Free The Finishing Stroke by Ellery Queen Page B

‘Is all detective work so sneaky?’
    â€˜No attacks of conscience, Miss Craig. This was your idea, remember.’
    They were in and out in three minutes.
    The card had not been typed on John’s machine, either.
    â€˜You’re certain, Ellen, there’s no other typewriter on the premises?’
    â€˜They’re the only ones I know of.’
    â€˜We’d better make sure. Or suppose I make sure, and you go back downstairs and kibitz the bridge game.’
    Ellen tossed her fair hair. ‘Don’t try to scare me any worse than I’m scared already. Anyway, we’re in this together, aren’t we?’
    So she knew he had decided to make another search for the vanished Santa. Ellery squeezed Ellen’s hand, grinning, and led the way.
    They found neither a third typewriter nor the elusive uninvited guest.
    Before he got into bed Ellery dug from his suitcase one of his father’s Christmas gifts to him – the only one of the Inspector’s gifts he had brought along to Alderwood. It was a 1930 diary that began with some blank pages for the last week of December 1929. Diary-writing was an old vice of his; and it had occurred to him that it might prove useful now in keeping track of what promised to be a complex of events.
    Ellery began at the first blank page, dating it: ‘Wed. Dec. 25, ’29,’ and in a miniature hand wrote for half an hour.
    Then he went to sleep to dream of oxen and camels and turtle doves and Ellen Craig’s pert, wholesome face.

4 Second Night:
Thursday, December 26, 1929
    In Which the Mysterious Prankster Plays the Deadliest Game of All, and Mine Host’s Ward Is Tendered Another Surprising Gift
    Thursday dawned grey and warmish. By a curious inversion, everyone came down to breakfast in good spirits.
    â€˜Has anyone looked under the tree yet?’ Valentina Warren asked dramatically. She was wearing a Bergdorf Goodman tweed, a bright plaid of blue, green and beige that deliberately accented her pallor and focused the fascinated eye on her heavily rouged lips.
    â€˜May I investigate with you, Miss Warren?’ Roland Payn asked gallantly. The white-haired lawyer had been looking Valentina over with an auction-bidder’s caution.
    The blonde girl’s long lashes drifted to her cheeks. ‘Why, Mr. Payn, I’d love it … ’
    â€˜Val brings out the butter and eggs in every Republican,’ Marius said from a mouthful of ham. ‘Five will get anyone ten she’s pumping him right now to see if he has a producer-client in Hollywood.’
    â€˜Swine,’ Rusty said pleasantly. ‘John, do you suppose there is ?’
    â€˜Something under the tree? I don’t know, honey child, and I don’t care,’ John said. ‘It’s funny-paper stuff, and I’m not amused.’
    â€˜Val and Payn won’t find anything under the tree this early in the day,’ Ellery said. ‘The card last night said, “On the first night of Christmas”. Consistency of time and place is one of the blessings of this kind of Barney Googleism.’
    â€˜Then he’s going to have to deposit his largess under my nose,’ Marius Carlo said. ‘WEAF is broadcasting excerpts from Aïda tonight with Rethberg in the title role and Lauri-Volpi singing Rhadames. I wouldn’t miss that for a dozen Barney Googles.’
    Ellen cried, ‘Well?’
    Valentina came in pouting. ‘Nothing.’
    â€˜Except a few pine needles.’ The lawyer steered the blonde girl around and back toward privacy. ‘Why not tell me a little about yourself, Miss Warren? I do have a few influential connexions on the Coast …’
    â€˜May I point out that to my alleged swinery,’ Marius asked of no one in particular, ‘has been added the odour of goatishness?’
    â€˜At least Mr. Payn is a gentleman,’ Olivette Brown snapped.
    â€˜A gentleman-goat,’ Marius nodded,