Scene 1: The Garden, Ringside BUCKLEY: And while Referee McGinniss is giving the two men their last-minute instructions in the ring, let me remind you, folks-- this is Sam Buckley, your Champion Clothes announcer, at the Garden ringside, about to bring you a blow-by-blow account of the final bout in the heavyweight eliminations to determine who'll meet the Champ this fall. The final tonight, between Johnnie Kilgore and Rocky Logan, is being broadcast through the courtesy of Champion Clothes, "The Clothes That Win -- One Quality, One Price, From Coast to Coast . . ." (There is a roar from the crowd.) There go the men to their corners! Handlers hopping out of the ring! (The gong sounds.) And there's the gong for the first round! (Buckley speaks swiftly and tensely.) At the bell both men come out cautiously, circling each other, feeling each other out . . . Johnnie Kilgore's famous right hand is cocked. . . Logan is in a crouch . . . they're taking no chances, either of them . . . still feeling each other out . . . both men pack a deadly wallop and they respect each other . . . ! (The crowd roars madly.) Ughnnn! Johnnie landed a terrific right to Logan's jaw -- Logan's in trouble! Knees shaking, right over my head here -- eyes glazed -- Logan's trying to clinch -- Referee McGinniss separates them -- (Another roar) Ooh! There's another right to Logan's jaw -- another -- another-- Logan's in a bad way -- Kilgore's like a tiger -- looks like the best right-handed puncher since Dempsey -- ooooh! a right, another right -- (great pandemonium) Logan's down! he's down! Two, three . . . looks like the end! . . . five, six . . . Logan's on his face on the canvas . . . seven, eight . . . may be the world's record for a quick knockout . . . (roar) He's out! Logan's out! (People mill about Buckley.) Knocked out by Johnnie Kilgore in the record-breaking time of. . . Johnnie Kilgore gets his shot at the Champ's title in October . . . this is Sam Buckley announcing the Kilgore-Logan heavyweight elimination bout for Champion Clothes . . . wait a minute! I'll see if I can't get Johnnie to say a few words -- Johnnie! Johnnie Kilgore! Ed -- get this mike up in the ring! Johnnie, say a few words to the radio audience! Scene 2: Kilgore's Dressing Room (Kilgore's dressing room is the scene of wild confusion and hilarity as he is besieged by reporters, photographers, etc.) MANAGER: Okay, okay, boys, you got enough now. Let the kid take his shower -- go on, Johnnie, git into the shower-room. KILGORE: Okay, you ol' lady. (He laughs and goes into the shower) MANAGER: Lemme turn it on for you, Johnnie. (He turns the shower on.) How you feelin', kid? KILGORE: I knew I could take that palooka, Louie! Comes October, I'll be Champ, Louie -- the big cheese! MANAGER: You'll mopolize that mugg, Johnnie -- get yer trunks off -- MOUSIE: (Enters with a leer) Hey, Johnnie! Johnnie Kilgore. KILGORE: (Laughing) Yeah? (Abruptly.) Oh! Mousie. MANAGER: (Contemptuously) Who let you in, you small-time chiseler? Git ahdda here! Go on -- grab the air! MOUSIE: (Slyly) You wan' I should grab de air, Johnnie? KILGORE: Louie. Lemme talk to this guy -- alone. MANAGER: You're boss t'night, Johnnie. But why you should wanna chin wid a cheap Broadway chis'ler . . . the Mouse! (He turns to leave.) Ain't even big enough ta be called Rat! (The Manager exits, slamming the showerroom door.) MOUSIE: (Softly) Turn off dat shower, Johnnie. KILGORE: (Hotly) You tellin' me what to do, Mousie? (Sullenly.) Okay. (He turns off the shower.) Now whadda ya want? MOUSIE: Mazuma. Hay. Yer hot, Johnnie. Yer gonna make a million bucks. Johnnie Kilgore, da next champ! We're gonna cash in -- huh, Johnnie? (He snickers