Read The Scarlet Letters for Free Online Page A

was, all dressed, doing something, with his back to me. I was about to deliver my ultimatum, when he turned around and I saw what he was doing.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œCleaning a gun.”
    Ellery was quiet. Then he said, “What kind of gun?”
    â€œIt was a big heavy-looking automatic. It looked a foot long to me. I asked him–laughingly, you understand–what he thought he was doing, and he said something about its being his old Army pistol–”
    â€œA forty-five.”
    â€œâ€“and he was cleaning and oiling it, he said, because he’d just got an idea for another detective story and its main plot point had something to do with shooting an automatic from various distances, and a lot of other doubletalk I frankly didn’t pay much attention to, I was so petrified. I asked him what about the novel we’d been working on, and he said he was going to drop that for a while and follow this mystery idea of his through–he wasn’t sure, he said, if it could be done … whatever ‘it’ was. Then he crammed the gun in his pocket–he was wearing an old hunting jacket–and got up and started to leave.”
    â€œPoor kid,” murmured Ellery.
    â€œYou can imagine the thoughts that went through my mind. I could hardly walk out on Martha if Dirk was starting to tote a gun around. Of course, I didn’t believe his story about a new mystery idea for a second. I said, ‘Where are you going?’ and he mumbled something about some friend of his extending the courtesies of a gun club the friend belongs to up in Westchester, and he was going to drive up for some target practice in line with his ‘idea’. I thought that was a wild one, too, and more to test him than anything else I asked if I hadn’t better go along–to take notes, in case he felt like ‘developing’ his idea during the day. To my surprise, he said that was a good idea; and–to digest it–we just got in from northern Westchester, where Dirk shot holes in targets at various distances the whole horrible day.”
    â€œHow was he tonight?”
    â€œFine. Practically cheerful. Martha was waiting up for us when we got in. He kissed her, asked how her day had been, we all had a nightcap, they went to bed as if nothing had happened, and here I am–and I ask you, Mr. Anthony: Where am I?”
    â€œDid he give you any dictation today on this alleged mystery idea?”
    â€œYes, notes on a plot. Interesting ones, too. What’s my ethical position? After all, you’re competitors.”
    â€œDid he–or you–tell Martha anything about the day’s activities?”
    â€œHe did. She went pale, but I don’t think he noticed. I managed to talk to her for a couple of minutes in the bathroom before she went to bed. She confirmed the fact that it’s his old Army pistol. He hasn’t touched it for years, Martha said. She’s frightened, Ellery.”
    â€œI’d be, too. How good a shot is he?”
    â€œI thought he was Deadeye Dick, but he said he’s rusty and his ‘tests’ weren’t ‘conclusive’ and wouldn’t be till he got back his old marksmanship. It seems he was a crack shot in the Army. We’re going out to the gun club again tomorrow.”
    Ellery was silent. Then he said, “Just how determined are you on staying, Nikki?”
    â€œEllery, how can I leave now? Anyway, maybe it’s just what he says. Maybe that’s all it is.”
    â€œYes.” There was another silence. “If you feel you’ve got to stick it out, Nikki,” he said at last, “don’t let him out of your sight. Force him along this new mystery line, whether he wants to follow it up or not. Maybe you can channelize this gun thing off harmlessly. And call me every chance you get.”
    Ellery was still walking the floor of his study when Inspector Queen turned his alarm