Drury Lane’s Last Case by Ellery Queen Page B

that you’re included in the general house-cleaning, Dr. Choate? … Do stay, Mr. Rowe.”
    Dr. Choate leaned back in the swivel-chair behind his long desk and looked about the room. He sighed. “In a manner of speaking. It hasn’t been generally announced, but I’m leaving. Retiring. Fifteen years of my life have been spent in this building, and I dare say it’s time I thought of myself.” He closed his eyes and murmured: “I know precisely what I shall do. I shall purchase a small English cottage I’ve had my eye on in upper Connecticut, dig in with my books, and lead the life of a hermit-scholar.…”
    â€œSwell idea,” said the Inspector. “But as I was saying——”
    â€œCharming,” murmured Mr. Rowe, still looking at Patience.
    â€œYou certainly deserve your rest, from all Mr. Lane has told me about you,” said Patience hastily. “When are you leaving, Doctor?”
    â€œI’ve not decided. You see, we’re acquiring a new curator. He’s expected in from England on to-night’s boat, as a matter of fact; he’ll be docking to-morrow morning and then we’ll see. It will take some time before he acclimatizes himself, and of course I shall stay until he can carry on by himself.”
    â€œSocial visit, Miss Darling?” asked the young man suddenly.
    â€œI always thought America restricted her borrowing from England to paintings and books,” said Patience in some confusion. “I take it your incoming curator is something very special in bibliophiles, Dr. Choate. Is he anyone really important?”
    The Inspector fidgeted in his chair.
    â€œOh, he’s built up something of a reputation abroad,” said Dr. Choate with a delicate wave of his hand. “I shouldn’t say he was first rank. He’s been director of a small London museum for many years—the Kensington. His name is Sedlar, Hamnet Sedlar.…”
    â€œThere’s solid roast-beef Britain for you!” said the young man with enthusiasm.”
    â€œPersonally engaged by the chairman of our Board of Directors. James Wyeth, you know.”
    Patience, annoyed with herself for being suddenly unable to meet the young man’s admiring glance, raised her slender eyebrows. Wyeth was a titan among the mighty, a cold, cultured Crœsus with a passionate devotion to knowledge.
    â€œAnd then, too, Sedlar was warmly recommended by Sir John Humphrey-Bond,” continued Dr. Choate amiably. “Of course Sir John’s endorsement carried weight. He’s been England’s most distinguished Elizabethan collector for decades, Inspector, as I suppose you know.”
    The Inspector started. He cleared his throat. “Sure. Sure thing. But what we——”
    â€œSure you don’t mind my staying?” asked Mr. Rowe suddenly. “I’d been hoping somebody would turn up, you know.” He laughed and snicked shut the heavy old folio he had been reading. “This is my lucky day.”
    â€œOf course not, Mr. Rowe,” murmured Patience; her face was a delicate crimson. “Er—Dr. Choate, I spent a good deal of my adolescence in England——”
    â€œLucky England, too,” said the young man reverently.
    â€œâ€”—and it’s always been my feeling that most cultured Englishmen consider us rather quaint but slightly offensive barbarians. I suppose the inducement to Mr. Sedlar was sufficiently weighty to——?”
    Dr. Choate chuckled in his beard. “Wrong, Miss Thumm. The Britannic’s finances didn’t permit us to offer Dr. Sedlar even as much as he’d been getting in London. But he seemed genuinely enthusiastic at the prospect of joining us here, and he snapped up Mr. Wyeth’s offer. I suppose he’s like the rest of us—impractical.”
    â€œHow true,” sighed the young man. “Now if I were