“And detective, Mr. Priam.”
Priam’s lips pushed out, dragging his beard forward. The great hands on the wheel became clamps.
“I told you I wasn’t going to let go, Roger,” said Laurel evenly. “My father was murdered. There must have been a reason. And whatever it Was, you were mixed up in it as well as Daddy. I’ve asked Ellery Queen to investigate, and he wants to talk to you.”
“He does, does he?” The rumble was distant; the fiery eyes gave out heat. “Go ahead, Mister. Talk away.”
“In the first place, Mr. Priam,” said Ellery, “I’d like to know―”
“The answer is no,” said Roger Priam, his teeth showing through his beard. “What’s in the second place?”
“Mr. Priam,” Ellery began again, patiently.
“No good, Mister. I don’t like your questions. Now you listen to me, Laurel.” His right fist crashed on the arm of the chair. “You’re a damn busybody. This ain’t your business. It’s mine. I’ll tend to it. I’ll do it my way, and I’ll do it myself. Can you get that through v your head?”
“You’re afraid, Roger,” said Laurel Hill.
Priam half-raised his bulk, his eyes boiling. The lava burst with a roar.