The introductions were made in a strained fashion. “Ah, Q!” murmured District Attorney Sampson, hurrying across the room. “I wouldn’t have missed this for the world,” he said in a low tone. “First time I’ve met most of the people who’ll be present at the inquisition.” “What is that fellow Peale doing here?” muttered Queen to the District Attorney, while Ellery crossed the room to engage the three young men on the other side in conversation. Ives-Pope had excused himself and disappeared. “He’s a friend of young Ives-Pope, and, of course, he’s chummy with Barry there, too,” returned the District Attorney. “I gathered from the chit-chat before you came that Stanford, Ives-Pope’s son, originally introduced these professional people to his sister Frances. That’s how she met Barry and fell in love with him. Peale seems on good terms with the young lady, too.” “I wonder how much Ives-Pope and his aristocratic spouse like the bourgeois company their children keep,” said the Inspector, eyeing the small group on the other side of the room with interest. “You’ll find out soon enough,” chuckled Sampson. “Just watch the icicles dripping from Mrs. Ives-Pope’s eyebrows every time she sees one of these actors. I imagine they’re about as welcome as a bunch of Bolsheviks.” Queen put his hands behind his back and stared curiously about the room. It was a library, well stocked with rich and rare books, catalogued carefully and immaculate behind shining glass. A desk dominated the center of the room. It was unpretentious for a millionaire’s study, the Inspector noted with approval. “Incidentally,” resumed Sampson, “Eve Ellis, the girl who you said was with Miss Ives-Pope and her fiancé at the Roman Theatre Monday night is here, too. She’s upstairs keeping the little heiress company, I imagine. Don’t think the old lady likes it much. But they’re both charming girls.” “What a pleasant place this must be when the Ives-Popes and the actors get together in private!” grunted Queen. The four young men strolled toward them. Stanford Ives-Pope was a slender, well-manicured young man, fashionably dressed. There were deep pouches under his eyes. He wore a restless air of boredom that Queen was quick to note. Both Peale and Barry, the actors, were attired faultlessly. “Mr. Queen tells me that you’ve got a pretty problem on your hands, Inspector,” drawled Stanford Ives-Pope. “We’re all uncommonly sorry to see poor sis dragged into it. How in the world did her purse ever get into that chap’s pocket? Barry hasn’t slept for days over Frances’ predicament, I give you my word!” “My dear young man,” said the Inspector, with a twinkle in his eye, “if I knew how Miss Ives-Pope’s purse found its way into Monte Field’s pocket, I wouldn’t be here this morning. That’s just one of the things that make this case so infernally interesting.” “The pleasure’s all yours, Inspector. But you certainly can’t think Frances had the slightest connection with all this?”