The Origin of Evil (6 page)

‘What d'ye want, Laurel? Who's this?' His voice was a coarse, threatening bass, rumbling up from his chest like live lava. He was still furious from his telephone conversation with the hapless Foss; his eyes were filled with hate. ‘What are you looking at? Why don't you open your mouth?'

‘This is Ellery Queen.'

‘Who?'

Laurel repeated it.

‘Never heard of him. What's he want?' The feral glance turned on Ellery. ‘What d'ye want? Hey?'

‘Mr. Priam,' said the beautiful voice of Alfred Wallace from the doorway, ‘Ellery Queen is a famous writer.'

‘Writer?'

‘And detective, Mr. Priam.'

Priam's lips pushed out, dragging his beard forward. The great hands on the wheel became clamps.

‘I told you I wasn't going to let go, Roger,' said Laurel evenly. ‘My father was murdered. There must have been a reason. And whatever it was, you were mixed up in it as well as Daddy. I've asked Ellery Queen to investigate, and he wants to talk to you.'

‘He does, does he?' The rumble was distant; the fiery eyes gave out heat. ‘Go ahead, Mister. Talk away.'

‘In the first place, Mr. Priam,' said Ellery, ‘I'd like to know —'

‘The answer is no,' said Roger Priam, his teeth showing through his beard. ‘What's in the second place?'

‘Mr. Priam,' Ellery began again, patiently.

‘No good, Mister. I don't like your questions. Now you listen to me, Laurel.' His right fist crashed on the arm of the chair. ‘You're a damn busybody. This ain't your business. It's mine. I'll tend to it. I'll do it my way, and I'll do it myself. Can you get that through your head?'

‘You're afraid, Roger,' said Laurel Hill.

Priam half-raised his bulk, his eyes boiling. The lava burst with a roar.

‘Me afraid? Afraid of what? A
ghost
? What d'ye think I am, another Leander Hill? The snivellin' dirt! Shaking in his shoes — looking over his shoulder — creeping on his face! He was born a — yellow-belly, and he died the same —'

Laurel hit him on the cheek with her fist. His left arm came up impatiently and brushed her aside. She staggered backward half-way across the room into Alfred Wallace's arms.

‘Let go of me,' she whispered. ‘Let go!'

‘Laurel,' said Ellery.

She stopped, breathing from her diaphragm. Wallace silently released her.

Laurel walked out of the room.

‘Afraid!
' A spot swelled on Priam's cheekbone. ‘You think so?' he bellowed after her. ‘Well, a certain somebody's gonna find out that
my
pump don't go to pieces at the first blow! Afraid, am I? I'm ready for the goddam —! Any hour of the day or night, understand? Any time he wants to show his scummy hand! He'll find out I got a pretty good pair myself!' And he opened and closed his murderous hands, and Ellery thought again of Wolf Larsen.

‘Roger. What's the matter?'

And there she was in the doorway. She had changed to a hostess gown of golden silk which clung as if it loved her. It was slit to the knee. She was glancing coolly from her husband to Ellery.

Wallace's eyes were on her. They seemed amused.

‘Who is this man?'

‘Nobody. Nothing, Delia. It don't concern you.' Priam glared at Ellery. ‘You. Get out!'

She had come downstairs just to establish the fact that she didn't know him. As a point in character, it should have interested him. Instead, it annoyed him. Why, he could not quite make out. What was he to Hecuba? Although she was making clear enough what Hecuba was to
him
. He felt chagrined and challenged, and at the same time he wondered if she affected other men the same way … Wallace was enjoying himself discreetly, like a playgoer who has caught a point which escaped the rest of the audience and is too polite to laugh aloud … Her attitude towards her husband was calm, without fear or any other visible emotion.

‘What are you waiting for? You ain't wanted, Mister. Get out!'

‘I've been trying to make up my mind, Mr. Priam,' said Ellery, ‘whether you're a bag of wind or a damned fool.'

Priam's bearded lips did a little dance. His rage, apparently always in shallow water, was surfacing again. Ellery braced himself for the splash. Priam
was
afraid. Wallace — silent, amused, attentive Wallace — Wallace saw it. And Delia Priam saw it; she was smiling.

‘Alfred, if this fella shows up again, break his — back!'

Ellery looked down at his arm. Wallace's hand was on it.

