IN WHICH THE QUEENS INVADE SOCIETY
Wednesday morning found Djuna pouring the coffee before a bemused
Inspector and a chattering Ellery. The telephone bell rang. Both Ellery
and his father jumped for the instrument.
“Here! What are you doing?” exclaimed Queen. “I’m expecting a call and
that’s it!”
“Now, now, sir, allow a bibliophile the privilege of using his own
telephone,” retorted Ellery. “I have a feeling that that’s my friend
the book-dealer calling me about the elusive Falconer.”
“Look here, Ellery, don’t start—” While they were chaffing each other
good-naturedly across the table, Djuna picked up the telephone.
“The Inspector—the Inspector, did you say? Inspector—” said Djuna,
grinning as he held the mouthpiece to his thin chest, “it’s for you.”
Ellery subsided in his chair while Queen, with an air of triumph,
snatched the instrument.
“Yes?”
“Stoates calling from Field’s office, Inspector,” came a fresh cheery
young voice. “I want to put Mr. Cronin on the wire.”
The Inspector’s brow wrinkled in anticipation. Ellery was listening
intently, and even Djuna, with the monkey-like eagerness of his
sharp features, had become rooted to his corner, as if he, too,
awaited important news. Djuna in this respect resembled his brother
anthropoid—there was an alertness, a bright inquisitiveness in his
attitude and mien which delighted the Queens eternally.
Finally a high-pitched voice came over the wire. “This is Tim Cronin
speaking, Inspector,” it said. “How are you? I haven’t got round to
seeing you for an age.”
“I’m getting a little bent and withered, Tim, but otherwise I’m still
all there,” returned Queen. “What’s on your mind? Have you found
anything?”
“Now that’s the very peculiar part of the whole business, Inspector,”
came Cronin’s excited tones. “As you know, I’ve been watching this
bird Field for years. He’s been my pet nightmare for as long as I can
remember. The D.A. tells me that he gave you the story night before
last, so I needn’t go into it. But in all these years of watching and
waiting and digging I’ve never been able to find a solitary piece of
evidence against that crook that I could bring into a courtroom. And
he was a crook, Inspector—I’d stake my life on that.... Anyway, it’s
the old story here. I really shouldn’t have hoped for anything better,
knowing Field as I did. And yet—well, I couldn’t help praying that
somewhere, somehow, he would slip up, and that I’d nail it when I could
get my hands on his private records. Inspector—there’s nothing doing.”
Queen’s face reflected a fleeting disappointment, which Ellery
interpreted with a sigh, rising as he did so to walk restlessly up and
down the room.
“I guess we can’t help it, Tim,” returned Queen, with an effort at
heartiness. “Don’t worry—we’ve other irons in the fire.”
“Inspector,” said Cronin abruptly, “you’ve got your hands full. Field
was a really slick article. And from the way it looks to me, the
genius who could get past his guard and put him away is a really slick
article, too. He couldn’t be anything else. Incidentally, we’re not
half-way through with the files and maybe what we’ve looked over
isn’t as unpromising as I made it sound. There’s plenty here to
suggest shady work on Field’s part—it’s just that there’s no direct
incriminating evidence. We’re hoping that we find something as we go
on.”
“All right, Tim—keep up the good work,” muttered the Inspector. “And
let me know how you make out.... Is Lewin there?”
“You mean the office manager?” Cronin’s voice lowered. “He’s around
somewhere. Why?”
“You want to keep your eye peeled,” said Queen. “I have a sneaking
suspicion he’s not as stupid as he sounds. Just don’t let him get too
familiar with any records lying around. For all we know, he may have
been in on Field’s little side-line.”
“Right, Inspector. Call you sometime later,” and the receiver clicked
as Cronin hung up.
* * * * *
At ten-thirty Queen and Ellery pushed open the high gate at the
entrance to the Ives-Pope residence on Riverside Drive. Ellery was
moved to remark that the atmosphere was a perfect invitation to formal
morning-dress and that he was going to feel extremely uncomfortable
when they were admitted through the stone portals.
