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awakened by his bedside telephone at two o’clock that morning. It was Nikki, and her voice was a quivery whisper. “They got in from Greenwich just after midnight. They were having a terrible fight, Ellery. It seems some other guest–a Book-of-the-Month Club author–was too attentive to Martha, and Dirk got tight and took a poke at him. He’s back at the old stand.”
    â€œIt’s hardly credible, but did Martha give him any cause?”
    â€œMartha swears to me she was barely civil to the man. After all, it was in Dirk’s publisher’s house, and the other man was a guest there, too. He was being terribly gallant–acting like the hero of his book, Martha said–but she thought he was making a jackass of himself.”
    â€œWhere is Dirk now?”
    â€œIn bed, asleep. He smashed that gorgeous Wedgwood teapot of Martha’s as his exit. If I hadn’t ducked, it would have conked me. Martha and I are doubling up in the dressing room tonight. I gave her a pill and finally got her to sleep.” Nikki sounded very low.
    â€œGive it up, Nik. You’ve done your level best. Martha’s going to have to work it out for herself.”
    â€œNo,” said Nikki, and he could almost see her chin, “not yet.”
    The next few days taxed even Nikki’s capacity for friendship. She reported that Dirk had stopped work altogether. Nikki would spend an hour or two reading back to him what he had previously got down on paper, trying to “autointoxicate” him, as she put it, into the will to continue. But he would barely pay attention, prowling about the study as if it were a corner of the forest, making frequent stops at the bar, jumping every time the phone rang. Finally he would jam his hat on and stalk from the apartment, to be seen no more until the early hours of the following morning, when Martha would have to undress him and clean him up and haul him into bed with what assistance Nikki could decently provide.
    And then the quarrels began again, on the old theme. Martha was seeing too much of her treasurer. Or she had left the apartment half an hour earlier than usual; who was the man? Or–”I stopped into the theater at four-thirty this afternoon and you weren’t there. What cocktail bar were you playing footsie in?”
    â€œMartha tries not to lose her temper,” said Nikki to Ellery over the phone, “but he keeps needling her until she answers back, and then there’s a row. If it were me, I’d break the typewriter over his head. Ellery, I’m afraid I can’t give this much more than another day or so–I’ll start climbing walls. Would you take one slightly used secretary back tomorrow?”
    But tomorrow never came. Nikki failed to appear at the Queen apartment all of the next day. Ellery called the Lawrence apartment several times; there was no answer.
    Nikki did not phone until one o’clock the following morning.
    She kept her voice low. “I haven’t had a minute, Ellery–”
    â€œWhat’s happened, Nikki? I’ve been worried.”
    â€œYesterday morning–it was yesterday, wasn’t it? I find myself losing track of time–Martha and I had a long talk. I told her I had every intention of staying as long as I could be of the slightest use, but unless Dirk went back to his novel my position would become impossible. It’s a small apartment and when they start fighting I scurry from one hole to another, trying to make myself vanish. I think Martha expected it. She didn’t ask me to stay, just kissed me and said that whatever I decided she’d understand, and then she left on some appointment or other without even saying goodbye to Dirk.
    â€œI waited for Dirk to crawl out of bed. It never occurred to me that he was already up and had heard Martha leave. When I got tired of waiting and couldn’t find him in the bedroom, I looked in the study and there he