‘I'm afraid, Mr. Queen,' murmured Wallace, ‘that I'm man enough to do it, too.'

The man's grip was paralyzing. Priam was grinning, a yellow hairy grin that jarred him. And the woman — that animate piece of jungle — watching. To his amazement, Ellery felt himself going blind-mad. When he came to, Alfred Wallace was sitting on the floor chafing his wrist and staring up at Ellery. He did not seem angry; just surprised.

‘That's a good trick,' Wallace said. ‘I'll remember it.'

Ellery fumbled for a cigarette, decided against it. ‘I've made up my mind, Mr. Priam. You're a bag of wind and a damned fool.'

The doorway was empty …

He was furious with himself. Never lose your temper. Rule One in the book; he had learned it on his father's lap. Just the same, she must have seen it. Wallace flying through the air. And the gape on Priam's ugly face. Probably set her up for the week …

He found himself searching for her out of the corners of his eyes as he strode down the hall. The place was overcrowded with shadows; she was certainly waiting in one of them. With the shades of her eyes pulled down, but everything else showing …

The hall was empty, too …

Slit to the knee! That one was older than the pyramids. And how old was his stupidity? It probably went back to the primordial slime.

Then he remembered that Delia Priam was a lady and that he was behaving exactly like a frustrated college boy, and he slammed the front door.

Laurel was waiting for him in the Austin. She was still white; smoking with energy. Ellery jumped in beside her and growled, ‘Well, what are we waiting for?'

‘He's cracking,' said Laurel tensely. ‘He's going to pieces, Ellery. I've seen him yell and push his weight around before, but today was something special. I'm glad I brought you. What do you want to do now?'

‘Go home. Or get me a cab.'

She was bewildered. ‘Aren't you taking the case?'

‘I can't waste my time on idiots.'

‘Meaning me?'

‘Not meaning you.'

‘But we found out something,' she said eagerly. ‘He admitted it. You heard him. A “ghost,” he said. A “certain somebody” — I heard that on my way out. I wasn't being delirious, Ellery. Roger thinks Daddy was deliberately shocked to death, too. And, what's more, he knows what the dog meant —'

‘Not necessarily,' grunted Ellery. ‘That's the trouble with you amateurs. Always jumping to conclusions. Anyway, it's too impossible. You can't get anywhere without Priam, and Priam isn't budging.'

‘It's Delia,' said Laurel, ‘isn't it?'

‘Delia? You mean Mrs. Priam? Rubbish.'

‘Don't tell me about Delia,' said Laurel. ‘Or about men, either. She's catnip for anything in pants.'

‘Oh, I admit her charms,' muttered Ellery. ‘But they're a bit obvious, don't you think?' He was trying not to look up at the second-storey windows, where her bedroom undoubtedly was. ‘Laurel, we can't park here in the driveway like a couple of adenoidal tourists —' He had to see her again. Just to see her.

Laurel gave him an odd look and drove off. She turned left at the road, driving slowly.

Ellery sat embracing his knees. He had the emptiest feeling that he was losing something with each spin of the Austin's wheels. And there was Laurel, seeing the road ahead and something else, too. Sturdy little customer. And she must be feeling pretty much alone. Ellery suddenly felt himself weakening.

‘What do you intend to do, Laurel?'

‘Keep poking around.'

‘You're determined to go through with this?'

‘Don't feel sorry for me. I'll make out.'

‘Laurel, I'll tell you what I'll do.'

She looked at him.

‘I'll go as far as that note with you; I mean, give you a head start, anyway. If, of course, it's possible.'

‘What are you talking about?' She stopped the car with a bump.

‘The note your father found in that silver box on the dog's collar. You thought he must have destroyed it.'

‘I told you I looked for it and it wasn't there.'

‘Suppose I do the looking.'

Laurel stared. Then she laughed and the Austin jumped.

The Hill house spread itself high on one of the canyon walls, cheerfully exposing its red tiles to the sun. It was a two-storey Spanish house, beautifully bleached, with black wrought-iron tracery, arched and balconied and patioed and covered with pyracantha. It was set in two acres of flowers, flowering shrubs, and trees — palm and fruit and nut and bird-of-paradise. Around the lower perimeter ran the woods.

‘Our property line runs down the hill,' Laurel said as they got out of the car, ‘over towards the Priams. A little over nine additional acres meeting the Priam woods. Through the woods it's no distance at all.'

