The Fourth Side of the Triangle by Ellery Queen Read Free Book Online Page A

November, the designer went on. “I should really be home at my drawing board right now. In fact …” Dane saw that she was preparing gracefully to withdraw.
    â€œSheila, you mustn’t!” wailed Mrs. Vernier. After all, she had come all the way from Rhinebeck, no one else could wait on her properly, she wanted summer and fall things, too—“Dane, help me.”
    â€œI’d be the last one to keep another suffering soul from creative agony, Miss Grey, but if you’ll spare Aunt Sarah a little more of your time I’ll drive you home afterward.”
    And “There!” exclaimed Mrs. Vernier in a you-can’t-refuse-now tone of voice. And “Oh, no, no, that won’t be necessary—” Sheila, hurriedly. And how do you like the pressure, dear heart …? Dane went on boyishly: He had never met a designer before, he threw himself on her fellow craftsmanship, and so on. “And think of poor Aunt Sarah, doomed to wear the same miserable rags.”
    â€œI’ll have you know, Mr. McKell, those ‘rags’ came from my shop.”
    â€œOh, but Sheila,” cried Mrs. Vernier, “I got them here in April.”
    â€œThe riposte supreme,” Dane murmured. “Surely you can’t expect a woman to wear clothes she bought in April? It’s unconstitutional, Miss Grey.”
    â€œIs that a sample of your dialogue?” Sheila dimpled. “Well, all right. But if the French and Italians sweep ahead of us next season, you’ll know just where the fault lies.”
    â€œI accept the awesome responsibility. I’ll turn myself over for being spat upon and stoned.”
    â€œWhile I go bankrupt. Now, Mr. McKell, you sit over there on that chesterfield and twiddle your thumbs. This is women’s work.”
    It was clear that she was, if not exactly interested, at least amused. Perhaps, too, the element of danger contributed to her decision. Or am I overstating the situation? Dane thought. Maybe she figures this is the easiest way to get rid of me. Give the little boy what he wants and then send him off with Auntie.
    â€œSheila, what do you think about this one?”
    â€œI don’t. Billie, take that away. Bring the blue and white shantung.” After a while, skillfully, the designer had Sarah Vernier almost entirely in the charge of her staff, while she sat beside Dane and they chatted about books and New York in midsummer and a dozen other things. Occasionally she put in a word to resolve a doubt of Mrs. Vernier’s, or overrule a suggestion of her salespeople. It was all most adroitly done. She can handle people, Dane thought. I wonder just how she goes about handling Dad.
    â€œI think we’ve crossed the Rubicon,” Sheila Grey said suddenly, rising. Dane jumped up. “Mrs. Vernier won’t have to wear rags after all. Now I really must get home.”
    â€œI’ll drive you, as promised.”
    â€œYou’ll do nothing of the sort, Mr. McKell, although it’s noble of you to make the offer. You have to take care of Mrs. Vernier. I’ll grab a taxi.”
    â€œSupper?” he asked quickly.
    She looked at him—almost, he thought, for the first time. Had he pulled a boner? Going too fast? She had remarkable directness in her cool gray eyes that warned him to be very cautious indeed.
    â€œWhy would you want to take me to supper, Mr. McKell?”
    â€œI have ulterior motives. The fact is, I have to research a designer—and I can’t think of a pleasanter way to do it, by the way, now that I’ve met the woman Aunt Sarah’s raved about so long. Is it a date?”
    â€œIt is not. I’m going home and working right through the weekend.”
    â€œI’m sorry. I’ve made a bloody pest of myself.”
    â€œNot at all. It’s I who’s sounding ungracious. I could lunch with you on Monday.”
    â€œWould you? That’s awfully kind. One-ish? One-thirty?