The story concluded with the reminder that “Mr. Priam is the stepfather of twenty-three year old Crowe Macgowan, the Atomic Age Tree Boy, who broke into print in a big way recently by taking off his clothes and bedding down in a tree house on his stepfather’s estate in preparation for the end of the world.”
Observing to himself that Los Angeles journalism was continuing to maintain its usual standards, Ellery went to the phone and called the Hill home.
“Laurel? I didn’t expect you’d be answering the phone in person this morning.”
“I’ve got nothing to hide.” Laurel laid the slightest stress on her pronoun. Also, she was cold, very cold.
“One question. Did you tip off the papers about Priam?”
“No.”
“Cross your heart and―?”
“I said no!” There was a definite snic―!
It was puzzling, and Ellery puzzled over it all through breakfast, which Mrs. Williams with obvious disapproval persisted in calling lunch. He was just putting down his second cup of coffee when Keats walked in with a paper in his pocket.
“I was hoping you’d drop around,” said Ellery, as Mrs. Williams set another place. “Thanks, Mrs. W, I’ll do the rest... Not knowing exactly what is leaking where, Keats, I decided not to risk a phone call. So far I’ve been kept out of it.”