In truth, the house which concealed the destinies of the Ives-Popes
was in many respects awe-inspiring to men of the modest tastes of the
Queens. It was a huge rambling old stone house, set far back from the
Drive, hunched on the greensward of a respectable acreage. “Must have
cost a pretty penny,” grunted the Inspector as his eyes swept the
rolling lawns surrounding the building. Gardens and summer-houses;
walks and bowered nooks—one would have thought himself miles away
from the city which roared by a scant few rods away, behind the high
iron palings which circled the mansion. The Ives-Popes were immensely
wealthy and brought to this not uncommon possession a lineage
stretching back into the dim recesses of American colonization.
The front door was opened by a whiskered patrician whose back seemed
composed of steel and whose nose was elevated at a perilous angle
toward the ceiling. Ellery lounged in the doorway, surveying this
uniformed nobleman with admiration, while Inspector Queen fumbled
in his pockets for a card. He was a long time producing one; the
stiff-backed flunkey stood graven into stone. Red-faced, the Inspector
finally discovered a battered card. He placed it on the extended salver
and watched the butler retreat to some cavern of his own.
Ellery chuckled as his father drew himself up at the sight of Franklin
Ives-Pope’s burly figure emerging from a wide carved doorway.
The financier hurried toward them.
“Inspector! Mr. Queen!” he exclaimed in a cordial tone. “Come right in.
Have you been waiting long?”
The Inspector mumbled a greeting. They walked through a high-ceilinged
shining-floored hall, decorated with austere old furniture.
“You’re on the dot, gentlemen,” said Ives-Pope, standing aside to allow
them to pass into a large room. “Here are some additional members of
our little board-meeting. I think you know all of us present.”
The Inspector and Ellery looked about. “I know everybody, sir, except
that gentleman—I presume he is Mr. Stanford Ives-Pope,” said Queen.
“I’m afraid my son has still to make the acquaintance of—Mr. Peale, is
it?—Mr. Barry—and, of course, Mr. Ives-Pope.”
The introductions were made in a strained fashion. “Ah, Q!” murmured
District Attorney Sampson, hurrying across the room. “I wouldn’t have
missed this for the world,” he said in a low tone. “First time I’ve met
most of the people who’ll be present at the inquisition.”
“What is that fellow Peale doing here?” muttered Queen to the
District Attorney, while Ellery crossed the room to engage the three
young men on the other side in conversation. Ives-Pope had excused
himself and disappeared.
“He’s a friend of young Ives-Pope, and, of course, he’s chummy with
Barry there, too,” returned the District Attorney. “I gathered from the
chit-chat before you came that Stanford, Ives-Pope’s son, originally
introduced these professional people to his sister Frances. That’s how
she met Barry and fell in love with him. Peale seems on good terms with
the young lady, too.”
“I wonder how much Ives-Pope and his aristocratic spouse like the
bourgeois company their children keep,” said the Inspector, eyeing the
small group on the other side of the room with interest.
“You’ll find out soon enough,” chuckled Sampson. “Just watch the
icicles dripping from Mrs. Ives-Pope’s eyebrows every time she sees
one of these actors. I imagine they’re about as welcome as a bunch of
Bolsheviks.”
Queen put his hands behind his back and stared curiously about the
room. It was a library, well stocked with rich and rare books,
catalogued carefully and immaculate behind shining glass. A desk
dominated the center of the room. It was unpretentious for a
millionaire’s study, the Inspector noted with approval.
“Incidentally,” resumed Sampson, “Eve Ellis, the girl who you said
was with Miss Ives-Pope and her fiancé at the Roman Theatre Monday
night is here, too. She’s upstairs keeping the little heiress company,
I imagine. Don’t think the old lady likes it much. But they’re both
charming girls.”
“What a pleasant place this must be when the Ives-Popes and the actors
get together in private!” grunted Queen.
The four young men strolled toward them. Stanford Ives-Pope was a
slender, well-manicured young man, fashionably dressed. There were
deep pouches under his eyes. He wore a restless air of boredom that
Queen was quick to note. Both Peale and Barry, the actors, were attired
faultlessly.
“Mr. Queen tells me that you’ve got a pretty problem on your hands,
Inspector,” drawled Stanford Ives-Pope. “We’re all uncommonly sorry
to see poor sis dragged into it. How in the world did her purse ever
get into that chap’s pocket? Barry hasn’t slept for days over Frances’
predicament, I give you my word!”
“My dear young man,” said the Inspector, with a twinkle in his eye,
“if I knew how Miss Ives-Pope’s purse found its way into Monte Field’s
pocket, I wouldn’t be here this morning. That’s just one of the things
that make this case so infernally interesting.”