gleefully.) KILGORE: (Desperately) Listen, Mousie. Be a right guy. . . . MOUSIE: (Sharply) Aw, cut da baloney! You kin make a lotta tickets, Johnnie -- if ya don't stop fightin'. An' I kin fix it so you gotta stop fightin'! An' you know it. (Ironically.) Johnnie Kilgore . . . Dat ain't yer handle! Yer an ex-con -- ya did a stretch in Leavenwoit'! KILGORE: (Scared -- low) Mousie, fer cripe's sake -- pipe down! MOUSIE: (Loudly) If da Boxin' Commission knew dat, dey wouldn't okay de October fight, huh? Huh, Johnnie? KILGORE: (Passionately) I got a good mind to break every bone in yer body, you dirty -- chiselin' -- MOUSIE: You touch me, I sing! I'll tell da papuhs! I'll tell da Commission! (Kilgore glares at him.) KILGORE: (Defeated) Whadda ya want from me, rat? MOUSIE: Five G's on account -- see? I'll give ya till Friday night, Johnnie -- here's my address -- I got a liddle shack in East Flatbush. You be dere, Johnnie! KILGORE: (Panting) You ain't gonna get away with this, Mousie! MOUSIE: No? You'll show, Kilgore. (He goes, laughing.) Friday night, Johnnie -- an' bring five juicy G's wit' ya . . . sucker! (Mousie exits.) KILGORE: (In a low voice) I'll -- be -- there. Scene 3: The Stadium (It is a fine baseball day. The fans keep up a continuous shouting.) BUCKLEY: Sam Buckley, your baseball broadcaster, folks, and here's a situation we've already had twice this season! Ninth inning, two out, Memphis Slats Mayo, the sensational right-hander, on the mound . . . and all Slats has to do is get this last batter out to have a -- no, mustn't say it! Might put the well-known whammy on Slats! FAN: C'mon! Play ball! BUCKLEY: Here's McCoskey walking up to the plate, swinging two bats -- and there's Slats Mayo on the mound, chewing away, cool as-- (He laughs.) What's he cool as, Harry? (A radio man chuckles: "Cucumber, isn't it, Sam?") Yes, sir, if Slats gets past McCoskey, he jumps right into Baseball's Hall of Fame . . . (The crowd roars) Umpire Jackson's dusted off the plate-- McCoskey jiggling his bat a little . . . (Mayo pitches. The crowd groans) Ball One! Man, I've got a temperature! (Mayo pitches again. Again the crowd groans) Ball Two! Come on, Slats! Make believe it's just another ball-game! (Mayo pitches once more. The crowd yells) Strike One! Look at Slats grin down there! (Another pitch) Strike Two! McCoskey cut himself a piece of air that time! Wow! This one may be the pay-off . . . Slats is toeing the rubber -- his arm goes back -- here it comes . . . (Another pitch. The Crowd says: "OOOOOOOH!") Ball Three! RADIO MAN: Don't know how I'm going to stand the suspense, Sam! BUCKLEY: I'm kind of limp myself, Harry. Get set, fans -- you're seeing history in the making -- maybe! . . . Big one coming up! (Now the crowd is silent) Nobody's breathing . . . there goes Mayo's mighty right arm . . . he's taking his wind-up . . . here it comes . . . (A mighty roar goes up.) Strike Three! The game is over! Slats Mayo's pitched a no-hit, no-run game! The fans are going crazy -- both clubs have rushed onto the field to surround Slats -- Harry, take this mike while I see if I can't get through to Slats Mayo! Scene 4: Under the Stands at the Stadium (Mousie comes into the scene humming "Take Me Out to the Ball Game." Mousie stops humming as he hears Slats Mayo approach. No one else is about.) MOUSIE: (Gaily) Hi, Mr. Mayo. Swell game ya just pitched. MAYO: (He is a tall lean Southerner) How come y'all sent me this here phony check to the clubhouse? Signed with some name . . . Homer Cooley . . . MOUSIE: It brought ya out under da stands to see me, di'n't it, Slats? Now why'd you do dat, I wonder? MAYO: What's yo' name? Who are yuh? MOUSIE: Da Mouse. My pals