A Room to Die In by Jack Vance, Ellery Queen Page A

road.”
    “The Savarinis.”
    “Correct. Simple
people, but far from stupid. About two weeks ago they heard three shots. I wish
they could be sure of the date, but they can’t. The time was midnight; they
remember that well enough. They had just turned off the TV and gone to bed.”
    “Three shots?”
    “Three shots, at
intervals of about a minute, from the direction of Roland Nelson’s house. Mr.
Savarini is positive that the sounds were shots, not backfires or firecrackers.
He owns six guns and he insists that he knows what a shot sounds like. That’s
about all there is to it. Three shots at midnight, about the time your father
died.”
    “Odd.”
    “I agree. Damned
odd. Roland Nelson was killed by a single shot; we found a single empty
cartridge. It’s possible that someone totally unconnected with the case may
have fired the shots, but it’s certainly stretching coincidence. . . . Well, it’ll
all come out in the wash.” He stretched lazily. “You mentioned a problem.”
    “I suppose it’s
a problem. Pearl’s cousin called on me the other night, a man named Edgar
Maudley. Incidentally, he’s the man who refused to witness my father’s will.” Tarr
looked at her reproachfully. “I suppose I should have telephoned you.”
    “For two days
Sergeant Ryan has been out flagging down black Mercedes sedans, interviewing
dealers, checking registrations—”
    Ann said
hurriedly, “He wanted some of Pearl’s belongings, which he described as
heirlooms. He tried to get them from my father, but had no luck.” She described
Edgar Maudley’s visit in detail.
    “Edgar Maudley
has a grievance,” mused Tarr. “If it hadn’t been for Pearl’s marriage to
Roland, he probably would have inherited. Still, that’s not your problem. . . .
By the way, what is your problem?”
    “It’s something
Maudley mentioned. In addition to cash and securities, Pearl also seems to have
held a first mortgage on the Cyprianos’ house—presumably part of my father’s
estate. Where is the mortgage? It wasn’t among his papers. Did Roland have a
safe-deposit box? If so, why didn’t he keep his stock certificates there?”
    Tarr shook his
head. “He rented no safe-deposit box in any local bank. I’ve checked. In
addition, I’ve accounted for all his keys, so it’s unlikely he had a box
elsewhere. But in the matter of the mortgage, why not ask the Cyprianos?”
    “I could, I
suppose—but, oh, I don’t know—it would make me seem avaricious.”
    Tarr pushed the
telephone toward her. “Call right now. Maybe they paid the mortgage off. Better
find out one way or another.”
    Ann reluctantly
dialed the Cyprianos’ number. Jehane answered. Ann said brightly, “I’ve been
trying to find the mortgage my father held on your house, and it’s in none of
the obvious places. Inspector Tarr suggested I call you.”
    Jehane was
silent for several seconds. Then she asked, “Where are you now?”
    “In San Rafael.”
    “Can you drop up
to the house? Alexander is in San Francisco today with the car; otherwise I’d
come into San Rafael.”
    “I’ll be glad to
stop by.”
    “I’ll see you
shortly, then.”
    Ann hung up the
telephone. “She wants to talk to me.”
    Tarr rose to his
feet. “I’ll come along for the ride.”
    “I don’t think
she expects you,” said Ann dubiously.
    “I’m
investigating a crime. It makes no difference whether she expects me or not.”
    Ann shrugged. “By
the way, what crime are you referring to?”
    “Blackmail,
naturally,” said Tarr. “Has there been another?”
    “I wish I knew.”
    “Don’t wish too
hard,” said Tarr. “You might wish yourself out of a hundred thousand dollars.”
    Ann started to
ask his meaning, then, like a coward, decided not to.
    They went out
into the street. “Let’s go in my car,” said Ann. “It looks so brutal, arriving
in that police car.”
    Tarr laughed.
    All the way out
to Inisfail, Ann pondered the implications of Tarr’s remark, and