e,
etc.... Anyway, Tracey brought out the box of anagrams, and we were all
having a pretty good time when, at half past eight, the butler announced
'_Mr. Dexter Sprague_'!"

"Your tone makes me wish I'd been there," Dundee acknowledged. "What
happened?"

"You know how slap-em-on-the-back Tracey always is?" Penny asked,
grinning. "Well, you should have seen him and heard him as he dismissed
poor Whitson--the butler--as if he were giving him notice, instead of
letting him off for the night! And the icy dignity with which he greeted
poor Sprague--"

"_Poor_ Sprague?" Dundee echoed.

"Well, after all, Sprague _had_ been received by all the crowd before
Nita's death," Penny retorted. "I think it was rather natural for him to
think he'd still be welcome. He began to apologize for his uninvited
presence, saying he had felt lonesome and depressed and had just 'jumped
into a taxi' and come along, hoping to find the Mileses in. Flora tried
to act the lady hostess, but Peter got up from his bridge table and said
in tones even icier than Tracey's: 'Will you excuse me, Flora? And will
you take my place, Drake?... I'm going into the library. I don't enjoy
the society of murderers!'"

"Good Lord!" Dundee ejaculated, shocked but admiring. "Did Sprague make
a quick exit?"

"Not just then," Penny said mysteriously. "Of course everyone was simply
stunned, but Sprague retorted cheerfully, 'Neither do I, Dunlap!' Peter
stalked on into the living room on his way to the library, Johnny took
his place at the bridge table, and Tracey, at an urgent signal from
Flora, offered his seat at the other table to Sprague, as if he were
making way for a leper. Poor Polly had to be Sprague's partner. Flora,
as if she were terrified at what might happen--you know how frightfully
tense and nervous she is--made an excuse to run upstairs for a look at
Betty."

"And something terrible did happen," Dundee guessed. "You're looking
positively ghoulish. Out with it!"

"After about half an hour of playing without pivoting," Penny went on
imperturbably, "Hugo bid three spades, Karen raised him--in a trembling
voice--to five spades, Hugo of course went to a little slam, and Dexter
Sprague, if you can believe me, said: 'Better not leave the table,
Karen. _A little slam-bid in spades has been known to be fatal to the
dummy!_'"

"_No!_" Dundee was genuinely shocked, but before he could say more the
telephone rang. "Sanderson at last.... Hello! Chicago?... O