The Four Johns by Ellery Queen Page A

but courteous good morning and proceeded to her own mailbox. Mervyn glanced at his mail, tucked it into his pocket. “Where are you going?” he asked. “Do you have time for coffee and doughnuts? I haven’t had breakfast yet.”
    Susie paused, looking over her shoulder. “I’ve got to sign up for summer session.”
    â€œYou have all day.”
    â€œNot quite. I’m visiting Mrs. Kelly at the hospital between two and three.”
    â€œIs she able to see people?”
    â€œHarriet was there last night.”
    Mervyn glanced at the steps to the balcony. “The old girl took quite a tumble.”
    â€œIt’s a miracle she’s alive.”
    They walked out to the street, the question of coffee and doughnuts not quite resolved. Mervyn looked at Susie out of the corner of his eye. As always, she seemed subtly different from the last time he had seen her. Today she contrived to seem both casual and somber. Her mouth was a grim line. A sweet mouth, thought Mervyn—normally.
    Susie’s side glance was swift. “You’re not teaching during summer session?”
    â€œI’ve got a thesis staring reproachfully at me.”
    â€œI can’t imagine you teaching, Mervyn. I mean, really teaching.”
    â€œI can’t either. Oh, well, it’s a means to an end. I’d much rather do other things.”
    â€œSuch as?”
    â€œI don’t know. Search Europe for old manuscripts, perhaps. What about you, Susie?”
    â€œLife is fluid. And so far I’m floating.”
    â€œDrifting?” suggested Mervyn.
    â€œFloating,” Susie said firmly.
    â€œI’d better look through my mail,” said Mervyn. “Pardon?”
    They turned into Telegraph Avenue; the Parnassus Coffee Shop was three blocks away. Mervyn, shuffling through his mail, found a telephone bill; what looked like a letter from his mother; a notice from the university library about some overdue books; and a notification to English Department teaching assistants regarding changed schedules. On closer scrutiny he decided that the letter from his mother—being addressed in typescript on a plain white envelope and postmarked Berkeley on June eighteenth, which was yesterday—could not be from his mother after all. Mervyn tore it open and unfolded the sheet of paper.
    The letter consisted of two words printed with a ballpoint pen.
    Mervyn frowned.
    Then he refolded the letter and tucked it away. He was rather relieved that Susie, marching along by his side, had not been looking at his face when he read the two words.
    When they reached the Parnassus Coffee Shop, Mervyn glanced questioningly at her. Susie hesitated, scowled, squinted at the sun. “Well, all right,” she said grudgingly. “But I only have a minute.”
    They took a table by the front window; a waitress came for their orders. Susie sat stiffly, looking everywhere but at Mervyn.
    He played a conversational gambit. “How come you’re not going home for the summer?”
    â€œI don’t like my mother’s new husband.”
    â€œOh. You have a brother, don’t you?”
    â€œA half-brother. Ten years old. By my mother’s third. The current consort is her fourth, a large pain in the neck. Real-estate operator, loaded with charm, money, and stepfatherly love. With gestures. Mary’s had more trouble with him than I have. But she didn’t want to shock Mother.”
    In spite of his own difficulties, Mervyn was fascinated. “What about you?”
    â€œMother is shockproof. She dangled us in front of Gordon until she hooked him, and now it’s suddenly a good idea that we get away on our own.” Susie laughed bitterly. “Our grandmother lives in Butte. For a while there was talk about the University of Montana.”
    Mervyn asked cautiously, “Why would Mary want to go home, then?”
    Susie broke a doughnut into sections. “Who says she went