“I think we’ll stay here,” said Mrs. Sherman quietly.

  “Enid—” said Kittering.

  The door banged against Velie’s back and two uniformed men came in with a covered basket. The women paled and crept into a corner. Kittering went with them, pleading. They all kept their eyes averted from the closet.

  “How about this man McKee?” said Ellery in a low voice to his father, as the Morgue men tugged at something in the closet. “How hot is that angle?”

  “Hot enough, son. I’ve known all along, of course, about the fact that Lily’d lived with Mac a couple of years ago. But tonight when I questioned the telephone operator on duty downstairs before you came I found out something.”

  “He called her this evening?” said Ellery sharply.

  “She called him. A little before eight. Asked the operator to get her a number—a number which we know leads to McKee’s mob headquarters. The ’phone girl’s nosy and she listened in. Heard Lily speak to a man she called ‘Mac,’ asked him to come to her apartment here on the double-quick. Seemed upset about something, the operator says.”

  “Did McKee come?”

  “Doorman says no. But then there are those other entrances.”

  Ellery’s brow wriggled. “Yes, yes, but if Lily Divine called him at eight, how could he have—”

  The Inspector chuckled. “I’ve got my own ideas about that.”

  The Morgue men dumped something in the basket that landed with a thud. Mrs. Sherman looked faint, and Kittering was supporting her, speaking in a low urgent voice. Ellery flashed a glance at them and whispered: “Those prints in the snow on the fire-escape and iron steps; are they of the same shoes that made the prints on the rug here?”

  “What’s eating you?” demanded the Inspector. “Sure.”

  “Did Sherman keep clothes here?”

  “My dear son,” said the Inspector plaintively, “do I have to tell you the facts of life all over again? Of course he did!”

  “Shoes?”

  “We’ve checked all that. All his shoes are here, and they’re all the same size, and none of ’em matches any of the prints on the rug or in the snow. That’s how we know three men pulled this job. None of these prints belonged to Sherman; his shoes were dry.”

  “How do you know?”

  “We found his wet rubbers in the foyer.”

  “Does Sherman limp?”

  The Inspector said reproachfully: “Now how the hell should I know?” The Morgue men stooped, grasped the handles attached to the basket fore and aft, and stolidly trudged from the room. “Mrs. Sherman, does your husband limp?”

  The woman, in a tremble, sat down again. “Limp? No.”

  “He’s never limped?”

  “No.”

  “Any one of your or his acquaintance limp?”

  “Of course not!” growled Kittering. “What sort of hocus-pocus are you up to this time? How about getting after this cowardly thug McKee?”

  “I think you’d better go now,” said the Inspector evenly. “All of you. This has gone far enough.”

  “Just a moment,” said Ellery. “I must get these facts straight. Do the prints on the fire-escape show the characteristic lameness, too?”

  “Sure. Say, what are you driving at?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know,” said Ellery irritably. “I’m just annoyed. Three lame men…Mrs. Sherman, isn’t your husband rather a big man?”

  “Big?” She seemed dazed. “Very. Six feet three. He weighs two-fifty.”

  Ellery nodded with a sort of restless satisfaction. He whispered to his father: “Aren’t any of Sherman’s prints in the snow?”

  “No. He must have been carried. Probably knocked on the head.”

  “The scratch,” said a deep voice over the Inspector’s shoulder.

  “Oh, it’s you, Thomas. What d’ye mean, the scratch?”

  “Well, sir,” rumbled Sergeant Velie, eyes agleam with the vastness of his inspiration, “he was dragged, see? Scratch there on the waxed floor goes from the rug to the window. So he was dragged to the window, then they h’isted him and slung him through and carried him down. That’s an areaway down there. Must ’a’ got up that way, too. Surprised these two tootsies billin’ and cooin’, tied up the frail and gagged her, socked Sherman on the head, dragged him to—”

  “Heard you the first time,” growled the Inspector. “That scratch has been pretty well fixed. Made by a shoe-heel, the boys say. Well, what are we wasting time for? Oh, yes, there’s one thing more.”

