“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?”