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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:
“Better get hold of that coat immediately, Inspector,” advised Charley. “Thurlow thinks he’s safe, so he’s done nothing about it. But if he suspects you’re looking for evidence, he’ll burn the coat and you’ll never have a case for Sampson.”
A dark figure flung itself through one of the French doors off the terrace and stumbled into the study.
It was Thurlow Potts.
One glimpse of his contorted features was proof enough that Thurlow had overheard every word of the analysis by which Ellery Queen had relegated him to the Death House, and of the testimony of Charley Paxton’s which was to provide the switch.
For the second time that evening they were paralyzed by the inhuman quickness of Thurlow’s appearance. This was a Sparrow possessed of demons. Before any of them could stir, he had flung himself at Charley Paxton’s throat.
“I’ll kill you for telling them about that pocket,” Thurlow shouted, digging his fingers into Charley’s flesh. The young lawyer, taken completely by surprise, had not even had time or presence to rise from his seat; the force of Thurlow’s assault had sent him hurtling over backward, and his head had struck the floor with a soggy thud. Thurlow’s fingers dug deeper. “I’ll kill you,” he kept screaming. “That pocket. I’ll kill you.”
“He’s unconscious,” Sheila was shrieking. “He hit his head. Thurlow, stop it! Stop, you dirty butcher — stop!”
The Queens, father and son, and Sergeant Velie hit the little man simultaneously from three directions. Velie scooped up Thurlow’s legs, which instantly began kicking. Ellery grabbed one arm and yanked, and the Inspector the other. Even so, they found it difficult to pluck him from Paxton’s throat. It was only by main force that Ellery was able to tear those stubby, suddenly iron fingers away.
Then they had him loose, and Sheila dropped hysterically by Charley’s side to chafe his swollen neck, where the bite of Thurlow’s fingers was deep and clear.
Sergeant Velie got Thurlow’s throat from behind in the crook of his arm, but the little man kept kicking viciously even as his eyes bugged from his head. They were red, wild eyes. “I’ll kill him,” he kept screaming. “I killed the twins, and I’ll kill Paxton, too, and I’ll kill, I’ll kill, kill...”
And suddenly he went soft all over, like a rag doll. His head draped itself over the Sergeant’s arm. His legs stopped kicking.
“On the davenport,” said Inspector Queen curtly. “Miss Brent, is Charley all right?”
“I think so, Inspector! He’s coming to. Charley, Charley darling...”
Velie picked up the little man and carried him to the studio couch. He did not drop Thurlow; he laid him down carefully almost tenderly.
“Cunning as they come,” grunted the Inspector. “Well, son, you heard him say he did it. So you’re right, and we’ve got plenty of witnesses, and Thurlow’s a gone rattlesnake.”
Ellery brushed himself off. “Yes, Dad, premeditated purchase of two pairs of guns, premeditated manufacture of a double pocket, premeditated build-up of a perfect alibi, a clear motive — I think you’ve got a case for the District Attorney.”
“He won’t need it,” said Sergeant Velie. There was something so sharply strange in Velie’s tone that they looked at him in inquiry. He jerked his big jaw in the direction of the man on the couch.
Thurlow Potts lay quiet, with a stare at right angles to sanity. There was nothing in his eyes now, nothing. They were lifeless marbles. The face was putty natted into vertical lines. He was staring up at Sergeant Velie without resentment or hatred, without pain — without recognition.
“Velie, call Bellevue,” said Inspector Queen soberly.
Ave atque vale, Thurlow, thought Ellery Queen as he looked down at that stricken flesh of the Old Woman’s flesh. For you there will be no arrest, no arraignment, no Grand Jury, no trial, no conviction, no electric chair. For you there will be a cell and bars, and green fields to watch with eyes that see crookedly, and jailers in starched white uniforms.
27
The Beginning of the End
It cannot be stated that Ellery Queen was satisfied to the point of exaltation with his role in the Potts murder case.
Heretofore, Ellery’s pursuit of truth in the hunt of human chicanery had been attended by a sort of saddle irritation which magically disappeared when the hunter returned to his hearth. But now, a week after Thurlow Potts had confessed his crime and lapsed into burbling insanity, Ellery’s intellectual seat still smarted.
He wondered at himself, thinking over the horrid fantasy of the past week. That he had succeeded, there could be no question. Thurlow Potts had murdered Robert Potts with his own hand. Thurlow Potts had murdered Maclyn Potts similarly. Logic had triumphed, the miscreant had confessed, the case was closed. Where, then, had he failed?
King James had said to the fly, “Have I three kingdoms and thou must needs fly into my eye?”
What was the nature of the fly?
And suddenly, at breakfast with his father that morning, he saw that there were two flies, as it were, in his eye. One was Thurlow Potts himself. Thurlow was still a conundrum, logic and confession notwithstanding. Mr. Queen was uncomfortably aware that he had never known the true nature of Thurlow, and that he still did not know it. The man had been too rich a mixture of sense and nonsense, a mixture too thoroughly mixed. But the recipe for Thurlow was preponderantly madness, and for some reason this annoyed Mr. Queen no end. The man had been mostly mad, and his crime had been mostly sane; perhaps this was the source of the smart. And yet there could be no doubt whatever that Thurlow had murdered his twin brothers, knowing exactly what he was doing.
Ellery gave it up.
The other fly was equally obvious, and equally pestiferous. It had dimples, and its name was Sheila. At this point, Ellery quickly resumed the attack on his breakfast under his father’s inquiring eye. Sometimes it is wiser, he thought, not to probe too deeply into certain branches of entomology.
By coincidence Sheila and Charley Paxton dropped into the Queen apartment before that uneasy breakfast was concluded; and it must be said that Mr. Queen rose heroically to the occasion, the more so since the young couple had come to announce their approaching marriage.
“The best of everything,” he said bravely, pressing their hands.
“If ever two snooks deserved happiness in this world,” said the Inspector, shaking his head, “it’s you two. When’s it coming off?”
“Tomorrow,” said Sheila. She was radiant.
“Tomorrow!” Mr. Queen blinked.
Charley was plainly embarrassed. “I told Sheila you’d probably be pretty busy catching up on your book,” he mumbled. “But you know how women are.”
“Indeed I do, and I’d never have forgiven you if you’d taken any such silly excuse for not dropping in.”
“There, you see, dear?” said Sheila.
Charley grinned feebly.
“Tomorrow,” smiled Inspector Queen. “That’s as fine a day as any.”
“Then we’re going on a honeymoon,” said Sheila, hugging Charley’s arm, “and when we get back — work, and peace.”
“Work?” said Ellery. “Oh, of course. The business.”
“Yes. Mr. Underhill’s going to manage the production end — he’s far and away the best man for it, and of course the office staff will keep on as before.”