  Kittering broke in stiffly: “Inspector. We’re going. We rely upon you to—”

  “Yes, yes,” snapped Ellery. “Hold on a moment like a good chap, Kittering. What’s that you were saying, dad? I have a notion—”

  A hoarse yell hurled them at the bedroom door. Velie tore it open. In the living-room filled with men two detectives were grappling with a huge man in a camel’s-hair overcoat. Smoky lights flashed all over the room as cameras clicked and photographers, delirious over their good fortune, worked madly. Two other men, snarling but cautious, were pinned against the wall by other detectives.

  “What’s this?” said the Inspector pleasantly from the doorway. The noise ceased and the huge man stopped fighting. Sanity flooded back into his eyes. “McKee!” drawled the old gentleman. “Well, well. This isn’t like you, Mac. Fighting! I’m ashamed of you. All right, boys. Let go. He’ll be good now.”

  The man twitched his immense shoulders viciously and the detectives fell back, panting. “This a plant?” he growled.

  “We’ll go now,” said Rosanne in a small voice.

  “Not yet, my dear,” smiled the Inspector, without turning. “Come in, Mac. Thomas, close that door. You men there,” he barked, “keep McKee’s boy-friends company.”

  They all returned to the bedroom. The big man was watchful. He had heavy batrachian lids, and his mouth was loose and fat. But his jaw was vast, and there was cunning in his eyes. The Sherman women shrank back against Kittering, who was pale. For a moment naked animal cruelty had glittered in the gunman’s eyes. But he was uneasy, too.

  “Know what you were picked up for, Mac?” said the Inspector, stepping close to the giant and staring up into the cruel eyes.

  “You’re off your nut, Inspector,” rumbled McKee. Then his eyes swept over the Shermans, Kittering, Ellery, the rug, the open window, the open door of the closet. “I wasn’t picked up. I came here myself and those flatfeet of yours just ganged me.”

  “Oh, I see,” said the old man softly. “Just walked in for a friendly call, hey? To see Lily?”

  Velie hovered expectantly behind the man; they were of a height and breadth. But McKee was very quiet. “Suppose I was? What of it? Where is she? What’s happened here?”

  “Don’t you know?”

  “What the hell! Would I ask you if I knew?”

  “Good boy,” chuckled the Inspector. “Still the slickest hood in the big time. Ever see these people before, Mac.

  McKee’s eyes flickered over Kittering and the two women. “No.”

  “Know who they are?”

  “Ain’t had the pleasure.”

  “That’s Mrs. Sherman, and her daughter, and Mr. Kittering, a business associate of Joseph E. Sherman’s.”

  “So what?”

  “So what, he asks,” murmured the Inspector. “Listen, you lunk!” he snarled suddenly, glaring up. “Lily’s been given the works, and J. E. Sherman’s been snatched. That mean anything to you?”

  A faint pallor crept under the top skin of the big man’s swarthy face. His tongue wet his lips, once. “Lily got it?” he muttered. “Here?” He looked around, as if for her body.

  “Yes, here. Smothered to death. I admit it’s not your usual technique, Mac; a little refined for you. But the snatch is right up your alley—”

  The big man drew himself in, like a Galápagos turtle. His shoulders hunched in ridges of fat and muscle, and his eyes almost vanished. “If you think I had anything to do with this job, Inspector, you’re nuts. Why, my alibi—”

  “You dirty killer,” said Kittering dully. McKee whirled, snatching at something beneath his coat under the armpit. Then he caught himself and relaxed. “Where’s Joe Sherman?” Kittering sprang and, so suddenly that neither Sergeant Velie nor Ellery could intervene, lashed out at McKee’s jaw. It was a solid smack, like wet meat slapping a sidewalk; and McKee staggered, blinking. But he made no move to retaliate. Only his eyes burned; burned at Kittering like a fuse. Rosanne and Enid Sherman grasped Kittering’s arms, crying. Ellery swore beneath his breath, and Sergeant Velie stepped between the two men.

  “That’ll be just about enough,” said Inspector Queen curtly, “Off with you, Kittering. You, too, Mrs. Sherman; and the girl.” And in an almost inaudible voice he said to Kittering: “That sock was a mistake, young man. Beat it!”

