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

Macgowan. Delia’s child by her first husband. Roger’s stepson. But let’s not waste any time on him —’
    â€˜How does he disappear into thin air? He pulled that miracle right here.’
    â€˜Oh, that.’ Laurel looked straight up. So Ellery looked straight up, too. But all he could see was a leafy ceiling where the great oak branched ten yards over his head.
    â€˜Mac!’ said Laurel sharply. ‘Show your face.’
    To Ellery’s amazement, a large young male face appeared in the middle of the green mass thirty feet from the ground. On the face there was a formidable scowl.
    â€˜Laurel, who is this guy?’
    â€˜You come down here.’
    â€˜Is he a reporter?’
    â€˜Heavens, no,’ said Laurel disgustedly. ‘He’s Ellery Queen.’
    â€˜Who?’
    â€˜Ellery Queen.’
    â€˜You’re kidding!’
    â€˜I wouldn’t have time.’
    â€˜Say, I’ll be right down.’
    The face vanished. At once something materialized where it had been and hurtled to the ground, missing Ellery’s nose by inches. It was a rope ladder. A massive male leg broke the green ceiling, then another, then a whole young man, and in a moment the tree man was standing on the ground on the exact spot where the trail of naked footprints ended.
    â€˜I’m certainly thrilled to meet you!’
    Ellery’s hand was seized and the bones broken before he could cry out. At least, they felt broken. It was a bad day for the Master’s self-respect: he could not decide which had the most powerful hands, Roger Priam, Alfred Wallace, or the awesome brute trying to pulverize him. Delia’s son towered six inches above him, a handsome giant with an impossible spread of shoulder, an unbelievable minimum of waist, the muscular development of Mr. America, the skin of a Hawaiian — all of which was on view except a negligible area covered by a brown loincloth — and a grin that made Ellery feel positively aged.
    â€˜I thought you were a news-hound, Mr. Queen. Can’t stand those guys — they’ve made my life miserable. But what are we standing here for? Come on up to the house.’
    â€˜Some other time, Mac,’ said Laurel coldly, taking Ellery’s arm.
    â€˜Oh, that murder foolitchness. Why don’t you relax, Laur?’
    â€˜I don’t think I’d be exactly welcome at your stepfather’s, Mac,’ said Ellery.
    â€˜You’ve already had the pleasure? But I meant come up to my house.’
    â€˜He really means “up,” Ellery,’ sighed Laurel. ‘All right, let’s get it over with. You wouldn’t believe it second-hand.’
    â€˜House? Up?’ Feebly Ellery glanced aloft; and to his horror the young giant nodded and sprang up the rope ladder, beckoning them hospitably to follow.
    It really was a house, high in the tree. A one-room house, to be sure, and not commodious, but it had four walls and a thatched roof, a sound floor, a beamed ceiling, two windows, and a platform from which the ladder dangled — this dangerous-looking perch young Macgowan referred to cheerfully as his ‘porch,’ and perfectly safe if you didn’t fall off.
    The tree, he explained, was Quercus Agrifolia , with a bole circumference of eighteen feet, and ‘watch those leaves, Mr. Queen, they bite.’ Ellery, who was gingerly digging several of the spiny little devils out of his shirt, nodded sourly. But the structure was built on a foundation of foot-thick boughs and seemed solid enough underfoot.
    He poked his head indoors at his host’s invitation and gaped like a tourist. Every foot of wall — and floor-space was occupied by — it was the only phrase Ellery could muster — aids to tree-living.
    â€˜Sorry I can’t entertain you inside,’ said the young man, ‘but three of us would bug it out a bit. We’d better sit on the porch. Anybody like a drink?