‘It's a very great distance,' mumbled Ellery. ‘About as far as from an eagle's nest to an undersea cave. True Spanish, I notice, like the missions, not the modern fakes so common out here. It must be a punishment to Delia Priam — born to this and condemned to
that
.'

‘Oh, she's told you about that,' murmured Laurel; then she took him into her house.

It was cool with black Spanish tile underfoot and the touch of iron. There was a sunken living-room forty feet long, a great fireplace set with Goya tiles, books and music and paintings and ceramics and huge jars of flowers everywhere. A tall Japanese in a white jacket came in smiling and took Ellery's hat.

‘Ichiro Sotowa,' said Laurel. ‘Itchie's been with us for ages. This is Mr. Queen, Itchie. He's interested in the way Daddy died, too.'

The houseman's smile faded. ‘Bad — bad,' he said, shaking his head. ‘Heart no good. You like a drink, sir?'

‘Not just now, thanks,' said Ellery. ‘Just how long did you work for Mr. Hill, Ichiro?'

‘Sixteen year, sir.'

‘Oh, then you don't go back to the time of … What about that chauffeur — Simon, was it?'

‘Shimmie shopping with Mis' Monk.'

‘I meant how long Simeon's been employed here.'

‘About ten years,' said Laurel. ‘Mrs. Monk came around the same time.'

‘That's that, then. All right, Laurel, let's begin.'

‘Where?'

‘From the time your father had his last heart attack — the day the dog came — until his death, did he leave his bedroom?'

‘No. Itchie and I took turns nursing him. Night and day the entire week.'

‘Bedroom indicated. Lead the way.'

An hour and a half later, Ellery opened the door of Leander Hill's room. Laurel was curled up in a window niche on the landing, head resting against the wall.

‘I suppose you think I'm an awful sissy,' she said, without turning. ‘But all I can see when I'm in there is his marbly face and blue lips and the crooked way his mouth hung open … not my Daddy at all. Nothing, I suppose.'

‘Come here, Laurel.'

She jerked about. Then she jumped off the ledge and ran to him.

Ellery shut the bedroom door.

Laurel's eyes hunted wildly. But aside from the four-poster bed, which was disarranged, she could see nothing unusual. The spread, sheets, and quilt were peeled back, revealing the side walls of the box-spring and mattress.

‘What —?'

‘The note you saw him remove from the dog's collar,' Ellery said. ‘It was on thin paper, didn't you tell me?'

‘Very. A sort of flimsy, or onion skin.'

‘White?'

‘White.'

Ellery nodded. He went over to the exposed mattress. ‘He was in this room for a week, Laurel, between his attack and death. During that week did he have many visitors?'

‘The Priam household. Some people from the office. A few friends.'

‘Some time during that week,' said Ellery, ‘your father decided that the note he had received was in danger of being stolen or destroyed. So he took out insurance.' His finger traced on the side wall of the mattress one of the perpendicular blue lines of the ticking. ‘He had no tool but a dull penknife from the night table there. And I suppose he was in a hurry, afraid he might be caught at it. So the job had to be crude.' Half his finger suddenly vanished. ‘He simply made a slit here, where the blue line meets the undyed ticking. And he slipped the paper into it, where I found it.'

‘The note,' breathed Laurel. ‘You've found the note. Let me see!'

Ellery put his hand in his pocket. But just as he was about to withdraw it, he stopped. His eyes were on one of the windows.

Some ten yards away there was an old walnut tree.

‘Yes?' Laurel was confused. ‘What's the matter?'

‘Get off the bed, yawn, smile at me if you can, and then stroll over to the door. Go out on the landing. Leave the door open.'

Her eyes widened.

She got off the bed, yawned, stretched, showed her teeth, and went to the door. Ellery moved a little as she moved, so that he remained between her and the window.

When she had disappeared, he casually followed. Smiling in profile at her, he shut the bedroom door.

And sprang for the staircase.

‘Ellery —'

‘Stay here!'

He scrambled down the black-tiled stairs, leaving Laurel with her lips parted.

A man had been roosting high in the walnut tree, peering in at them through Leander Hill's bedroom window from behind a screen of leaves. But the sun had been on the tree, and Ellery could have sworn the fellow was mother-naked.