“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?”