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the coat! As for Mr. Ruhig, his bright little eyes made one panorama of the room, resting for the merest instant on Mr. Queen, and then retreated behind their fat lids. “Too bad, Walter,” he said quickly. “Too bad, Mr. Jardin. Too bad, Miss Jardin.” Then he added: “Too bad,” in a generally regretful tone, and stopped, blinking.
    You left out Solly. … Val bit her lip, for there was Walewski. Frightened. Every one was frightened. Walewski was an old round-backed man with a crown of grimy white hair which stood on end. He came into the room sidewise, like a crab, his red eyes sloshing about in his old face.
    “We’re taking this down now,” said the Inspector, speaking to Ruhig but looking at Walewski.
    The lawyer covered a courtroom cough. “Too, too bad. … I drove up to the entrance at a few minutes past six. Walewski opened the gate. I told him I had an appointment with Mr. Spaeth—”
    “Did you have?”
    “My dear Inspector! Well, Walewski telephoned the house from his booth—”
    “Hearsay. Walewski, what did you do?”
    The old man trembled. “I don’t know nothing. I didn’t do nothing. I didn’t see nothing.”
    “Did you or didn’t you ’phone the Spaeth house?”
    “Yes, sir! I did. But there wasn’t no answer. Not a bit of an answer.”
    “May I ask a stupid question?” said Ellery. “Where were the servants? In all this magnificence,” he said mildly, “I assume servants.”
    “Please,” said the Inspector. “Well, if you must know, Spaeth fired ’em last week, the whole bunch. Now—”
    “Really? That’s strange. Now why should he have done that?”
    “Oh, for God’s sake.” The Inspector looked annoyed. “He received several threatening letters right after Ohippi went busted and complained to the police and a district dick spotted the writer in thirty minutes—Spaeth’s own chauffeur, a Filipino named Quital. Spaeth was so scared he fired everybody working here and he hasn’t had a servant since.”
    “The wages of high finance,” murmured Ellery. “And where is Mr. Quital?”
    “In jail,” grinned Glücke, “where he’s been for a week. So what happened when you got no answer, Walewski?”
    “I told Mr. Ruhig. I said Mr. Spaeth must be home, I said,” mumbled the old man. “He ain’t been out for a week, I said. So I let Mr. Ruhig through.”
    “Spaeth called me this morning,” said Ruhig helpfully. “Told me to come. So when he didn’t answer I knew something must be wrong. Therefore I insisted Walewski accompany me. Which the good man did. And we found—Well, I notified the police at once, as you know.”
    “He was settin’ down on the floor,” said Walewski, wiping the spittle from his blue lips with the back of his right hand, “he was settin’ and he looked so awful surprised for a minute I thought—”
    “By the way, Mr. Ruhig,” said Ellery with an apologetic glance at Glücke, “what was the nature of your appointment today?”
    “Another change of will,” said Ruhig precisely.
    “Another?” Glücke glared from Ellery to Ruhig.
    “Why, yes. Last Monday—yes, exactly a week ago—Mr. Spaeth had me come over with two of my assistants and I wrote out a new will, which he signed in the presence of my assistants. This will,” Ruhig coughed again, “disinherited the son, Mr. Walter Spaeth.”
    “Oh, is that so?” said the Inspector alertly. “Did you know your old man cut you off, Spaeth?”
    “We quarreled,” said Walter in a weary voice, “about his abandonment of the Ohippi plants. He telephoned Ruhig while I was still here.”
    “Who benefited by the will he made a week ago?”
    “Mr. Spaeth’s protégée, Miss Moon. He left her his entire estate.”
    “Then what about this will business today?”
    Ruhig breathed on his shiny little fingernails. “I can’t say. All I know is that he wanted to change the will again. But by the time I got here,” he shrugged, “it was too late.”
    “Then Spaeth’s estate is