The Finishing Stroke by Ellery Queen Read Free Book Online

than water!’ He drank like Hercules.
    â€˜You didn’t preside at John’s birth, Doctor, did you?’ Ellery knew vaguely that there was some interesting story about John Sebastian’s origin.
    â€˜Lordy, no,’ Dr. Dark said. ‘John came to me post uterum , you might say.’
    â€˜Aged six weeks, wasn’t I, Dr. Sam?’ John said.
    â€˜Seven,’ Craig corrected his ward. ‘You see, Mr. Queen, John’s parents died within a few days of each other, back in Nineteen Five. Claire and John – John’s named for his father – were driving back from New York to Rye in a blizzard and smashed their car up near Mount Kidron. The accident brought on this fellow’s birth prematurely, and Claire died that night. John died of his injuries less than a week later. Before he went, he appointed me the baby’s guardian – there were no close relatives on either side, and no other children; John Junior was their first. A practical nurse, a Mrs. Sapphira, whom John Senior had hired when Claire died, came along with the baby. Devoted soul. She never left us – died in this house only a few years ago. Between Sapphy and me, we managed to drag the young ruffian up.’
    â€˜With considerable help from me,’ Dr. Dark objected. ‘Many a time I had to run over here in the middle of the night because Johnny-boy happened to look crosseyed at Sapphy or Arthur.’
    â€˜With considerable help from everybody,’ John said, his hand on Craig’s shoulder. ‘Sapphy, Dr. Sam, Ellen when she came to live with us – but most of all this bearded character. I’m afraid, Arthur, I haven’t been as vocal about it as you’ve deserved.’
    â€˜Hear, hear,’ Marius Carlo said, before Arthur Craig could reply. ‘At the drop of a tear I shall play “Hearts and Flowers” on that piano – if it’s in tune, which remains to be seen.’
    â€˜Marius doesn’t understand sentiment,’ Rusty said sweetly, flipping her red bob. ‘You see, he never had a father or a mother. He was spawned on a stagnant pool. Weren’t you, dear?’
    Marius looked at her, black eyes flaming. Then he shrugged and raised his glass.
    â€˜Weren’t you and John’s father in business together, Mr. Craig?’ Valentina asked hastily.
    â€˜Yes. Sebastian and Craig, Publishers. I was the production half of the partnership. I knew very little about the editorial end, so with John’s death I sold out and went back to my original trade, the printing business.’
    â€˜You make it sound like a stepdown, Mr. Craig,’ Ellery said. ‘I’d rather be able to say I owned The ABC Press than many a publishing house. You didn’t sell out to Dan Freeman, did you? No, he’d have been far too young.’
    Craig nodded. ‘It changed hands several times after Nineteen Five. Dan bought it in the early ‘twenties. And by George, here he is. And Roland. Come in, come in!’
    The publisher and the lawyer made an odd pair.
    Dan Z. Freeman was a slight sallow man of forty with a big head further enlarged by a hairline that had retreated to the peak of his skull. He had beautiful, brilliant brown eyes.
    The publisher seemed embarrassed by the ordeal of meeting a roomful of strangers. He shook hands with Ellery with the ardour of a drowning man embracing a providential bit of flotsam. Ellery had met him just once, when Freeman had accepted the manuscript of The Roman Hat Mystery for publication.
    â€˜So nice to see you again, Queen,’ Freeman kept murmuring, ‘so very nice.’ And at the first opportunity he slipped into a chair and effaced himself.
    Roland Payn could not have effaced himself if he tried. He was a tall florid man in his early fifties with a shock of handsome white hair and the ready, rather absent, smile of a politician. His rich and easy baritone would have done credit to an actor