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?”