“Precisely.” Ellery sprang to his feet. “Miss Ickthorpe, please pay attention. . . . If we’re to do this at all, we must do it right. . . . Very well. We shall study crimes out of the current news—crimes, it goes without saying, which lend themselves to our particular brand of detection. We start from scratch, all of us—no preconceptions, understand. . . . You will work under my direction, and we shall see what happens.”

Burrows’s keen face glowed. “Theory? I mean—won’t you give us any principles of attack first—classroom lectures?”

“To hell with principles. I beg your pardon, Miss Ickthorpe. . . . The only way to learn to swim, Burrows, is to get into the Water. . . . There were sixty-three applicants for this confounded course. I wanted only two or three—too many would defeat my purpose; unwieldy, you know. I selected you, Crane, because you seem to have the “analytical mind to a reasonable degree, and your scientific training has developed your sense of observation. You, Burrows, have a sound academic background and, evidently, an excellent top-piece.” The two young men blushed. “As for you, Miss Ickthorpe,” continued Ellery stiffly, “you selected yourself, so you’ll have to take the consequences. Old Icky or no Old Icky, at the first sign of stupidity out you go.”

“An Ickthorpe sir, is never stupid.”

“I hope—I sincerely hope—not. . . . Now, to cases. An hour ago, before I set out for the University, a flash came in over the Police Headquarters’ wire. Most fortuitously, I thought, and we must be properly grateful. . . . Murder in the theatrical district—chap by the name of Spargo is the victim. A queer enough affair, I gathered, from the sketchy facts given over the tape. I’ve asked my father—Inspector Queen, you know—to leave the scene of the crime exactly as found. We go there at once.”

“Bully!” cried Burrows. “To grips with Crime! This is going to be great. Shan’t we have any trouble getting in, Mr. Queen?”

“None at all. I’ve arranged for each of you gentlemen to carry a special police pass, like my own; I’ll get one for you later, Miss Ickthorpe. . . . Let me caution all of you to refrain from taking anything away from the scene of the crime—at least without consulting me first. And on no account allow yourselves to be pumped by reporters.”

“A murder,” said Miss Ickthorpe thoughtfully, with a sudden dampening of spirits.

“Aha! Squeamish already. Well, this affair will be a test-case for all of you. I want to see how your minds work in contact with the real thing. . . . Miss Ickthorpe, have you a hat or something?”

“Sir?”

“Duds, duds! You can’t traipse in there this way, you know!”

“Oh!” she murmured, blushing. “Isn’t a sport dress au fait at murders?” Ellery glared, and she added sweetly: “In my locker down the hall, Mr. Queen. I shan’t be a moment.”