The American Gun Mystery (Death At the Rodeo)

25: Before the Fact

Sunday evenings were usually restful ones in the Queen household. It was on Sunday evenings that the Inspector completely relaxed, and there was a tacit rule that at such times it was forbidden to talk shop, indulge in theories about crime, mull over real cases, read detective stories, or in other way profane the atmosphere.

So after dinner that evening Ellery shut himself up in the bedroom and very quietly took up the extension telephone. He called the number of the Hotel Barclay and asked for Miss Horne.

“Ellery Queen speaking. Yes... What are you doing this evening, Miss Horne?”

She laughed a little. “Is this an invitation?”

“I might do worse,” agreed Ellery. “May I have an unequivocal reply to the question before the House?”

“Well, sir,” she said in a stern voice, “I’m full up.”

“Which, translated, means—?”

“A gentleman has already requested my company for this evening.”

“A gentleman with curly hair?”

“How smart you are, Mr. Queen! Yes, a gentleman with curly hair. Although I’m afraid that didn’t require much of a deduction.” Then her voice broke a little. “Is it — is there anything in the wind? I’m so tired of waiting... I mean, is it important for you to see me tonight, Mr. Queen?”

“It’s important for me to see you any night,” said Ellery gallantly. “But then I suppose it’s futile and foolhardy for me to enter the lists when a young man with such divinely spiracled hair and such facility with firearms is the other contestant. No, my dear, it isn’t really important. Some other time.”

“Oh,” she said, and was silent for a moment. “You see, Curly’s taking me to the movies this evening. He loves ’em. And I... oh, I’ve been so lonesome since... you know.”

“I really do,” said Ellery gently. “Wild Bill going with you?”

“He’s more tactful than that,” she laughed. “He’s dining with Mars tonight and some other promoters. Has some new scheme up his sleeve. Poor Bill! I really don’t know—”

“I’m certainly playing in luck tonight,” said Ellery ruefully; and after a moment hung up.

He stood quite still in the bedroom, thoughtfully polishing the sparkling panes of his pince-nez. Then he began to move about.

Five minutes later he appeared in the living room, fully clad for the street.

“Where you going?” demanded the Inspector, looking up from the comic section of the Sunday newspaper.

“For a stroll,” said Ellery lightly. “Need a little exercise. Getting a bit convex about the abdomen, I think. I’ll be back soon.”

Inspector Queen sniffed at this obvious evasion and returned to his funny-sheet. Ellery rumpled Djuna’s hair in passing and very quickly disappeared.

It was an hour before he returned. He was flushed and a little nervous. He went into the bedroom, emerged a moment later without his overcoat, and dropped into an armchair beside the Inspector. He stared into the fire.

The. Inspector put the science page down. “Had a nice walk?”

“Oh, lovely.”

Inspector Queen stretched his slippered feet nearer the fire, sniffed snuff, and remarked without turning his head: “I’ll be jiggered if I know what to think about this case, son. I’m really—”

“No talkin’ about cases,” said Djuna, aghast, from his monkey’s perch atop a chair.

“Point well taken,” said Ellery. “Thank you, Djuna.”

“Point is,” muttered the Inspector, “I’m buffaloed. By God, I wish — What d’ye know, son?”

Ellery tossed his butt into the fire and peacefully folded his hands on his stomach. “Everything,” he said.

“What’s that?” said the Inspector blankly.

“I said I know everything.”

“Oh.” The Inspector relaxed. “Another one of your jokes. ’Course, you always know everything about everything. You’re one of God’s Four Hundred, you are. Isn’t a subject on which you aren’t an expert — like these book detectives — see all, know all... bah!”

“I know everything,” said Ellery gently, “about the Horne-Woody case.”

The Inspector ceased grumbling on the instant. He sat very still. Then he began to pluck at his mustache. “You... you really mean that?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die of imbecility. The case is finished. Complete. Ain’t no more. Doggone, we’re done, pardner... The truth is,” said Ellery with a sigh, “that you’ll be shocked by the beautiful simplicity of it.”

Inspector Queen eyed his son for some time. There was no mockery on Ellery’s sharp features. And there was an air of tension, of excitement sternly repressed, about him that began insistently to stir the Inspector’s own blood. Despite himself, his eyes began to shine.

“Well,” he said abruptly, “when’s the pay-off?”

“Any time you prefer,” said Ellery slowly. “Now, if you like. I’m growing positively weary of mystery. I’d like to get this off my — conscience.”

“Then let’s go and stop gabbling,” said the Inspector; and he made for the bedroom.

Silently Ellery followed, and watched the old man slip off his slippers and pull on his shoes.

He himself put on his overcoat in more leisurely fashion. His eyes were glowing.

“Where we bound?” grunted the Inspector, going to the closet for his hat and overcoat.

“Hotel Barclay.”

The Inspector started. Ellery adjusted his scarf tenderly.

“What part of the Hotel Barclay?”

“One of the rooms.”

“Oh! Thanks.”

They left the apartment and strode down Eighty-seventh Street toward Broadway.

At the corner of Broadway they waited for the traffic light to change to green. The Inspector’s hands were jammed in his pockets. “By the way,” he said with sarcasm, “if it isn’t too much to ask — what the devil are we supposed to do in one of those rooms at the hotel?”

“Search it. You see,” murmured Ellery, “there’s one thing we overlooked.”

“Overlooked searching the Barclay?” said the Inspector sharply. “What are you talkin’ about?”

“Oh, I’ll admit there seemed no purpose in it at the time. We went over Horne’s room, and Woody’s room, and all that... But—” He consulted his watch. It was a few minutes past midnight. “Hmm. I really think we should have reinforcements, dad. Velie, say. Good man, Velie. One moment, and I’ll buzz him.” He hurried his father across the street and darted into a drug store, emerging five minutes later with a smile. “He’ll be there waiting for us. Come on, old Grumbles.”

The Inspector went on.

Fifteen minutes later they marched across the lobby of the Hotel Barclay. It was rather crowded. In the elevator Ellery said: “Third, please.” At the third floor they left the elevator, and Ellery, taking his father’s arm, proceeded along a long corridor and paused before a certain door. Out of a shadow stepped Sergeant Velie. None of the three said anything.

Ellery raised his hand and knocked softly. There was a little murmur from behind the door, and then a hand fumbled, with the knob. An instant later the door swung open, revealing the face — the dour and for the moment startled face — of Wild Bill Grant.