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thought, for perhaps the two million and forty-first time, how pretty she was. ...
"But it can't be Robinson!" Weaver was saying in distress. "Dave Robinson is my wife's father!"
"Haven't you ever heard of an embezzling father-in-law?" Ellery grinned.
"I'd as soon suspect myself! Dave's absolutely honest. He and my wife and her sister Sheila are the most upright people I've ever known!"
Ellery felt the first faint prickings of the cvuriosity that always came when a puzzle began to fascinate him. A crime that — ^if Weaver weren't mistaken — could have been committed by only two possible men, one of them a millionaire and one a paragon of honesty — this sounded like an impossibility, and Ellery doted on impossibilities.
"Won't you please investigate for me — confidentially?" Weaver pleaded.
"Why, yes," Ellery agreed, "I rather think I shall."
During the following week he made a brief visit to the brokerage firm of Weaver & McKay. Posing as an investor, he conferred again with Weaver, and met David Robinson, the office manager; investigated the office safe; wandered about Weaver's private office with typical Queen insouciance. Later, away from the Weaver & McKay office, he paid one or two other calls. . . .
On New Year's Eve Ellery had an unexpected visitor — Steve McKay, Weaver's partner. He arrived just as Ellery, Nikki, and Ellery's father. Inspector Queen of the New York Police, were about to depart for the traditional festivities.
■ Murder, lurking beneath the hectic gaiety of a holiday party, ofFers radio's master sleuth one of his most baffling puzzles, to be solved with only stolen money, a broken engagement, and a cocktail glass for clues
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Nikki and Ellery led Temple stumbling to a chair. Suddenly he began to sob. Long looked at him in disgust.