“The pleasure’s all yours, Inspector. But you certainly can’t think
Frances had the slightest connection with all this?”
Queen smiled. “I can’t think anything yet, young man,” he protested. “I
haven’t heard what your sister has to say about it.”
“She’ll explain all right, Inspector,” said Stephen Barry, his handsome
face drawn into lines of fatigue. “You needn’t worry about that. It’s
the damnable suspicion that she’s open to that makes me angry—the whole
thing is ridiculous!”
“I know just how you feel, Mr. Barry,” said the Inspector kindly. “And
I want to take this opportunity of apologizing for my conduct the other
night. I was perhaps a little—harsh.”
“I suppose I ought to apologize, too,” returned Barry, with a wan
smile. “I guess I said a few things I didn’t mean in that office.
In the heat of the moment—seeing Frances—Miss Ives-Pope go off in a
faint—” He paused awkwardly.
Peale, a massive giant, ruddy and wholesome in his morning
clothes, put his arm affectionately about Barry’s shoulders. “I’m sure
the Inspector understood, Steve old boy,” he said cheerfully. “Don’t
take it so much to heart—everything’s bound to come out all right.”
“You can leave it to Inspector Queen,” said Sampson, nudging the
Inspector jovially in the ribs. “He’s the only bloodhound I’ve ever met
who has a heart under his badge—and if Miss Ives-Pope can clear this
thing up to his satisfaction, even to a reasonable extent, that will be
the end of it.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” murmured Ellery thoughtfully. “Dad’s a great one
for surprises. As for Miss Ives-Pope”—he smiled ruefully and bowed to
the actor—“Mr. Barry, you’re a deucedly lucky fellow.”
“You wouldn’t think so if you saw the mater,” drawled Stanford
Ives-Pope. “If I’m not mistaken, here she barges in now.”
The men turned toward the door. An enormously stout woman was waddling
in. A uniformed nurse supported her carefully under one huge arm,
holding a large green bottle in her other hand. The financier followed
briskly, by the side of a white-haired youngish looking man, wearing a
dark coat and holding a black bag in his hand.
“Catharine, my dear,” said Ives-Pope in a low voice to the stout woman
as she sank into a great-chair, “these are the gentlemen whom I told
you about—Inspector Richard Queen and Mr. Ellery Queen.”
The two Queens bowed, receiving a stony glance from the myopic eyes
of Mrs. Ives-Pope. “Charmed, I’m sure,” she shrilled. “Where’s Nurse?
Nurse! I feel faint, please.”
The uniformed girl hurried to her side, the green bottle ready. Mrs.
Ives-Pope closed her eyes and inhaled, sighing with relief. The
financier hurriedly introduced the white-haired man, Dr. Vincent
Cornish, the family physician. The physician made swift apologies and
disappeared behind the butler. “Great chap, this Cornish,” whispered
Sampson to Queen. “Not only the most fashionable doctor on the Drive,
but a genuine scientist as well.” The Inspector elevated his brows, but
said nothing.
“The mater’s one reason why I never cared for the medical profession,”
Stanford Ives-Pope was saying in a loud whisper to Ellery.
“Ah! Frances, my dear!” Ives-Pope hurried forward, followed by Barry,
who dashed for the door. Mrs. Ives-Pope’s fishy stare enveloped his
back with cold disapproval. James Peale coughed embarrassedly and made
a mumbled remark to Sampson.
Frances, attired in a filmy morning-gown, her face pale and drawn,
entered the room leaning heavily on the arm of Eve Ellis, the actress.
Her smile was somewhat forced as she murmured a greeting to the
Inspector. Eve Ellis was introduced by Peale and the two girls seated
themselves near Mrs. Ives-Pope. The old lady was sitting squarely
in her chair, glaring about her like a lioness whose cub has been
threatened. Two servants appeared silently and set chairs for the men.
At Ives-Pope’s urgent request Queen sat down at the big desk. Ellery
refused a chair, preferring to lean against a bookcase behind and to
the side of the company.
When the conversation had died away the Inspector cleared his throat
and turned toward Frances, who after a startled flutter of the eyelids
returned his glance steadily.
