Delia Priam’s story penetrated imperfectly. Ellery found it hard to concentrate. He tended to lose himself in details. The curves of her blouse. The promise of her skirt, which molded her strongly below the waist. Her large, shapely hands rested precisely in the middle of her lap, like compass points. “Mistresses with great smooth marbly limbs...” Right out of Browning’s Renaissance. She would have brought joy to the dying Bishop of Saint Praxed’s.
“Mr. Queen?”
Ellery said guiltily, “You mean, Mrs. Priam, the same day Leander Hill received the dead dog?”
“The same morning. It was a sort of gift. I don’t know what else you’d call it.”
Laurel’s cigaret hung in the air. “Delia, you didn’t tell me Roger had got something, too!”
“He told me not to say anything, Laurel. But you’ve forced my hand, dear. Kicking up such a fuss about that poor dog. First the police, now Mr. Queen.”
“Then you did follow me.”
“I didn’t have to.” The woman smiled. “I saw you looking at Mr. Queen’s photo in the paper.”
“Delia, you’re wonderful.”
“Thank you, darling.” She sat peaceful as a lady tiger, smiling over secrets... Here, Brother Q!
“Oh. Oh, yes, Mrs. Priam. Mr. Priam’s been frightened―”
“Ever since the day he got the box. He won’t admit it, but when a man keeps roaring that he won’t be intimidated it’s pretty clear that he is. He’s broken things, too, some of his own things. That’s not like Roger. Usually they’re mine.”
Delightful. What a pity.
“What was in the box, Mrs. Priam?”
“I haven’t any idea.”
“A dead dog,” said Laurel. “Another dead dog!” Laurel looked something like a little dog herself, nose up, testing the air. It was remarkable how meaningless she was across from Delia Priam. As sexless as a child.
“It would have to have been an awfully small one, Laurel. The box wasn’t more than a foot square, of cardboard.”
“Unmarked?” asked Ellery.
“Yes. But there was a shipping tag attached to the string that was tied around the box. ‘Roger Priam’ was printed on it in crayon.” The beautiful woman paused. “Mr. Queen, are you listening?”
“In crayon. Yes, certainly, Mrs. Priam. Color?” What the devil difference did the color make?
“Black, I think.”
“No address?”
“No. Nothing but the name.”
“And you don’t know what was in it. No idea.”
“No. But whatever it was, it hit Roger hard. One of the servants found the box at the front door and gave it to Alfred―”
“Alfred.”
“Roger’s... secretary.”
“Wouldn’t you call him more of a... companion, Delia?’ asked Laurel, blowing a smoke ring.
“I suppose so, dear. Companion, nurse, handyman, secretary ― what-have-you. My husband, you know, Mr. Queen, is an invalid.”
“Laurel’s told me. All things to one man, eh, Mrs. Priam? I mean Alfred. We now have the versatile Alfred with the mysterious box. He takes it to Mr. Priam’s room. And then?” Why was Laurel laughing? Not outwardly. But she was. Delia Priam seemed not to notice.
“I happened to be in Roger’s room when Alfred came in. We didn’t know then about... Leander and his gift, of course. Alfred gave Roger the box, and Roger lifted a corner of the lid and looked inside. He looked angry, then puzzled. He slammed the lid down and told me to get out. Alfred went out with me, and I heard Roger lock his door. And that’s the last... I’ve seen of the box or its contents. Roger won’t tell me what was in it or what he’s done with it. Won’t talk about it at all.”
“When did your husband begin to show fear, Mrs. Priam?”
“After he talked to Leander in the Hill house the next day. On the way back home he didn’t say a word, just stared out the window of the station wagon. Shaking. He’s been shaking... ever since. It was especially bad a week later when Leander died...”
Then what was in Roger Priam’s box had little significance for him until he compared gifts with Leander Hill, perhaps until he read the note Hill had found in the collar of the dog. Unless there had been a note in Priam’s box as well. But then...
Ellery fidgeted before the picture window, sending up a smoke screen. It was ridiculous, at his age... pretending to be interested in a case because a respectable married woman had the misfortune to evoke the jungle. Still, he thought, what a waste.
He became conscious of the two women’s eyes and expelled a mouthful of smoke, trying to appear professional. “Leander Hill received a queer gift, and he died. Are you afraid, Mrs. Priam, that your husband’s life is in danger, too?”
Now he was more than a piece of merchandise; he was a piece of merchandise that interested her. Her eyes were so empty of color that in the sunlight coming through the window she looked eyeless; it was like being looked over by a statue. He felt himself reddening and it seemed to him she was amused. He immediately bristled. She could take her precious husband and her fears elsewhere.
“Laurel darling,” Delia Priam was saying with an apologetic glance, “would you mind terribly if I spoke to Mr. Queen... alone?”
Laurel got up. “I’ll wait in the garden,” she said, and she tossed her cigaret into the tray and walked out.
Roger Priam’s wife waited until Laurel’s slim figure appeared beyond the picture window, among the shaggy asters. Laurel’s head was turned away. She was switching her thigh with her cap.
“Laurel’s sweet,” said Delia Priam. “But so young, don’t you think? Right now she’s on a crusade and she’s feeling ever so knightly. She’ll get over it... Why, about your question, Mr. Queen. I’m going to be perfectly frank with you. I haven’t the slightest interest in my husband. I’m not afraid that he may die. If anything, it’s the other way around.”
Ellery stared. For a moment her eyes slanted to the sun and they sparkled in a mineral way. But her features were without guile. The next instant she was eyeless again.
“You’re honest, Mrs. Priam. Brutally so.”
“I’ve had a rather broad education in brutality, Mr. Queen.”
So there was that, too. Ellery sighed.
“I’ll be even franker,” she went on. “I don’t know whether Laurel told you specifically... Did she say what kind of invalid my husband is?”
“She said he’s partly paralyzed.”
“She didn’t say what part?”
“What part?” said Ellery.
“Then she didn’t. Why, Mr. Queen, my husband is paralyzed,” said Delia Priam with a smile, “from the waist down.”
You had to admire the way she said that. The brave smile. The smile that said Don’t pity me.
“I’m very sorry,” he said.
“I’ve had fifteen years of it.”
Ellery was silent. She rested her head against the back of the chair. Her eyes were almost closed and her throat was strong and defenseless.
“You’re wondering why I told you that.”
Ellery nodded.
“I told you because you can’t understand why I’ve come to you unless you understand that first. Weren’t you wondering?”
“All right. Why have you come to me?”
“For appearance’s sake.”
Ellery stared. “You ask me to investigate a possible threat against your husband’s life, Mrs. Priam, for appearance’s sake?”
“You don’t believe me.”
“I do believe you. Nobody would invent such a reason!” Seating himself beside her, he took one of her hands. It was cool and secretive, and it remained perfectly lax in his. “You haven’t had much of a life.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve never done any work with these hands.”