The Finishing Stroke by Ellery Queen Page B

five-four or five in life. Whereas friend Claus was taller than I, and I’m six feet. He was as tall as John, I’d say. You’re about six-two, John, aren’t you?’
    â€˜Six-one and a half.’
    And there was the silence again.
    Valentina Warren said hysterically, ‘Two unknown men, one vanished and one murdered. Two ghosts! What’s this all about, anyway?’
    No one answered, not even Olivette Brown.
    Lieutenant Luria of the county police brought an alarming note of sanity to the proceedings. A black-browed, quiet-mannered young man with heavily muscled calves, he slipped into the case without dramatics, disposing his detail of troopers and technicians from the county crime laboratory efficiently, and then sitting down to ask unaccented questions of unavoidable point.
    It was evident from the first that he held everyone on the premises suspect, including Ellery – until that worthy produced certain credentials. Even then Luria was not satisfied. He telephoned Inspector Queen at police headquarters in New York for confirmation.
    â€˜The Inspector wants to talk to you.’ Luria handed Ellery the telephone.
    â€˜What have you got into now, son?’ Inspector Queen’s voice was ready for anything.
    â€˜I don’t know, dad.’
    â€˜Can’t talk, hm? Just tell me this: Your nose clean?’
    â€˜Spotless.’
    â€˜Want me to run out there?’
    â€˜What for?’ Ellery hung up. ‘How can I help, Lieutenant?’
    â€˜Tell me everything you know about this.’
    Ellery told him – about the ephemeral Santa Claus, the queer gifts, his unsuccessful searches of the unused wings, and the discovery of the stranger’s body.
    Lieutenant Luria seemed unimpressed. ‘That Santa Claus business and the package – sounds to me like somebody’s idea of a rib, Queen. Doesn’t seem to go with the murder at all. The two may not be connected.’
    â€˜I think they are.’
    â€˜In what way?’
    â€˜I don’t know.’
    Luria shrugged. ‘We’ll give the place a roof-to-cellar run-through and see if we can’t come up with something on your Santa. Right now I’m more concerned with the dead man.’ He turned to the coroner’s physician, a bald and fish-eyed country doctor wearing pince-nez glasses attached to his lapel by a black silk ribbon. The physician was just rising from his examination of the corpse. ‘What’s the bad word, Dr. Tennant?’
    â€˜I can’t tell you much, Lieutenant. Dead about three hours. Doesn’t seem to be any question that the knife in his back caused death. No other wounds, no contusions except a slight bruise on the forehead, probably made when he struck the floor. Age – oh, late sixties, say.’
    â€˜Any scars or other identifying marks?’
    â€˜None on superficial examination.’
    Ellery said, ‘What about his teeth, Doctor?’
    â€˜As far as I can tell, they’re his own. No bridgework. Some back teeth are missing, but I doubt if that’s going to help. They look like pretty old extractions to me.’
    â€˜Okay,’ Lieutenant Luria said. ‘Release him to us, Doctor, and we’ll haul him over to the county morgue for a more thorough going over. You boys all finished with the photos?’
    When Dr. Tennant and the corpse were gone, Luria turned suddenly to Ellery. ‘Here’s an old party, shows up in the middle of a Christmas celebration, nobody knows who he is, what he wants, how he lands in the library, or who stuck a knife in his back after he gets here. And to give it more of a kick, all identifying papers and clothing labels have been removed. Any ideas, Queen?’
    Ellery looked at his cigarette. ‘I’m in something of a spot, Lieutenant. As Mr. Craig’s house guest …’
    â€˜You’re not talking, either?’
    â€˜I was about to say: However, I was brought up to