Free The Four of Hearts by Ellery Queen Page B

envelope of its kind you’ve received, Miss Stuart?’
    â€˜You don’t think –’ began Jack Royle, glancing at Blythe.
    â€˜I told you …’ Blythe tossed her head; Ellery saw where Bonnie had acquired the habit. ‘Really, Mr. Queen, it’s nothing at all. People in our profession are always getting the funniest things in our fan-mail.’
    â€˜But you have received others?’
    Blythe frowned at him. He was smiling. She shrugged and went over to the piano; and as she returned with her bag she opened it and extracted another envelope.
    â€˜Blythe, there’s something behind this,’ muttered Royle.
    â€˜Oh, Jack, it’s such a fuss about nothing. I can’t understand why you should be so interested, Mr. Queen. I received the first one this past Tuesday, the day after we signed the contracts.’
    Ellery eagerly examined it. It was identical with the one Clotilde had just brought, even to the colour of the ink. It was postmarked Monday night and like the second envelope had been stamped by the Hollywood post-office. Inside were two playing-cards with the horseshoe-backed design: the knave and seven of spades.
    â€˜Puzzles and tricks amuse me,’ said Ellery. ‘And since you don’t ascribe any significance to these doojiggers, surely you won’t mind if I appropriate them?’ He put them into his pocket. ‘And now,’ Ellery went on cheerfully, ‘for the real purpose of my visit. Sam Vix just got the news at the studio of your reconciliation –’
    â€˜So soon?’ cried Blythe.
    â€˜But we haven’t told a soul,’ protested Royle.
    â€˜You know Hollywood. The point is: How come?’
    Jack and Blythe exchanged glances. ‘I suppose Butch will be on our heads soon, so we’ll have to explain anyway,’ said the actor. ‘It’s very simple, Queen. Blythe and I decided we’ve been idiots long enough. We’ve been in love for over twenty years and it’s only pride that’s kept us apart. That’s all.’
    â€˜When I think of all those beautiful years,’ sighed Blythe. ‘Darling, we have messed up our lives, haven’t we?’
    â€˜But this isn’t good story material,’ cried Ellery. ‘I’ve got to wangle a reason for your burying the hatchet. Plot, good people, plot! Where’s the complication? Who’s the other man, or woman? You can’t leave it at just a temperamental spat!’
    â€˜Oh, yes, we can,’ grinned Royle. ‘Ah, there’s the phone … Yes, Butch, it’s all true. Whoa! Wait a minute … Oh! Thanks, Butch. I’m a little overwhelmed. Wait, Blythe wants to talk to you, too …’
    Foiled, Mr. Queen departed.
    Mr. Queen emerged from the gloomy great-hall of the Royles’ Elizabethan castle and spied, to his astonishment, young Mr. Royle and young Miss Stuart sitting on the drawbridge swinging their legs over the waters of the moat. Like old friends! Well, not quite. He heard Mr. Royle growl deep in his throat and for an instant Mr. Queen felt the impulse to leap forward, thinking that Mr. Royle contemplated drowning his lovely companion among the lilies below.
    But then he stopped. Mr. Royle’s growl was apparently animated more by disgust with himself than with Miss Stuart.
    â€˜I’m a sucker to do this,’ the growl said, ‘but I can’t run out on the old man. He’s all I’ve got. Louderback’s prissy, and the agent only thinks of money, and if not for me he’d have been like old Park long ago.’
    â€˜Yes, indeed,’ said Bonnie, gazing into the water.
    â€˜What d’ye mean? He’s got more talent in his left eyebrow than all the rest of those guys in their whole bodies. I mean he’s so impractical – he tosses away all his dough.’
    â€˜And you,’ murmured Bonnie, ‘you’re such a miser. Of course. You’ve got