Keats had tried everything in ascending order ― reason, cajolery, jokes, appeals to personal pride and social responsibility, derision, sarcasm, threats, curses, and finally sheer volume of sound. Nothing moved Priam but the threats and curses, and then he responded in kind. Even the detective, who was left livid with fury, had to admit that he had been out-threatened, out-cursed, and out-shouted.
Through it all Alfred Wallace stood impeccably by his employer’s wheelchair, a slight smile on his lips. Mr. Wallace, too, had ricocheted. It occurred to Ellery that in Wallace’s make-up there was a great deal of old Collier’s Hyla regilla ― a chameleon quality, changing color to suit his immediate background. Yesterday Priam had been unnerved, Wallace had been unnerved. Today Priam was strong, Wallace was strong. It was a minor puzzle, but it annoyed him.
Then Ellery saw that he might be wrong and that the phenomenon might have a different explanation altogether. As he crossed the threshold to the echo of Priam’s last blast, with Wallace already shutting the door, Ellery glimpsed for one second a grotesquely different Priam. No belligerent now. No man of wrath. His beard had fallen to his chest. He was holding on to the arms of his wheelchair as if for the reassurance of contact with reality. And his eyes were tightly closed. Ellery saw his lips moving; and if the thought had not been blasphemous, Ellery would have said Priam was praying. Then Wallace slammed the door.
“That was all right, Keats.” Ellery was staring at the door. “That got somewhere.”
“Where?” snarled the detective. “You heard him. He wouldn’t say what was in the cardboard box, he wouldn’t say who’s after him, he wouldn’t say why ― he wouldn’t say anything but that he’ll handle this thing himself and let the blanking so-and-so come get him if he’s man enough. So where did we get, Mr. Queen?”
“Closer to the crackup.”
“What crackup?”
“Priam’s. Keats, all that was the bellowing of a frightened steer in the dark. He’s even more demoralized than I thought. He played a big scene just now for our benefit ― a very good one, considering the turmoil he’s in.
“Maybe one more, Keats,” murmured Ellery. “One more.”
Chapter Eight
Laurel said the frogs were very important. The enemy had slipped. So many hundreds of the warty beasts must have left a trail. All they had to do was pick it up.
“What trail? Pick it up where?” demanded Macgowan.
“Mac, where would you go if you wanted some frogs?”
“I wouldn’t want some frogs.”
“To a pet shop, of course!”
The giant looked genuinely admiring. “Why can’t I think of things like that?” he complained. “To a pet shop let us go.”
But as the day wore on young Macgowan lost his air of levity. He began to look stubborn. And when even Laurel was ready to give up, Macgowan jeered, “Chicken!” and drove on to the next shop on their list. As there are a great many pet emporia in Greater Los Angeles, and as Greater Los Angeles includes one hundred towns and thirty-six incorporated cities, from Burbank north to Long Beach south and Santa Monica west to Monrovia east, it became apparent by the end of an endless day that the detective team of Hill and Macgowan had assigned themselves an investigation worthy of their high purpose, if not their talents.
“At this rate we’ll be at it till Christmas,” said Laurel in despair as they munched De Luxe Steerburgers at a drive-in in Beverly Hills.
“You can give up,” growled Crowe, reaching for his Double-Dip Giant Malted. “Me, I’m not letting a couple of hundred frogs throw me. I’ll go it alone tomorrow.”
“I’m not giving up,” snapped Laurel. “I was only going to say that we’ve gone at this like the couple of amateurs we are. Let’s divide the list and split up tomorrow. That way we’ll cover twice the territory in the same time.”
“Functional idea,” grunted the giant. “Now how about getting something to eat? I know a good steak joint not far from here where the wine is on the house.”
Early next morning they parceled the remaining territory and set out in separate cars, having arranged to meet at 6:30 in the parking lot next to Grauman’s Chinese. At 6:30 they met and compared notes while Hollywood honked its homeward way in every direction.
Macgowan’s notes were dismal. “Not a damn lead, and I’ve still got a list as long as your face. How about you?”
“One bite,” said Laurel gloomily. “I played a hunch and went over to a place in Encino. They even carry zoo animals. A man in Tarzana had ordered frogs. I tore over there and it turned out to be some movie star who’d bought two dozen ― he called them ‘jug-o’-rums’ ― for his rock pool. All I got out of it was an autograph, which I didn’t ask for, and a date, which I turned down.”
“What’s his name?” snarled Crowe.
“Oh, come off it and let’s go over to Ellery’s. As long as we’re in the neighborhood.”
“What for?”
“Maybe he’ll have a suggestion.”
“Let’s see what the Master has to say, hey?” hissed her assistant. “Well, I won’t wash his feet!”
He leaned on his horn all the way to the foot of the hill.
When Laurel got out of her Austin, Crowe was already bashing Ellery’s door.
“Open up, Queen! What do you lock yourself in for?”
“Mac?” came Ellery’s voice.
“And Laurel,” sang out Laurel.
“Just a minute.”
When he unlocked the front door Ellery looked rumpled and heavy-eyed. “Been taking a nap, and Mrs. Williams must have gone. Come in. You two look like the shank end of a hard day.”
“Brother,” scowled Macgowan. “Is there a tall, cool drink in this oasis?”
“May I use your bathroom, Ellery?” Laurel started for the bedroom door, which was closed.
“I’m afraid it’s in something of a mess, Laurel. Use the downstairs lavatory... Right over there, Mac. Help yourself.”
When Laurel came back upstairs her helper was showing Ellery their lists. “We can’t seem to get anywhere,” Crowe was grumbling. “Two days and nothing to show for them.”
“You’ve certainly covered a lot of territory,” applauded Ellery. “There are the fixings, Laurel―”
“Oh, yes”
“You’d think it would be easy,” the giant went on, waving his glass. “How many people buy frogs? Practically nobody. Hardly one of the pet shops even handles ‘em. Canaries, yes. Finches, definitely. Parakeets, by the carload. Parakeets, macaws, dogs, cats, tropical fish, monkeys, turkeys, turtles, even snakes. And I know now where you can buy an elephant, cheap. But no frogs to speak of. And toads ― they just look at you as if you were balmy.”
“Where did we go wrong?” asked Laurel, perching on the arm of Crowe’s chair.
“In not analyzing the problem before you dashed off. You’re not dealing with an idiot. Yes, you could get frogs through the ordinary channels, but they’d be special orders, and special orders leave a trail. Our friend is not leaving any trails for your convenience. Did either of you think to call the State Fish and Game Commission?”
They stared.
“If you had,” said Ellery with a smile, “you’d have learned that most of the little fellows we found in Priam’s room are a small tree frog or tree toad ― Hyla regilla is the scientific name ― commonly called spring peepers, which are found in great numbers in this part of the country in streams and trees, especially in the foothills. You can even find bullfrogs here, though they’re not native to this part of the country ― they’ve all been introduced from the East. So if you wanted a lot of frogs and toads, and you didn’t want to leave a trail, you’d go out hunting for them.”