Ellery Queen Last Man To Die For well over once around the clock Ellery tried to breathe life into The Butler who was lying in the way of the new Queen novel’s progress.
In the fourteenth futile hour, Ellery detected the difficulty: it was so long since he had seen a real live butler that it was like trying to bring a brontosaurus to life.
The situation obviously called for research; and making a haggard mental note to start looking for a specimen—assuming the breed was not extinct—Ellery collapsed.
He had no sooner closed his eyes, it seemed, than the alarm clock brought him up with a leap, groping. Noting blearily that the time was 8:07 A.M. and the alarm was off, he concluded: It’s the doorbell ringing. And he staggered to the apartment door to find himself blinking out at a girl, 38-23-36, with eyes of blue, and red hair, too. Oh, brother!
“Mr. Queen?” asked a voice like temple bells, eying the Queen dishevelment doubtfully. “Am I inconvenient?”
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