Chapter 13 Interlude 5: The Investigative Report of Ellery Quinn's Assistant

Grant Eames III lay on the couch in Ellery, glasses flat on his chest, looking exhausted. "I went out and worked hard and came back exhausted." "Is it so exhausting after only investigating two people?" "There's no problem going to a party - you can hide behind the plants in the yard, but to be alone and imprisoned within four walls like this..." Ellery Queen, still in her pajamas, crouched by his typewriter, pulling at the base of her beard.He typed four more words, then stopped. "Have you heard any new news?" "Two flower-like girls, one is green in spring and the other is purple in autumn. But their approach to me has a strong smell of copper."

"Marriage may save you." He shrugged. "If masochism is one of your hobbies, man, we can talk. But it'll be a while, I need to get my strength back." "Are you sure there is nothing but manuscripts in the car?" "March Short thinks Sherlock is some kind of new hairstyle. And Catherine Lambert—Kate isn't one of those useless women. She's painting the walls, you know. Repainting the country loft. Very involved , wound up like clockwork. Sit there and wait, and you'll break your eyes in no time." "They may have tricked you," Ellery said cruelly. "You're easy to fool."

"I think I'm okay," Grant said seriously. "I asked a few sensitive questions. Deep, and sharp." "for example?" "Like, 'Kate, did you leave the manuscript addressed to Ellery Quinn on the seat of my car when Rita was beaten up a few days ago'?" "Then how did she answer?" Grant shrugged. "What you get is a rhetorical question - 'Who is Ellery Quinn?'" "Did I just tell you to 'get out'?" "Let's be considerate of each other, my friend." Grant paused to sip his drink. "I haven't completely failed my detection. It's only the first half. I'm going to push forward. Beyond the Bronx is New Rochelle." .”

"Who still lives there?" "Rachel Hagrid. The third person on our list. And Pagan Kelly, a young Bennington woman who you can almost spot on the picket line every time there's a stupid parade." "Two suspects," Ellery said, "but don't rush up there right away. Just go there and think about your plan." "Are you asking me to pass the time?" "Isn't that the best thing for you to do? But not in my apartment. I still have to finish this story." "Have you finished reading the manuscript?" the playboy asked, a little bit unmotivated.

"I have my own things to do." "You have enough clues to find out who the murderer is?" "Brother," Ellery said, "I haven't found a murderer in my own story yet." "Then I'm going to finish the work you gave me. Well, what if we can't find the manuscript who sent you?" "I don't think I can live without it." "Then where do you put your face?" the young man asked maliciously, and then left. Ellery Quinn's brain stopped, like a foot in sleep.The keys of the typewriter seemed a thousand feet away, and thoughts began to drift into the void.How is Dad doing in Bermuda?

How did the last sales of his latest book fare?It was not necessary for him to ask himself who sent the manuscript through Grant Eames III.He already knew the answer to the question.So, naturally, he began to suspect the identity of Sherlock Holmes' visitor from Paris (he had already peeked at the results in advance). After a brief daze, he went into the bedroom, picked up Dr. Watson's diary from the floor where he had dropped it, and fell on the bed to continue reading.