Greek Coffin Mystery by Ellery Queen

creeps!”
    “Oh, then you never saw that man before?”
    “I?” she shrieked. “Heavens above! I? Mother of God, no!”
    “All right, all right,” said the Inspector hurriedly. “Now, Mrs. Simms, do you recall last Friday night?”
    Her damp handkerchief paused at her nose and a saner look came into her eye. “Last Friday night? The night before—before Mr. Khalkis died? I do, sir.”
    “That’s very good, Mrs. Simms, very good. I understand you went to bed early—is that correct?”
    “Indeed it is, sir. Mr. Khalkis himself told me to.”
    “Did he tell you anything else?”
    “Why, nothing important, sir, if that’s what you’re driving at.” Mrs. Simms blew her nose. “He just called me into the study and—”
    “He called you in?”
    “Well, I mean he rang for me. There’s a buzzer on his desk which leads to the kitchen downstairs.”
    “What time was this?”
    “Time? Let me see.” She puckered her old lips thoughtfully. “I’d say about a quarter to eleven.”
    “At night, of course?”
    “Well, of all things! Of course. And when I came in he told me to fetch him at once a percolator of water, three cups and saucers, some tea-balls, cream, lemon and sugar. At once, he said.”
    “Was he alone when you entered the library?”
    “Oh, yes, sir. All alone, the poor creature sitting at his desk so nice and straight. … To think—just to think that—”
    “Now, don’t think, Mrs. Simms,” said the Inspector. “And then what happened?”
    She dabbed at her eyes. “I brought the tea-things right away and set them down on the taboret by his desk. He asked me if I had brought everything he’d ordered—”
    “Now, that’s queer,” muttered Ellery.
    “Not at all, sir. He couldn’t see, you see. So he said in a sharper voice—he looked a mite nervous, it seemed to me, if you ask, sir, which you didn’t—he said to me, ‘Mrs. Simms, I want you to go to bed at once. Do you understand?’ So I said, ‘Yes, Mr. Khalkis,’ and I went right up to my room and to bed. And that’s all, sir.”
    “He said nothing to you about having guests that night?”
    “Me, sir? Oh, no, sir.” Mrs. Simms blew her nose again and then thrashed it about vigorously with her handkerchief. “Although I did think he might be having company of sorts, considering the three cups and all. But it wasn’t my place to ask, you see.”
    “Of course not. So you didn’t see any visitors that night?”
    “No, sir. I went right up to my room and to bed, as I said. I was that tired, sir, having had a bad day with rheumatics. My rheumatics—”
    Tootsie rose, yawned, and began to wash her face.
    “Yes, yes. We quite understand. That’s all for now, Mrs. Simms, and thank you very much,” said the Inspector, and they hastily left the room. Ellery was thoughtful as they descended the stairs; Pepper looked at him curiously and said, “You think …”
    “My dear Pepper,” said Ellery, “that is the curse of my composition. I’m always thinking. I’m pursued by what Byron in Childe Harold —you recall that magnificent first canto?—saw fit to call, ‘The blight of life—the demon Thought.’”
    “Well,” said Pepper dubiously, “there’s something in that.”

8 … KILLED?
    A S THEY WERE ABOUT to reenter the study downstairs, they heard voices from the drawing-room across the hall. The Inspector inquisitively trotted over and opened the door to peer in. His eyes sharpened and he strode inside without ceremony, Pepper and Ellery following meekly. They found Dr. Prouty chewing his cigar and looking out of the window into the graveyard, while another man—a man none of them had seen before—poked about the odorous corpse of Grimshaw. He straightened immediately, looking inquiry at Dr. Prouty. The Assistant Medical Examiner introduced the Queens and Pepper tersely, said: “This is Dr. Frost, Khalkis’ personal physician. Just came in,” and turned back to his window.
    Dr. Duncan Frost was a handsome