The Four Johns by Ellery Queen Page B

home?”
    â€œDidn’t she?”
    Susie shrugged.
    â€œYou haven’t heard from her since she left?”
    She squinted at him through her thick lashes. “No.”
    â€œStrange,” mused Mervyn.
    â€œNot so very.”
    â€œWell—perhaps not,” Mervyn said. “Under the circumstances.”
    â€œWhatever they are.”
    â€œShe never gave you any hint of whom she might be going off with?”
    Susie toyed with her spoon. “Mary isn’t much for confidences. Not that she’s secretive; things just aren’t important to her. And then there’s been a little coolness between us recently. You might even say we had a fight.”
    Mervyn was startled. The idea of Mary having a fight with anyone seemed absurd. “What on earth about?”
    â€œYou.”
    â€œMe?” Mervyn laughed. “I never thought you cared. Much less Mary.”
    Susie leaned back in her chair, surveying Mervyn dispassionately. “One of your most appealing features, Mervyn, is your complete lack of vanity. You’re handsome enough to stop a clock, don’t you know that?”
    Mervyn was embarrassed. “It’s never got me anything. In teaching it’s a positive handicap. Still, a battle between two love-crazed females—”
    â€œWho said anything like that? With me it was a matter of principle. And Mary isn’t always aware of what she’s up to. Since she’s not a child any more, I thought it was time she learned.”
    â€œI see. Well, what vanity I had is now shattered.”
    Susie made a scornful noise. “I made a mistake. Your vanity is so absolutely colossal that it disappears. It’s a good gimmick. I’ll try it. And with Mary not around, I think I’ll try her techniques, too, maybe even improve on them.”
    â€œHave mercy,” Mervyn said. “I’ve got worries enough.”
    Susie rose with the faintest suggestion of a smile. “I must be going.”
    Mervyn answered in a vague voice, “I’ve got things to do, too.”
    Susie, still smiling, departed.
    Mervyn sat in deep thought. Presently he signaled for another cup of coffee. And took out the envelope.
    He turned it over. No return address. Gingerly he withdrew the enclosed letter, his fingertips tingling as if it were warm with life.
    The hand-printing was square, neat, impersonal. The two words were:
    YOU ’ LL SUFFER .
    Mervyn’s stomach contracted in a spasm of nausea.
    Who could hate him so much?
    And why?

CHAPTER 6
    The letter was incomprehensible. The motivation for stealing his car and stuffing Mary into the trunk had been dismally clear—to implicate him in the murder. But why this?
    The hand-printing conveyed nothing. A graphologist might read meaning into the carefully squared E , the flourishing S , the quiver in the final leg of the R . But as far as Mervyn was concerned, there was no clue to the identity of the sender.
    Mervyn was swept by a gust of rage; it was followed by a swift retreat to cover. The threatening note changed nothing, except for the worse. If only he knew with whom he was dealing! He could then take counter-measures of some kind. According to Harriet Brill—not the most reliable evidence, but it was at least something to go on—Mary had arranged to meet “John.” There had doubtless been other Johns in Mary’s life, but the four most immediate Johns were John Boce, John Thompson, John Pilgrim and John Viviano. He might go to each of these and ask the direct question: “Where were you last Friday night?” Three of them would be puzzled, perhaps irritated; one would be put on his guard. Still, he might be able to check out one or two alibis, and at least narrow the field.
    True, John Boce had told him to go to hell in answer to the question, and the others might well do the same. But nothing ventured, nothing gained.
    Fired by resolve, Mervyn jumped to his feet, paid the