“Go ahead and sneer,” said the brown giant without rancor. “I promise to give you a decent burial if I can find the component parts.”
Ellery eyed the wide back for a moment. It was perfectly calm. He shrugged. Every time he came to Hollywood something fantastic happened. This was the screwiest yet. He was well out of it.
But then he remembered that he was still in it.
He put his hand in his pocket.
“Laurel,” he said meaningly, “shall we go?”
“If it’s about that piece of paper I saw you find in Leander’s mattress,” said young Macgowan, “I wouldn’t mind knowing myself what’s in it.”
“It’s all right, Ellery,” said Laurel with an exasperated laugh. “Crowe is a lot more interested in the petty affairs of us dreamers than he lets on. And in a perverted sort of way I trust him. May I please see that note?”
“It isn’t the note you saw your father take from the collar of the dog,” said Ellery, eying Macgowan disapprovingly as he took a sheet of paper from his pocket. “It’s a copy. The original is gone.” The sheet was folded over once. He unfolded it. It was a stiff vellum paper, tinted green-gray, with an embossed green monogram.
“Daddy’s personal stationery.”
“From his night table. Where I also found this bi-colored pencil.” Ellery fished an automatic pencil from his pocket. “The blue lead is snapped. The note starts in blue and ends in red. Evidently the blue ran out halfway through his copying and he finished writing with the red. So the pencil places the copying in his bedroom, too.” Ellery held out the sheet. “Is this your father’s handwriting?”