“What did I do?” Keats raised his reddish brows as he handed the box to Ellery. “That puts it up to you, Mr. Queen. What do you want to do?”
“You can both get out of my bedroom!”
Ellery said, “I’ll open it, Keats, but not here. And not now. I think this ought to be opened before Roger Priam, with Mrs. Priam there, and Laurel Hill, too.”
“You can get along without me,” she whispered. “Get out.”
“It’s important for you to be there,” Ellery said to her.
“You can’t tell me what to do.”
“In that case I’ll have to ask the assistance of someone who can.”
“No one can.”
“Not Wallace?” smiled Ellery. “Or one of his numerous predecessors?” Delia Priam sank to the chest, staring.
“Come on, Keats. We’ve wasted enough time in this stud pasture.”