“Sounds as if somebody is using a key on the door,” whispered Queen. “Duck out, Piggott—jump whoever it is as soon as he gets inside!” Piggott darted through the living-room into the foyer. Queen and Ellery waited in the bedroom, concealed from view. There was utter silence now except for the scraping on the outer door. The newcomer seemed to be having difficulty with the key. Suddenly the rasp of the lock-tumblers falling back was heard and an instant later the door swung open. It slammed shut almost immediately. A muffled cry, a hoarse bull-like voice, Piggott’s half-strangled oath, the frenzied shuffling of feet—and Ellery and his father were speeding across the living-room to the foyer. Piggott was struggling in the arms of a burly, powerful man dressed in black. A suit-case lay on the floor to one side, as if it had been thrown there during the tussle. A newspaper was fluttering through the air, settling on the parquet just as Ellery reached the cursing men. It took the combined efforts of the three to subdue their visitor. Finally, panting heavily, he lay on the floor, Piggott’s arm jammed tightly across his chest. The Inspector bent down, gazed curiously into the man’s red, angry features and said softly, “And who are you, mister?” CHAPTER IX IN WHICH THE MYSTERIOUS MR. MICHAELS APPEARS The intruder rose awkwardly to his feet. He was a tall, ponderous man with solemn features and blank eyes. There was nothing distinguished in either his appearance or his manner. If anything unusual could be said of him at all, it was that both his appearance and manner were so unremarkable. It seemed as if, whoever he was or whatever his occupation, he had made a deliberate effort to efface all marks of personality. “Just what’s the idea of the strong-arm stuff?” he said in a bass voice. But even his tones were flat and colorless. Queen turned to Piggott. “What happened?” he demanded, with a pretense of severity. “I stood behind the door, Inspector,” gasped Piggott, still winded, “and when this wildcat stepped in I touched him on the arm. He jumped me like a trainload o’ tigers, he did. Pushed me in the face—he’s got a wallop, Inspector.... Tried to get out the door again.” Queen nodded judicially. The newcomer said mildly, “That’s a lie, sir. He jumped me and I fought back.” “Here, here!” murmured Queen. “This will never do....” The door swung open suddenly and Detective Johnson stood on the threshold. He took the Inspector to one side. “Velie sent me down the last minute on the chance you might need me, Inspector.... And as I was coming up I saw that chap there. Didn’t know but what he might be snooping around, so I followed him up.” Queen nodded vigorously. “Glad you came—I can use you,” he muttered and, motioning to the others, he led the way into the living-room. “Now, my man,” he said curtly to the big intruder, “the show is over. Who are you and what are you doing here?”