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wonderingly. “Why, he must have been an eyewitness to the murder!” He went out, shaking his head.
    â€œThirty-eight eyewitnesses,” said Ellery, gnawing a nail. “Maybe, Dad, we ought to question them.”
    â€œI’d almost settle for that,” snapped the Inspector. “Only, as it happens, even they weren’t here.”
    â€œThey weren’t?” frowned Ellery.
    â€œNot in the living room here, where she got it. I guess you didn’t notice. They flew in from the bedroom when I kicked the door open and grabbed these lice.… What’s the matter with you? ”
    â€œBut if Blackie wasn’t on the scene of the crime, why does he keep saying ‘Cut’?”
    â€œHow should I know?” said the Inspector, exasperated. “It’s one of the words he’s picked up. Look, son—”
    â€œNo, Dad, wait.” Then Ellery said softly, “You’re right. It’s one of the words he picked up because Mrs. Andrus was so fond of bridge … she told me herself she played cards with these people regularly— The cards! ”
    And a few minutes later Ellery rose from one of the three chairs at the bridge table, and his voice made Dr. Cooke, Attorney De Rose, and Miss Baggott even paler. “At one point tonight you three sat in these chairs—Mrs. Andrus would have had to use her wheelchair. What were you doing? These cards tell the story. The closed deck in the middle of the table contains forty-nine cards. The three other cards are distributed about the table—one at each of your seats, face up. The three of hearts. The king of spades. The nine of hearts.”
    â€œ They cut the cards ,” said the Inspector. “Butchers. Cutting to see which one was going to stick the old lady!”
    â€œThis card setup, which you had no time to put away,” growled Ellery, “even tells us who drew what. From the cigars in your breast pocket and that cold cigar butt in the ashtray beside the spade king, Dr. Cooke, it was you who drew the king of spades. The cigaret butt in the tray beside the nine of hearts indicates your seat, De Rose, because if it had been smoked by this woman it would be tipped with her lipstick. So you, Miss Baggott, drew the heart three.”
    â€œThree, nine, king,” rapped the Inspector. “That does it!”
    Ellery nodded. “It does indeed.”
    â€œIt was the skunk who drew the king of spades, of course,” said the Inspector. “You, Cooke. ”
    â€œNo,” said the doctor urgently.
    â€œNo,” agreed Ellery. His father wheeled. “No one with medical training, Dad, would stab four times in the area of the heart and fail to hit a vital spot. Dr. Cooke would have finished her in one surgical stroke.”
    â€œBut Cooke drew the high card,” protested the Inspector.
    â€œThen they were cutting for loser, not winner,” said Ellery. “So it wasn’t the high card that drew the murder assignment, it was low card . And since we know De Rose drew the heart nine and you the heart three,” he said to the rigid woman, “that lays this miserable killing right in your lap, Miss Baggott.”
    The big myna made a sudden landing on Miss Baggott’s head. She cowered, shrieking.
    Down one! rumbled the bird.
    â€œNow that, Blackie, is your first mistake,” said Ellery. “Under the laws of this state, it’s going to be … down three!”

SUICIDE DEPT.
    A Question of Honor

It wasn’t every day that Ellery found himself meeting a policeman who was a minor authority on Shakespeare, and he shook the hand of Inspector Queen’s British visitor with interest. It was a hard hand attached to a squared-off torso, satisfying the professional requirements; but above the neck Inspector Burke of New Scotland Yard took an unexpected turn—broad forehead, pale skin, and the bright, sad eyes of a scholar.
    â€œOver here on a