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the scientific monstrosity his fertile imagination had conjured up a few moments before. This big chap was as gentle as a girl. Whatever it was that agitated him, it was something that concerned others, not himself. And it was a rational thing not a fantastic horror.
    The room they entered was a combined music-and-game room. A concert grand occupied one whole corner, and armchairs and lamps were artfully arranged about the instrument. The greater part of the room, however, was occupied with tables of varied sizes: for bridge, chess, checkers, backgammon, Ping-pong and even billiards. The room had three other doors: one on the wall to their left; another door leading from, the foyer on the corridor wall—through which they had heard the whispering people—and a door on the opposite wall apparently opening, from the glimpse Ellery had of the room beyond, into a library. The entire front wall was composed of French windows which looked out upon the terrace.
    All this he grasped in the first circumambient glance; and more, for on two of the tables were scattered cards and this, it seemed to Ellery, was the most provocative fact of all; and then following the doctor and his father, he devoted his whole attention to the four people in the room.
    Of one thing he was instantly certain: All four, like Dr. Xavier, were laboring under some intense excitement. The men showed it more than the women. Both men had risen, and neither glanced directly at the Queens. One of them, a big blond with broad shoulders, and sharp eyes—unquestionably Dr. Xavier’s brother—covered his nervousness by masking it under action: he crushed his cigaret, barely smoked, in an ash tray on the bridge table before him, quickly, holding his head low. The other for no outward reason flushed: a young man of delicate features but keen blue eyes and squared-off-jaw, with brown hair and chemical-stained fingers. He shuffled his feet twice as the Queens approached, his fair skin reddening more deeply at their every step, and his eyes fluttered from side to side.
    “The assistant,” thought Ellery. “Nice-looking youngster. Whatever it is this crowd is holding back, he’s holding it back with them—but he doesn’t like the feeling, that’s evident!”
    The women, with the usual feminine capacity for rising to emergencies, scarcely betrayed their nervousness. One was young and the other—ageless. The young woman was big and competent, Ellery felt at once; twenty-five, he judged, and quite capable of taking care of herself; a quiet composed creature with alert brown eyes, pleasant features indefinably charming, and a certain controlled immobility that bespoke a capacity for decisive action should the necessity arise. She sat perfectly still, hands in her lap, even smiling a little. Only her eyes betrayed her: they were swimming with tension, snapping, brilliant.
    Her companion was the dominating figure of the tableau. Tall even in her chair, deep-bosomed, with, proud black eyes and jet hair touched with gray, with a clear olive complexion barely cosmetized, she was a woman to dominate any group. She might have been thirty-five or fifty; and there was something strikingly French about her which Ellery could not analyze. A woman of passionate temperament, he felt instinctively; a dangerous woman, dangerous in hate and deadly in love. Her type should be given to quick little gestures, an overflow of movement reflecting the volatile personality. Instead, she sat so still that she might have been mesmerized; the liquid black of her eyes, was fixed in space midway between Ellery and the Inspector. … Ellery dropped his eyes, composed himself, and smiled.
    The amenities were preserved. It was an awkward meeting. “My dear,” said Dr. Xavier to the extraordinary woman with the black eyes, “these are the gentlemen whom we mistook for marauders,” and he laughed lightly. “Mrs. Xavier, Mr. Queen. Mr. Queen’s son, my dear.” Even then she did not look at them