call me "Mousie." MAYO: Well? MOUSIE: Mr. Slats Mayo, what you done today's gonna make you da highest-priced pitcher in baseball. Now I'm a right guy, see? I wanna protec' yer future. This here sample check I sent ya wit' my note -- it was jus' to remind ya of a little check ya once signed back home in Memphis 'fore ya got into big-time baseball. Ya signed dat check, but not wit' yer own name -- no, sir, ya signed da name Homer Cooley, yer ol' lady's neighbor. Da story never come out. Never will, neither -- 'less I tell it! MAYO: (Hoarsely) How'd y'all know that? Ah thought that was dead an' buried! MOUSIE: (Softly) I got de original check, Slats. Dat's my bus'ness -- collectin' souvenirs. (Sharply.) If dat forged check gets in da Commissioner's hands, yer t'rough. He won't stand fer no scandal in baseball -- dey don' want no crooks in dis game! (Slyly.) Maybe I oughta spill anyways, like a good baseball fan . . . MAYO: (Hoarsely) Ah hadda do it, Mistuh. It was fo' mah mothuh. Muh dad died, an' Ah was jest a kid . . . MOUSIE: Aw, stop it. Yer breakin' my heart. MAYO: (Abruptly) What yuh want? MOUSIE: A pay-off. Say two grand on account. Just ta keep me happy till ya cash in next season, see? Here's my address, Slats -- I'll be home all Friday night -- drop aroun'. (He shuffles off, laughing.) MAYO: (In a hard, low voice) Ah'll -- drop -- around, Mistuh Mouse! Scene 5: The Track (The crowd shouts "They're off!" and we hear thunderous thudding of horses' hooves passing the announcer's booth.) BUCKLEY: . . . and they're all bunched passing the stand . . . fighting for the rail. Bloodstone's made it! Bloodstone out front, Jiminy and Lord Stanley right behind him. . . . There's Firefly, a rank outsider, coming up strong! He's passing Jiminy . . . Lord Stanley . . . he's half a length behind Bloodstone . . . rounding the turn . . . this is Sam Buckley, your sports announcer, bringing you the Great Eastern Handicap . . . Bloodstone's running strong -- Firefly at his heels -- rest of the field are strung out behind -- looks like a two-horse race . . . Bloodstone's the heavy track favorite, public's backed him to the hilt. . . . At the far turn Firefly's gaining . . . creeping up. . . . If Bloodstone's nosed out, it's a big day for the bookies. . . . Going into the stretch they're neck and neck! Wait -- yes, here it comes! -- everybody's been expecting it -- Peewee Robbin, Bloodstone's jockey, is using his whip hard -- Bloodstone always has to taste the whip in the stretch -- yes, there's Bloodstone pulling away from Firefly -- one length . . . two lengths . . . (The crowd gasps.) The whip's fallen out of Peewee Robbin's hand! Without the whip Bloodstone's just another nag -- there's Peewee desperately slapping Bloodstone with his right hand -- but it's no go -- the thoroughbred won't respond -- he needs that whip -- There's Firefly running magnificently -- neck and neck -- pulling ahead . . . HE'S OVER! (Great yells.) Well, folks, it's Firefly by half a length, Bloodstone second, Golightly third, Lord Stanley fourth. Scene 6: The Jockeys' Clubhouse (There is a happy knock on Peewee Robbin's door.) PEEWEE: Come in! (Mousie enters) MOUSIE: Greetings, Peewee! PEEWEE: Don't I feel bad enough losin' my race without havin' to look at that ratty moosh o' yours? Shove off, Mousie! Every time I think of how I dropped my whip -- MOUSIE: You feel bad, huh? Ts, ts, ts, ts! Peewee, I woulda swore ya dropped yer whip on poipose. PEEWEE: So Bloodstone'd lose, I s'pose. Why, you short-change, shifty, boot-lickin' tout -- MOUSIE: Yeah, so Bloodstone'd lose. (Sharply) I got ya cold, Peewee. You -- Bloodstone's jockey -- you laid a five-grand bet undercover on