There Was an Old Woman

by Ellery Queen

  Ellery: Why did you put it there?

  Thurlow (gasping): I never did! I haven't seen this weapon since the day I bought it with the other thirteen!

  Ellery (with a cynical smile): Really, Mr. Potts? (Then sharply.) That's all! You may go.

  (Thurlow blinks, hesitates, rises, openly surprised and upset by this peremptory dismissal. Then, without a backward glance, he hurries from the scene.)

  Ellery: Flint! Louella Potts.

  And now it became evident that Mr. Queen's scene with Thurlow Potts was a deliberate design for the scenes that followed. For when Louella Potts swept in, a violently self-assured Louella, quite altered from that sullen and sour spinster who had been under her mother's thumb, Ellery's script adapted itself to the unpredictable dialogue of this second character smoothly and with scarcely an emendation.

  Again Ellery put the preliminary questions, again they led to the gun on the table, again he picked it up, fiddled with its magazine, displayed its cartridge, replaced the magazine, tossed the automatic back on the table, and asked the last question. "Why did you hide this loaded gun of Thurlow's in the starling's nest, Miss Potts?"

  Louella sprang from the straight-backed chair, her saffron features convulsed. "Is it for this childish nonsense I've been dragged away from my important experiments? I never saw this weapon before, I didn't put it in the nest, I know nothing about it, and I'll ask you, Mr. Queen, to stop interfering with the progress of science!" And Louella strode out, all bones and indignation.

  But Mr. Queen only smiled to Sheila and Charley Paxton and summoned Horatio Potts.

  Horatio was immense in more ways than one. For purposes of this scene he had become a completely reasonable man. If the truth were known, the sudden sanity of his answers and a certain unexpected acuteness of insight into the trend of Mr. Queen's questions rather took the spotlight away from that great man and focused it brilliantly upon his victim.

  "Very interesting, sir," said Horatio indulgently at one point. "I never did believe my mother murdered the twins. Too gory, you know. Madame Tussaud stuff. No, indeed. That confession, though. Very clever. Don't you think so, Mr. Queen?

  Mr. Queen thought so.

  "And now you know who did it all," said Horatio at another point. "At least that's what I heard."

  Ellery pretended to be angry at the "leak."

  "I wish you'd enlighten me," continued the fat man, chuckling. "Sounds like good material for a book."

  "You don't know of course."

  "I?" Horatio was astonished.

  "Come, Mr. Potts. You hid this loaded automatic in the starling's nest, didn't you?" And again Ellery went through the business of opening the gun, displaying its cartridge, and closing it again.

  "I hid it in the nest, " repeated Horatio. "But why?"

  Ellery said nothing.

  "As a matter of fact," continued Horatio reflectively, "the very idea's silly. If I hid Thurlow's gun in the tree and wanted it to stay hidden, would I have found it under your nose this afternoon, Mr. Queen? No, no, sir, you're on the wrong track."

  Ellery could only wave Horatio Potts feebly out and call for Stephen Brent.

  With Sheila's father the script resumed its character. The old man was nervous, and while Ellery was gentle with him Brent's nervousness was not allayed.

  He denied with bewilderment having known anything about the gun in the tree, and left in a trot.

  His stuttering had been pronounced.

  Sheila began to examine Ellery with an ominous grim-ness. Charley had to restrain her from jumping up and running after her father.

  With Major Gotch Ellery was severe. The old pirate showed his teeth at once. "I've taken a lot of berserker nonsense in this house, Mister," he roared, "but you've no call to speak to me this way. I don't know a cursed thing, and that's a fact you can't deny!

  "I thought you were well-known in the Dutch East Indies," said Ellery, departing from the script.

  Gotch snorted. "One of its notorious characters, Mister. Bloomin' myth. Left my mark, I did."

  "They never heard of you, Major."

  He looked aghast. "Why, the muckin* liars!"

  "Ever use another name, Major?"

  The man sat still. Then he said: "No."

  Ellery, lightly: "We can find out, you know."

  "Find and be damned to you!"

  "Don't have to, as it turns out. This is the last roundup, Major. Our friend the killer hasn't much grace left. Why'd you put the gun in the bird's nest?"

