Neither Ellery nor his father, however, seemed to be in haste. They retired to the bedroom to dress while Cronin fretted in the living-room. If Cronin had not been so preoccupied with his own thoughts he would have noticed that the light spirits which had suffused the Queens when he arrived were now scattered into black gloom. The Inspector particularly seemed out of sorts, irritable and for once slow to push the investigation into an inevitable channel. Eventually the Queens appeared fully dressed. The three men descended to the street. As they climbed into a taxicab Ellery sighed. “Afraid you’re going to be shown up, son?” muttered the old man, his nose buried in the folds of his topcoat. “I’m not thinking of that,” returned Ellery. “It’s something else.... The papers will be found, never fear.” “I hope to Christmas you’re right!” breathed Cronin fervently, and it was the last word spoken until the taxicab ground to a stop before the lofty apartment-house on 75th Street. The three men took the elevator to the fourth floor and stepped out into the quiet corridor. The Inspector peered about quickly, then punched the doorbell of the Field apartment. There was no answer, although they could hear the vague rustling of someone behind the door. Suddenly it swished open to reveal a red-faced policeman whose hand hovered uneasily in the region of his hip-pocket. “Don’t be scared, man—we won’t bite you!” growled the Inspector, who was completely out of temper for no reason that Cronin, nervous and springy as a racing-colt, could fathom. The uniformed man saluted. “Didn’t know but it might be someone snoopin’ around, Inspector,” he said feebly. The three men walked into the foyer, the slim, white hand of the old man pushing the door violently shut. “Anything been happening around here?” snapped Queen, striding to the entrance to the living-room and looking inside. “Not a thing, sir,” said the policeman. “I’m on four-hour shifts with Cassidy as relief and once in a while Detective Ritter drops in to see if everything is all right.” “Oh, he does, does he?” The old man turned back. “Anybody try to get into the place?” “Not while I was here, Inspector—nor Cassidy neither,” responded the policeman nervously. “And we’ve been alternating ever since Tuesday morning. There hasn’t been a soul near these rooms except Ritter.” “Park out here in the foyer for the next couple of hours, officer,” commanded the Inspector. “Get yourself a chair and take a snooze if you want to—but if anybody should start monkeying with the door tip us off pronto.” The policeman dragged a chair from the living-room into the foyer, sat down with his back against the front door, folded his arms and unashamedly closed his eyes.