Free The Origin of Evil by Ellery Queen Page A

face.
    You believed me dead. Killed, murdered. For over a score of years I have looked for you — for you and for him. And now I have found you. Can you guess my plan? You’ll die. Quickly? No, very slowly. And so pay me back for my long years of searching and dreaming of revenge. Slow dying … unavoidable dying. For you and for him. Slow and sure — dying in mind and in body. And for each pace forward a warning … a warning of special meaning for you — and for him. Meanings for pondering and puzzling. Here is warning number one.
    Laurel stared at the notepaper.
    â€˜That,’ said Crowe Macgowan, taking the sheet, ‘is the unfunniest gag of the century.’ He frowned over it.
    â€˜Not just that.’ Laurel shook her head. ‘Warning number one. Murder. Revenge. Special meanings … It — it has a long curly moustache on it. Next week Uncle Tom’s Cabin .’ She looked around with a laugh. ‘Even in Hollywood.’
    â€˜Why’d the old scout take it seriously?’ Crowe watched Laurel a little anxiously.
    Ellery took the sheet from him and folded it carefully. ‘Melodrama is a matter of atmosphere and expression. Pick up any Los Angeles newspaper and you’ll find three new stories running serially, and one of which would make this one look like a work by Einstein. But they’re real because they’re couched in everyday terms. What makes this note incredible is not the contents. It’s the wording.’
    â€˜The wording?’
    â€˜It’s painful. Actually archaic in spots. As if it were composed by someone who wears a ruff, or a tricorn. Someone who speaks a different kind of English. Or writes it. It has a … bouquet, an archive smell. A something that would never have been put into it purely for deception, for instance … like the ransom-note writers who deliberately misspell words and mix their tenses to give the impression of illiteracy. And yet — I don’t know.’ Ellery slipped the note into his pocket. ‘It’s the strangest mixture of genuineness and contrivance. I don’t understand it.’
    â€˜Maybe,’ suggested the young man, putting his arm carelessly around Laurel’s shoulders, ‘maybe it’s the work of some psycho foreigner. It reads like somebody translating from another language.’
    â€˜Possible.’ Ellery sucked his lower lip. Then he shrugged. ‘Anyway, Laurel, there’s something to go on. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather discuss this —?’
    â€˜You mean because it involves Roger?’ Laurel laughed again, removing Macgowan’s paw. ‘Mac isn’t one of Roger’s more ardent admirers, Ellery. It’s all right.’
    â€˜What did he do now?’ growled Roger Priam’s stepson.
    â€˜He said he wasn’t going to be scared by any “ghost,” Mac. Or rather roared it. And here’s a clue to someone from his past and, apparently, Leander Hill’s. “For you and for him …” Laurel, what do you know of your father’s background?’
    â€˜Not much. He’d led an adventurous life, I think, but whenever I used to ask him questions about it — especially when I was little — he’d laugh, slap me on the bottom, and send me off to Mad’moiselle.’
    â€˜What about his family?’
    â€˜Family?’ said Laurel vaguely.
    â€˜Brothers, sisters, uncle, cousins — family. Where did he come from? Laurel, I’m fishing. We need some facts.’
    â€˜I’m no help there. Daddy never talked about himself. I always felt I couldn’t pry. I can’t remember his ever having any contact with relatives. I don’t even know if any exist.’
    â€˜When did he and Priam go into business together?’
    â€˜It must have been around twenty, twenty-five years ago.’
    â€˜Before Delia and he got married,’ said Crowe. ‘Delia —