Read Online Halfway House by Ellery Queen - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Ellery Queen
Tags: General Fiction
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THAT doesn’t beat all hell,” said De Jong. “ Cheese! ” With a brutal gesture he tore the cigar from his mouth and hurled it to the floor. And then he sprang after the Amity woman.
Lucy Wilson stood gripping her throat as if she were afraid it might burst. Her black eyes were groping from Mrs. Gimball to the man on the floor in helpless agony. Andrea Gimball was shivering and biting her lips.
“ Gimball, ” said Bill in a shocked voice. “Good Lord, Mrs. Gimball, do you realize what you’re saying?”
The society woman made an imperious gesture with her fine thin white veined hands. The jewels sparkled under the lamp. “This is insanity. Who are these people, Mr. Queen? And why am I subjected to this ridiculous scene when my husband is… lying here dead?”
Lucy’s nostrils expanded like sails in a storm. “ Your husband? Yours? This is Joe Wilson, I tell you. Maybe your husband just looks like my Joe. Oh, please go away, won’t you?”
“I refuse to discuss my personal affairs with you,” said the woman in sables haughtily. “Where is that man who’s in charge? Of all the disgraceful exhibitions—”
“Jessica,” said the tall midle-aged man patiently. “Perhaps you had better sit down and permit Mr. Queen and me to handle this matter. It’s obvious that a shocking error’s occurred, but it won’t be helped by nerves or a brawl.” He spoke as if he were addressing a child. The angry line between his brows had vanished. “Jessica?”
Her lips were bitter parallel lines. She sat down.
“Did I understand you to say,” asked the man with the silk hat in a courteous voice, “that you are Mrs. Lucy Wilson of Fairmount Park, Philadelphia?”
“Yes. Yes!” cried Lucy.
“I see.” The glance he gave her was cold, rather calculating, as if he were weighing in his deliberate way how much of her was real and how much false. “I see,” he said again, and this time the line reappeared between his brows.
“I don’t believe,” said Bill wearily, “I caught the name.”
The tall man made a wry face. “Grosvenor Finch, and I’ve been an intimate friend of the Borden and Gimball families for more years than I care to count. I came here tonight only because Mr. Jasper Borden, Mrs. Gimball’s father, is an invalid and requested me to take his place by his daughter’s side.” Finch placed his silk hat carefully on the table. “I came, as I say,” he continued in his quiet way, “as a friend of Mrs. Gimball’s. It begins to appear that I shall have to stay in quite a different capacity.”
“And what,” said Bill softly, “do you mean by that?”
“May I question your right to ask, young man?”
Bill’s eyes flashed. “I’m Bill Angell, attorney, of Philadelphia. Mrs. Wilson’s brother.”
“Mrs. Wilson’s brother. I see.” Finch glanced at Ellery, nodding in an interrogatory way. Ellery, who had not stirred from the door, muttered something; and Finch rounded the table and stooped over the body. He did not touch it. For a moment he stared at the frozen, upturned face; then he said in a low voice: “Andrea, my dear, do you think you could bring yourself—?”
Andrea swallowed; she looked sick. But she set her smooth jaw and came forward and stood at his shoulder, forcing herself to look down. “Yes.” Andrea turned away, ashen. “That’s Joe. Joe, Ducky.”
Finch nodded, and Andrea went to her mother’s chair and stood behind it rather helplessly. “Mrs. Wilson,” continued the distinguished-looking man, “you must understand you’ve made a horrible mistake.”
“I haven’t!”
“A mistake, I repeat. I sincerely hope it’s that—and nothing more.” Lucy’s hands fluttered in protest. “I assure you once more,” the tall man went on soberly, “that this gentleman on the floor is Joseph Kent Gimball of New York, the legally wedded husband of the lady in the chair, who was Jessica Borden, then Mrs. Richard Paine Monstelle, and then—after the early
Lucy Wilson stood gripping her throat as if she were afraid it might burst. Her black eyes were groping from Mrs. Gimball to the man on the floor in helpless agony. Andrea Gimball was shivering and biting her lips.
“ Gimball, ” said Bill in a shocked voice. “Good Lord, Mrs. Gimball, do you realize what you’re saying?”
The society woman made an imperious gesture with her fine thin white veined hands. The jewels sparkled under the lamp. “This is insanity. Who are these people, Mr. Queen? And why am I subjected to this ridiculous scene when my husband is… lying here dead?”
Lucy’s nostrils expanded like sails in a storm. “ Your husband? Yours? This is Joe Wilson, I tell you. Maybe your husband just looks like my Joe. Oh, please go away, won’t you?”
“I refuse to discuss my personal affairs with you,” said the woman in sables haughtily. “Where is that man who’s in charge? Of all the disgraceful exhibitions—”
“Jessica,” said the tall midle-aged man patiently. “Perhaps you had better sit down and permit Mr. Queen and me to handle this matter. It’s obvious that a shocking error’s occurred, but it won’t be helped by nerves or a brawl.” He spoke as if he were addressing a child. The angry line between his brows had vanished. “Jessica?”
Her lips were bitter parallel lines. She sat down.
“Did I understand you to say,” asked the man with the silk hat in a courteous voice, “that you are Mrs. Lucy Wilson of Fairmount Park, Philadelphia?”
“Yes. Yes!” cried Lucy.
“I see.” The glance he gave her was cold, rather calculating, as if he were weighing in his deliberate way how much of her was real and how much false. “I see,” he said again, and this time the line reappeared between his brows.
“I don’t believe,” said Bill wearily, “I caught the name.”
The tall man made a wry face. “Grosvenor Finch, and I’ve been an intimate friend of the Borden and Gimball families for more years than I care to count. I came here tonight only because Mr. Jasper Borden, Mrs. Gimball’s father, is an invalid and requested me to take his place by his daughter’s side.” Finch placed his silk hat carefully on the table. “I came, as I say,” he continued in his quiet way, “as a friend of Mrs. Gimball’s. It begins to appear that I shall have to stay in quite a different capacity.”
“And what,” said Bill softly, “do you mean by that?”
“May I question your right to ask, young man?”
Bill’s eyes flashed. “I’m Bill Angell, attorney, of Philadelphia. Mrs. Wilson’s brother.”
“Mrs. Wilson’s brother. I see.” Finch glanced at Ellery, nodding in an interrogatory way. Ellery, who had not stirred from the door, muttered something; and Finch rounded the table and stooped over the body. He did not touch it. For a moment he stared at the frozen, upturned face; then he said in a low voice: “Andrea, my dear, do you think you could bring yourself—?”
Andrea swallowed; she looked sick. But she set her smooth jaw and came forward and stood at his shoulder, forcing herself to look down. “Yes.” Andrea turned away, ashen. “That’s Joe. Joe, Ducky.”
Finch nodded, and Andrea went to her mother’s chair and stood behind it rather helplessly. “Mrs. Wilson,” continued the distinguished-looking man, “you must understand you’ve made a horrible mistake.”
“I haven’t!”
“A mistake, I repeat. I sincerely hope it’s that—and nothing more.” Lucy’s hands fluttered in protest. “I assure you once more,” the tall man went on soberly, “that this gentleman on the floor is Joseph Kent Gimball of New York, the legally wedded husband of the lady in the chair, who was Jessica Borden, then Mrs. Richard Paine Monstelle, and then—after the early
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