Read Online The Scarlet Letters by Ellery Queen - Free Book Online

Homburg over his heart; he was humming.
    Ellery got off at the fifth floor.
    He ran up the emergency staircase to the sixth in time to hear the elevator door clang. He waited three seconds, then he opened the exit door and stepped out.
    The main corridor was at right angles to the bank of elevators. Ellery walked past the intersection. Far down the corridor the tall man was unlocking a door.
    When he heard the door close, Ellery turned back and hurried up the long corridor.
    The room was 632.
    He kept going to the end of the corridor, where it was met by another cross-corridor. The short corridor was empty.
    Ellery waited at the intersection.
    Five minutes later he heard the distant rattle of the elevator door and he stepped back out of sight. He heard the elevator door open and close.
    After a moment he held his hat before his face, as if he were about to put it on, and walked rapidly across the intersection.
    It was Martha.
    She was hurrying up the main corridor, searching the door numbers.
    Ellery remained on the other side of the cross-corridor, just out of view.
    A few seconds later he heard a series of light, rapid knocks. A door opened at once.
    â€œWhat held you up, darling?” An actor, all right. And a leading man, at that.
    â€œHurry!” Martha’s familiar voice, unfamiliarly breathless.
    The door slammed.
    After a moment Ellery heard the lock turn over.
    He went back downstairs and waited near the desk for a couple to check in and follow a bellhop.
    â€œHello, Ernie.”
    The desk clerk looked startled. “Mr. Queen!” he said. “I thought you’d taken your trade elsewhere. Checking in to meet a deadline?”
    â€œMine died some time ago,” said Ellery. “No, Ernie, I’m looking for information.”
    â€œOh,” said the clerk, lowering his voice. “Your alter ego, eh?” Like all old employees of the A— Hotel, he had long since absorbed its literary atmosphere. “Man-hunt?”
    â€œWell, it’s a man,” said Ellery. “The man in six-thirty-two. What’s his name, Ernie?”
    â€œMr. Queen, we’re not supposed to give out–”
    â€œLet’s say you were looking over the registration cards and began muttering to yourself?”
    â€œYes.” The clerk coughed and moved over to the card file hanging on the wall beside the desk. “Six-thirty-two … Checked in at one-five P.M . today …” He looked around. “You won’t care for this, Mr. Queen. He’s registered as George T. Spelvin, East Lynne, Oklahoma.”
    â€œTypical actor’s humor. Come on, Ernie, you know who he is. You know every actor in the Lambs.”
    The desk clerk straightened the pen in its holder. “You flatter me,” he murmured, “and I like it. The Westphalian is Van Harrison. What’s the lay, chief?”
    â€œGuard your language. No, it’s nothing you can peddle to the columns, worse luck. I spotted him, thought he looked familiar, and wondered who he was. Thanks a lot.” Ellery grinned and went out.
    But on the street his grin faded.
    â€œVan Harrison.” He found himself saying it aloud.
    He stopped in a Sixth Avenue drugstore to phone Nikki. Dirk Lawrence answered.
    â€œHi, there. How’s it coming?”
    â€œPretty good, pretty good.” Dirk sounded absent.
    â€œAny chance of my borrowing my secretary for this evening, chum?”
    â€œYou’re damn decent to do this for me, Ellery. How much will you take for her contract?”
    â€œThat isn’t answering my question.”
    â€œI guess it can be arranged, old boy–Martha and I are invited to the Le Fleurs’ for dinner, and that means black tie, a butler with palsy, and Charades in the drawing room afterward. I’m beginning to hope Martha doesn’t come home at all.”
    â€œThat’s a switch,” laughed Ellery. “Let me speak to Nikki.”
    Nikki said, “And