, this criminal is deathly afraid of something connected with Andrea’s presence on the scene of the crime that night? Well, you heard Andrea’s story. Did it enlighten you? Did it point the road to the vital truth? Was there anything in it that struck you as damaging to an individual from the detective standpoint?”

“No,” admitted Bill.

“But there should have been. If Andrea had caught a glimpse of the murderess, her face, figure, clothing, even her hand, it would be conceivable that this dancing shadow of ours might feel it necessary to warn Andrea to say nothing. But the killer must have known that Andrea saw nothing: she was struck from behind and fell unconscious instantly. Then what was it the killer was afraid of?”

“You tell me,” said Bill gloomily.

Ellery said in a casual tone, “How about spending the night with me, Bill?” Then, as the Duesenberg howled under the impact of his foot on the accelerator, he muttered: “Perhaps I will, perhaps I will.”

“What d’ye mean by that?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“And why did you go into that telegraph office?”

“Oh! To check up on that wire sent to Andrea today that lured her out to the North Shore Inn”

“Well?”

“Nothing. The clerk doesn’t remember who sent it.”

The next morning the Inspector had left for Centre Street, and they were dawdling over their second cup of coffee in the Queens’ living-room, when the doorbell rang. They heard Djuna, who had a mind of his own, sharply questioning someone in the little sitting-room into which the door opened. “Djuna!” called Ellery from the breakfast table. “Who is it?”

“A girl,” said Djuna sulkily, appearing in the living-room doorway. Djuna, for all his tender years, was an incorruptible misogynist.

“Heavens!” said Andrea Gimball from behind him. “This young ogre almost snapped my head off. You don’t receive females often, I gather... Oh.”

Bill half rose, clutching the lapels of his borrowed dressing-gown over the russet and tan stripes of his borrowed pajamas; he glanced in panic at the bedroom door. He said, “Oh,” too, and sank back with a foolish grin.

“A plethora of orotundities,” observed Ellery with a smile. “So good of you, Andrea. You catch us literally with our... Well, never mind. Come in, Come in! And, Djuna, if ever you bark at this lady again I’ll wring your blasted young neck.”

Djuna scowled and departed for the kitchen. But he was back almost at once bearing the peace-offering of a clean cup and saucer, napkin, and spoon. “Coffee?” he growled, and vanished again.

“What a refreshing young person,” laughed Andrea as Ellery poured. “I think I like him.”

“He likes you. He reserves his sternest manner for those of whom he secretly approves.”

“Bill Angell, you look positively embarrassed. I thought bachelors preserved their poise under all circumstances.”

“It’s the pajamas,” said Bill, still grinning foolishly.

“They are weird. Yours, Mr. Queen? Thank you.” She sipped the coffee. She looked fresh and almost happy, dressed in something gay and perky, and showing no evidences of the previous day’s experience.

“It’s my libido sneaking out,” said Ellery. “Well, Andrea, you seem in better spirits this morning.”

“I am. I had a sound night’s sleep, a canter in the Park this morning, and here I am. And here you are, you two. Not dressed at ten-thirty!”

“Bill’s fault. He snores, you know — quite adept at it; has a most amazing virtuosity. Kept me awake half the night.” Bill blushed angrily.

“Bill!”

“It’s not true. I never snored in my life!”

“Thank goodness. I don’t think I could stand a man who—”

“Oh, couldn’t you?” retorted Bill. “Well, I’ll snore if I choose, and I’d like to see the woman—”

Andrea said maliciously, “Look, the little boy is angry. Oh, Bill, I do like you when your eyes get bright that way, and you make the funniest faces!”

“By the way,” said Ellery hastily, “did everything go off all right, Andrea? I mean last night?”

“Oh, yes.” Andrea sobered. “Mother came back just after you left. She was surprised to see me, of course, but I invented some excuse or other and persuaded her to return to the city.”

“No trouble?” asked Bill rather anxiously.

“Not the least bit. Not what you would call trouble.” Andrea’s chin hardened a little. “When we got back I found a series of frantic messages from Burke’s mother. I suppose you don’t know Burke’s mother?”

Bill grunted, looking glum, and Ellery said dryly, “Haven’t had the pleasure. Is she horsy, too?”

“Worse than that. She has aviation on the brain, an acute case. Goes about flying, gets in everybody’s hair. The professionals are afraid of her. Gray bobbed hair, a nose like Cæsar’s, and the riches of Midas. Well, dear Mrs. Jones wanted to know what in heaven’s name had happened to her little Burkie boy.”

“Oh,” said Bill. He was scanning Andrea’s face with renewed anxiety.

“It seems,” murmured Andrea, “that he came home last night with a black eye, a smashed nose, and a front tooth missing. Burke’s very proud of his appearance, you know, and this will keep him out of circulation for some time.”

“Break for the horses,” muttered Bill. “Did you—?”

