French Powder Mystery by Ellery Queen Read Free Book Online

sector takes in muscles and blood-vessels of major importance, it’s as vital a spot as the heart itself. …” Prouty stopped suddenly. His eyes strayed almost with irritation to the dead woman on the floor.
    “Was the revolver fired close to the body?” put in the Inspector.
    “No powder stains, Inspector,” said Prouty, still regarding the corpse with a frown.
    “Were both bullets fired from the same spot?” asked Ellery.
    “Hard to say. The lateral angles are similar, indicating that whoever fired both bullets stood to the right of the woman. But the downward course of the bullets disturbs me. They’re too much alike.”
    “What do you mean?” demanded Ellery, leaning forward.
    “Well,” growled Prouty, biting on his cigar, “if the woman were in exactly the same position when both shots were fired—assuming that both shots were fired almost simultaneously, of course—there should be a greater downward angle to the precordial wound than to the pericardial. Because the precordia is located below the heart, and the gun would have to be aimed lower. … Well, perhaps I shouldn’t say these things at all. There are any number of explanations, I suppose, for that difference in angle. Ought to have Ken Knowles look over the bullets and the wounds, though.”
    “He’ll get his chance,” said the Inspector with a sigh. “Is that all, Doc?”
    Ellery looked up from another scrutiny of the two bullets. “How long has she been dead?”
    Prouty replied promptly: “About twelve hours, I should say. I’ll be able to fix the time of death more accurately after the autopsy. But she certainly died no earlier than midnight and probably no later than two in the morning.”
    “Through now?” asked Inspector Queen patiently.
    “Yes. But there’s one thing that has me a little. …” Prouty set his jaw. “There’s something queer here, Inspector. From what I know of precordial wounds I can’t believe that this one should have bled so little. You’ve noticed, I suppose, that the clothing above both wounds is stiff with coagulated blood, but not so much of it as you might expect. At least as a medical man might expect.”
    “Why?”
    “I’ve seen plenty of precordial wounds,” said Prouty calmly, “and they’re messy, Inspector. Bleed like hell. In fact, especially in this case, where the hole is blasted pretty large, due to the angle, there should be pools and pools of it. The pericardial would bleed freely, but not profusely. But the other—I say, there’s something queer here, and I thought I’d call it to your attention.”
    Ellery shot his father a warning glance as the old man opened his mouth to reply. The Inspector clamped his lips together and dismissed Prouty with a nod. Ellery returned the two bullets to Prouty, who put them carefully into his bag.
    The police doctor unhurriedly covered the body with a sheet from the hanging bed and departed, his last words a promise to hurry the morgue wagon.
    “Is the store physician here?” Queen asked.
    The small dark doctor stepped uncertainly forward from a corner. His teeth gleamed as he said, “Yes, sir?”
    “Have you anything to add to Dr. Prouty’s analysis, Doctor?” questioned Queen, with disarming gentleness.
    “Not a thing, not a thing, sir,” said the store physician, looking uneasily at Prouty’s retreating figure. “A precise if somewhat sketchy diagnosis. The bullets entered—”
    “Thank you, Doctor.” Inspector Queen turned his back on the little physician and beckoned imperiously to the store detective.
    “Crouther,” he asked in a low tone, “who’s your head nightwatchman?”
    “O’Flaherty—Peter O’Flaherty, Inspector.”
    “How many watchmen are on duty here at night?”
    “Four. O’Flaherty tends the night-door on the 39th Street side, Ralska and Powers do the rounds, and Bloom is on duty at the 39th Street night freight-entrance.”
    “Thanks.” The Inspector turned to Detective Ritter. “Get hold of this