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what Roger really was, and then when he became crippled and I lost even that, there was nothing left. I’ve filled the vacuum by trying to go back where I came from.
    â€˜It hasn’t been easy,’ murmured Delia Priam. ‘They don’t forget such things, and they never forgive. But the younger generation is softer-bottomed and corrupted by modern ways. Their men, of course, have helped … Now it’s the only thing I have to hang on to.’
    Her face showed a passion not to be shared or relished. Ellery was glad when the moment passed. ‘The life I lead in Roger Priam’s house isn’t even suspected by these people. If they knew the truth, I’d be dropped and there’d be no return. And if I left Roger, they’d say I deserted my husband. Upper-caste women of the old California society don’t do that sort of thing, Mr. Queen; it doesn’t matter what the husband is. So … I don’t do it.
    â€˜Now something is happening, I don’t know what. If Laurel had kept her mouth shut, I wouldn’t have lifted a finger. But by going about insisting that Leander Hill was murdered, Laurel’s created an atmosphere of suspicion that threatens my position. Sooner or later the papers will get hold of it — it’s a wonder they haven’t already — and the fact that Roger is apparently in the same danger might come out. I can’t sit by and wait for that. My people will expect me to be the loyal wife. So that’s what I’m being. Mr. Queen, I ask you to proceed as if I’m terribly concerned about my husband’s safety.’ Delia Priam shrugged. ‘Or is this all too involved for you?’
    â€˜It would seem to me far simpler,’ said Ellery, ‘to clear out and start over again somewhere else.’
    â€˜This is where I was born.’ She looked out at Hollywood. Laurel had moved over to a corner of the garden. ‘I don’t mean all that popcorn and false front down there. I mean the hills, the orchards, the old missions. But there’s another reason, and it has nothing to do with me, or my people, or Southern California.’
    â€˜What’s that, Mrs. Priam?’
    â€˜Roger wouldn’t let me go. He’s a man of violence, Mr. Queen. You don’t — you can’t — know his furious possessiveness, his pride, his compulsion to dominate, his … depravity. Sometimes I think I’m married to a maniac.’
    She closed her eyes. The room was still. From below Ellery heard Mrs. Williams’s Louisiana-bred tones complaining to the gold parakeet she kept in a cage above the kitchen sink about the scandalous price of coffee. An invisible finger was writing in the sky above the Wilshire district: MUNTZ TV. The empty typewriter nudged his elbow.
    But there she sat, the jungle in batiste and coloured cotton. His slick and characterless Hollywood house would never be the same again. It was exciting just to be able to look at her lying in the silly chair. It was dismaying to imagine the chair empty.
    â€˜Mrs. Priam.’
    â€˜Yes?’
    â€˜Why,’ asked Ellery, trying not to think of Roger Priam, ‘didn’t you want Laurel Hill to hear what you just told me?’
    The woman opened her eyes. ‘I don’t mind undressing before a man,’ she said, ‘but I do draw the line at a woman.’
    She said it lightly, but something ran up Ellery’s spine.
    He jumped to his feet. ‘Take me to your husband.’

3
    When they came out of Ellery’s house Laurel said pleasantly, ‘Has a contract been drawn up, Ellery? And if so, with which one of us? Or is the question incompetent and none of my business?’
    â€˜No contract,’ said Ellery testily. ‘No contract, Laurel. I’m just going to take a look around.’
    â€˜Starting at the Priam house, of course.’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜In that case, since we’re all in this