“First of all, Miss Frances—I hope I may call you that,” began Queen in
a fatherly tone, “allow me to explain my tactics of Monday night and
to apologize for what must have seemed to you a totally unwarranted
severity. From what Mr. Ives-Pope has told me, you can explain your
actions on the night of the murder of Monte Field. I take it,
therefore, that as far as you are concerned our little chat this
morning will effectually remove you from the investigation. Before we
have that chat, please believe me when I say that Monday night you
were to me merely one of a number of suspicious characters. I acted
in accordance with my habits in such cases. I see now how, to a woman
of your breeding and social position, a grilling by a policeman under
such tense circumstances would cause sufficient shock to bring on your
present condition.”
Frances smiled wearily. “You’re forgiven, Inspector,” she said in a
clear, low voice. “It was my fault for being so foolish. I’m ready to
answer any questions you may care to ask me.”
“In just a moment, my dear.” The Inspector shifted a bit to include the
entire silent company in his next remark. “I should like to make one
point, ladies and gentlemen,” he said gravely. “We are assembled here
for a definite purpose, which is to discover a possible connection, and
there must be one, between the fact that Miss Ives-Pope’s bag was found
in the dead man’s pocket, and the fact that Miss Ives-Pope apparently
was unable to explain this circumstance. Now, whether this morning’s
work bears fruit or not, I must ask you all to keep whatever is said a
profound secret. As District Attorney Sampson knows very well, I do not
generally conduct an investigation with such a large audience. But I am
making this exception because I believe you are all deeply concerned
in the unfortunate young lady who has been drawn into this crime. You
cannot, however, expect any consideration at my hands if one word of
to-day’s conversation reaches outside ears. Do we understand each
other?”
“I say, Inspector,” protested young Ives-Pope, “that’s putting it a bit
strong, don’t you think? We all of us know the story, anyway.”
“Perhaps, Mr. Ives-Pope,” retorted the Inspector with a grim
smile, “that is the reason I have consented to have all of you here.”
There was a little rustle and Mrs. Ives-Pope opened her mouth as if to
burst into wrathful speech. A sharp look from her husband made her lips
droop together, with the protest unuttered. She transferred her glare
to the actress sitting by Frances’ side. Eve Ellis blushed. The nurse
stood by Mrs. Ives-Pope with the smelling salts, like a setter-dog
about to point.
“Now, Miss Frances,” resumed Queen kindly, “this is where we stand. I
examine the body of a dead man named Monte Field, prominent lawyer,
who was apparently enjoying an interesting play before he was so
unceremoniously done away with, and find, in the rear coat-tail pocket
of his full-dress suit, an evening bag. I identify this as yours by a
few calling cards and some personal papers inside. I say to myself,
‘Aha! A lady enters the problem!’—naturally enough. And I send one of
my men to summon you, with the idea of allowing you to explain a most
suspicious circumstance. You come—and you faint on being confronted
with your property and the news of its place of discovery. At the
time, I say to myself, ‘This young lady knows something!’—a not
unnatural conclusion. Now, in what way can you convince me that you
know nothing—and that your fainting was caused only by the shock of the
thing? Remember, Miss Frances—I am putting the problem not as Richard
Queen but as a policeman looking for the truth.”
“My story is not as illuminating, perhaps, as you might like it to be,
Inspector,” answered Frances quietly, in the deep hush that followed
Queen’s peroration. “I don’t see how it is going to help you at all.
But some facts which I think unimportant may be significant to your
trained mind.... Roughly, this is what happened.
“I came to be in the Roman Theatre Monday night in a natural way.
Since my engagement to Mr. Barry, although it has been a very quiet
affair”—Mrs. Ives-Pope sniffed; her husband looked steadfastly at a
point beyond his daughter’s dark hair—“I have often dropped into the
theatre, following a habit of meeting my fiancé after the performance.
At such times he would either escort me home or take me to some
place in the neighborhood for supper. Generally we make arrangements
beforehand for these theatre-meetings; but sometimes I drop in
unexpectedly if the opportunity presents itself. Monday night was one
of those times....
“I got to the Roman a few minutes before the end of the first act,
since I have of course seen ‘Gunplay’ any number of times. I had my
regular seat—arranged for me many weeks ago by Mr. Barry through Mr.
Panzer—and had no more than settled myself to watch the performance
when the curtain came down for the first intermission. I was feeling a
little warm; the air was none too good.... I went first to the ladies’
rest-room, downstairs off the general lounge. Then I came up again and
went out into the alley through the open door. There was quite a crowd
of people there, enjoying the air.”
