The American Gun Mystery (Death At the Rodeo)
- Автор: Куин (Квин) Эллери
- Серия: Ellery Queen #6
- Год: 1933
- Язык: английский
- Год: Frederick A. Stokes Company
- Жанр: Классические детективы
Электронная книга - «The American Gun Mystery (Death At the Rodeo)». Краткое содержание книги:
The Queens sat in the projection room for almost three-quarters of an hour; and when the lights came on suddenly and the screen went blank, neither they nor the Major had anything to say. Ellery’s inspiration, it appeared, had proved barren. And the Inspector, who considered an hour of his precious time had been cruelly wasted, rose and jabbed such an inordinate ration of snuff up his nostrils that he was seized by a fit of sneezing which brought crimson to his face and tears to his eyes.
“Tchu!” he exploded in a last blast, and wiped his nose viciously. Then he glared at Ellery. “And that’s that. Ellery, I’m going.”
Ellery’s eyes were closed, and his long lean legs reached comfortably under the seat in front of him.
“I’m going, I said,” repeated the Inspector huffily.
“I heard you the first time, honorable ancestor,” said Ellery in a clear voice, and he opened his eyes. Then he rose slowly and shook himself like a man coming out of a dream. His father and the Major stared at him.
He began to smile, and he put his hand out to Kirby. “Do you know what you’ve done today, Major?”
Kirby took the hand bewilderedly. “What I’ve done?”
“You’ve restored my faith in the movies. What’s today? Sunday? There’s a day for restoration of faith! Almost makes you believe in old Jahweh, the Mosaic God. No, that would make it Shabboth, wouldn’t it? I believe I’m all mixed up. Small wonder!” And he grinned broadly, pumping the astonished Major’s hand up and down like an ansa. “Major, good day and a benediction upon the head of whoever invented the cinema. May he be thrice blessed... Dad, don’t stand gawping! There’s work to do. And such work!”
22: The Vanishing American
“Where are we going?” gasped the Inspector as Ellery hustled him across Broadway, westbound.
“The Colosseum... No. by Jove, it’s like a fairytale... Now I know!”
But the Inspector was too occupied matching his little hopping steps to Ellery’s hungry stride to ask what his son knew.
The Colosseum, closed on two counts — Sunday and the police ban — seemed lively enough despite the handicaps. Guarded by detectives who were under strict orders, there was nevertheless no ukase against accessibility; the Queens learned at once that most of the troupe were in the building somewhere, and that Grant himself had come in not an hour before. Ellery steered the Inspector toward the nether regions.
Then they visited the great amphitheatre. It was empty.
They made a round of the dressing rooms. Members in good standing were present and accounted for, for the most part dawdling, smoking, and making conversation.
Ellery Queen found Mr. Hank (Dan’l) Boone in a dressing room cloudy with smoke and redolent of whisky.
“Boone!” cried Ellery from the doorway. “Want to see you.”
“Huh?” croaked the little cowboy; and Wearily swung about. “Oh. Th’— th’ sheriff, b’jinks. C-come on in, sheriff. Have li’l snifter?”
“Go on along, Dan’l,” growled one of the cowboys. “An’ don’t be drunker’n ya have to.”
So Boone tottered obediently to his feet and waddled to the door. “Sheriff, I’m yore man,” he said with gravity. “’Portant?”
“Might be,” smiled Ellery. “Come along, Boone. I’ve a number of nice bright questions to ask you.”
Boone wagged his head and staggered along by Ellery’s side. The Inspector stood waiting for them at a turn of the corridor.
“How well,” asked Ellery quietly, “do you recall the night Buck Horne was shot?”
“My Gawd!” exclaimed Boone. “You startin’ that all over ag’in? Mister, I’ll never forget it long’s I live!”
“Oh, one month suits me perfectly. Now you remember Inspector Queen ordered you to take care of the horses after Horne was shot — in the arena, I mean?”
“Shore do.” Boone was wary now, and his little blood-flecked eyes flickered from Ellery to the Inspector and back again. He seemed strangely uneasy.
“Do you recall exactly what happened?”
Boone wiped his unsteady chin with vague fingers. “Seems like I do,” he muttered. “Took the horses to water, an’— an’—”
“And what?”
“Why, jes’ took the hosses to water.”
“Oh, no,” smiled Ellery. “There was something more than that.”
“Was there?” Boone scraped his jaw. “Now ain’t that a — Saaay! Shore, shore! One o’ the hosses — piebald stallion, ’twas — got ornery, the critter! Wouldn’t dip ’is muzzle. I had to whack him one acrost th’ flanks.”
“Ah. And what happened then?”
“One o’ the waddies, he run up an’ took the whup away from me.”
“Why?”
“Musta been a mite pie-eyed,” mumbled Boone. “Never oughten to whup a hoss, Mister. An’ that was a danged fine animal — Injun, ’twas. Buck Horne’s ole trick movie hoss. Miller, he—”
“Oh, Miller was the cowboy who took the quirt away from you?”
“Yeah, Benjy Miller. New hand — feller with the gosh-awful burn on ’is whiskers. He was ridin’ Injun that night. Buck was up on Kit Horne’s Rawhide. Felt sorrier’n a cock-eyed cow in pasture with two crops o’ clover to nibble at an’ not a way o’ tellin’ which was the sweeter-lookin’. Mister,” mourned Boone, “I never done that before, whuppin’ a good hoss...”
“Yes, yes,” said Ellery absently. “You were upset. Be kind to animals, and all that. Are the rodeo horses always kept in the stables in this building?”
“Hey? Naw. Stables here ’re fer the show. Keep the hosses in th’ buildin’ jest b’fore, durin’, an’ after the show fer shoein’, rabbin’ down, an’ so on,” said Boone. “After th’ shows we take ’em over to that big liv’ry stable on Tenth Avenoo for beddin’ down.”
“I see. By the way, where’s Miller? Have you seen him today?”
“He’s aroun’ some’eres. See’m on’y a couple hours ago. I—”
“Fine, old timer. Thanks a lot. Come along, dad,” and Ellery hastened off with the Inspector, leaving Dan’l Boone staring wordlessly after them.
A number of members of the troupe had seen and spoken to Miller that day, it turned out, but the man was not to be found. He had actually come into the Colosseum with a group of the others, but after a time had dropped out of sight.
The Queens repaired to Wild Bill Grant’s office above, and found the showman in scowling contemplation of his feet on the desk. He looked at them sourly when they came in.