Queen’s lip curled. “You haven’t even a fertile imagination, Michaels. At what time did you last see him yesterday?” “At about seven o’clock, sir,” said Michaels promptly. “I don’t live here at the apartment. It’s too small and Mr. Field likes—liked privacy. I generally come early in the morning to make breakfast for him and prepare his bath and lay out his clothes. Then when he’s gone to the office I clean up a bit and the rest of the day is my own until dinner-time. I return about five, prepare dinner unless I’ve heard from Mr. Field during the day that he is dining out, and get his dinner or evening clothes ready. Then I am through for the night.... Yesterday after I laid out his things he told me about the check.” “Not an especially fatiguing itinerary,” murmured Ellery. “And what things did you lay out last evening, Michaels?” The man faced Ellery respectfully. “There was his underwear, sir, and his socks, his evening shoes, stiff shirt, studs, collar, white tie, full evening dress, cape, hat—” “Ah, yes—his hat,” interrupted Queen. “And what kind of hat was it, Michaels?” “His regular tophat, sir,” answered Michaels. “He had only one, and a very expensive one it was, too,” he added warmly. “Browne Bros., I think.” Queen drummed lazily on the arm of his chair. “Tell me, Michaels,” he said, “what did you do last night after you left here—that is, after seven o’clock?” “I went home, sir. I had my bag to pack and I was rather fatigued. I went right to sleep after I’d had a bite to eat—it must have been near nine-thirty when I climbed into bed, sir,” he added innocently. “Where do you live?” Michaels gave a number on East 146th Street, in the Bronx section. “I see.... Did Field have any regular visitors here?” went on the Inspector. Michaels frowned politely. “That’s hard for me to say, sir. Mr. Field wasn’t what you would call a friendly person. But then I wasn’t here evenings, so I can’t say who came after I left. But—” “Yes?” “There was a lady, sir....” Michaels hesitated primly. “I dislike mentioning names under the circumstances—” “Her name?” said Queen wearily. “Well, sir—it isn’t sort of right—Russo. Mrs. Angela Russo, her name is,” answered Michaels. “How long did Mr. Field know this Mrs. Russo?” “Several months, sir. I think he met her at a party in Greenwich Village somewhere.” “I see. And they were engaged, perhaps?” Michaels seemed embarrassed. “You might call it that, sir, although it was a little less formal....” Silence. “How long have you been in Monte Field’s employ, Michaels?” pursued the Inspector. “Three years next month.” Queen switched to a new line of questioning. He asked Michaels about Field’s addiction to theatre-going, his financial condition and his drinking habits. In these particulars Michaels corroborated Mrs. Russo’s statements. Nothing of a fresh nature was disclosed.