“I was making a point for Cronin’s benefit,” retorted Ellery. He spread his fingers on the table elaborately and winked. “You see, we must narrow the field of search to the point where we can definitely say: ‘It must be here.’ The office, the safety-deposit vault, the post-office boxes have been ruled out. Yet we know that Field could not afford to keep these documents in a place difficult of access. I cannot vouch for the papers _you’re_ seeking, Cronin; but it’s different with the papers _we’re_ seeking. No; Field had them somewhere near at hand.... And, to go a step further, it’s reasonable to assume that he would have kept all his important secret papers in the same hiding-place.” Cronin scratched his head and nodded. “We shall now apply the elementary precepts, gentlemen.” Ellery paused as if to emphasize his next statement. “Since we have narrowed our area of inquiry to the exclusion of all possible hiding-places save one—the papers must be in that one hiding-place.... Nothing to that.” “Now that I pause to consider,” interpolated the Inspector, his good humor suddenly dissipated into gloom, “perhaps we weren’t as careful in that place as we might have been.” “I’m as certain we’re on the right track,” said Ellery firmly, “as that to-day is Friday and there will be fish suppers in thirty million homes to-night.” Cronin was looking puzzled. “I don’t quite get it, Mr. Queen. What do you mean when you say there’s only one possible hiding-place left?” “Field’s apartment, Cronin,” replied Ellery imperturbably. “The papers are there.” “But I was discussing the case with the D.A. only yesterday,” objected Cronin, “and he said you’d already ransacked Field’s apartment and found nothing.” “True—true enough,” said Ellery. “We searched Field’s apartment and found nothing. The trouble was, Cronin, that we didn’t look in the right place.” “Well, by ginger, if you know now, let’s get a move on!” cried Cronin, springing from his chair. The Inspector tapped the red-haired man’s knee gently and pointed to the seat. “Sit down, Tim,” he advised. “Ellery is merely indulging in his favorite game of ratiocination. He doesn’t know where the papers are any more than you do. He’s guessing.... In detective literature,” he added with a sad smile, “they call it the ‘art of deduction.’” “I should say,” murmured Ellery, emitting a cloud of smoke, “that I am being challenged once more. Nevertheless, although I haven’t been back to Field’s rooms I intend, with Inspector Queen’s kind permission, to return there and find the slippery documents.”