Keats looked at him in a resentful way. “I don’t go for this stuff, Mr. Queen. I don’t believe it even when I see it. Why does he go to all this trouble?” His tone said he would have appreciated a nice, uncomplicated bullet.
“How is Priam?”
“He’ll live. The problem was this doctor, Voluta. It seems we took him away from a party ― a blonde party ― at Malibu. He took the frogs as a personal insult. Treated Priam for shock, put him to sleep, and dove for his car.”
“Have you talked to Priam?”
“I talked to Priam, yes. But he didn’t talk to me.”
“Nothing?”
“He just said he woke up, reached for that push-button-on-a-cord arrangement he’s got for turning on the lights, saw the little beasties, and knew no more.”
“No attempt at explanation?”
“You don’t think he knows the answer to this one!”
“The strong man type represented by our friend Priam, Lieutenant,” said Ellery, “doesn’t pass out at the sight of a few hundred frogs, even when they’re strewn all over his bed. His reaction was too violent. Of course he knows the answer. And it scares the wadding out of him.”