“And of course,” continued Andrea, “Mrs. Jones wanted to know why I broke off the engagement. Then Mother got in on it and we had a perfectly lovely time. I was afraid Mother would throw a fit right on my bedroom rug.”

“Did you—?” began Bill again.

“Well, no, I didn’t. I thought,” Andrea looked at the floor, “one shock at a time was sufficient. Later...” Her voice was low. Then it lifted and she smiled again. “I suppose you’re wondering why I’m here?”

“Sufficient unto the day is the fact thereof,” said Ellery gallantly.

“No, but really. I awoke this morning remembering something that I’d completely forgotten last night. It’s a small thing that can’t be important, but you said you wanted to know everything.”

“Andrea.” Ellery rose, then he sat down again. “About that night in the shack?”

“Yes. Something I saw before I was struck by that fiendish woman.”

“Something you saw?” Ellery’s gravity was smothered in a rising tide of excitement. “What, Andrea? Don’t worry about its unimportance; let me do the fretting. What was it?”

“The matches.” Andrea shrugged. “Those yellow paper-matches on the plate. You see, I told you it was trivial. But they were different.”

Bill jumped up and went to the window, as if a thought had suddenly struck him. Below, on Eighty-seventh Street, a black town-car shone opulently at the curb. A few yards behind was parked a nondescript sedan with a hard-faced individual smoking at the wheel. “Andrea! You shouldn’t have come. Have you gone out of your mind? I just realized. That town-car downstairs simply shrieks. If that woman gets wind of this—”

Andrea went pale. But Ellery said impatiently: “There’s no danger, Bill; don’t be an old woman. Come, come, Andrea! What about those matches? In what way were they different?”

Her eyes were wide on Bill. “There weren’t as many,” she said in subdued tones.

“Not as many?” snapped Ellery. “When?”

“When I was standing in front of the table just before she hit me on the head. I saw the plate clearly. Everything was perfectly clear, like a photograph. It must have been my nerves. My nerves were on edge and my brain was racing—”

Ellery was leaning on the table now, his knuckles white. “Before she struck you the plate held fewer matches than — when?”

“Than when I came to and found the note in my hand and the woman gone and Joe on the floor.”

Ellery pushed back from the table. “Now, look here, Andrea,” he said softly. “Let’s get this straight. You came in, advanced to the table, saw the plate, were hit on the head, and when you revived noticed that there were more matches on the plate than when you’d come in. Is that right? Now, how many more were there?” his voice became urgent. “Think hard, please. I want the exact number.”

Andrea was bewildered. “But what could it possibly—”

“Andrea, will you answer my question!”

She frowned dutifully. “I don’t remember how many more there were when I revived. All I recall is how many there were on the plate when I came into the shack.”

“That will do.”

“There were six; I’m sure of the number. Six matches on the plate. I think subconsciously I counted them.”

“Six. Six.” Ellery began to pace up and down between Andrea and Bill. “Burnt, eh?”

“Oh, yes. Or rather half-burnt. You know.”

“Yes. Six matches which had been struck and used.” Ellery compressed his lips and continued to pace, his eyes abstracted.

“But, Ellery,” said Bill wearily, “what difference can it make how many she saw?”

Ellery made an impatient gesture. Andrea and Bill looked at each other, first in perplexity and then, as Ellery flung himself into a chair and began telling something off on his fingers, with a half-glimpsed excitement. Then he stopped counting, his features perfectly at rest. “Andrea, what was the situation as regards that plate when you first looked into the shack?”

“You mean at eight o’clock?”

“Yes.”

“Why, the plate was empty.”

“Wunderlich! Andrea, this is vital news. Are you sure you haven’t left anything out? There’s one thing — if only...” He stopped again to remove his pince-nez and tap them against his lips.

Andrea looked blank. “Why, I don’t think so. I think that’s all.”

“Please, Andrea. Concentrate. The table. Try to visualize the table as you saw it. What was on it at eight o’clock?”

“The empty plate. The lamp, unlit. I lit it then, as I think I told you. That’s all.”

“And at eight thirty-five, when you walked in — that is, just before you were assaulted?”

“The lamp, the plate with the six half-burnt match-stubs, and — oh!”

“Oh,” said Ellery. “We’ve struck a mnemonic chord.”

She said breathlessly, “There was something else; I remember it all now. There was a match-packet on the plate, too! Closed!”

“Ah,” said Ellery, and he put the pince-nez back on his nose. “An interesting point.” The way he said it, the way his eyes behind the rimless lenses glittered, made Bill glance at him sharply. “This packet of matches, Andrea — do you remember anything about it?”

“Why, no. Just that it was closed. It was a packet of paper-matches. You know. Those little things where the top fits into the piece where you strike the match—”

“Yes, yes. That’s everything, Andrea? You’re sure?”

“Really, I don’t see... That’s all.”

His eyes flickered. “Well, that takes care of the period before your assault. Now what was on the table when you came to?”