Firefly ta win! It's a fix! PEEWEE: (Excitedly) Who told ya? Who sez so? It's a lie! MOUSIE: Never mind who tol' me, Mr. Peewee Robbin. Da Mouse -- sees all, hears all, says nuttin' -- fer a price! PEEWEE: Aaaah. Who'd believe you? MOUSIE: Da Stooards, Peewee -- dey might not believe me, but dey'd believe da guy you sent ta lay da bet fuh ya! I got his signed statement! An' what would ya do wit' da bet ya're gonna collect -- pickle it? Peewee, ya're gonna gimme dat dough, see? Den yer okay! If ya don't, I spill! (There is a pause.) PEEWEE: (Sullenly) I ain't collected yet. MOUSIE: But ya'll have yer dough by Friday, Peewee. So Friday night you be at my house -- here's my address -- ready to pay off. See? (Mousie laughs and exits) PEEWEE: (In a whisper) I . . . see, Mousie. (Savagely.) But maybe you won't! Scene 7: A Street in East Flatbush, Brooklyn (Ellery Queen and Nikki Porter are seated in a car parked unobtrusively at the curb) NIKKI: Ho-hum! You take me to the most thrilling places, Mr. Q. ELLERY: (Chuckling) Bored, Nikki? NIKKI: Well . . . Ordinarily I wouldn't mind sitting in a parked car with you on a dark street in East Flatbush, waiting for goodness knows what, if you'd only pay a little attention to me. ELLERY: (Chucking) I can't pay attention to you and Mr. Mouse's East Flatbush dwelling at one and the same time, Nikki. NIKKI: Don't I know it! But why are we watching it, Ellery? ELLERY: I don't exactly know. Sam Buckley, the sports writer and commentator, phoned and begged me to pinch-hit for him tonight until he could get here. He's late. NIKKI: You've got more begging friends . . . (Darkly.) The Mouse! Any relation to Mickey? ELLERY: (Grimly) From what Sam Buckley said . . . I think not. (A car is heard roaring up, and a screech of brakes) This must be Buckley now. (A car door opens in the street) Sam? BUCKLEY: (From the street) Knew I could count on you, Ellery! Open this door and let me into your car. (Buckley gets in. He is startled by Nikki.) Who's this --? NIKKI: Don't faint, Mr. Buckley. It's only me. BUCKLEY: Whew! (Tensely.) Ellery, you've been watching Mousie's house across the street all evening? ELLERY: Faithfully, Sam. NIKKI: And can Mr. Queen watch! The original Argus. BUCKLEY: (Eagerly) Mousie have any visitors? ELLERY: A grand total of four, Sam. BUCKLEY: Four! Was Johnnie Kilgore one of 'em? You know Johnnie -- knocked out Rocky Logan in jig-time the other night? NIKKI: What a man. Those muscles . . . Simply Tarzan. ELLERY: Kilgore was the first visitor, Sam. BUCKLEY: (Groaning) I told Johnnie not to come here tonight! ELLERY: What's this all about, Sam? BUCKLEY: Mousie's a small-time Broadway hanger-on, cheap gambler, tin sport. Kilgore got into trouble as a kid a few years ago. Mousie got wise, and he's been shaking the poor kid down. Johnnie appealed to me to help him. ELLERY: And does this prize-fighter merit your help, Sam? BUCKLEY: Yes, Ellery. Johnnie Kilgore's shooting straight now, and he's worked hard in the fight racket. He deserves a break. NIKKI: Then Mr. Queen won't be able to resist -- not Mr. Queen! BUCKLEY: Here's my plan, Ellery. Mousie's yellow. You've got a rep in this town. I want you to put the fear of God into that blackmailing rodent! ELLERY: Sounds like a delightful assignment. But why has Mousie been having other visitors, Sam? I recognized two besides Kilgore -- the jockey, Peewee Robbin, and Slats Mayo, the baseball pitcher. NIKKI: And I recognized Mr. Mouse's fourth visitor tonight, Mr. Buckley -- it was Dotty Dale. BUCKLEY: Dot Dale! The swimming and diving champ? NIKKI: The gal they call the greatest woman sports star since Helen Wills and Sonja Henie. BUCKLEY: (Softly) So Dotty's