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

“Let’s get him over to that easy-chair,” said Charley in a low voice.

The Inspector nodded, bent over again. “Now look, son. Don’t you try to do a thing. We’re going to pick you up and carry you over to that chair. It can’t be your back, because you sat up by yourself, so I think it’s safe enough to try—”

“Sheila,” whispered Charley, “call a doctor.”

Ellery looked around suddenly, as if for the first time conscious of what was going on about him. “What is this?” he snarled. “Why are you fussing over me? Get after that murdering maniac!” And he sprang to his feet.

The Inspector shrank from him, open-mouthed. “You’re not wounded?”

“Of course I’m not wounded, Dad.”

“But — that shot, son! Fired at a range of five feet!”

“A child couldn’t have missed you,” cried Sheila.

“He must have hit you, Ellery,” said Charley. “Maybe it was just a flesh wound, a scratch somewhere, but—”

Ellery lit a cigaret with slightly shaking fingers. “Do I have to do a strip-tease to convince you?” He ripped open his shirt front. Something metallic shone in the lamplight.

“A bullet-proof vest!” gasped the Inspector.

“Told you I’d taken precautions, Dad. I didn’t depend merely on Velie. This is that steel-mesh vest the Commissioner of Scotland Yard presented to you last year.” He grinned. “What the well-dressed dilettante of detection will wear.” Ellery clapped his father on the shoulder and helped the old gentleman to his feet.

The Inspector shook off Ellery’s hand, becoming gruff. “Sissy,” he growled. “Letting me knock the wind out of you. You’d never make a cop.”

“And talking about cops,” said Charley, “what happened to Sergeant Velie?”

“Velie!” exclaimed Ellery. “Knocked my brains out, too, Dad. Gangway!”

“Be careful, Ellery! Whoever that was took the gun with him!”

“Oh, that character’s made his exit from the script long ago,” snapped Ellery; and he dived through the nearest French door. “Sheila, turn the lights on out here, will you?” he called back.

Sheila ran for the foyer. A moment later the terrace was flooded with light.

“No sign of whoever it was,” panted Charley Paxton.

“Here’s the gun,” cried the Inspector. “Dropped it on the terrace just outside the study. Velie! Where are you, damn your idiot’s hide?”

“Velie!” shouted Ellery.

Detective Flint stamped out of the house by way of the foyer, his big hand on Sheila’s arm. “I caught this gal in the foyer, Inspector. Monkeying with the light switch.”

“Start looking for the Sergeant, you dumb ox,” snarled the Inspector. “Ellery sent Miss Brent!”

“Yes, sir,” said Flint startled, and at once he began to search among the empty chairs of the terrace, as if he expected Sergeant Velie to materialize in one of them.

“Here he is.” Ellery’s voice was faint. They found him at the far end of the terrace. He was kneeling by the Sergeant’s still, supine figure, slapping the big man’s cheeks without mercy. As they ran up, Velie gurgled deep in his throat and blinked his eyes open.

“Glug,” said Sergeant Velie.

“He’s still dizzy,” Inspector Queen bent over him. “Velie!”

“Huh?” The Sergeant turned glassy eyes on his superior.

“Are you all right, Sergeant?” asked Ellery Queen anxiously. “What happened?”

“Oh,” Velie groaned and sat up, feeling his head.

“What happened, Velie?” roared the Inspector.

“Take it easy, will ya? Here I am hidin’ behind one of these pillars,” rumbled Velie, “and — ouch! The roof comes down on my conk. Say,” he said excitedly, “I’m wounded. I got a lump on the back of my head!”

“Slugged from behind,” said Ellery, rising. “Sees nothing, hears nothing, knows nothing. Come along. Sergeant. It’s a miracle you’re alive.”

There was no clue to Velie’s assailant. Detective Flint had seen nothing. They agreed it was the same person who had attempted to assassinate Ellery.

“It was a good trap while you set it,” laughed Charley as they returned to the library. Then he shook his head.

“Smart,” said Ellery through his teeth. “And quick. Slippery customer. Have to use grappling hooks.” He fell into a fierce study. The Inspector examined his clothes while Sergeant Velie groped in the liquor cabinet for first aid.

“Funny,” mumbled the Inspector.

“What?” Ellery was scarcely paying attention.

“Nothing, son.”

The Inspector then examined the room under full light. The longer he searched, the more perplexed he seemed. And finally he stopped searching and said, “It’s impossible.”

“What’s impossible?” asked Sergeant Velie. He had administered two glasses of first aid and was himself again.

“What are you talking about, Dad?”

“You’re still slug-nutty from that fall you took,” said the Inspector, “or you’d know without my having to tell you. A shot was fired in this room, wasn’t it?”