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There Was an Old Woman [= The Quick And the Dead]
- Автор: Куин (Квин) Эллери
- Год: 1943
- Язык: английский
- Год: Little, Brown and Company
- Жанр: Классические детективы
Электронная книга - «There Was an Old Woman [= The Quick And the Dead]». Краткое содержание книги:
Mr. Queen, who had not known whether to rise for the woman or remain seated for the child, compromised by assuming a half-risen, half-seated posture; from which undignified position he murmured, but to himself: —
“And whipped them all soundly and put them to bed.”
After which, finding himself suspended he lowered himself into his chair. “I wonder,” he wondered to himself, “how much of this a sane mind could take.”
As if in answer, Sheila ran from the dining room, choking back sobs; and Charley Paxton, looking grim, excused himself after a moment and followed her. Steve Potts rose; his lips were burbling.
“Stephen, finish your dinner,” said his wife quietly.
Sheila’s father sank back in his chair.
Charley returned with a mumble of apology. The Old Woman threw him a sharp black look. He sat down beside Ellery and said in a strangled undertone: “Sheila sends her apologies. “Ellery, I’ve got to get her out of this lunatic asylum!”
“Whispering Charles?” Cornelia Potts eyed him. The young man flushed. “Where is Sheila?”
“She has a headache,” muttered Charley.
“I see.”
There was silence.
5
There Was a Little Man and He Had a Little Gun
From the moment Robert and Maclyn Potts entered the dining room to be introduced to the guest and seat themselves at table, a breath of sanity blew. They were remarkably identical twins, as alike in feature as two carbon copies. They dressed alike, they combed their curly blond hair alike, they were of a height and a thickness, and their voices had the same pleasant, boyish timbre.
Charley, who introduced them, was obviously at a loss; he made a mistake in their identities at once, which one of them corrected patiently. They tackled their broth and chicken with energy, talking at a great rate. It seemed that both were angry with their eldest brother, Thurlow, for having interfered in the conduct of the business for the hundredth time.
“We wouldn’t mind so much, Mother—” began one, through a mouthful of fried chicken.
“Yes, Robert?” said the Old Woman grimly. She, at least, could distinguish between them.
“If Thurlow’d restrict his meddling to unimportant things,” continued the other. Ergo, he was Mac.
“But he doesn’t!” growled Robert, dropping his fork.
“Robert, eat your dinner.”
“All right, Mother.”
“But Mother, he’s gone and—”
“One moment please,” said Thurlow icily. “And what is it I’m supposed to have done this time, Maclyn?”
“Climb off it, Thurl,” grumbled Mac. “All right, you’re a vice-president of the Potts Shoe Company—”
“You pretend you’re running a God-knows-how-many-million-dollar firm,” exploded Robert, “and that’s okay as long as you pretend—”
“But why in hell don’t you stick to wasting the family’s money on those silly lawsuits of yours—”
“Instead of canceling our newspaper-advertising plans for the Middle West, you feeble-minded nitwit?”
“Robert, don’t speak to your eldest brother that way!” cried their mother.
“How you protect your white-haired boy, Mother,” grinned Robert. “Although there isn’t much of it left... You know Thurlow would ruin the business if—”
“Just — one — moment, if you please,” said Thurlow. His fat nostrils were quivering. “I’ve got as much to say about running the company as you two have — Mother said so! Didn’t you, Mother?”
“I won’t have this disgraceful argument at the dinner table, boys.”
“He said I’d ruin the business!” cried Thurlow.
“Well, wouldn’t you?” asked Bob Potts with disgust.
“Bob, cut it out,” said his twin in a low voice.
“Cut nothing out, Mac!” said Robert. “We always have to sit by and watch old fuddy-pants pull expensive boners, then we’ve got to clean up his mess. Well, I’m damned good and tired of it!”
“Robert, I warn you—!” shouted Thurlow.
“Warn my foot. You’re a nice fat little bag of wind, Brother Thurlow,” said Bob Potts angrily, “a fake, a phony, and a blubbering jerk, and if you don’t keep your idiotic nose out of the business—”
Thurlow grew very pale, but also a look came into his eyes of cunning. He snatched his napkin, jumped up, ran over to where Robert was watching him with a puzzled expression, and then whipped the napkin over his younger brother’s face with an elegance — and a force — that caused Bob’s mouth to open.
“What the devil—”
“You’ve insulted Thurlow Potts for the last time,” choked the chubby little man. “Brother or no brother, I demand satisfaction. Wait here — I’ll give you your choice of weapons!” And, triumphantly Thurlow stalked out of the dining room.
Surely, thought Ellery Queen, this is where I wake up and stretch.
But there was the doorway through which Thurlow Potts had passed, here was the long board with its congress of amazed faces.
“Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle,” said Mac, looking blank. “Thurlow’s gone clean off his chump at last! Pop — did you hear that?”
Steve Potts rose indecisively. “Maybe if I g-go speak to Thurlow, Mac—”
Mac laughed. “He’s stark, raving mad!”
Bob was feeling his cheek. “Why don’t you face the facts, Mother? How can you sit by and let Thurlow have anything to do with the business? If Mac and I didn’t countermand every stupid order he gives, he’d run us into bankruptcy in a year.”
“You baited him, Robert. Deliberately!”
“Oh, come, Mother—”
Suddenly the air was windy with recriminations. The only member of the household who seemed to enjoy it was Major Gotch, who sat back puffing a pipe and following the play of words like a spectator at a tennis match.
“That book, Ellery,” exclaimed Charley Paxton under cover of the argument. “Reads The History of Dueling and challenges Robert to a duel!”
“He can’t be serious,” muttered Ellery. “Can’t be.”
Thurlow popped in, his eyes shining. Ellery rose like a released balloon. Thurlow was brandishing two pistols.
“It’s all right, Mr. Queen,” said Thurlow gently. “Sit down, please.”
Mr. Queen sat down. “What interesting-looking little guns,” he said. “May I look at them, Mr. Potts?”
“Some other time,” murmured Thurlow. “From now on, we must do everything according to the code.”
“The code?” Ellery blinked. “Which code is that, Mr. Potts?”
“The code of duello, of course. Honor before everything, Mr. Queen!” And Thurlow advanced upon his brother, who sat transfixed. “Robert, take one of these. The choice is yours.”
Bob’s hand came up in a mechanical motion; it fell grasping a shiny nickel weapon which Ellery recognized as a Smith & Wesson, “S. & W. 38/32,” a .38-caliber revolver. It was not a large weapon, being scarcely more than half a foot long, yet it hung like a submachine gun from Robert’s paralyzed hand. Mac sat by his twin with an identical expression of stupefaction.
Thurlow glanced down at the weapon remaining — a Colt “Pocket Model” automatic pistol of .25-caliber, a flat and miniature gun which looked like a toy beside the small revolver in Robert’s hand, for it was only 4½ inches long. Thurlow with a flourish put the little automatic into his pocket. “Mr. Queen, you’re the only outsider here. I ask you to act as my second.”
“Your—” began Ellery, finding the word stick to his gums.