A Fine and Private Place by Ellery Queen Read Free Book Online Page B

passing. In this case, we decided, haste makes headaches. We’re sort of feeling our way around.”
    Ellery set Marco Importunato’s shoe down. Sergeant Voytershack carefully stowed it away.
    â€œAnd that’s the extent of the case against Marco?” Ellery asked. “The gold button? The shoeprint?”
    His father said, “He’s also left-handed.”
    â€œLeft-handed? Impossible. Nobody stoops to using left-handed murderers anymore.”
    â€œIn mystery stories.”
    â€œThere’s a clue to left-handedness?”
    â€œNot exactly.”
    â€œWhat’s that supposed to mean?”
    â€œThe crime could have been committed by a left-handed man.”
    â€œAnd I suppose all the other suspects are right-handed?”
    â€œI don’t know about all the suspects—‘all’ covers a lot of ground, and we haven’t even scratched the surface of the potentials. For what it’s worth, Marco’s brothers, Julio who was the victim and Nino who heads the whole shebang, were … are … whatever the devil it is!—both right-handed.”
    â€œWhy do you say the crime could have been committed by a southpaw? Where’s the clue to that?”
    Inspector Queen’s chin jerked at the sergeant. In silence Voytershack handed Ellery a portfolio of photographs.
    The Inspector tapped the uppermost photo. “You tell me.”
    It showed a corner of a room.
    The picture was not a sample of the lensman’s art by any criterion of esthetics. There was a long desk, heavy-looking, with an oak grain in a feudal finish, extensively carved. A man, or what had been a man, was seated in what appeared to be a swivel chair, midway behind the desk. The view was from across the desk, facing the dead man. The upper torso and head lay fallen forward on the desk top, and one side of the head was caved in.
    The large desk blotter and some papers scattered on the desk—fortuitously, one of them on the squashed side was a newspaper—had sopped up most of the blood and brain matter. That entire side—of the head, the shoulder, the desk—was a continuous ruin.
    â€œFrom the wound,” Ellery said, making a face, “a single blow, a crusher; had to have been full arm. A home run in any park.” He snapped a fingertip at the color print. “Question: If there was a battle royal between Julio and his killer of sufficient violence to shatter vases and break furniture, how come Julio was found seated more or less peaceably behind the desk?”
    â€œWe have to figure he lost the fight,” the Inspector said with a shrug. “Killer then forced him to sit down behind the desk, or conned him into it, on what excuse or threat or sweet talk is anybody’s guess. Maybe to talk over their differences, whatever they were … I mean why they fought in the first place. However the killer managed it, it led to his crowning Julio with the poker. It’s the only theory that makes sense to us. If any of this makes sense.”
    â€œAny fix on the time of the murder? Did Prouty’s man say?”
    â€œProuty’s man? Are you kidding? This one was important enough to bring the eminent Dr. Prouty trotting out in the flesh. Last night around 10 P . M . is Doc’s preliminary estimate.”
    â€œDidn’t anyone hear the fight?”
    â€œThe servants’ quarters are way to hell and gone at the other end of Julio’s apartment, which goes on forever. And as far as overhearing is concerned, you could stage a kid gang rumble in one of those rooms and nobody’d know it. They built walls that were walls in the days when 99 East was put up, not the cardboard partitions they use today. No, nobody heard the fight.”
    Ellery set the photograph down. Sergeant Voytershack reached for it. But Ellery had already picked it up again. “And Prouty couldn’t be more exact about the time?”
    â€œRestless, my son?”