  "You're barmy," said the Major, shaking his head; and he left as Ellery opened the automatic for the fifth time and played with the cartridge.

  "Well, Mr. Queen?" asked Detective Flint from the foyer doorway. "Where do we go from here?"

  "You exit quietly, Flint."

  Flint shut the foyer door with a huffy bang.

  Sheila jumped out of the shadows at once. "I don't see why you had to drag my father into this," she said tartly. "Treating him like the others—!"

  "Smoke screen, Sheila."

  "Yes?" she said suspiciously.

  "I had to go through the motions of treating all the suspects equally."

  Sheila did not seem convinced. "But why?"

  "I can't imagine what you're driving at, Ellery," said Charley gloomily, "but whatever it is, you haven't learned a darned thing as far as / can see."

  "Grilling Daddy!" said Sheila.

  "It's all part of a plan, part of a plan," said Ellery cheerfully. "It hasn't quite worked out yet—"

  "Shhh," whispered Sheila. "Someone ..."

  "On the terrace ..." Charley whispered.

  Ellery waved them back into the gloom imperiously. Ha himself darted out of range of the light, flattening against a wall. There was no sound but the beating of the grandfather clock. Then they heard a quick cautious step from the terrace darkness. In his shadow, Ellery crouched on the balls of his feet.

  Inspector Queen stepped into the study through one of the French doors.

  Ellery shook his head, chuckling. "Dad, Dad."

  The Inspector peered about the dimly lit room, trying to locate the source of his son's voice, moving uncertainly.

  "Ellery, you fox!" cried Charley, jumping forward. "Darned if I don't get the point!"

  "But Ellery, if that's it," cried Sheila, running forward too, "you mustn't. It's dangerous!"

  "What is this?" demanded Inspector Queen, blinking at them. "Mustn't do what, Ellery?"

  "Nothing, nothing, Dad." Ellery came out of his shadow quickly. "Out of the light, Dad. We're waiting."

  "Waiting for what? All right, I spread the word and stayed out of sight, but I'm not going to wait all night—"

  Ellery pulled his father into the shadows.

  "I don't like it," grumbled the Inspector. "What's going on here? Why were you so tense when I came in? So quiet?" And then he spied the Colt automatic in the nest on the table.

  Ellery nodded.

  "So that's it," said the Inspector slowly. "That's why you wanted the kit and caboodle of 'em to think you knew who the killer was. It's a trap."

  "Of course," said Sheila breathlessly. "He's just interviewed everybody, asking a lot of useless questions—"

  "Just so he could show them this gun on the table," said Charley, "right near the terrace!"

  "Ellery you can't do it," said the Inspector with finality. "It's too dangerous."

  "Nonsense," said the great man.

  "Suppose one of them sneaked onto the terrace. You mightn't hear him. You certainly couldn't see him." The Inspector went to the table. "All he'd have to do would be stick his hand in here from the terrace, grab the gun, and fire at you point-blank."

  "It's loaded, too, Inspector!" said Sheila. "Ellery, your father's right."

  "Of course it's loaded," said Charley frowning. "He went to an awful lot of trouble to show 'em it's loaded."

  "You wouldn't have a chance, Ellery," said the Inspector. "You've set a trap, all right—they all think you know who
did it and here's_ a loaded gun within easy reach— you've set a trap, but if you think I'm going to let you use yourself as live bait—"

  "I've taken a few precautions," said Ellery lightly. "Come over here, the three of you."

  The Inspector followed Ellery into the heavier shadows, away from the windows. "What precautions?"

  Charley and Sheila backed off from the windows, joining them. "You'd better get out of here, Sheila—"

  "Just a minute, Charley," snapped the Inspector. "■What precautions, Ellery?"

  Ellery grinned. "Velie's posted outside on the terrace behind one of those Moorish pillars. He'll nab whoever comes in before—"

  "Velie?" The Inspector stared. "/ just came in from the terrace and Velie didn't see or hear me. It's dark as a coal passer's glove out there—he couldn't have known it was me—so why didn't he nab me before I stepped through the French door?"

  Ellery stared back at his father. "Something's gone wrong," he muttered. "Velie's in trouble. Come on!" He took two strides toward the open French door behind the occasional table, the others following. But then he stopped. On the very edge of the circle of lamplight.