  Kittering dropped his arms, sighing. The two women led him, speechless, from the bedroom. They were swallowed up in the deluge of clamoring men outside.

  McKee’s arms quivered and his eyes burned at the gray door. He said something very softly to himself, his lips barely moving.

  “Lily ’phoned you tonight, didn’t she?” rapped the Inspector.

  The gunman licked his lips cautiously. “Oh. Yeah. That’s right.”

  “Why? What’d she want?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “She asked you to come over?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You once lived with Lily, didn’t you?”

  “You tell me. You know all the answers.”

  “She ’phoned you at eight tonight?”

  “Yeah.”

  The Inspector said craftily: “And here it is about ten. Take you two hours to come down from the Bronx?”

  “Somethin’ held me up.”

  “You knew Sherman?”

  “Heard of him.”

  “Did you know Lily was living with him?”

  McKee shrugged. “Oh, hell, Inspector, you’ve got nothin’ on me. Sure I knew, but what of it? I was washed up with that broad years ago. When she ’phoned tonight I thought she might ’a’ been in some kind of trouble, so for old times’ sake I thought I’d ankle down here and see what was up. That’s all.”

  “I think,” said Ellery mildly, “that you had better take your shoes off, McKee.”

  The gunman gaped. “What?”

  “Off with your shoes,” said Ellery in a patient voice. “In another age it would have been a different part of your anatomy. Velie, please get the shoes of the two—er—gentlemen who accompanied Mr. McKee.”

  Velie went out. McKee, like a blind bull, looked at the rug, and the muddy tracks, and then he cursed and snatched a guilty glance at his own gargantuan feet. Without a word he sat down in the velvet-and-steel chair and unlaced his oxfords, which were streaked with damp mud.

  “That’s a good idea, El,” said the Inspector approvingly, stepping back.

  Velie returned bearing two pairs of wet shoes to the accompaniment of a burst of derisive laughter from the men in the living-room. Ellery went to work in silence. After a time he looked up, handed the big shoes back to McKee and the others to Velie, who left the room again.

  “No dice, hey?” sneered McKee, lacing up his shoes. “I told you you birds were cockeyed.”

  “Does either of the two men outside limp, Velie?” asked Ellery when the Sergeant returned.

  “No, sir.”

  Ellery stepped back, tapping a cigaret on his thumbnail; and McKee, with an ugly laugh, rose to go. “Just a second, Mac,” said the Inspector. “I’m holding you.”

  “You’re what?”

  “Holding you on suspicion,” said the old man evenly. “You and Lily Divine were working a game of Sherman. You put the woman up to playing Sherman on his weak side, getting him under her thumb.” McKee glared, his face livid. “Tonight you came over, with the trap set; double-crossed Lily, putting her away to shut her up; left the note and beat it with Sherman. What d’ye say to that?”

  “I say to hell with it! How about the tracks on the rug there? You saw yourself they didn’t fit!”

  “Clever,” said the Inspector. “You wore different shoes.”

  “Nuts. How about Lily’s call to me at eight? I heard somebody outside say she kicked off around that time. If she called me up—”

  “That was smart, too. You were here all the time. You made her put in that call while you stood over her, just to establish an alibi.”

  McKee grinned. “Go ahead and prove it,” he said shortly. He turned on his heel and walked out. Velie followed him.

  “And how about the limping tracks?” murmured Ellery, when the door was shut. “Eh, gentle sire? Did he and his minions fake the limp, too?”

  “Why not?” The Inspector tugged his mustache irritably.

  “An unanswerable question, I admit.” Ellery shrugged. “Look here. You were going to tell me before that there was something else. What?”

  “Oh, that! Something’s missing from this room.”

  Ellery glared. “Missing? Why in thunder didn’t you say so before?”

  “But—”

  “Too much,” muttered Ellery feverishly. “That would be too much. Don’t tell me it was a valise? A suitcase? Something of the sort?”

  The Inspector looked faintly astonished. “For the lord’s sake, El! How did you guess? The colored wench says an alligator handbag, empty, belonging to the Divine woman, is gone. She saw it in the closet only an hour before Lily sent her out. There’s nothing else missing.”

