There Was an Old Woman [= The Quick And the Dead]

Ellery Queen had never before been privileged to attend the delivery, as it were; and the fact that, having attended it, he knew as little about its parentage as if he had not neither irritated nor angered him, for if a murder had to be committed and could not be averted, then Ellery preferred it to be a mystery at the beginning, just so that he could dig into it and trace it backward and explain it to himself at the end.

He stood by himself, deep in thought, in the lightening morning under one of the Old Woman’s pedigreed blue spruces, watching his father and Sergeant Velie go to work. He stood by, musing, as Hesse, and Flint, and Piggott, and Johnson, and others of the Inspector’s staff arrived, as radio patrol cars gathered on the Drive outside the high wall, as the police photographer came, the fingerprint men, and Dr. Samuel Prouty, Assistant Medical Examiner of New York County — petulant at having had to leave spouse, progeny, and couch so early of a summer morning. As of old, Doc Prouty and Inspector Queen set about snarling at each other over Robert Potts’s sprawled corpse, like two fierce old dogs over a bone. As always Sergeant Velie, the Great Dane, chuckled and growled between them. Eventually the body was lifted to an improvised stretcher, under the fussy superintendence of Doc Prouty; a moment later Dr. Waggoner Innis’s big sedan roared up under police motorcycle escort, and the doctor’s long legs carried him in almost eager strides after the cortege, to confer with the assistant Medical Examiner over the technical details of the homicide. The whole party disappeared into the house, leaving Inspector Queen and his son, alone, at the pedestal of the bronze Shoe.

The air was chill, and the Inspector shivered a little. “Well?” he said.

“Well,” said Ellery.

“We’d better talk fast,” said the Inspector after a pause. “The newspapers will be here soon, and we’d better figure out what to say to them. At the moment, my mind’s a blank.”

Ellery frowned over his cigaret.

“A duel,” the Inspector continued with bitterness. “I let myself be talked into a duel! And this happens. What’ll I say to the boss? What’ll I say to anybody?”

Ellery sighed and flipped his butt into the damp grass. The sun was struggling to wipe the clouds from its eye; the feeble glance that escaped flung the ugly shadow of the Shoe toward the Hudson. “Why,” complained Mr. Ellery Queen, “does the sun invariably stay hidden when you want it, and come out when it doesn’t matter any more?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, I mean,” smiled Ellery, “that if the light had been better we might have been able to see something.”

“Oh. But what, Ellery? The dirty work was done during the night.”

“Yes. But — a glance, a change of expression. You never know. Little things are so important. And the light was dismal and gray, and details likewise.” And the great man sank into silence again.

The Inspector shook his head impatiently. “Light or no light, the point is: Who could have substituted a live bullet for the blank I put in Thurlow’s automatic at Headquarters last night?”

“Opportunity,” murmured Ellery. “Dat ol’ debil. Yes. In a moment, Dad. But tell me — you’ve examined the shell?”

“Of course.”

“Anything unusual about it?”

“Nope. The cartridge used was ordinary Peters ‘rustless.’ M.C. type of bullet for a .25 automatic, 2-inch barrel. Ballistics penetration of three inches, figured on the usual seven-eighths pine board. Exactly the ammunition that was in the automatic when you handed it to me at Headquarters.”

“Really?”

“Don’t get excited,” scowled the Inspector. “That ammunition can be bought any place.”

“I know, but it’s also the ammunition Thurlow used, Dad. Have you checked with Thurlow’s supply? He must have got some at Cornwall & Ritchey’s when he bought the guns yesterday.”

“I told Velie to root around.”

And indeed at this moment Sergeant Velie swung out of the house and came rocking across the lawn to the Shoe. “What kind of buggery is this, anyway?” he exploded. “Here’s a guy dead, murdered, and most of his folks don’t even seem to care. What am I saying? Care? They’re not even payin’ attention!”

“You’ll find them a rather unorthodox family, Sergeant,” said Ellery dryly. “Have you checked back on Thurlow’s ammunition?”

“I ain’t had a chance yet to look at it myself, but Little Napoleon says he bought a lot of ammunition yesterday, and the box of .25 automatic cartridges has got some missing out of it, he says. A handful. Says he’d only took out one last night — the one he put into the Colt automatic. Can’t understand what all the fuss is about, he says. ‘It was a duel, wasn’t it?’ he grouses to me. ‘All right, so my brother got laid out,’ he says. ‘So what’s the cops here for?’ he says. ‘It’s all legal and aboveboard!’” And the Sergeant shook his head and stamped back to the mansion.

“The big point is, Thurlow’s already checked back on his ammunition supply,” murmured Ellery. “Then he doesn’t know about the blanks, does he, Dad?”