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least, to the safe door. What did happen was the entrance into the drawing room of Ellen, in a sort of half excitement, trailed by a disdainful Joanne.
    â€œAh, the ladies,” said Ellery, trying to cover up his chagrin. “And have you found the combination to this stubborn little brute?”
    â€œNo,” Ellen said, “but we’ve found this. Maybe it’ll tell you something.”
    Ellery took the sheet of paper. It was a bill of sale for the wall safe.
    â€œDated nine years ago.” He pinched his nose, which was itching. “Must have been ordered just after he got back from that trip to the Orient you told me about, when he acquired the Imperial Pendant. Especially ordered, then, to be the repository of the pendant. Invoice tallies—same name and address of manufacturer; terse description, ‘Wall safe per order.’”
    â€œThat’s it,” said Christopher. “No doubt about it.”
    â€œIs it important, Mr. Queen?” asked Jo, in spite of herself.
    â€œIt could be mighty important, Miss Caswell. While I have fiddled and burned, you may have discovered a treasure.”
    â€œThen you have better eyes than I,” said Ellen. “Anyway, where do we go from here?”
    â€œPatience, Mrs. Nash. Chris, I want you to take a trip to New Haven. Check out the safe company and learn everything you can about this particular model—details of the original order, any special instructions accompanying the order—and, yes, check the price, which seems very high to me. Also, the Vulcan Company may have the combination on file, which would simplify matters. If they don’t, hire one of their experts to come back with you, in case we have to force the safe.
    â€œMeanwhile, you two girls keep searching for a record of the combination. Cover every room in the house. Not excluding the greenhouse.”
    January 11: Christopher’s return taxi from the Wrightsville airport produced a clamor. Jo flew into the foyer from the direction of the kitchen, followed by Mum; Ellen descended from upstairs in jumps. Ellery, a lonely stag, was meandering among the red spruce and birch outside; and Joanne, booted and mackinawed, was dispatched to fetch him.
    Assembled in the drawing room, they saw from Christopher’s expression that he was no courier of good news.
    â€œBriefly,” Christopher told them, “the Vulcan Safe and Lock Company, Inc., no longer exists. The plant and all its files were destroyed by a fire in 1958. The firm never went back into business. Fellow sufferers, I return to your bosoms with nothing—not a clue, not a record of anything connected with the purchase of the safe.”
    â€œThe high price,” Ellery asked, frowning. “Did you remember to check the price?”
    â€œRight. I did. And you were. Right, I mean. The price father paid was just about twice what safes of similar size and type were bringing the year he ordered it. It’s funny that father would let himself be skinned that way. He may have been careless about his lawyer, but he was a good enough businessman, after all, to have made millions in packaged seeds before he went chrysanthemum-happy.”
    â€œThere was nothing wrong with your father’s business sense, Chris,” said Ellery. “Nothing at all.” And his eyes promptly went into hiding.
    Ellen, who held a more cynical view of her late sire, was clearly of the opinion that the father’s simplicity had been passed on to his son. “Didn’t you at least bring back a safe expert to open the bloody thing?”
    â€œNo, but I got in touch with another New Haven safe outfit, and they’ll send a man up as soon as I phone them.”
    â€œThen do it. Put through a trunk call right now. What kind of fool are you?”
    Christopher’s ears had turned a lovely magenta. “And you, sister mine, you’re a greedy little devil. You’re so hot to lay your