Dead Man's Tale by Ellery Queen Read Free Book Online Page B

over me.”
    â€œThe name’s Andrew Longacre. Most people call me Andy after one drink. May I buy you a drink?”
    â€œYes,” Trudy heard herself answering. “Why, yes, Andy, I believe you can.”
    Andy sat down and signalled a waitress. The buxom Swiss girl obliged promptly. This surprised Trudy. Foreign students, she had noticed, were notoriously inept at summoning waiters or waitresses. Could she have been wrong about him?
    He ordered two brandies. Neither of them spoke until the drinks had come, but the young American did not appear self-conscious now. He seemed quite composed.
    â€œ Pros’t,” he said, raising his drink.
    â€œCheers.”
    They drank.
    â€œThis probably won’t take long,” he said.
    Trudy found herself thinking that that was regrettable. He was really not unattractive.
    â€œYes, Andy?” she smiled.
    â€œI found you in the phone book and the concierge at your apartment building said you’d probably be here. The maître d’ identified you for me.” He grinned. “End of mystery.”
    End of mystery, nothing! Trudy thought. It was only the beginning.
    Thunder boomed and crashed outdoors as the orchestra finished its Moldau. Heinz Kemka bowed, saw that Trudy was occupied, and went with a few of the musicians to a table reserved for them during intermissions.
    Wasn’t he even slightly annoyed that Trudy was with another man? He didn’t look it. Now, after almost a year, he took her for granted. Well, if he wasn’t annoyed, she was.
    â€œWhat is it you want of me, Andy?” she asked softly.
    â€œLike another drink?”
    â€œVery much, I think.”
    He ordered two more brandies.
    â€œI came here from Holland looking for you,” he said.
    â€œThen you are a detective?” He could have been a thousand things besides a detective, but the idea of a detective looking like a student fascinated her.
    â€œNo.” He did not amplify.
    â€œWell?”
    â€œThe people at CARE in The Hague told me you’d gone home to Lucerne.”
    â€œThen you are with CARE?”
    â€œNo, I’m not.” Again he didn’t amplify. Trudy sipped her brandy. He was young, very young. Twenty-one? Twenty-three? Young enough to be Heinz Kemka’s son. But if he wasn’t a detective, and wasn’t with CARE, then who was he?
    â€œIn Oosterdijk, Holland, I was told a Czech named Milo Hacha was dead. Then—”
    â€œDid you say Milo Hacha?” Trudy almost dropped her glass.
    â€œYes, that’s right. Hacha.”
    â€œGo on. Please, go on.” What could this boy have to do with Milo?
    â€œThen we learned, my brother and I, that Hacha wasn’t dead. We knew he was receiving CARE packages about ten years ago, and found out that you had tried to trace him for CARE. That’s right, isn’t it?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œHave any luck?”
    Trudy didn’t answer immediately. She’d had luck, as he put it. Oh yes, she’d had luck. But Milo Hacha wasn’t in Lucerne now.
    She would never get over Milo Hacha. She automatically compared all the men in her life with Milo Hacha, and all suffered. That was inevitable, Hacha being Hacha. But if she told this interesting young American what she knew, he might go away.
    â€œWell, yes and no,” Trudy said.
    Andy grinned ruefully. “That’s a help.”
    Trudy found the look captivating. “But my dear Andy,” she said, reaching across the little table and touching his hand, “assuming I did find Milo Hacha, and was supposed to report that fact and didn’t—”
    â€œWhy didn’t you?”
    Trudy looked into his eyes. They were greyish-green and flecked with yellow. “Do you perhaps like cheese fondue?”
    â€œTo tell the truth, I’ve never tasted it.”
    â€œAnd do you perhaps like walking in the rain? Because I know where we can get the best cheese fondue in