The Origin of Evil Read Online Free Page B

… a dumpy, nervous, insignificant old biddy.
    But the woman in his doorway was no helpless fowl, to be plucked, swallowed, and forgotten. Delia Priam was of a far different species, higher in the ranks of the animal kingdom, and she would linger on the palate.
    She was so much younger than his mental sketch of her that only much later was Ellery to recognize this as one of her routine illusions, among the easiest of the magic tricks she performed as professionally as she carried her breasts. At that time he was to discover that she was forty-four, but the knowledge remained as physically meaningless as — the figure leaped into his mind — learning the chronological age of Ayesha. The romantic nonsense of this metaphor was to persist. He would even be appalled to find that he was identifying himself in his fantasy with that hero of his adolescence, Allan Quatermain, who had been privileged to witness the immortal strip-tease of She-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed behind her curtain of living flame. It was the most naked juvenility, and Ellery was duly amused at himself. But there she was, a glowing end in herself; it took only imagination, a commodity with which he was plentifully provided, to supply the veils.
    Delia Priam was big game; one glance told him that. His doorway framed the most superbly proportioned woman he had ever seen. She was dressed in a tawny peasant blouse of some sheer material and a California print skirt of bold colours. Her heavy black hair was massed to one side of her head, sleekly, in the Polynesian fashion; she wore plain broad hoops of gold in her ears. Head, shoulders, bust, hips — he could not decide which pleased him more. She stood there not so much in an attitude as in an atmosphere — an atmosphere of intense repose, watchful and disquieting.
    By Hollywood standards she was not beautiful: her eyes were too deep and light-tinted, her eyebrows too lush; her mouth was too full, her colouring too high, her figure too heroic. But it was this very excessiveness that excited — a tropical quality, humid, brilliant, still, and overpowering. Seeing her for the first time was like stepping into a jungle. She seized and held the senses; everything was leashed, lovely, and dangerous. He found his ears trying to recapture her voice, the sleepy growl of something heard from a thicket.
    Ellery’s first sensible thought was, Roger, old cock, you can have her . His second was, But how do you keep her? He was on his third when he saw the chilly smile on Laurel Hill’s lips.
    Ellery pulled himself together. This was evidently an old story to Laurel.
    â€˜Then Laurel’s … mentioned me.’ A dot-dot-dot talker. It had always annoyed him. But it prolonged the sound of that bitch-in-a-thicket voice.
    â€˜I answered Mr. Queen’s questions,’ said Laurel in a warm, friendly voice. ‘Delia, you don’t seem surprised to see me.’
    â€˜I left my surprise outside with your car.’ Those lazy throat-tones were warm and friendly, too. ‘I could say … the same to you, Laurel.’
    â€˜Darling, you never surprise me.’
    They smiled at each other.
    Laurel turned suddenly and reached for another cigarette.
    â€˜Don’t bother, Ellery. Delia always makes a man forget there’s another woman in the room.’
    â€˜Now, Laurel.’ She was indulgent. Laurel slashed the match across the packet.
    â€˜Won’t you come in and sit down, Mrs. Priam?’
    â€˜If I’d had any idea Laurel was coming here …’
    Laurel said abruptly, ‘I came to see the man about the dog, Delia. And the note. Did you follow me?’
    â€˜What a ridiculous thing to say.’
    â€˜Did you?’
    â€˜Certainly not, dear. I read about Mr. Queen in the papers and it coincided with something that’s been bothering me.’
    â€˜I’m sorry, Delia. I’ve been upset.’
    â€˜I’ll come back, Mr.