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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:
“So very little,” retorted his son, “except that each one of the guns is of different manufacture. Ought to make the check-back easier. Sergeant, phone Cornwall & Ritchey and get an exact list of the fourteen guns Thurlow purchased.”
“Piggott’s on that angle.”
“Good. Make sure you locate those two missing toys of Thurlow’s.”
“And while we’re playing detective,” put in the Inspector dryly, “we might start thinking about who had a motive to want Bob Potts six feet south. We already know who had your blasted whatchamacallit — opportunity.”
“I can’t imagine who’d want Bob out of the way,” muttered Charley. “Except Thurlow, because Robert was always picking on him. But we know Thurlow couldn’t have done it.”
“Cockeyedest case I ever saw,” grumbled the Sergeant. “Guy who fires the shot can’t be the killer. Say, this chicken salad ain’t bad.”
“Point is,” frowned Inspector Queen, “somebody wanted Robert Potts dead, so somebody had a reason. Maybe if we find the reason we’ll find the somebody, too. Any ideas, Ellery?”
Ellery shrugged. “Charley, you’re attorney to the family. What are the terms of Cornelia Potts’s will?”
Charley looked nervous. “Now wait a minute, Ellery. The Old Woman’s very much alive, and the terms of a living testator’s will are confidential between attorney and client—”
“Oh, that mullarkey,” said the Inspector disgustedly.
“Come on Ellery, we’ve got to talk to the old gal direct.”
“Better take along a bullet-proof vest!” Sergeant Velie shouted after them through the mouthful of chicken salad.
11
“Infer the Motive from the Deed”
“But only for a few minutes, Inspector Queen.” Dr. Waggoner Innis was pinch-pale, but he had recovered his stance, as it were; and here, in Cornelia Potts’s sitting room, he was very much the tall and splendid Physician-in-Ordinary.
“How is she?” inquired Ellery Queen.
“Nerves more settled, but heart’s fluttering badly and pulse could be improved. You’ve got to co-operate with me, gentlemen—”
“One side, Doctor,” said the Inspector; and they entered the Old Woman’s bedchamber.
It was a square Victorian room crowded with those gilded phantasms of love which in a more elegant day passed by the name of “art.” Everything swirled precisely in a cold paralysis of “form,” and everything was expensive and hideous. There were antimacassars on the over-stuffed petit-point chairs, and no faintest clue to the fact that a man shared this room with its aged mistress.
The bed was a piece for future archeologists. Its corners were curved, the foot forming a narrower oval than the head. There was no footboard, and the headboard was a single curved piece which extended, unbroken, although in diminishing height, along the sides. Ellery wondered what was wrong with the whole production aside from its more obvious grotesquerie. And then he saw. There were no front legs; the foot of the bed rested on the floor. And since the head stood high, supported on a single thick, tapering block of wood, the sides showed a downward slant, while the spring and mattress had been artfully manufactured to maintain a level. It was all so unbelievable that for a moment Ellery had no eyes for its occupant, but only for her couch.
Suddenly he recognized it for what it was. The bed was formed like a woman’s oxford shoe.
The Old Woman lay in it, a lace cap set on her white hair, the silk comforter resting on her plump little stomach. She was propped up on several fat pink pillows; a portable typewriter lay on her thighs; her claws were slowly seeking out keys and upon discovery striking them impatiently. She paid no attention to the four men. Her black eyes were intent on the paper in her machine.
“I told you, Mrs. Potts—” began Dr. Innis peevishly, raising his careful eyes ceilingward — and hastily lowering them, since they had encountered there the painful spectacle of two plaster cupids embracing.
“Shut up, Innis.”
They waited for her to complete her inexplicable labors.
She did so with a final peck, ripping the sheet of white paper from the typewriter; quickly she glanced over it, made a snapping movement of her jaws, like an old bitch after flies, then reached for a thick soft-leaded pencil on the bed. She scribbled her signature, picked up a number of similar typewritten white sheets near the portable, signed those; and only then looked up. “What are you men doing in my bedroom?”
“There are certain questions, Mrs. Potts—” began Inspector Queen.
“All right. I suppose I can’t be rid of you any other way. But you’ll have to wait. Charles!”
“Yes, Mrs. Potts.”
“These memos I’ve just typed. Attend to them at once.”
Charley took the sheaf of signed papers she thrust into his hands and glanced through them dutifully. At the last one his eyes widened. “You want me to sell your Potts Shoe Company stock — all of it?”
“Isn’t that what my memorandum says?” snapped the Old Woman. “Isn’t it?”
“Yes, Mrs. Potts, but—”
“Since when must I account to you, Charles? You’re paid to follow orders. Follow ’em.”
“But I don’t get it, Mrs. Potts,” protested Charley. “You’ll lose control!”
“Will I.” Her lip curled. “My son Robert was active head of the company. His murder and the scandal, which I tried so hard just now to avoid” — her voice hardened — “will send Potts stock down. If I can’t avoid the scandal, at least I can make use of it. Selling my stock will send the price down still further. It opened at 84 this morning. When it hits 72, buy it all back.” Charley looked dazed. “Why are you standing here?” shrilled the old lady. “Did you hear what I said? Go and phone my brokers!”
Charley nodded, curtly. As he passed Ellery he muttered: “What price Mama, Mr. Q? Takes advantage of her son’s murder to make a few million boleros!” And the young lawyer stamped out.
Dr. Innis bent over the Old Woman with his stethoscope, shook his head, took her pulse, shook his head, removed her typewriter, shook his head, and finally retired to the window to look out over the front lawn, still shaking his head.
“Ready for me now, Madam?” asked the Inspector courteously.
“Yes. Don’t dawdle.”
“Don’t—!” The inspector’s hard eyes glittered. “My dear Mrs. Potts,” he exclaimed softly, “do you know that I could have you put in jail this minute on a charge of attempting homicide on an officer of the law?”
“Oh, yes,” nodded the Old Woman. “But you haven’t.”
“I haven’t! Mrs. Potts, I warn you—”
“Fiddlesticks,” she snarled. “I’m much more use to you in my own house. Don’t think you’re doing me favors, Inspector Queen. I know your kind. You’re all nosey, meddling, publicity-seeking grafters. You’re in this case for what you can get out of it.”
“Mrs. Potts!”
“Stuff. How much d’ye want to pronounce my son’s death an accident?”
Mr. Queen coughed behind his hand, watching his father with enjoyment.
But the Inspector only smiled. “You’d play a swell game of poker, Mrs. Potts. You say and do a lot of contradictory things, all to cover up the one thing you’re afraid of, that I’ll call your bluff. Let’s understand each other. I’m going to do my best to find out who murdered your son Robert. I know that’s what you want, too, only you’re full of cussedness, and you want to do it your own way. But I hold all the cards, and you know that, too. Now you can cooperate or not, as you see fit. But you won’t stop me from finding out what I want to know.”