“Nobody’s accusing you, Mac,” said Laurel. “My only point is that now maybe you’ll believe I wasn’t talking through clouds of opium.”
“All right!” Delia turned to Keats. Ellery saw Keats look her over uncomfortably, but with that avidity for detail which cannot be disciplined in the case of certain women. She was superb today, all in white, with a large wooden crucifix on a silver chain girdling her waist. No slit in this skirt; long sleeves; and the dress came up high to the neck. But her back was bare to the waist. Some Hollywood designer’s idea of personalized fashion; didn’t she realize how shocking it was? But then women, even the most respectable, have the wickedest innocence in this sort of thing, mused Ellery; it really wasn’t fair to a hardworking police officer who wore a gold band on the fourth finger of his left hand. “Lieutenant, do the police have to come into this?” she asked.
“Ordinarily, Mrs. Priam, I could answer a question like that right off the bat.” Keats’s eyes shifted; he put an unlit cigaret between his lips and rolled it nervously to the corner of his mouth. A note of stubbornness crept into his voice. “But this is something I’ve never run into before. Your husband refuses to co-operate. He won’t even discuss it with me. All he said was that he won’t be caught that way again, that he could take care of himself, and that I was to pick up my hat on the way out.”
Delia went to a window. Studying her back, Ellery thought that she was relieved and pleased. Keats should have kept her on a hook; he’d have to have a little skull session with Keats on the best way to handle Mrs. Priam. But that back was disturbing.
“Tell me, Mrs. Priam, is he nuts?”
“Sometimes, Lieutenant,” murmured Delia without turning, “I wonder.”
“I’d like to add,” said Keats abruptly, “that Joe Dokes and his Ethiopian brother could have dosed that tuna. The kitchen back door wasn’t locked. There’s gravel back there, and woods beyond. It would have been a cinch for anyone who’d cased the household and found out about the midnight snack routine. There seems to be a tie-up with somebody from Mr. Priam’s and Mr. Hill’s past ― somebody who’s had it in for both of them for a long time. I’m not overlooking that. But I’m not overlooking the possibility that that’s a lot of soda pop, too. It could be a cover-up. In fact, I think it is. I don’t go for this revenge-and-slow-death business. I just wanted everybody to know that. Okay, Mr. Queen, I’m through.”
He kept looking at her back.
Brother, thought Ellery with compassion.
And he said, “You may be right, Keats, but I’d like to point out a curious fact that appears in this lab report. The quantity of arsenic apparently used, says the report, was ‘not sufficient to cause death.’ ”