ue, her cold
flesh insensible to the coroner's expert knife.

But Dundee said nothing, for Tracey Miles was already hovering in the
doorway, ready for his cue to enter.

Penny, or rather "Nita," was saying:

"How's _this_, Karen darling?" as she laid down the Ace and deuce of
Spades, Karen's trumps.

"I hope you remember _you_ are vulnerable, as well as we," Carolyn
remarked in a sorry imitation of her original cocksureness, as she
opened the play by leading the Ace of Clubs.

"And how's _this_, partner?... A singleton in Clubs!" Nita's imitator
demanded triumphantly, as she continued to lay down her dummy hand,
slapping the lone nine of Clubs down beside trumps; "and this little
collection of Hearts!" as she displayed and arranged the King, Jack,
eight and four of Hearts; "_and_ this!" as a length of Diamonds--Ace,
Jack, ten, eight, seven and six slithered down the glossy linen cover of
the bridge table toward Karen Marshall. "Now if you don't make your
little slam, infant, don't dare say I shouldn't have jumped you to
five!... I figured you for a blank or a singleton in Diamonds, and at
least the Ace of Hearts, or you--cautious as you are--wouldn't have made
an original three Spade bid without the Ace.... Hop to it, darling!"

"This is where I enter," Tracey Miles whispered to Dundee, and, at a nod
from the young detective, the pudgy little blond man strode jauntily
into the living room, proud of himself in the role of actor.

"Hello, everybody! How's tricks?" he called genially, but there was a
quiver of horror in his voice under its blitheness.

Penny was quite pale when she sprang from her chair, but her voice
seemed to be Nita's very own, as she sang out:

"It _can't_ be 5:30 already!... Thank heaven I'm dummy, and can run away
and make myself pretty-pretty for you and all the other great big men,
Tracey darling!"

Dundee's keen memory registered the slight difference in the wording of
the greeting as reported by this pseudo-Nita and the man she was running
to meet. But Penny, as Nita, was already straightening Tracey Miles'
necktie with possessive, coquettish fingers, was coaxing, with head
tucked alluringly:

"Tracey, my ownest lamb, won't you shake up the cocktails for Nita? The
makings are all on the sideboard, or I don't know my precious old
Lydia--even if her poor jaw does ache most horribly."

Then Penny, as Nita, was on her way, pausing in the doorway to blow a
kiss from her fingertips to th