The Finishing Stroke by Ellery Queen Page A

light in this damned thing,’ and got up to mix a couple of whiskies. He handed one to Ellery and sat down with the other.
    â€˜Ellery. This sort of thing is up your alley, isn’t it?’
    â€˜Not at the moment.’
    â€˜You know what I mean. You have the involved type of mind that sees things average dumbbells miss. At least that’s your reputation. Isn’t there anything in all this that makes sense to you?’
    Ellery shook his head. ‘I’m over my depth, John. So far, anyway. It’s probably because there are still too many unknowns.’ He set his glass down. ‘Are you sure there isn’t something you know that might help?’
    The young poet was startled. ‘I? How do you mean?’
    â€˜I know of at least one item of information you’ve been holding back. You said that on January sixth four things were due to happen. You’ll come into your father’s estate, you’ll have your book published, you’ll marry Rusty … and what? The fourth thing, you said, would be a surprise. What is it?’
    John nibbled his lip.
    â€˜Conceivably, John, it could have something to do with these gifts.’
    â€˜I don’t see how. In fact, I know it hasn’t.’ John got up and went to the whisky decanter again. ‘No, that has nothing to do with these Christmas boxes.’
    Ellery said quietly, ‘And with the murder of the old man?’
    â€˜Nothing!’
    Ellery raised his brows. ‘You say that as if you aren’t sure.’
    â€˜Of course I’m sure! I’d stake my life on it.’
    Ellery picked up his glass and drained it. Then he rose and said gently, ‘That may be exactly what you’re doing, John. Good night.’
    He went up the wide staircase slowly. He had remarked his friend’s growing irritability of the past two days without attaching importance to it. Now it seemed to Ellery that it might have a secret connexion with the mystery. What was John concealing? His bewilderment at the events of the last forty-eight hours had seemed genuine enough. Was it an act?
    Something made Ellery look up.
    He had paused on the landing. The upper hall ran across the landing, past bedroom doors in either direction. At each end the hall made a turn to a wing beyond his vision. Two nightlights, one in each branch of the hall, dimly illuminated them.
    The dark Figure of a man had appeared from around the corner of the hall to Ellery’s left. As the Figure passed under the nightlight, Ellery saw the face clearly.
    It was John’s.
    The glimpse was brief. At once John opened the door of his bedroom and disappeared.
    Ellery stood on the landing feeling stupid. He had left John downstairs in the living room a minute before; how had John managed to get up here ahead of him? It wasn’t possible. Unless … Of course. John must have taken the backstairs from the kitchen.
    Ellery went to his room, dug out his diary, and sat down to record the events of the day and evening. But all the time he was writing, a minute thought kept picking at the lock of a dark door in his brain. It annoyed him so much that he finally stopped writing to haul the thought out into the light.
    Consciously examined, it annoyed him even more.
    The thought was: How had John managed to reach the upper floor via the backstairs so fast ? True, Ellery’s direct-route pace from-living-room-to-hall-up-front-stairs-to-landing had been leisurely. But John had had to traverse the length of the living room, had had to cross the dining room and enter the butler’s pantry, go through the pantry into the kitchen, climb the backstairs from the kitchen up to the landing at the end of the left wing of the upstairs hall, and then walk down the length of the wing and around the corner. Did he do it on the dead run? Even at a dead run …
    But aside from that … why?
    In fact, why use the backstairs route at all?
    Ellery shook his head,