The Golden Goose by Ellery Queen Read Free Book Online Page B

set her back against the door, telling herself that this was the kind of darkly thrilling experience she could live very nicely without. She had to fight her breath to keep it from whooshing. She could hear Coley breathing rather gustily himself a step or two away, and all of a sudden it was a matter of life or death to turn on the light. The trouble was, Prin could not remember exactly where the light switch was, and this was ridiculous. It was a little mercury switch beside the door that made no sound when it was moved, but whether it was on the left side or the right side of the door was blotted out. Then she jumped. But it was only Coley, whispering sharply.
    â€œDamn it, Prin, will you kindly turn on the light?”
    â€œDamn it, Coley,” Prin whispered back, “give me time to remember where the switch is!”
    She had no sooner said this than she remembered: it was on the right side. She felt for it and found it and the light came on. Coley was standing there with his back to her, and he seemed to be listening to something again, although there was nothing to hear but the sound of their breathing, which was oddly fainter in the light than it had been in the dark. Uncle Slater was still lying on the floor. Coley went over and looked down at him with concentration, still listening to silence. After a while he scratched his head.
    â€œYou’re right,” he said. “No question about it. Your Uncle Slater’s dead.”
    â€œOf course he’s dead,” Prin said. “There’s no sense wasting time investigating that.”
    â€œWell, I couldn’t quite believe it in spite of all the testimony to the contrary. According to what Mr. O’Shea told me, there weren’t many sensations he hadn’t gone after at one time or another, but I’d have laid odds that dying was one he’d have postponed indefinitely. It’s simply out of character.”
    â€œColey, if you want my advice, you’d better look around fast and see what there is to see before they find us here—and you know who ‘they’ are.”
    â€œThere doesn’t seem to be much to see,” Coley said keenly. “Nothing appears to be out of order except your uncle.”
    He began to move around the room, not touching anything. He moved and peered and nosed with the same beautiful precision and economy with which he mixed cocktails. It exhilarated Prin just to watch him.
    It required only a few minutes for Coley to circumambulate the room, still looking like a master-detective undaunted by temporary failure. He paused at Uncle Slater’s bedside table and studied it enigmatically. On it stood a clock, a half-empty bottle of bourbon and a glass. Prin could see nothing out of the ordinary in these items, but Coley appeared to find them of peculiar interest, for he said, “Ah!” and stood looking at them as if the case were solved.
    â€œYes?” Prin whispered tensely.
    Coley turned to her. “And no,” he said. “It’s really quite elementary. Appleton is a senile ass making something out of nothing, probably to cover up his incompetence in letting Mr. O’Shea die of something that could have been diagnosed by any good veterinarian. However, if Uncle Slater was dosed with something deadly, it appears to me quite clear that the dose was administered in this bottle of bonded bourbon.”
    â€œThat may be true,” Prin said, “but I don’t see what’s so clear about it.”
    â€œMy dear child,” said Coley with a smile. “You overlook your late uncle’s chronic thirst. The bourbon is something he would have been certain to indulge in generously at the first opportunity on his return home this afternoon. However, I strongly doubt that there was any poisoning at all. He drank the whisky, and lay down for a nap, and simply died of something old Appleton didn’t know he had.”
    Prin regarded him adoringly. But