Keats rose to go around Priam’s chair. He plucked one of Priam’s telephones from its hook and dialed a number.
“Alfred is Adam?” Priam sounded dazed, stupid. He recoiled quickly, but it was only Ellery removing his top blanket.
Ellery dropped the blanket over the thing on the floor.
“He’s...?” Priam’s tongue came out. “Is he dead?”
“Headquarters?” said Keats. “Keats, Hollywood Division, reporting a homicide. The Hill-Priam case. Roger Priam just shot Alfred Wallace, his secretary-nurse-what-have-you, shot him to death... That’s right. Through the heart. I witnessed the shooting myself, from the terrace―”
“To death,” said Priam. “To death. He’s dead!.. But it was self-defense. You witnessed it ― if you witnessed it... He pussyfooted into my room here. I heard him come in. I made believe I was sleeping. Oh, I was ready for him!” His voice cracked. “Didn’t you see him point the gun at me? I grabbed it, twisted his hand! It was self-defense―”
“We saw it all, Mr. Priam,” said Ellery in a soothing voice.
“Good, you saw it. He’s dead. Damn him, he’s deadl Wallace... Try to kill me, would he? By God, it’s over. It’s over.”
“Yes,” Keats was saying into the phone. “When? Okay, no hurry.” He hung up.
“You heard Mr. Queen,” Priam babbled. “He saw it all, Lieutenant―”