Then, one humid night at the beginning of the fourth week in July, just after midnight, the call came for which Ellery was waiting.
He listened, he said a few words, he broke the connection, and he called the number of Keats’s house.
Keats answered on the first ring.
“Queen?”
“Yes. As fast as you can.”
Ellery immediately hung up and ran out to his car. He had parked the Kaiser at the front door every night for a week.
He left it on the road near the Priam mailbox. Keats’s car was already there. Ellery made his way along the bordering grass to the side of the house. He used no flashlight. In the shadow of the terrace a hand touched his arm.
“Quick.” Keats’s whisper was an inch from his ear.
The house was dark, but a faint night light was burning in Roger Priam’s room off the terrace. The French door was open, and the terrace was in darkness.
They got down on their knees, peered through the screening of the inner door.