Read Online The Origin of Evil by Ellery Queen - Free Book Online

butterfly net; a bright red case of some sort was slung over one skinny shoulder. His skin was a shrivelled brown and his hands were like the bark of the big tree, but his eyes were a bright young blue and they seemed keen.
    â€˜I’m not lost,’ said Ellery irritably. ‘I’m looking for a man.’
    â€˜I don’t like the way you say that,’ said the old man, stepping into the clearing. ‘You’re on the wrong track, young fellow. People mean trouble. Know anything about the Lepidoptera?’
    â€˜Not a thing. Have you seen —?’
    â€˜You catch ’em with this ding-bat. I just bought the kit yesterday — passed a toy-shop on Hollywood Boulevard and there it was, all new and shiny, in the window. I’ve caught four beauties so far.’ The butterfly hunter began to trot down the trail, waving his net menacingly.
    â€˜Wait! Have you seen anyone running through these woods?’
    â€˜Running? Well, now, depends.’
    â€˜Depends? My dear sir, it doesn’t depend on a thing! Either you saw somebody or you didn’t.’
    â€˜Not necessarily,’ replied the little man earnestly, trotting back. ‘It depends on whether it’s going to get him — or you — in trouble. There’s too much trouble in this world, young man. What’s this runner look like?’
    â€˜I can’t give you a description,’ snapped Ellery, ‘inasmuch as I didn’t see enough of him to be able to. Or rather, I saw the wrong parts. — Hell. He’s naked.’
    â€˜Ah,’ said the hunter, making an unsuccessful pass at a large, paint-splashed butterfly. ‘Naked, hm?’
    â€˜And there was a lot of him.’
    â€˜There was. You wouldn’t start any trouble?’
    â€˜No, no, I won’t hurt him. Just tell me which way he went.’
    â€˜I’m not worried about your hurting him. He’s much more likely to hurt you. Powerful build, that boy. Once knew a stoker built like him — could bend a coal-shovel. That was in the old Susie Belle , beating up to Alaska —’
    â€˜You sound as if you know him.’
    â€˜Know him? I darned well ought to. He’s my grandson. There he is!’ cried the hunter.
    â€˜Where?’
    But it was only the fifth butterfly, and the little old man hopped between two bushes and was gone.
    Ellery was morosely studying the last footprint in the trail when Laurel poked her head cautiously into the clearing.
    â€˜There you are,’ she said with relief. ‘You scared the buttermilk out of me. What happened?’
    â€˜Character spying on us from the walnut tree outside the bedroom window. I trailed him here —’
    â€˜What did he look like?’ frowned Laurel.
    â€˜No clothes on.’
    â€˜Why, the lying mugwump!’ she said angrily. ‘He promised on his honour he wouldn’t do that any more. It’s got so I have to undress in the dark.’
    â€˜So you know him, too,’ growled Ellery. ‘I thought California had a drive on these sex cases.’
    â€˜Oh, he’s no sex case. He just throws gravel at my window and tries to get me to talk drool to him. I can’t waste my time on somebody who’s preparing for Armageddon at the age of twenty-three. Ellery, let’s see that note.’
    â€˜Whose grandson is he?’
    â€˜Grandson? Mr. Collier’s.’
    â€˜Mr. Collier wouldn’t be a little skinny old gent with a face like a sun-dried fig?’
    â€˜That’s right.’
    â€˜And who is Mr. Collier?’
    â€˜Delia Priam’s father. He lives with the Priams.’
    â€˜Her father .’ You couldn’t keep her out of anything. ‘But if this Peeping Tom is Delia Priam’s father’s grandson, then he must be —’
    â€˜Didn’t Delia tell you,’ asked Laurel with a soupçon of malice, ‘that she has a twenty-three-year-old son? His name is Crowe