She paused for a moment and Ellery, leaning against the bookcase,
sharply surveyed the faces of the little audience. Mrs. Ives-Pope was
looking about in her leviathan manner; Ives-Pope was still staring at
the wall above Frances’ head; Stanford was biting his fingernails;
Peale and Barry were both watching Frances with nervous sympathy,
looking furtively at Queen as if to gauge the effect of her words upon
him; Eve Ellis’s hand had stolen forward to clasp Frances’ firmly.
The Inspector cleared his throat once more.
“Which alley was it, Miss Frances—the one on the left or the one on the
right?” he asked.
“The one on the left, Inspector,” she answered promptly. “You know I
was sitting in M8 Left, and I suppose it was natural for me to go to
the alley on that side.”
“Quite so,” said Queen, smiling. “Go on, please.”
“I stepped out into the alley,” she resumed, less nervously, “and, not
seeing any one I knew, stood close to the brick wall of the theatre,
a little behind the open iron door. The freshness of the night-air
after the rain was delightful. I hadn’t been standing there more than
two minutes when I felt somebody brush up against me. I naturally
moved a little to one side, thinking the person had stumbled. But when
he—it was a man—when he did it again, I became a little frightened
and started to walk away. He—he grasped my wrist and pulled me back.
We were half-way behind the iron door, which was not pushed back
completely and I doubt if any one noticed his action.”
“I see—I see,” murmured the Inspector sympathetically. “It seems an
unusual thing for a total stranger to do in a public place.”
“It seemed as if he wanted to kiss me, Inspector. He leaned over and
whispered, ‘Good evening, honey!’ and—well, of course, I jumped to that
conclusion. I drew back a little and said as coldly as I could, ‘Please
let me go, or I will call for help.’ He just laughed at that and bent
closer. The reek of whisky on his breath was overpowering. It made me
ill.”
She stopped. Eve Ellis patted her hand reassuringly. Peale nudged Barry
forcibly as the young man half-rose to his feet in muttered protest.
“Miss Frances, I’m going to ask you a peculiar question—it’s almost
ridiculous when you come to think of it,” said the Inspector, leaning
back in his chair. “Did the reek on his breath suggest good liquor
or bad liquor?... There! I knew you’d smile.” And the entire company
tittered at the whimsical expression on Queen’s face.
“Well, Inspector—it’s hard to answer that,” returned the girl
freely. “I’m afraid I’m not on intimate terms with spirits. But from
what I can remember, it had the odor of rather fine liquor. Fine
liquor—but plenty of it!” she concluded with a grim little toss of her
head.
“I would’ve spotted the vintage in a minute if I’d been there!”
muttered Stanford Ives-Pope.
His father’s lips tightened, but after a moment they relaxed into the
suspicion of a grin. He shook his head warningly at his son.
“Go ahead, Miss Frances,” said the Inspector.
“I was terribly frightened,” the girl confessed, with a tremor of her
red lips. “And feeling nauseated and all—I wrenched away from his
outstretched hand and stumbled blindly into the theatre. The next
thing I remember is sitting in my seat listening to the warning ring
of the backstage bell, announcing the beginning of the second act. I
really don’t remember how I got there. My heart was in my throat and
now I distinctly recall thinking that I would not tell Stephen—Mr.
Barry—anything about the incident for fear he would want to look up
this man and punish him. Mr. Barry is terribly jealous, you know.” She
smiled tenderly at her fiancé, who suddenly smiled back at her.
“And that, Inspector, is all I know about what happened Monday night,”
she resumed. “I know you’re going to ask me where my purse comes into
it. Well—it doesn’t at all, Inspector. Because on my word of honor I
can’t remember a thing about it!”
Queen shifted in his chair. “And how is that, Miss Frances?”
“Actually, I didn’t even know I had lost it until you showed it to me
in the manager’s office,” she answered bravely. “I recall taking it
with me when I rose at the end of the first act to go to the rest-room;
and also opening it there to use my powder-puff. But whether I
left it there or dropped it later, somewhere else, I don’t know to this
minute.”
