QED by Ellery Queen Page B

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    His father made a strangled sound.
    â€œNow, the nearest parked cars are those four between the Athenia’s canopy and the next building—my car, the two behind mine, and the M.D.’s, double-parked beside the one behind mine. Well, which of the four was Trench Coat’s? Not mine, of course, or the car mine replaced—the people who drove off in that one came from the building across the street; what’s more, they drove away before Trench Coat left the Athenia.
    â€œSo Trench Coat’s car must be one of the other three. Which one?
    â€œLet’s see. Trench Coat made his escape just as I was going up to Modesta’s apartment. You’d expect him to jump into his car—one of those three—and drive off. Did he? No—when I rushed downstairs after finding Modesta shot, all three cars were still parked. Why didn’t he take his car for his getaway? Obviously, because he couldn’t . His car must be the one behind mine, the middle one of the three at the curb—the one that’s boxed in by the doctor’s car!”
    The Inspector sounded punchy. “So that’s why you moved your jalopy away … to give him room to get his car out when he thinks the coast is clear.”
    â€œThat’s the idea,” said Ellery.
    â€œNow all you have to do,” said the Sergeant, not without bitterness, “is tell us who you see in your crystal ball.”
    â€œWhy, So-and-So,” replied Ellery, naming a name; and at their exclamations he grinned. “At least, I’m ninety-nine percent sure.”
    At four-fifteen A . M . a furtive figure skulked suddenly past the Athenia, darted into the designated car, and fought cattishly but in vain to shake off Sergeant Velie’s paralyzing clutch.
    It was, as Ellery had predicted, So-and-So.
    By the time they booked their catch downtown and sat in on the confession, the city was driving to work. They crawled uptown in Ellery’s car to the hospital.
    It was while Inspector Queen went off to inquire about Modesta that Sergeant Velie seemed to come out of a fog. “Can I be that stupid, Ellery? I still don’t see how—”
    â€œConsole yourself,” soothed Ellery. “The doorman and I saw Trench Coat; you didn’t. When he hurried past us at the stairway door, I was bothered by something in his appearance. Later I realized what it had been: he’d had his double-breasted coat buttoned down the left side. It’s women who are left-side buttoners; men are the reverse. So I knew Trench Coat was a woman dressed as a man. Which woman? Van Olde’s a widower, Kid Catt’s a bachelor, and neither has any entangling alliances. But Jock Shanville’s married, so his wife was an odds-on bet. As she told us, she eavesdropped on Modesta’s call, heard that she was through as Mrs. Shanville, and proceeded—with the help of her theatrical training—to do something about it.”
    The Sergeant was still shaking his head when the Inspector came back, all smiles. Modesta would live—although she’d have to have new evening gowns designed—and she had satisfactorily fingered Pearline Shanville as the jealous witch who had ruined her décolletage.
    Then they shuffled blearily out to Ellery’s car and he found a ticket on it for parking in a restricted hospital zone.

No Place to Live
    When they entered the flat they were after someone else altogether. But in one of the rooms off the center hall they found a man with half his head blown off, and over him a pretty blonde with a cheap new wedding band on her left hand holding the cannon.
    Sergeant Velie took the gun from her by the barrel delicately, and Inspector Queen looked at her ring and said to her, “And you’re Mrs.—?”
    â€œGraham,” the girl said. “June Graham.”
    Ellery caught June Graham as she fell.
    Twenty-four hours earlier Brock was on his unmade bed doping the