caught by the Mouse, too. I wonder what he's got on her. ELLERY: She arrived a few minutes ago, Sam. She's still inside the house. NIKKI: Sh! There's Dotty Dale now! Just coming out! ELLERY: Miss Dale's in a great hurry, isn't she? (The woman athlete gets into her car and races off.) Coast is clear! (They get out of Ellery's car and begin to cross the street.) BUCKLEY: (Grimly) They must have all come here tonight to pay Mousie off. You'll have to talk to that rat like the Pied Piper, Ellery. ELLERY: Nikki. Better go back to my car, and wait for us. BUCKLEY: There's no telling what a cornered rat will do. NIKKI: With two great big he-men to protect me? Not on your life! (They reach the house.) Front door's ajar. (Ellery pushes the door, and they enter.) ELLERY: Miss Dale didn't close it. And it's dark in here. BUCKLEY: (Calling) Mousie! Mousie? (Pause.) Mousie! (Pause.) Funny . . . NIKKI: (Nervously) What's funny, Mr. Buckley? BUCKLEY: Ought to be a light-switch in the hall here somewhere. . . Here it is. (Click.) What the --! ELLERY: Lights don't work! Fuse blown. NIKKI: Isn't that a dim light down there? -- I suppose it's at the other end of this hall. ELLERY: It's flickering . . . must be a candle in a room at that end of the hallway. Nikki, stay here at the front door. Don't move! (NIKKI: "I won't!") Come on, Sam. (Buckley and Ellery stumble along in the dark.) BUCKLEY: Confound this black hole. (He gasps.) Ellery! What's that on the floor? -- lying across the threshold? (He cries out.) It's Mousie! NIKKI: (From the hall.) What's the matter there? BUCKLEY: (Calling) Stay there, Miss Porter! Where you are! ELLERY: Stabbed in the chest . . . ugh . . . what a mess . . . BUCKLEY: Is he . . . Ellery, is he . . . ELLERY: Buckley, get to a phone and call my father at Police Headquarters. This man's been murdered! Scene 8: Mousie's House (There is a great hubbub of detectives.) VELIE: Qui-et! (Hubbub continues.) Silence, you mutts! (It grows quiet.) Homicide Squad! More like ol' women. Go ahead, Inspector. INSPECTOR: So you and Nikki saw this man they called the Mouse, or Mousie, come home alone. (Ellery and Nikki agree.) During the course of the evening you spotted four visitors -- Johnnie Kilgore, the fighter; Peewee Robbin, the jockey; Slats Mayo, the ballplayer; and Dotty Dale, the woman swimmer, in just that order? (Ellery and Nikki agree.) Each one stayed just a few minutes -- right? Now let's get the physical set-up. Velie, how about the windows? VELIE: All locked on the inside, Inspector, includin' cellar an' attic. No signs of tampering. INSPECTOR: Doors? VELIE: Ditto on the doors, exceptin' the front one. ELLERY: And Nikki and I had the front door under constant observation from the time Mousie entered this house alive, dad, until we entered it to find him dead. INSPECTOR: Only other thing to check is the possibility someone was laying for Mousie before he got home and before you kids got here yourselves. Hiding in the house all the time. VELIE: Yeah, then he coulda give Mousie the business an' slipped outa the house by the front door when Mr. Queen an' Miss Porter an' Sam Buckley came in, leavin' the front door unguarded . . . INSPECTOR: How about that, son? ELLERY: Impossible, dad. Nikki did not accompany Sam and me up the hall. NIKKI: Ellery made me stay at the front door, Inspector, and nobody got past me. (Grimly.) Don't worry -- in the state I was in, a ghost couldn't have floated past me! INSPECTOR: Okay. Then the murderer's got to be one of Mousie's four visitors tonight. Question is: Which one? Fighter, ballplayer, jockey, or swimmer? VELIE: Ask sonny-boy -- he always knows! Incident'ly, the man from the electric company