  A slender thing had darted in from the black terrace, a snake. But it was not a snake; it was a human arm. Even this was the impression of an instant, for it all occurred so quickly that they could only halt, Ellery included, and glare, powerless to move, unable to comprehend its nature or its purpose.

  The hand was gloved, a gloved blur. It snatched the .25 automatic from the bird's nest on the table, brought it to a level in an amazingly fluid extension of its original movement, and for the fragment of a second poised the snub nose of the weapon on a direct line with Ellery's heart.

  In that instant several things happened. Sheila screamed, clutching Charley. Ellery's hand came up from his side, defensively. With a snarl the Inspector dived head-first at Ellery's legs.

  But one thing happened before any of the other three got fairly started ... The gloved finger squeezed the trigger of the Colt and smoke and flame enveloped it. Ellery toppled to the floor.

  25 . . . The Light That Succeeded

  The arm, the hand, the weapon disappeared. Only the smoke remained, hovering over the table, a little cloud. It began to drift lazily toward the lamp.

  Inspector Queen, on the floor, rolled over swiftly and grasped Ellery by his jacket lapels. "Ellery. Son."

  He shook Ellery.

  Sheila whispered: "Is he ... ? Charley!" She hid her face in Paxton's coat.

  "Inspector—" Charley paid no attention. "Ellery," he said, and tugged.

  Ellery groaned, opening his eyes.

  "Ellery!" The Inspector's voice lifted with incredulity. "Are you all right, son?"

  "All right?" Ellery struggled to sit up. He shook his head. "What hit me? I remember an arm—a shot—"

  "The Inspector dived for your legs," said Sheila, dropping to her knees beside him. "Don't move now—lie back! Charley, take a look. Help me get his jacket off—"

  "Sit still now, you blinking hero," growled Charley. "Setting traps!"

  "Please," said the Inspector. They sat back on their haunches. Ellery was still shaking his head. "Where does it hurt, son? I don't see any blood—"

  "Doesn't hurt anywhere," said Ellery testily.

  "Out of his head," Sheila whispered. "Do you think .., possibly .., internal injuries?"

  "Let's get him over to that easy-chair," «aid 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 Fm 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?"

  "The bullet!" cried Ellery. "You can't find it?"

  "Not a sign of it. Not a mark on the walls or the furniture or, as far as I can see, the floor or ceiling. No bullet, no shell, no nothing."

  "It must be here," said Sheila. "It was fired point-blank into the room."

  "Ricocheted off, most likely," said Charley. "Maybe took a funny carom and flew out into the garden."

  "Maybe," grunted the Inspector. "But where are the marks of the ricochet? Bullet doesn't ricochet off empty space, Charley. It just isn't here."

  "My vest!" said Ellery. "If it's anywhere, it's in my bulletproof vest. Or at least some mark of it, if it bounced off." He opened his shirt again and he and his father together examined the steel vest covering his torso. But there was no indication of a bullet's having struck—no dent in the fabric, no powder burns, no glittering line of abrasion. Moreover, his shirt and jacket were clean and whole.

  "But we heard the shot," cried Inspector Queen. "We saw it fired. What is this, another magic trick? Another gob of Mother Goose nonsense?"

  Ellery buttoned his shirt slowly. Sergeant Velie was frowning in a mighty, dutiful effort at concentration, a bottle of Irish whisky in his fist. The Inspector was glaring at the Colt which he had recovered from the terrace floor. And then Ellery chuckled. As he was buttoning the top button of his shirt. He chuckled: "Of course. Oh, of course."

  "What are you patting yourself on the back about?" demanded the Inspector peevishly.

  "That confirms everything."

  "What confirms everything?"

  Sergeant Velie set the whisky bottle down and began to shuffle toward the Queens, a curious look on his rocky face.

  "Dad, I know who killed Robert and Maclyn Potts."

  PART FIVE

  26 . . . The Identity of the Sparrow

  "You really know?" said Inspector Queen. "It's not guesswork?"

  "I really know," said Ellery with wonder, as if he were surprised himself at the simplicity of it all.

  "But how can you?" cried Sheila. "What's happened so suddenly that tells you?"