Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 5, No. 19, November 1944

Annabell says, “Hey, mister,” and the two of them walk off together, and I observe they are argueing because he is pounding the palm of his right hand which is open with his left hand which is a fist and he keeps looking back at me and Annabell is holding on to his arm and shaking her head and every now and then I can hear her saying, “Not now. Don’t spoil everything. Not now,” and I understand what she means because they are the very same words she said to me when I stopped the car with her in it and tried to steal a couple of kisses and she would not let me do it. She cannot talk good English but that is because she was brought up in Poughkeepsie, but you cannot get fresh with her unless you are one of her good friends and certainly not the first or second time.

Well, I am all alone and she can take care of herself, so I take aim again and I pull the trigger, but this time nothing happens because the slaughterhouse employee forgot to give me more cartridges though I would have hit the bull’s eye like before being practicly a dead shot which you will see for yourself when you look at the target which I am putting in this envelope with two holes in it right in the center. I took it down and I started to walk to the shanty, and then, next to the shanty, on the side where you could not sec it from the road, I observed a sporty roadster with Illonois license plates and I deducted that car was a long way from home.

I deducted Annabell was in the shanty with the slaughterhouse employee because the sun was getting low and I could see shadows moving around, and I sneaked up to the shanty without making a sound. You remember how Annabell said “When I lose I pay up,” and I did not want her to pay up to the wrong man even if he was a fast worker.

Well, I looked in through a window which did not have any glass, and it was just one room with a stove and a chair and a broken down sofa and a table in it, and on the table I observed—

Well, this is going to be a big surprise to you, so I won’t tell you what I observed on the table till I come to the P. S. part of this letter, and then I will make you sit up and take notice.

Well, they were argueing more but they were acting proper, so I walked away thirty or fifty feet, and then I started whistling, careless like, because I was so happy, and the slaughterhouse employee came out and Annabell came out also, and she says, “What’s the matter, Pete? Tired of shooting?”

I says, “I am a dead shot with any weapon but I cannot shoot without bullets,” and she says, “That is so. Ha! Ha!” and he says, “Yep.”

Annabell says, “I forgot to interduce you. Pete, this is Hubert Honeywell. Hubert, this is Peter Moran.”

I says, “Pleased to meet you.”

He says, “Yep.”

We shake hands, and I observe that his right forefinger is thick and calloused from snapping off the thread just like Dr. Wm. E. Presbrey says in the long quotation, and I squeeze hard but he squeezes harder and he has got a grip like a Stillson wrench and I am lucky I don’t get some bones broken.

Annabell laughs. “What are you boys doing? Playing Indian wrestling?”

By this time Hubert has let go of my hand and I count the fingers and there are not any missing though I guess I can wear a smaller glove for a while, so I take the words right out of his mouth and I says, “Yep.”

Annabell laughs some more. “Pete, I been telling Hubert about the dance Sunday night. How many people would you say was going to be there?”

“We expect one hundred and ten.”

“See, Hubert? Just like it said in the paper. Will the Grimshaws be there?”

Mr. Grimshaw is a bank president and him and the boss are like that. “Oh, sure.”

“And the Cutlers?”

“All four of them: mister and missus and Miss Betty and Miss Jane.”

“And the Auchinclosses?”

“They always come to our parties.”

“Will there be many young men?”

“Not this year. They’re all in the Army.”

“See, Hubert? Just like I told you.”

“There will be what the missus calls a shortage of stags. If your boy friend here has a dress suit, Annabell, maybe he can crash the gate.”

“Maybe he will.”

I was only joking when I said that, because I was pretty sure the slaughterhouse employee did not have a dress suit even if he did have a sporty roadster with Illonois license plates, and anyhow Annabell had promised to dance with me in the pantry after she got through checking the coats, but he looks at me hard and bobs his head up and down just a mite, and he says, “Yep.”

Then Annabell says, “Pete, we better be hurrying back because it is getting late and the missus will be in a hurry for that there dress,” so we drove back home, which is only a couple of minutes from Mudge Pond, and Annabell says, “Joe is a rough diamond, isn’t he, Pete?”

I says, “Yep. Extra rough,” and then I says, “I thought you said his name was Hubert Honeywell.”

Annabell gives me a funny look and says, “So it is now that you remind me of it but his good friends call him Joe for short.”