The Finishing Stroke by Ellery Queen

again.’
    â€˜May I have that, Sergeant?’ Ellery said.
    â€˜I better get instructions first, Mr. Queen.’
    â€˜All right, call Luria. But hurry, will you?’
    Sergeant Devoe retreated, still clutching the package. No one said a word. When he reappeared, he handed the package to Ellery. ‘Lieutenant says it’s okay, Mr. Queen. But he wants you to call him on it after you see what’s inside.’
    There was the same kind of Santa Claus tag with the name ‘John Sebastian’ typewritten on it, the same red and green metallic wrapping paper, the same gilt ribbon.
    The box inside again was white and unmarked. Ellery raised the lid. Two small objects lay there, each wrapped in red tissue paper; and on them lay a plain white card displaying a typewritten verse.
    Ellery read the verse aloud:

    â€˜For the love of Mike!’ Dr. Dark said.
    Ellery unwrapped the objects. One was a miniature pine-panelled door, the other a tiny stained-glass window.
    â€˜John.’
    â€˜Yes, Ellery.’
    â€˜After I showed last night’s box to Lieutenant Luria today, what did you do with it?’
    â€˜Took it back to my room.’
    â€˜Get the doll’s house, will you?’
    No one moved while they waited. But Val Warren laughed hollowly. ‘Joke’s over, Rusty? It looks to me as if it’s just starting its run.’
    Rusty did not reply.
    John came hurrying downstairs carrying the toy gingerly. In silence he set it down on the refectory table, and in silence Ellery took the little pine-panelled door from the new box and fitted it into the doorless doorway in the upper storey of the house. It fitted perfectly. And when he tucked the miniature stained-glass window into the frame on the ground floor where a window was missing, the window fitted perfectly also.
    â€˜Ellery.’ Ellen sounded frightened. ‘Are there any pencil marks on the back of this one?’
    â€˜No.’ It was the first thing Ellery had checked.
    â€˜It’s insane!’ John cried. ‘Who the devil’s doing this? And why? Even a dirty joke has a point of some sort. What’s the point of all this?’
    Ellery said to the tall trooper, ‘What’s Luria’s number?’
    When he came back he said abruptly, ‘All right, somebody’s playing games. Like John, Luria’s inclined to think it’s the work of a psychopath. I don’t agree. There’s sanity behind this, and deadly purpose.’
    Ellery glanced over at the little house. ‘Last night John received an “unfinished” house, tonight he receives two parts that seem to finish it. What that’s supposed to mean I have no idea. But I don’t believe the mysteries are going to deepen. For these events to have any rational motivation, they’ve got to become clearer as the game goes along. Let’s see what we have so far.’
    Ellery began to walk about, addressing the floor, the fire, the timbered ceiling. ‘The number of gifts has now become a variable factor. Last night’s consisted of three items, tonight’s of two. We may expect, then, further number-variations. Actually, these internal variations don’t affect the external probability that there will be twelve groups of gifts – one for each night of Christmas. In the final count the total number of individual gifts may have some significant relationship to the number twelve. Beyond that we can’t go at this time.’
    His publisher asked incredulously, ‘Are you being serious, Queen?’ and looked about him with a timid smile, as if to include the others in his incredulity. But no one smiled with him.
    All Ellery said was, ‘I’m simply playing the game, Mr. Freeman.’
    One by one they drifted off to bed, until only Ellery and John Sebastian were left in the living room.
    The two young men sat before the dying fire in silence. But finally John said, ‘I can’t see any