who just fixed the lights says there was a short in the circuit somewhere -- accident. ELLERY: Then the darkness was not part of the murderer's plan. Mousie found his house dark when he came home, lit a candle in the room at the end of the hallway, and waited for his visitors. INSPECTOR: And was stabbed with his own paper-knife from a desk in that room at the end of the hall. No prints. VELIE: I wish somebody'd leave prints some time . . . ELLERY: What did Dr. Prouty say when he examined the body? INSPECTOR: Mousie died instantly. That letter-knife's sharp, and every stab went into his heart. NIKKI: (Shuddering) You wouldn't think one dried-up little man could . . . bleed so much . . . ELLERY: No luck yet in locating this Dotty Dale, the swimmer? VELIE: Nope. We got two men out lookin' for her. (He laughs.) Maybe they're swimmin' after her right now! NIKKI: I saw you hammering away at the fighter, the jockey, and the ball player, Inspector. Any results? INSPECTOR: Results! They won't talk at all. Those three tough lads had a get-together before we caught up with 'em tonight . . . I'll bet my best bib-and-tucker! VELIE: It's a con-spi . . . con -- it's a plot. ELLERY: Very interesting. INSPECTOR: Sticking together like shipwrecked mates on a raft. But why, for pete's sake? ELLERY: We know Mousie was blackmailing all of them, dad. I have an idea he was holding documentary proof of their past slips over their heads! In that case, whichever one of them murdered Mousie tonight found the damning documents on Mousie's body. NIKKI: And I'll bet called a conference! INSPECTOR: Sounds likely. He'd make a deal with the others: If they all kept quiet and protected him, he'd give 'em their papers back. ELLERY: Yes . . . Come into the hall here. I want to show you something. (They follow him.) The hallway runs east and west, the western end opening onto the room where Mousie was stabbed to death. (They stop.) Now look at the north wall of this hallway. VELIE: A straight line o' bloody smears -- NIKKI: All the way down the hall about shoulder-high! VELIE: How come we didn't spot this blood-trail before? INSPECTOR: Because the repair man just fixed the house-lights, you cluck! Well, well. Blood-smears run from the murder-room practically to the front door . . . VELIE: These marks were left by somebody's hand! NIKKI: The murderer's hand! ELLERY: Exactly. He stabbed Mousie, thrust his hand into the dead man's inside breast pocket probably to look for the documents. The wounds were bloody and we know Mousie's vest and coat are badly stained . . . INSPECTOR: So the killer got Mousie's blood on his hand and in the bad light from the candle, and in his excitement, didn't realize it! VELIE: Then he wants to make his getaway, goes back through the hall . . . it's dark, so he's got to feel his way along . . . keeps followin' the wall, touchin' it with his hand, an' leaves this bloody trail of smears on the wall! NIKKI: All right, he did. Where does that get us? INSPECTOR: (Dryly) Exactly nowhere. Marks are no good for fingerprints. Just smear-lines at regular intervals. Great discovery, son -- (A DETECTIVE enters.) Well, Piggott? DETECTIVE: We found the Dale girl, Inspector. INSPECTOR: It's about time. Get her in here. DETECTIVE: (To woman entering) In you go, baby. MISS DALE: (She is young, vigorous) Take your hands off me, you! What do you think you're doing? VELIE: Lay off, Piggott. Come 'ere, Miss Dale. Inspector, she ain't even wet! (He chuckles) So I s'pose she didn't try to swim away after all. MISS DALE: I don't know why I was picked up, Inspector -- or Lieutenant, or whatever you are! I don't know anything about this case. INSPECTOR: (Softly) No? Miss