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prig of a man in butler’s livery, had been conventional enough. “In fact, Charley, if you could give me a glimpse of the various Pottses before dinner in their native habitat I should be ever so much obliged.”
    â€œI can’t imagine anyone wanting to meet them except through necessity, but I suppose that’s what distinguishes you from all other men. This way, Professor. Let’s see which Potts we can scare up first.”
    At the top of the staircase stood a landing, most specious and hushed, and long halls leading away. Charley turned a corner, and there yawned the entrance to what looked like a narrow tower. “That’s just what it is,” nodded Charley. “Up wi’ ye!”
    They mounted a steep coil of steps. “I didn’t notice this campanile from outside. Why, Charley?”
    â€œIt’s a peculiarity of construction. The tower faces an inner court and can’t be seen from the street.”
    â€œAnd it leads where?”
    â€œTo Louella’s lair … Here.”
    Charley knocked on a door with a grille in it backed by thick glass. A female face goggled through the glass, eyed Mr. Paxton with suspicion, withdrew. Bolts clanked. Ellery felt a sensible prickling along his spine when the door screeched open.
    Louella Potts was not merely thin—a more desiccated figure he had not seen outside the Morgue. And she was utterly uncared-for. Her gray-dappled coarse brown hair was knotted at her scrawny neck and was all wisps and ends over her eyes. The eyes, like the eyes of the mother, fascinated him. But these, while brilliant, were full of pain, and between them the flesh was set in a permanent puzzle of inquiry. Louella Potts wore a laboratory smock which fitted her like a shroud, and shapeless huaraches. No stockings, Ellery noted. He also noted varicose veins, and looked away.
    The laboratory was circular—a clutter of tables, retorts, goose-necked flasks, Bunsen burners, messy bottle-filled shelves, taps, benches, electrical apparatus. What it was all for Ellery had no idea; but it looked impressive in a cinematic sort of way.
    â€œQueen?” she shrilled in a voice as tall and thin as herself. “Queen.” The frown deepened until it resembled an old knife wound. “You aren’t connected with the Mulqueen General Laboratories, are you?”
    â€œNo, Miss Potts,” said Ellery tensely.
    â€œYou see, they’ve been after my invention. Just thieves, of course. I have to be careful—I do hope you’ll understand. Will you excuse me now? I have a tremendously important experiment to conclude before dinner.”
    â€œReminds you of the Mad Scientist in The Crimson Clue, doesn’t she?” Charley shuddered as they made their way down the tower stairs.
    â€œWhat’s she inventing?”
    â€œA new plastic to be used in the manufacture of shoes,” replied Charley Paxton dryly. “According to Louella, this material she’s dreaming up will last forever. People will be able to buy one pair of shoes and use them for life.”
    â€œBut that would ruin the Potts Shoe Company!”
    â€œOf course. But what else would you expect a Potts to spend her time inventing? Come on—I’ll introduce you to Horatio.”
    They were in the foyer again. Charley led the way towards a panel of tall French doors set in a rear wall.
    â€œHouse is built in a U,” he explained. “Within the U are a patio and an inner court, and more grounds, and Horatio’s dream house and so on. I’ve had architects here who’ve gone screaming into the night … Ooops. There are Steve and the Major.”
    â€œSheila’s father and the companion of his Polynesian youth?”
    They were two crimson-cheeked elderly men, seemingly quite sane. They were seated in a small library directly off the rear of the foyer, a checkerboard between them. The rear wall of the library was a continuation of the