  “Sweet, sweet. Tra, la! We’re going somewhere. The colored lady…Ah, Velie, there you are. Be a good chap and haul her in here, will you?”

  Velie brought the Negress in. She looked sick. Ellery pounced upon her. “When was this floor waxed last?”

  “Huh?” Her eyes grew enormous, and the Inspector started. “W-why, jest t’day.”

  “When today?”

  “’Safternoon, suh. I did it myse’f.”

  “Good enough, I suppose,” he muttered impatiently. “All right, all right. That’s all, young woman. Take her away, Sergeant.”

  “But, El—” protested the Inspector.

  “Very pretty,” Ellery continued to mutter, “very pretty indeed. But, damn it all, there’s a piece missing. Without it…” He bit his lip.

  “Say, listen,” said the Inspector slowly, “what have you got, son?”

  “Everything—and nothing.”

  “Bah! How about Sherman?”

  “Follow Mrs. Sherman’s wishes in the matter. Sherman’s safety is the prime consideration. After that—we’ll see.”

  “All right,” said the Inspector with drooping resignation. “But I can’t understand—”

  “Three lame men,” sighed Ellery. “Very interesting. Very interesting.”

  Joseph E. Sherman sat in an armchair in Inspector Richard Queen’s office in Centre Street and told his story in a cracked voice. A police radio car had picked him up—dirty, disheveled, dazed—in Pelham an hour before. For a time he was incoherent, kept asking brokenly for his wife and daughter. He seemed half-starved, and his eyes were red and staring, as if for days he had gone without sleep. It was three days after the discovery of Lily Divine’s body and the kidnapers’ note. The police had not interfered. A third note had come in the post to Mrs. Sherman the day after the murder—an untraceable note in the same disguised block capitals, reiterating the demand for $50,000 and assigning a clever rendezvous for the delivery of the ransom. Kittering had raised the cash and acted as intermediary. The money had been paid the day before. And today here was Sherman, his immense bulk shaking with nerves and fatigue.

  “What happened, Mr. Sherman? Who were they? Tell us the whole story,” the Inspector urged gently. The man had been fortified with food and whisky, but he continued to shiver as if he had a chill.

  “My wife—” he mumbled.

  “Yes, yes, Mr. Sherman. She’s all right. We’ve sent for her.”

  Sergeant Velie opened the door. Sherman tottered to his feet, cried out vaguely, and fell into his wife’s arms. Rosanne wept and clung to his hand. Kittering was with them: he retreated to the background, stonily watching. No one said anything.

  “That woman—” Sherman muttered at last.

  Enid Sherman put her fingers on his lips. “Not another word, Joe. I—I understand. Thank God you’re back.” She turned on the Inspector, eyes brimming with tears. “Can’t we take my husband home now, Inspector? He’s so—so…”

  “We must know what happened, Mrs. Sherman.”

  The banker glanced nervously at Kittering. “Bill, old man…” He sank back into the armchair, clutching his wife’s hand. His tremendous body filled the chair. “I’ll tell you what I know, Inspector,” he said in a low voice. “I’m tired. I don’t know much.” A police stenographer was scribbling beside the desk. Ellery stood by the window, frowning and gnawing his lips. “I—went to—her apartment that night. As usual. She was acting funny—”

  “Yes,” said the Inspector encouragingly. “By the way, did you know she was an old flame of Mac McKee’s, the gangster?”

  “Not at first.” Sherman’s shoulders sagged. “When I found out, I was already hopelessly—embroiled. I would never have ventured into…” Mrs. Sherman pressed his hand, and he gave her a slow queer grateful look. “While we were—together,” he went on very softly, “the front doorbell rang. She went out to answer it. I waited. Perhaps I was a little afraid—of being—well, caught. Then…I don’t know what happened. A hand clamped over my eyes—”

  “Man’s or woman’s?” snapped Ellery.

  His bloodshot eyes shifted. “I—I don’t know. Then a rag of some kind was jammed against my nose—it smelled sweet, sickening. I struggled, but it did no good. That’s all I know. Everything went blank. I must have been chloroformed.”