“Don’t you think, Miss Frances,” interposed Queen, reaching for his
snuff-box and then guiltily dropping it back into his pocket as he met
the icy gaze of Mrs. Ives-Pope, “that you might have dropped it in the
alley after this man accosted you?”
A look of relief spread over the girl’s face, and it became
almost animated. “Why, Inspector!” she cried. “That was just what
I have thought about it all the time, but it seemed such a lame
explanation—and I was so horribly afraid that I might be caught in
a sort of—of spider’s web.... I just couldn’t bring myself to tell
you that! While I don’t actually remember, it seems logical, doesn’t
it?—that I dropped it when he grasped my wrist and entirely forgot
about it afterward.”
The Inspector smiled. “On the contrary, my dear,” he said, “it is the
only explanation which seems to cover the facts. In all probability
this man found it there—picked it up—and in a moment of half-drunken
amourousness put it into his pocket, probably intending to return it to
you later. In this way he would have had another opportunity to meet
you. He seems to have been quite smitten by your charms, my dear—and no
wonder.” And the Inspector bowed a little stiffly while the girl, the
color in her face now completely restored, favored him with a dazzling
smile.
“Now—a few things more, Miss Frances, and this little inquisition will
be over,” continued Queen. “Can you describe his physical appearance?”
“Oh, yes!” Frances returned quickly. “He made a rather forcible
impression on me, as you can imagine. He was a trifle taller than
I—that would make him about five feet eight—and inclined to corpulence.
His face was bloated and he had deep leaden-colored pouches
under his eyes. I’ve never seen a more dissipated-looking man. He was
clean-shaven. There was nothing remarkable about his features except
perhaps a prominent nose.”
“That would be our friend Mr. Field, all right,” remarked the Inspector
grimly. “Now—think carefully, Miss Frances. Did you ever meet this man
anywhere before—did you recognize him at all?”
The girl responded instantly. “I don’t have to think much about that,
Inspector. I can answer positively that I never saw the man before in
my life!”
The pause which ensued was broken by the cool, even tones of Ellery.
All heads turned toward him in a startled manner as he spoke.
“I beg your pardon, Miss Ives-Pope, for interrupting,” he said affably.
“But I am curious to know whether you noticed how the man who accosted
you was dressed.”
Frances turned her smile upon Ellery, who blinked quite humanly. “I
didn’t take particular notice of his clothes, Mr. Queen,” she said,
displaying white, brilliant teeth. “But I seem to remember his wearing
a full-dress suit—his shirt-bosom was a little stained—they were like
liquor-stains—and a tophat. From what I recall of his attire, it was
rather fastidious and in good taste, except, of course, for the stains
on his shirt.”
Ellery murmured a fascinated thanks and subsided against the bookcase.
With a sharp look at his son, Queen rose to his feet.
“Then that will be all, ladies and gentlemen. I think we may safely
consider the incident closed.”
There was an instantaneous little burst of approval and everybody rose
to press in on Frances, who was radiant with happiness. Barry, Peale
and Eve Ellis bore Frances off in triumphal march, while Stanford, with
a lugubrious smile, offered his mother a carefully elbowed arm.
“Thus endeth the first lesson,” he announced gravely. “Mater, my
arm before you faint!” A protesting Mrs. Ives-Pope departed, leaning
ponderously on her son.
Ives-Pope shook Queen’s hand vigorously. “Then you think it’s all over
as far as my girl is concerned?” he asked.
“I think so, Mr. Ives-Pope,” answered the Inspector. “Well, sir, thank
you for your courtesy. And now we must be going—lots of work to do.
Coming, Henry?”
Five minutes later Queen, Ellery and District Attorney Sampson were
striding side by side down Riverside Drive toward 72nd Street,
earnestly discussing the events of the morning.
“I’m glad that line of investigation is cleared up with no result,”
said Sampson dreamily. “By the Lord Harry, I admire that girl’s pluck,
Q!”
“Good child,” said the Inspector. “What do you think, Ellery?” he asked
suddenly, turning on his son, who was walking along staring at the
River.
“Oh, she’s charming,” Ellery said at once, his abstracted eyes
brightening.
“I didn’t mean the girl, my son,” said his father irritably. “I meant
the general aspect of the morning’s work.”
“Oh, that!” Ellery smiled a little. “Do you mind if I become Æsopian?”
“Yes,” groaned his father.
“A lion,” said Ellery, “may be beholden to a mouse.”