Dale, you visited Mousie this evening -- you were his last visitor, in fact. That makes you a pretty likely suspect for his murder. MISS DALE: Oh, rubbish. Are you through? Because if you are, I'd like to go. I'm just not talking. VELIE: (Dryly) Too late! NIKKI: (In a low voice) She's been reached, too! ELLERY: (Same) Looks like it, Nikki. NIKKI: I wonder what Mousie had on her. INSPECTOR: (In a friendly tone) Miss Dale, you're making a lot of money giving swimming and diving exhibitions. I understand you've just been offered a fat Hollywood contract, too. Publicity involving you in a cheap little murder right now would just about ruin your career. How about a deal? Tell me what you know, and I'll do my best to keep you out of the papers. MISS DALE: (Bored) May I go, please? I have a date with -- INSPECTOR: (Bluffing) You have a date with Police Headquarters! Velie, arrest this girl! (Velie growls.) Book her on suspicion of murder, and call the newspaper boys in! VELIE: Yes, sir. (Gruffly) Let's go, sister. This is gonna be a one-way ride. (She starts to weep suddenly.) INSPECTOR: Oh, you don't like that, Miss Dale! Then suppose you tell me what went on here tonight. (INSPECTOR QUEEN and VELIE keep this up in the background) NIKKI: (Low) But Ellery, the Inspector hasn't a thing on her! How can he arrest her? ELLERY: (Chuckling) Dad's bluffing . . . the old owl! INSPECTOR: Make up your mind, Miss Dale. Walk or talk! MISS DALE: (Sobbing) Please . . . I'll be ruined . . . I was married three years ago -- it was a mistake, and I got a divorce . . . it was all kept so secret. Now I'm married again, and this -- this Mousie, he came to me last week and said my divorce was no good -- there was some kind of technical reason for it, I don't know what, but Mousie had the proof on paper. He wanted money to keep quiet, because he said I'm a bigamist . . . asked me for five thousand dollars! INSPECTOR: Yes, Miss Dale? Get it all off your chest. MISS DALE: (Sobbing) I came here tonight prepared to pay, and . . . I found him d-d-dead! (She chokes) I was so scared I ran. Please, Inspector. That's all I know! Don't tell the papers -- I didn't know I was doing anything wrong -- my husband's in Europe now -- he's a foreign correspondent -- don't arrest me for bigamy . . . let me go . . . ELLERY: Miss Dale, who is your first husband? Or rather, the man Mousie claimed you're still legally married to? MISS DALE: The sports commentator, Sam Buckley. (They all exclaim in astonishment.) ELLERY: Does Sam know Mousie's been blackmailing you? MISS DALE: Sam doesn't know a thing! He doesn't even know our divorce was illegal -- I didn't dare tell him. (She cries again.) ELLERY: Dad, I'd like to talk to you. INSPECTOR: Sure, son. Velie, put Miss Dale in some room here where she can't be reached by the press, and . . . (Low) have a man watch her! VELIE: (Low) Gotcha. (Louder.) Come on, Miss Dale. (He takes her arm.) We'll make you nice an' comfy . . . (They exit.) NIKKI: Well, we're in the usual mess, aren't we? Four suspects -- all four had opportunity -- all four had motive -- INSPECTOR: And all four could have bumped Mousie off! Very nice. What did you want to speak to me about, Ellery? ELLERY: (Calmly) The murderer of Mousie. INSPECTOR: Whaaaat? (Groaning) No. I don't believe it! NIKKI: Ellery Queen, you mean to stand there and say you know who stabbed Mousie to death tonight? ELLERY: (Chuckling) Of course! [Ellery Queen has just said he knows who murdered Mousie. Do you? You can have some additional fun by stopping here and trying to solve the crime before Ellery gives the solution. Naming the criminal correctly is not enough, if you play the game fairly. You must get