Queen’s Bureau of Investigation by Ellery Queen Read Free Book Online

expired.
    â€œHe must have been one of your readers,” complained the Inspector. “Because, Ellery, that’s a dying message or I’m the Senator’s uncle. But which one was Shakes fingering?”
    â€œSugar,” said Ellery absently. “In Cooney’s dictionary sugar means—”
    â€œSure. But Millard isn’t the only one of the three who’s loaded with heavy sugar. The ex-Senator’s well stocked, and he recently doubled his inventory by marrying that fertilizer millionaire’s daughter. And Stevens has the first grand he ever grafted. So Shakes didn’t mean that kind of sugar. What’s sugar mean in your dictionary, son?”
    Ellery, who had left page 87 of his latest novel in his typewriter, picked the lint off his thoughts. Finally he said, “Get me the equestrian history of Kregg, Millard, and Stevens,” and he went back home to literature.
    That afternoon his father phoned from Center Street.
    â€œWhat?” said Ellery, frowning over at his typewriter.
    â€œAbout their horseback riding,” snapped the Inspector. “The Senator used to ride, but he had a bad fall ten years ago and now he only punishes a saddle in the gym—the electrical kind. Moneybags hasn’t been on the back of a plug since he walked out on Grandpa Millard’s plowhorse in ’88, in Indiana. Only reason Piers d’I. allowed himself to be jockeyed into those plush-lined jodhpurs this morning, I’m pretty sure, is so he, Kregg, and Stevens could have a nice dirty skull session in the Park out of range of the newsreel cameras.”
    â€œAnd Stevens?”
    â€œThat bar insect?” snorted the old gentleman. “Only horse he knows how to ride is a dark one, with galluses. This morning’s the first time Stevens ever set his suède-topped brogans into a stirrup.”
    â€œWell, well,” said Ellery, sounding surprised. “Then what did Shakes mean? Sugar … Is one of them tied up with the sugar industry in some way? Has Kregg ever been conspicuous in sugar legislation? Is Millard a director of some sugar combine? Or maybe Stevens owns some sugar stock. Try that line, Dad.”
    His father said wearily, “I don’t need you for that kind of fishing, my son. That’s in the works.”
    â€œThen you’re in,” said Ellery; and without enjoyment he went back to his novel which, like Shakes Cooney, was advancing on its hands and knees.
    Two days later Inspector Queen telephoned his report. “Not one of them is tied up with sugar in any way whatsoever. Only connection Kregg, Millard, and Stevens have with the stuff is what I take it they drop into their coffee.” After a moment the Inspector said, “Are you there?”
    â€œLump of sugar,” Ellery mumbled. “And Shakes evidently thought it would be clear …” The mumble ended in a glug.
    â€œYes?” said his father, brightening.
    â€œOf course,” chuckled Ellery. “Dad, get a medical report on those three. Then let me know which one of ’em has diabetes.”
    The Inspector’s uppers clacked against his lowers. “That’s my baby! That’s it, son! It’s as good as wrapped up!”
    The following day Inspector Queen phoned again.
    â€œWhose father?” asked Ellery, running his fingers through his hair. “Oh! Yes, Dad? What is it?”
    â€œAbout the case, Ellery—”
    â€œCase? Oh, the case. Yes? Well? Which one’s diabetic?”
    The Inspector said thoughtfully, “None.”
    â€œNone! You mean—?”
    â€œI mean.”
    â€œHmm,” said Ellery, “Hnh!”
    For some time Inspector Queen heard nothing but little rumbles, pops, flutters, and other ruminative noises, until suddenly the line was cleared by a sound as definite as the electrocutioner’s switch.
    â€œYou’ve got something?” said the Inspector doubtfully.
    â€œYes.