“The plate with a great number of those burnt yellow match-stubs — you saw them yourself later that night — the lamp, and that horrible paper-cutter with the — the — blood and burnt cork on its tip.”

“Nothing else?”

She thought for a moment. “No. Not a thing.”

“Wasn’t the match-packet still there?”

“No.”

“Hmm.” Ellery studied her for a moment rather queerly. Then he heaved himself out of his chair and said to Bill, “How would you like the job of sticking close to Andrea for a few days? I’ve changed my mind. I agree there may be some danger now — more than last night.”

“I told you there would be!” raged Bill, waving his arms. “Andrea, that was childish — coming here so openly. What do you think I ought to do, Ellery?”

“Take Andrea home. And stay there. Be her shadow. That shouldn’t be a specially onerous assignment.”

“You really think—?” began Andrea faintly.

“It’s safer, Andrea. Well, well, Bill, don’t stand there like one of Madame Tussaud’s exhibits!” Bill dashed off to the bedroom. He was back in an impossibly short time, fully dressed and flushed to the tips of his ears.

“Wait a minute,” said Ellery; he vanished into the bedroom. When he came back he was thoughtfully hefting a.38 police revolver. “You might pack this piece of hardware. It’s loaded; don’t monkey with that safety. You know how to use a gun, of course?”

“I’ve handled ’em.” Bill took it grimly.

“Lord, Andrea, don’t look so apprehensive! This is just an extra safety measure. Now, off with you both. Take good care of her, Bill.”

“We may have some trouble with Andrea’s people,” grinned Bill, waving the revolver. “Is that why you’ve given me this?”

“You might,” said Ellery gravely, “use it on Fish-Face.”

Bill seized Andrea’s arm, still grinning, and hustled the bewildered girl out of the apartment. Ellery walked quickly to the window. He stood motionless until he saw Bill and Andrea running down the stone steps below, Bill’s left hand gripping Andrea’s arm and his right jammed into his pocket. They jumped into the town-car and were gone. The nondescript car parked down the street rolled off at once. Eyes gleaming, Ellery sprang for the telephone in the bedroom and called the Long Distance operator. While he waited his lips were screwed up in a most extraordinary expression. “Hello, De Jong... De Jong? This is Ellery Queen calling. Yes, from New York... Fine, thanks. I say, De Jong, what happened to the evidence in that Wilson case?”

“Cripes, you still harping on that?” growled De Jong. “What evidence?”

“Well, specifically, that chipped plate I saw you stow away the night of the murder. The plate with all those match-stubs on it.”

“Oh, that’s on file down here.” A note of curiosity crept into the Trenton policeman’s voice. “Why?”

“For excellent reasons immaterial at the moment. De Jong, do something for me. Dig out that plate with its contents and—” Ellery paused — “count the match-stubs.”

“What?” He could almost see De Jong blinking. “You spoofing?”

“Never more serious in my life. Count the stubs. And call me back. I’ll be waiting.” He gave his number. De Jong grunted and hung up. While he waited Ellery paced again with lean and hungry strides. At last the telephone rang.

“Well?” he snapped.

“Twenty.”

“Twenty,” said Ellery slowly. “Well, well, what do you think of that? Thanks, De Jong. Thanks ever so much.”

“But what the hell is the idea? Count the matches! I don’t—”

Ellery smiled vaguely, murmured something, and hung up. He stood still for a moment, musing. Then he threw himself on the bed. After a while he got up to fish a cigaret out of his coat-pocket. While he smoked he examined his face absently in the mirror over his bureau. Then he went back to the bed again. Finally he flung his butt into an ashtray and went into the living-room. Djuna was clearing away the breakfast dishes, his dark gypsy face scowling at the cup Andrea had used.

He looked up briefly. “That his girl,” he demanded, “that girl?”

“Eh? Oh, I shouldn’t wonder.”

Djuna looked relieved. “I guess she’s all right,” he said. “Pretty keen.”

Ellery went to the window and clasped his hands behind his back. “Djuna, you always were a mathematics shark. How much is left when you subtract twenty from twenty?”

Djuna looked suspicious. “Any kid knows that. Nothing!”

“No,” said Ellery without turning, “that’s where you’re wrong, my son. When you subtract twenty from twenty, oddly enough you have left... everything. Now isn’t that curious, Djuna?”

Djuna snorted and went on with his work; he knew the uselessness of discussion at times like this. And after a moment Ellery said, with a sort of wonder in his voice, “Everything! Lord, the thing’s as plain as a pikestaff now.”

“Yah!” said Djuna derisively. Ellery went to the big armchair reserved for the Inspector and covered his face with his hands. “A what did you say?” frowned Djuna. But Ellery did not reply. So Djuna shrugged and sailed off to the kitchen with his tray.

“As plain as a pikestaff. Plainer.” Ellery sprang out of the chair suddenly. “Yes, by thunder!” he shouted. And he made for the bedroom and the telephone with the swift determination of a man who sees clearly and grimly that there is work to be done.