And you might know that would get a chuckle out of Mr. Robert. "Oh, yes!" says he. "Detective Sergeant Torchy!"
Meanwhile Andres Zosco is starin' from one to the other of us and scratchin' his head puzzled. "I can't get a word of sense out of it all," says he. "Not a word. Jake, let's hear from you. Where have you been since night before last after dinner?"
Jake pries himself loose from the billowy embrace and advances sheepish. "Why—why," says he, "I was locked in that fool lodge house."
"You were, eh?" says Zosco. "But how did that happen? What did you go in there for?"
"Aw, if you must know, Andy, it—it was pinochle," he growls. "It ain't a crime, is it, a little game?"
"What about the butler, though, and the others?" insists Zosco.
"Why," says Jake, "they was goin' to be in it, too. Can't play pinochle alone, can you? And in a place like this where there's nothing goin' on but silly billiards, or that bridge auction, a feller's gotta find some amusement, ain't he? Saginaw they comes to the house 'most every night—Hoffmeyer and Raditz and——"
"Yes, I know," breaks in Zosco. "So that was the plot, was it, Ellery?"
Ellery registers scorn. "Huh!" says he. "Don't let him put over any such fish tale on you. Ask him about the slow poison in Maggie's coffee, and stealin' the jewels, and—and all the rest."
"Why, Ellery!" gasps Mrs. Zosco.