“The library? Anything taken?”
“Not as far as I can see.”
“Don’t touch anything. I’ll be over in ten minutes.”
Ellery rang up Keats’s home, got a sleepy “What, again?” from the detective, and ran.
He found young Macgowan waiting for him in the Priam driveway. There were lights on upstairs and down, but Roger Priam’s French windows off the terrace were dark.
“Before you go in, maybe I’d better explain the setup...”
“Who’s in there now?”
“Delia and Alfred.”
“Go on. But make it snappy, Mac.”
“Last couple of nights I’ve been sleeping in my old room here at the house―”