“Well, of course not.” Macgowan had recovered; he was even looking pugnacious. “Stupid idea to begin with. Just like this detective hunch of yours, Laurel. Everything’s under control. Let’s leave it that way.”
“All right,” said Laurel. She was still studying her hands.
But Ellery said, “No. I don’t see it that way. It’s not a bad notion at all for you two to root around. You’re on the scene―”
“If you think I’m going to rat on my mother,” began Crowe angrily.
“We seem to be in a rodent cycle,” Ellery complained. “Are you worried that your mother may have tried to poison your stepfather, Mac?”
“No! I mean ― you know what I mean! What kind of rat ― skunk do you think I am?”
“I got you into this, Mac,” Laurel said. “I’m sorry. You can back out.”
“I’m not backing out! Seems to me you two are trying to twist every word I say!”
“Would you have any scruples,” asked Ellery with a smile, “where Wallace is concerned?”
“Hell, no. Wallace doesn’t mean anything to me. Delia does.” Her son added, with a sulky shrewdness, “I thought she did to you, too.”
“Well, she does.” The truth was, Keats’s information about Delia Priam and the rat poison had given him a bad time. “But let’s stick to Wallace for the moment. Mac, what do you know about him?”
“Not a thing.”
“How long has he been working for your stepfather?”
“About a year. They come and go. Roger’s had a dozen stooges in the last fifteen years. Wallace is just the latest.”
“Well, you keep your eye on him. And Laurel―”
“On Delia,” said Macgowan sarcastically.
“Laurel on everything. Keep giving me reports. Anything out of the ordinary. This case may prove to be a series of excavations, with the truth at the bottom level. Dig in.”
“I could go back to the beginning,” mumbled Laurel, “and try to trace the dead dog...”
“Oh, you don’t know about that, do you?” Ellery turned to the writing desk again.
“About the dog?”
He turned around with another card. “The dog belonged to somebody named Henderson who lives on Clybourn Avenue in the Toluca Lake district. He’s a dwarf who gets occasional work in films. The dog’s name was Frank. Frank disappeared on Decoration Day. Henderson reported his disappearance to the Pound Department, but his description was vague and unfortunately Frank had no license ― Henderson, it seems, is against bureaucracy and regimentation. When the dog’s body was picked up at your house, Laurel, in view of its lack of identification it was disposed of in the usual way. It was only afterward that Henderson identified the collar, which was returned to him.
“Keats has seen the collar, although Henderson refuses to part with it for sentimental reasons. Keats doubts, though, that anything can be learned from it. There’s no trace of the little silver box which was attached to the collar. The receipt Henderson signed at the Pound Department mentions it, but Henderson says he threw it away as not belonging to him.
“As for what the dog died of, an attendant at the Pound remembered the animal and he expressed the opinion that Frank had died of poisoning. Asked if it could have been arsenic poisoning, the man said, yes, it could have been arsenic poisoning. In the absence of an analysis of the remains, the opinion is worthless. All we can do is speculate that the dog was fed something with arsenic in it, which is interesting as speculation but meaningless as evidence. And that’s the story of the dead dog, Laurel. You can forget it.”
“I’ll help wherever I can,” said Laurel in a subdued voice. “And again, Ellery ― I’m sorry.”
“No need to be. My fault for not having kept you up to date.” Ellery put his arm around her, and she smiled faintly. “Oh, Mac,” he said. “There’s something personal I want to say to Laurel. Would you mind giving me a couple of minutes with her alone?”
“Seems to me,” grumbled the giant, rising, “as a bloodhound you’ve got a hell of a wolf strain in you, Queen.” His jaw protruded. “Lay off my mother, hear me? Or I’ll crack your clavicles for soup!”
“Oh, stop gibbering, Mac,” said Laurel quickly.
“Laur, do you want to be alone with this character?”
“Wait for me in the car.”
Mac almost tore the front door off its hinges.
“Mac is something like a great Dane himself,” Laurel murmured, her back to the door. “Huge, honest, and a little dumb. What is it, Ellery?”
“Dumb about what, Laurel?” Ellery eyed her. “About me? That wasn’t dumb. I admit I’ve found Delia Priam very attractive.”
“I didn’t mean dumb about you.” Laurel shook her head. “Never mind, Ellery. What did you want?”
“Dumb about Delia? Laurel, you know something about Mac’s mother―”
“If it’s Delia you want to question me about, I― I can’t answer. May I go now, please?”
“Right away.” Ellery put his hand on the doorknob, looking down at her cinnamon hair. “You know, Laurel, Lieutenant Keats has done some work at your house, too.”
Her eyes flew to his. “What do you mean?”
“Questioning your housekeeper, the chauffeur, the houseman.”
“They didn’t say anything about me!”
“You’re dealing with a professional, Laurel, and a very good one. They didn’t realize they were being pumped.” His eyes were grave. “A few weeks ago you lost or mislaid a small silver box, Laurel. A sort of pillbox.” She had gone pale, but her voice was steady. “That’s right.”
“From the description Mrs. Monk, Simeon, and Ichiro gave ― you’d asked them to look for it ― the box must have been about the same size and shape as the one you told me contained the warning note to your father. Keats wanted to quiz you about it immediately, but I told him I’d handle it myself. Laurel, was it your silver box that was attached to the collar of Henderson’s defunct dog?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why didn’t you mention to me the fact that a box of the same description belonging to you had disappeared shortly before June second?”
“Because I was sure it couldn’t have been the same one. The very idea was ridiculous. How could it have been my box? I got it at the May Company, and I think The Broadway and other department stores have been carrying it, too. It’s advertised for carrying vitamin tablets and things like that. There must have been thousands of them sold all over Los Angeles. I really bought it to give to Daddy. He had to take certain pills and he could have carried this around in his watch pocket. But I mislaid it―”
“Could it have been your pillbox?”
“I suppose it could, but―”
“And you never found the one you lost?”
She looked at him, worried. “Do you suppose it was?”
“I’m not supposing much of anything yet, Laurel. Just trying to get things orderly. Or just trying to get things.” Ellery opened the door and looked out cautiously. “Be sure to tell your muscular admirer that I’m returning you to him virgo intacto. I’m sort of sentimental about my clavicles.” He smiled and squeezed her fingers.
He watched until they were out of sight around the lower curve of the hill, not smiling at all.
Ellery went down to his cold supper and chewed away. The cottage was cheerlessly silent. His jaws made sounds.
Then there was a different sound.
A tap on the kitchen door?
Ellery stared. “Come in?”
And there she was.
“Delia.” He got out of his chair, still holding the knife and fork.
She was in a long loose coat of some dark blue material. It had a turned-up collar which framed her head. She stood with her back against the door, looking about the room.