Ed McBain’s Mystery Book, No. 3,1961

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When Rector Goodhue got home that evening a few minutes after five o’clock, Charlie Treadwell was sitting on the front-porch steps of the house next door. It was all right for Charlie to be sitting there, for it was his house, but what impressed Rector was Charlie’s air of abstraction. He was sitting on the top step, hunched over his knees, and when Rector spoke and waved in a neighborly way, he didn’t respond by either voice or gesture. Rector went on into his house and back to the kitchen, where Gladys, his wife, was spooning strawberries over shortcake.

“What’s the matter with old Charlie Treadwell?” he said.

“Is something the matter with him?” Gladys said.

“Well, he’s sitting over there on his front steps, and he acts as if he were in a trance or something. He didn’t even answer when I spoke to him.”

“Maybe he’s had another fight with Fanny.”

“That Fanny’s a real witch. The truth is, she’s more than old Charlie can manage.”

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