“That’s not the point,” said the old man. “I hate to admit defeat.... What a queer mess of motives and schemes this case is, Ellery. This is the first time in my entire experience that I have had such a hard nut to crack. It’s enough to give a man apoplexy! I know WHO committed the murder—I know WHY the murder was committed—I even know HOW the murder was committed! And where am I?...” He paused and savagely took a pinch of snuff. “A million miles from nowhere, _that’s_ where!” he growled, and subsided. “Certainly a most unusual situation,” murmured Ellery. “Yet—more difficult things have been accomplished.... Heigh-ho! I can’t wait to bathe myself in that Arcadian stream!” “And get pneumonia, probably,” said the Inspector anxiously. “You promise me now, young man, that you don’t do any back-to-Nature stunts out there. I don’t want a funeral on my hands—I....” Ellery grew silent suddenly. He looked over at his father. The Inspector seemed strangely old in the flickering light of the fire. An expression of pain humanized the deeply sculptured lines of his face. His hand, brushing back his thick grey hair, looked alarmingly fragile. Ellery rose, hesitated, colored, then bent swiftly forward and patted his father on the shoulder. “Brace up, dad,” he said in a low voice. “If it weren’t for my arrangements with Chauvin.... Everything will be all right—take my word for it. If there were the slightest way in which I could help you by remaining.... But there isn’t. It’s your job now, dad—and there’s no man in the world who can handle it better than you....” The old man stared up at him with a strange affection. Ellery turned abruptly away. “Well,” he said lightly, “I’ll have to pack now if I expect to make the 7:45 out of Grand Central to-morrow morning.” He disappeared into the bedroom. Djuna, who had been sitting Turkish-wise in his corner, got quietly to his feet and crossed the room to the Inspector’s chair. He slipped to the floor, his head resting against the old man’s knees. The silence was punctuated by the snapping of wood in the fireplace and the muffled sounds of Ellery moving about in the next room. Inspector Queen was very tired. His face, worn, thin, white, lined, was like a cameo in the dull red light. His hand caressed Djuna’s curly head. “Djuna, lad,” he muttered, “never be a policeman when you grow up.” Djuna twisted his neck and stared gravely at the old man. “I’m going to be just what you are,” he announced.... The old man leaped to his feet as the telephone bell rang. He snatched the instrument from its table, his face livid, and said in a choked voice: “Queen speaking. Well?” After a time he put down the ’phone and trudged across the room toward the bedroom. He leaned against the lintel heavily. Ellery straightened up from his suitcase—and jumped forward. “Dad!” he cried. “What’s the matter?”