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him . I didn’t hear what he said from here.”
    â€œYou heard him, Conk.”
    â€œYes,” the doctor said. “‘The heroine.’”
    â€œThat’s what he said.” Ellery turned away. He felt as empty as Benedict looked.
    â€œThe heroine.” Dullman laughed. “Get what you wanted, Queen? Feel like a big man now?”
    â€œHe didn’t know her name,” Ellery said, as if this explained something important. He was wiping his face over and over.
    â€œI don’t understand,” Dr. Farnham said.
    â€œBenedict arrived so late tonight there wasn’t time for introductions. He could only identify her by her role in the play. The heroine.”
    Ellery turned away.
    â€œBut I took Joan’s appendix out when she was fifteen,” Dr. Farnham muttered, as if that absolved her. “My father delivered her,” as if that clinched it.
    Someone rapped on the door. Dullman opened it.
    â€œI’m told something’s happened to Mr. Benedict—”
    â€œWell, look who’s here,” Dullman said. “Come on in, Bluefield.”

ACT II. Scene 2.
    Scutney Bluefield’s shoes and the cuffs of his trousers were soaked.
    â€œI’ve been walking and walking. You see, I couldn’t stand what he was doing to the play. I felt that if I stayed one minute longer …”
    â€œScutney,” Ellery said.
    â€œAnd how dreadful,” Scutney went on, still looking at the occupied chair. “I mean, he doesn’t look human any more, does he? I’ve never seen this kind of death.”
    â€œScutney—”
    â€œBut he brought it on himself, wouldn’t you say? You can’t go about humiliating people that way. People who’ve never done you any harm. Who killed him?”
    Ellery swung the little man around. “You’ll have to talk to your audience, Scutney. I think you’d better use the word accident. And tell your ushers privately not to allow anyone to leave the theater until the police get here.”
    â€œWho killed him?”
    â€œWill you do that?”
    â€œYes, of course,” Scutney said. He squished out, leaving a damp trail.
    Ellery wandered back to the dressing table. All at once he stooped for a closer look at the knife handle.
    Dr. Farnham stirred.
    â€œIt’s a fact they’re taking their sweet time,” Dullman said. “You want out, Doctor?”
    â€œI left my wife in the audience,” Farnham said stiffly.
    â€œDon’t worry about Molly, Conk.” Ellery dug a small leather case out of his pocket. “And you’re my corroborating witness to Benedict’s statement.”
    â€œThat’s right,” Dullman said. “I didn’t hear a thing. I don’t have the stomach that goes with ears like yours.”
    The case produced a powerful little lens, and through it Ellery examined the handle of the knife on both sides.
    â€œWhat,” Dullman jeered, “no deerstalker hat?”
    Ellery ignored him. The heavy haft had been recently wound in black plastic friction tape. An eighth of an inch from the edge, the tape showed a straight line of thin, irregular indentations some five-eighths of an inch long. In a corresponding position on the underside there was a line of indentations similar in character and length.
    Ellery stowed away his lens. “By the way, Dullman, have you seen this knife before?”
    â€œAny particular reason why I should tell you?”
    â€œAny particular reason why you shouldn’t?”
    â€œIt’s not mine. I don’t know whose it is.”
    â€œBut you have seen it before.” When Dullman did not answer, Ellery added, “Believe me, I know how sincerely you wish you were out of this.” The way Dullman’s glance shifted made Ellery smile faintly. “But you can’t wish away Benedict’s murder, and in any case you’ll have to submit to police questioning. Where have