“I think,” smiled Ellery, “that you lead horribly interesting lives. Queer idea of humor. May I see them, Miss Stuart?”
“Really, it’s nothing—” began Blythe, but somehow the cards and envelope managed to pass from her hand to Mr. Queen’s; and before she could protest he was examining all three intently.
“The Horseshoe Club, of course,” murmured Ellery. “I noticed that distinctive design on their cards the other night. And your practical joker has been very careful about the envelope. Address block-lettered by pen in that scratchy, wishy-washy blue that’s so characteristic of American post-offices. Postmarked this morning. Hmm. Is this the first envelope of its kind you’ve received, Miss Stuart?”
“You don’t think—” began Jack Royle, glancing at Blythe.
“I told you...” Blythe tossed her head; Ellery saw where Bonnie had acquired the habit. “Really, Mr. Queen, it’s nothing at all. People in our profession are always getting the funniest things in our fan-mail.”
“But you have received others?”
Blythe frowned at him. He was smiling. She shrugged and went over to the piano; and as she returned with her bag she opened it and extracted another envelope.
“Blythe, there’s something behind this,” muttered Royle.
“Oh, Jack, it’s such a fuss about nothing. I can’t understand why you should be so interested, Mr. Queen. I received the first one this past Tuesday, the day after we signed the contracts.”
Ellery eagerly examined it. It was identical with the one Clotilde had just brought, even to the color of the ink. It was postmarked Monday night and like the second envelope had been stamped by the Hollywood post-office. Inside were two playing-cards with the horseshoe-backed design: the knave and seven of spades.
“Puzzles and tricks amuse me,” said Ellery. “And since you don’t ascribe any significance to these doojiggers, surely you won’t mind if I appropriate them?” He put them into his pocket. “And now,” Ellery went on cheerfully, “for the real purpose of my visit. Sam Vix just got the news at the studio of your reconciliation—”
“So soon?” cried Blythe.
“But we haven’t told a soul,” protested Royle.
“You know Hollywood. The point is: How come?”
Jack and Blythe exchanged glances. “I suppose Butch will be on our heads soon, so we’ll have to explain anyway,” said the actor. “It’s very simple, Queen. Blythe and I decided we’ve been idiots long enough. We’ve been in love for over twenty years and it’s only pride that’s kept us apart. That’s all.”
“When I think of all those beautiful years,” sighed Blythe. “Darling, we have messed up our lives, haven’t we?”
“But this isn’t good story material,” cried Ellery. “I’ve got to wangle a reason for your burying the hatchet. Plot, good people, plot! Where’s the complication? Who’s the other man, or woman? You can’t leave it at just a temperamental spat!”
“Oh, yes, we can,” grinned Royle. “Ah, there’s the phone... Yes, Butch, it’s all true. Whoa! Wait a minute... Oh! Thanks, Butch. I’m a little overwhelmed. Wait, Blythe wants to talk to you, too...”
Foiled, Mr. Queen departed.
Mr. Queen emerged from the gloomy great-hall of the Royles’ Elizabethan castle and spied, to his astonishment, young Mr. Royle and young Miss Stuart sitting on the drawbridge swinging their legs over the waters of the moat. Like old friends! Well, not quite. He heard Mr. Royle growl deep in his throat and for an instant Mr. Queen felt the impulse to leap forward, thinking that Mr. Royle contemplated drowning his lovely companion among the lilies below.
But then he stopped. Mr. Royle’s growl was apparently animated more by disgust with himself than with Miss Stuart.
“I’m a sucker to do this,” the growl said, “but I can’t run out on the old man. He’s all I’ve got. Louderback’s prissy, and the agent only thinks of money, and if not for me he’d have been like old Park long ago.”
“Yes, indeed,” said Bonnie, gazing into the water.
“What d’ye mean? He’s got more talent in his left eyebrow than all the rest of those guys in their whole bodies. I mean he’s so impractical — he tosses away all this dough.”
“And you,” murmured Bonnie, “you’re such a miser. Of course. You’ve got millions.”
“Leave me out of this,” said Ty, reddening. “I mean, he needs me. That’s why I’ve agreed.”
“You don’t have to explain to me,” said Bonnie coldly. “I’m not interested in you, or your father, or anything about either of you... The only reason I’ve agreed is that I don’t want to hurt mother. I couldn’t desert her.”
“Who’s explaining now?” jeered Ty.
Bonnie bit her lip. “I don’t know why I’m sitting here talking to you. I detest you, and—”
“You’ve got a run in your stocking,” said Ty.
Bonnie jerked her left leg up and tucked it under her. “You nasty thing! You would notice such things.”
“I’m sorry I said that about — I mean, about your Number Eights,” mumbled Ty. “You’ve really got pretty fair legs, and your feet are small for such a big girl.” He threw a pebble into the moat, gazing at the resulting ripples with enormous interest. “Nice figure, too — of sorts, I mean.”
Bonnie gaped at him — Ellery noticed how the roses faded from her cheeks, and how suddenly little-girlish and shy she became. He noticed, too, that she furtively wet the tip of one finger and ran it over the run on the tucked-in leg: and that she looked desperately at her bag, as if she wanted more than anything else in the world to open it and take out a mirror and examine her lips — did they need lipstick? — and poke at her honey-gold hair and generally act like a normal female.
“Nice figure,” muttered young Mr. Royle again, casting another stone.
“Well!” gasped Bonnie. And her hand did dart to her hair and begin poking with those expert pokings so meaningless to the male eye.
“So,” continued the young man irrelevantly, “we’ll be friends. Until the wedding, I mean? Hey?”
Mr. Queen at this psychological moment struggled to suppress a cough. But the cough insisted on erupting.
They both jumped as if he had shot off a revolver. Ty got red all over his face and scrambled to his feet. Bonnie looked guilty and then bit her lip and then opened her bag and then closed it and then said icily: “That’s not the bargain. Oh, hello, Mr. Queen. I’d sooner get chummy with a polecat. No dice, my fine-feathered friend. I know your intentions with women. I just won’t fight with you in public until mother and your father are married.”
“Hello, Queen. Say, did you ever see a more disagreeable woman in your life?” Ty was busy brushing himself off. “Not a kind word in several million. All right, have it your way. I was just thinking of dad, that’s all.”
“And I wouldn’t do a thing like this for any one else in the world but mother. Help me up, please, Mr. Queen.”
“Here, I’ll—”
“Mr. Queen?” cooed Bonnie.
Mr. Queen silently helped her up. Ty worked his powerful shoulders up and down several times, like a pugilist loosening his muscles. He glared at her.
“All right, damn it,” growled Ty. “Till the wedding.”
“You’re so chivalrous, you great big beautiful man.”
“Can I help it if I was born handsome?” yelled Ty. And they stalked off in opposite directions.
Mr. Ellery Queen gazed after them, mouth open. It was all too much for his simple brain.