Which Way to Die? by Ellery Queen Read Free Book Online Page A

the roof parapet extended to this side, too; they must run all around the roof.
    â€œThis is the only bedroom with its own private bath,” Norma said, indicating a door. “The rest of us will have to use the one off the hall.” She glanced at Baer. “I hope you don’t mind roughing it, Mr. Baer.”
    The redhead grinned. “Sight unseen, it beats the outhouse behind my pad. But who are the rest of us? Someone else going to be staying here?”
    â€œJust Frank’s mother. She and I will share the room at the end of the hall. You’ll have the one next door, so you can be near the boys.”
    â€œIsn’t Dad going to be staying here?” Gerard demanded.
    â€œThere’s not enough room,” Norma replied without looking at him. “He’s taken an apartment on the eleventh floor. Mrs. Grant’s chauffeur will live in with Dad, so we’ll have someone to run errands. The plan, as I understand it, is to have as few outsiders as possible come to the apartment, even delivery and service people.”
    â€œWhose idea was that?” her brother asked. “It’s smart.”
    â€œDad’s.” She shrugged. “Not mine, I assure you. I’m just along for the ride. I can’t break Dad’s heart any more than it’s already been broken. So if you have any idea I’m in on this because of you, Gerry, forget it.”
    Her tone was as cold as a hanging judge’s. So she had never shared Mrs. Grant’s conviction that the boys were innocent, or her father’s pretense, Corrigan thought.
    She did not speak to Frank Grant at all.
    The ex-jailbirds were opening closets and dresser drawers. They were full. Someone—probably Mrs. Grant—had gone to a great deal of trouble. There was something sick about the whole thing, and suddenly Corrigan wished he were back in his cubby off the MOS squadroom, in the realm of decent crime.

6.
    Chuck Baer’s was a smaller room, with a double bed. Baer tossed his valise on the bed, glanced around, and announced that the room was fine.
    â€œWe may as well complete the tour,” Norma said.
    They looked into the last bedroom, another twin-bed affair. Again French doors led onto what Corrigan had mentally come to designate as the back yard, although it actually faced the street that fronted the building.
    â€œI want to take a look outside,” Baer said.
    They stepped through to the roof, Norma closing the French doors behind her.
    â€œThe apartment is completely air-conditioned,” she explained, “so the windows and doors have to be kept closed at all times. At night they can be locked as an added precaution, although I don’t see how anyone could possibly get up here without using the penthouse elevator. That’s why this place was chosen.”
    Corrigan and Baer looked over the wall. To get close enough to it to lean over, it was necessary to step into the loam of the three-foot-wide flower beds. They trod carefully.
    There was a sheer drop on all four sides. There were no fire escapes. The wall was as free of handholds as glass. To climb up from the eleventh floor unaided would be physically impossible.
    â€œHow do people get out in case of fire?” Corrigan asked.
    â€œThere’s a fire stairs at the eleventh floor,” Norma said. “Of course, if the electricity went out, no one could get down from the roof to the eleventh, but the fire inspectors seem to have missed that.”
    Baer was dissatisfied. “This place isn’t as foolproof as it looks. A cat-burglar with a nylon rope and a gang hook tied to it could stand on a windowsill on the eleventh and toss it up to hook onto the parapet. All he’d have to do then is shinny up the rope.”
    Frank Grant tittered. “You’re way out, man. The original occupant of this penthouse built the building. He thought of that when he had the plans drawn up. The windows of the top five floors