Free The Scarlet Letters by Ellery Queen Page A

poor. It was raining hard again. Where was she going?
    At Union Square he half-expected the cab they were following to head north. But instead it turned south into Fourth Avenue.
    The secondhand bookshops swam by.
    Was she going down Lafayette Street? That way lay Police Headquarters.
    It seemed improbable.
    At Astor Place, behind Wanamaker’s, Martha’s cab turned into Cooper Square and cut across to Third Avenue. It settled into a sedate southward journey under the El.
    Monday, 3 P.M., B … B for Brooklyn ? Was she bound for the Williamsburg Bridge and the East River?
    And suddenly it came to Ellery that, where Martha’s cab had turned into Third Avenue to head south, Third Avenue ceased to exist. Where Third Avenue met 4th Street, it became The Bowery.
    B for Bowery it was.
    But The Bowery ran all the way down to Chatham Square. She could hardly be peering out of her window hoping to spot Van Harrison on some unnamed street corner in the dingy gloom of the El. It had to be a specific place on The Bowery. A Bowery-Something … Bowery Mission!
    It was not The Bowery Mission. It proved to be 267 Bowery, and it caught the philosopher driving Ellery’s cab as much by surprise as his passenger …
    Near Houston Street Martha’s taxi, treacherously, made a full turn under the El. Martha jumped out, the door of a cab parked on the east side of the street popped open to receive her, and the last Ellery saw of her was a glimpse through the window of Van Harrison embracing her as their cab shot away from the curb, made a quick turn, and disappeared up a side street; By the time Ellery’s driver extricated himself from a tangle of northbound traffic and duplicated the maneuver, the enemy was out of sight.
    â€œWhy didn’t you tell me she was meeting him in front of Sammy’s Bowery Follies?” demanded the driver in an injured tone. “Then I’d been prepared.”
    â€œBecause Sammy’s Bowery Follies begins with an S ,” snapped Ellery, “and if that’s cricket it ought to be baseball. Stop at a drugstore so I can use a phone, then take me up to West 87th Street.”
    â€œWith what’s on the meter already,” said the driver unhappily, “that’s going to use up a good hunk of the fin.” And there was no further communion between them.
    Nikki managed to get away late Monday evening, and she burst into the Queen apartment with a “Well?” that faltered at sight of the Inspector.
    â€œIt’s all right, Nikki,” growled Ellery, “I’ve told Dad all about it. This looks like a long job. It was Sammy’s Bowery Follies, Bowery and Houston, with the ‘Sammy’ apparently canceled out. In short, I lost them. What time did Miss Prynne get home?”
    â€œAt the usual time. For dinner.” Nikki sank into a chair. “ B … Bowery.”
    â€œI think you two ought to have your heads examined,” exclaimed Inspector Queen. “Mixing up in an adultery case! Anyway it turns out, Nikki, you’re going to catch the dirty end of the stick. And don’t give me any taffy about friendship. In an adultery case there’s no friends, just subpoenas. I’ve already notified my son what I think of his judgment. And now, if you can bear it, I’m going to bed.”
    â€œBut why Bowery Follies?” asked Nikki, when the Inspector’s door had thundered. “What on earth were they doing there, Ellery?”
    â€œHarrison’s an actor. The ham instinct. It’s romantic to meet on The Bowery and go scudding off in the rain. Gives that preliminary zing to the big scene. After all, there isn’t much variety in hotel rooms, or what usually goes on in them under these circumstances.” Ellery packed a pipe, viciously.
    â€œThen you think they were going …”
    â€œI assure you Martha didn’t jump into his taxi to discuss a casting problem. The last I saw, Harrison