the correct reasoning, too. . . . Now go ahead and read Ellery's own solution to "The Adventure of the Mouse's Blood."] The Solution Scene 9: The Same, Later. ELLERY: This has been my simplest case in a long time. VELIE: Thar she blows! INSPECTOR: Pipe down, Moby Dick! Go on, son. Simple, eh? ELLERY: Extremely. Who left that trail of bloody hand-smears on the wall of the hallway? Mousie himself? No, Mousie died instantly, according to Dr. Prouty's report. So the blood-trail was left by Mousie's killer. Does the trail tell us who that killer was? Yes, indeed. NIKKI: Just like that! May I ask how, Mr. Queen? ELLERY: (Chuckling) Geography, Nikki, geography. Visualize the hallway. I said it runs east and west -- that the room in which Mousie was murdered is at the western end of the hall -- that the killer, in feeling his way along the hall in the dark as he fled from the scene of the crime left bloody hand-marks on the north wall . . . VELIE: Whoa! Lemme get this. Hall runs east an' west -- marks are on the north wall . . . INSPECTOR: Killer's leaving . . . he's going east, facing east . . . his hand keeps touching the north wall . . . ELLERY: If he's facing east, to which side of him is the north wall? NIKKI: His left side! He was feeling his way along the north, or left, side of the hall! ELLERY: Yes, and when a person feels his way in the dark, which of his hands will he inevitably grope with? INSPECTOR: The hand he always favors, of course. ELLERY: Of course. So if the killer felt his way along the left side, he was using his left hand -- consequently, we know the killer is left-handed. VELIE: That's right, by gosh. A southpaw! We gotta look for a southpaw. INSPECTOR: (Thoughtfully) We've already narrowed the list of suspects to just four: Prizefighter Kilgore, Ball player Slats Mayo, Jockey Peewee Robbin, and Swimmer Dotty Dale . . . NIKKI: But which one of the four is left-handed? ELLERY: Let's see. Johnnie Kilgore, the prize-fighter? No! Remember Sam Buckley's broadcast of the Kilgore-Logan fight? Every one of Kilgore's punches was a right-hand punch -- in fact, Buckley characterized Kilgore over the air as "the best right-handed puncher since Dempsey!" VELIE: So Kilgore's right-handed an' he's out. How about --? ELLERY: Slats Mayo, the pitcher? Well, in the ninth inning of that no-hit game Mayo hurled, Buckley described Mayo's pitching delivery -- how he raised his "mighty right arm" to throw the ball that struck out the last batter! Buckley even described Mayo as "the sensational right-hander!" INSPECTOR: So the baseball player's not left-handed, either. How about Peewee Robbin, the jockey? I don't seem to recall -- ELLERY: Again Buckley's broadcast gave us the clue, dad. In the stretch the jockey had to use his whip on Bloodstone. When he dropped the whip, Buckley described Peewee as slapping the horse with his right hand! So the jockey, too, is right-handed. NIKKI: So that leaves . . . Oh, dear! ELLERY: (Grimly) Yes, Nikki -- the swimmer, Dotty Dale. VELIE: But we gotta find out if she's left-handed, Mr. Queen -- ELLERY: I didn't have to, Sergeant. Three of the four suspects being right-handed, I knew Dotty Dale, being the only remaining possibility, must be left-handed . . . must be Mousie's killer. Yes, it was that girl who stabbed Mousie, took the blackmail documents in his possession, escaped, and then called the three men-victims together and in return for their particular documents got them to promise to protect her by keeping quiet. Miss Dotty Dale killed Mousie to protect her career . . . and as usual when people take the law into their own hands, all she actually accomplished was to ruin it forever. (The music comes up.)