There Was an Old Woman by Ellery Queen Read Free Book Online

was the child?
    Charley whispered in Ellery’s ear: “Ask him to explain his philosophy of life to you.”
    Ellery did so.
    â€œGlad to,” boomed Horatio. “Now you’re a man, Mr. Queen. You have worries, responsibilities, you lead a heavy, grown-up sort of life. Don’t you?”
    â€œWell… yes,” stammered Ellery.
    â€œBut it’s so simple!” beamed Horatio. “Here sit down—throw those marbles on the floor. The happiest part of a man’s life is his boyhood, and I don’t care if he was brought up in Gallipolis, Ohio, or Hester Street, New York.” Ellery wiggled his brows. “All right, now take me. If I had to make shoes in a factory, or tell other men to make ’em, or write advertising, or dig ditches, or do any of the tiresome things men have to do to be men—why, I’d be like you, Mr. Queen, or like Charley Paxton here, who always goes around with a worried look.” Charley grinned feebly. “But I don’t have to. So I fly kites, I run miniature trains, I build twelve-foot bridges and airplane models, I read Superman and Hairbreadth Harry, detective stories, fairy tales, children’s verses … I even write ’em.” Horatio seized a couple of highly colored books from his desk. “The Little Old Dog of Dogwood Street, by Horatio Potts. The Purple Threat, by Horatio Potts. Here are a dozen more boys’ stories, all by me.”
    â€œHoratio,” said Charley reverently, “publishes ’em himself, too.”
    â€œRight now I’m writing my major opus, Mr. Queen,” roared Horatio happily. “A new modern version of Mother Goose. It’s going to be my monument, mark my words.”
    â€œEven has his meals served there,” said Charley as they strolled back to the main house. “Well, Ellery, what do you think of Horatio Potts?”
    â€œHe’s either the loonist loon of them all,” growled Mr. Queen, “or he’s the only sane man alive on the planet!”
    Dinner was served in a Hollywood motion-picture set by extras—or so it seemed to Ellery, who sat down to the most remarkable meal of his life. The dining-room ceiling was a forest of rafters, and one had to crane to count them. Everything was on the same Brobdingnagian scale—a logical outgrowth, no doubt, of the giant that was Pottsism. Nothing less than a California redwood could have provided the one-piece immensity of the table. The linen and silver were heavier than Ellery had ever hefted, the crockery was grander, and the stemware more intricate. The credenza groaned. If the Old Woman was hen of a batty brood, at least she did not make them scratch for their grub. This was the board of plenty.
    The twins, Robert and Maclyn, had not appeared for dinner. They had telephoned their mother that they were held up “at the office.”
    Cornelia Potts was a not ungracious hostess. The old lady wanted to know all about “Mr. Queen,” and Mr. Queen found himself talking when he had come to listen. If he was to gauge the temper and the sanity of Thurlow Potts, he could not distract himself with himself. So he was annoyed, deliberately. The Old Woman stared at him with the imperial surprise of a woman who has lived seventy years on her own terms. Finally she rejected him, turning to her children. Ellery grinned with relief.
    Sheila ate brightly, too brightly. Her eyes were crystal with humiliation. Ellery knew it was for him, for being witness to her shame. For Cornelia ignored her, as if Sheila were some despised poor relation instead of the daughter of her flesh. Cornelia devoted herself almost wholly to Louella, who bothered not at all to respond to her mother’s blandishments. The skinny old maid looked sullen; she ate wolfishly, in silence.
    Had it not been for Stephen Potts and his friend Major Gotch, the dinner would have been intolerable. But the two cronies chattered away,