And now Ellery’s voice was no longer gentle.
“Hill was a disappointment to him. The shock of learning that Adam, against all reason, was alive ― and all that that implied ― was too much for Hill’s heart. Hill was rather different from you, I think, Mr. Priam; whatever he’d been in the old days at sea, he had grown into the semblance of a solid citizen. And perhaps he’d never been really vicious. You were always the bully-boy of the team, weren’t you? Maybe Hill didn’t do anything but acquiesce in your crime, dazzled by the reward you dangled before his eyes. You needed him to get away; I think you needed his superior intelligence. In any event, after that one surrender to you and temptation, Hill built himself up into what a girl like Laurel could learn to love and respect... and for the sake of whose memory she was even willing to kill.
“Hill was a man of imagination, Mr. Priam, and I think what killed him at the very first blow was as much his dread of the effect on Laurel of the revelation of his old crime as the knowledge that Adam was alive and hot for revenge.
“But you’re made of tougher material, Mr. Priam. You haven’t disappointed Adam; on the contrary. It’s really a pleasure for Adam to work on you. He’s still the scientist ― his method is as scientifically pitiless as the dissection of an old cadaver. And he’s having himself a whale of a time, Mr. Priam, with you providing the sport. I don’t think you understand with what wonderful humor Charles Lyell Adam is chasing you. Or do you?”
But when Priam spoke, he seemed not to have been listening. At least, he did not answer the question. He roused himself and he said, “Who is he? What’s he calling himself now? Do you know that?”
“That’s what you’re interested in, is it?” Ellery smiled. “Why, no, Mr. Priam, we don’t. All we know about him today is that he’s somewhere between fifty-two and sixty-four years of age. I’m sure you wouldn’t recognize him; either his appearance has been radically changed by time or he’s had it changed for him by, say, plastic surgery. But even if Adam looked today exactly as he looked twenty-five years ago, it wouldn’t do you ― or us, Mr. Priam ― any good. Because he doesn’t have to be on the scene in person, you see. He could be working through someone else.” Priam blinked and blinked. “You’re not precisely a well-loved man, Mr. Priam, and there are people very close to you who might not be at all repelled by the idea of contributing to your unhappiness. So if you have any idea that as long as you protect yourself against a middle-aged male of certain proportions you’re all right, you’d better get rid of it as quickly as possible. Adam’s unofficial accomplice, working entirely for love of the job, you might say, could be of either sex, of any age... and right here, Mr. Priam, in your own household.”
Priam sat still. Not wholly in fear ― with a reserve of desperate caution, it seemed, even defiance, like a treed cat.
“What a stinking thing to say―!”
“Shut up, Mac.” And this was Keats, in a low voice, but there was a note in it that made Delia’s son bring his lips together and keep them that way.
“A moment ago,” said Ellery, “I mentioned Adam’s sense of humor. I wonder if you see the point, Mr. Priam. Where his joke is heading.”