“That will be fine,” said Queen, nodding. “I should like to know more definitely, sir, just who will be present.” “I can arrange it as you wish, Inspector,” replied Ives-Pope, “but I imagine Mrs. Ives-Pope will want to be there and I know that Mr. Barry will—my future son-in-law,” he explained dryly. “Perhaps a few of Frances’ friends—theatrical friends. My son Stanford may also grace us with his presence—a very busy young man, you know,” he added with a suspicion of bitterness. The three men shifted embarrassedly. Ives-Pope rose with a sigh and Ellery, Queen and Sampson followed suit. “That’s all, I think, Inspector,” said the financier in a lighter tone. “Is there anything else I can do?” “Not a thing.” “Then I’ll be getting along.” Ives-Pope turned to Ellery and Sampson. “Of course, Sampson, if you can get away, I’d like you to be there. Do you think you can make it?” The District Attorney nodded. “And Mr. Queen”—the big man turned to Ellery—“will you come also? I understand that you have been following the investigation very closely at your father’s side. We shall be happy to have you.” “I’ll be there,” said Ellery softly, and Ives-Pope left the office. “Well, what do you think, Q?” asked Sampson, fidgeting in his swivel-chair. “A most interesting man,” returned the Inspector. “How fair-minded he is!” “Oh, yes—yes,” said Sampson. “Er—Q, he asked me before you came if you wouldn’t go easy on the publicity. Sort of special favor, you know.” “He didn’t have the nerve to come out with it to me, eh?” chuckled the Inspector. “He’s quite human.... Well, Henry, I’ll do my best, but if that young woman is implicated seriously, I won’t vouch for hands off with the press.” “All right, all right, Q—it’s up to you,” said Sampson irritably. “Damn this throat of mine!” He took an atomizer from a desk-drawer and sprinkled his throat wryly. “Didn’t Ives-Pope recently donate a hundred thousand dollars to the Chemical Research Foundation?” asked Ellery suddenly, turning to Sampson. “I seem to remember something of that sort,” said Sampson, gargling. “Why?” Ellery mumbled an inaudible explanation that was lost in Sampson’s violent gyrations with the sprayer. Queen, who was regarding his son speculatively, shook his head, consulted his watch and said, “Well, son, it’s time we knocked off for lunch. What do you say—Henry, think you’d like to join us in a bite?” Sampson grinned with an effort. “I’m full up to my neck with work, but even a District Attorney has to eat,” he said. “I’ll go on only one condition—that I pay the check. I owe you something, anyway.” As they donned their coats Queen picked up Sampson’s telephone. “Mr. Morgan?.... Oh, hello, Morgan. I say, do you think you can find a little time this afternoon for a chat?... Right. Two-thirty will be fine. Good-by.” “That settles that,” said the Inspector comfortably. “Always pays to be polite, Ellery—remember that.”