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"A man."
"Name and address?"
Page 22
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Fernack took a breath.
"I don't know."
"Did you talk to him yourself?"
"Yes. He asked for me."
"Why?"
"People do sometimes. Besides, it's been published quite a bit that I'm the
man who's supposed to do something about you."
"Fame is a wonderful thing," said the Saint admiringly. "And what did this
anonymous fan of yours have to report?"
"He said: 'I was passing Mr Linnet's house onEast Sixtythird Street, and I
saw a man who looked as if he was breaking in. He looked just like the
pictures of that fellow the Saint. I didn't get it at first, and then when I
did I walked back and there were noises | in the house as if there was a fight
going on.' "
Simon nodded a number of times with the gravest respect.
"I can see that I shouldn't have underestimated your public," he drawled.
"They come from a very talented class. They know' just whose house they're
passing on any street in town. With their catlike eyes, they can recognise
characters like me in dark corners in a dimout. They can tell at a glance
whether I'm trying to break in, or whether I'm just looking for the bell or
the right key. And of course they know that you're the only officer inNew
Yorkto call out on a case like that. They wouldn't dream of losing face by
just mentioning it to the first cop they met on his beat."
The detective eased his collar with one powerfully controlled forefinger.
"That's all very clever," he said stubbornly. "But I came here. And Linnet
has been murdered. And you're still here."
"Naturally I'm here," said the Saint blandly."I wanted to see him."
"What for?"
"Because he manufactures electrical gadgets, and he needs iridium, and I
heard he'd been buying from the black market. I thought I might persuade him
to tell me a thing or two."
"And he wouldn't talk, so you strangled him."
"Yes," said the Saint tiredly. "I tied a string around his larynx to ease his
vocal cords."
"And you left your mark on his door."
Simon glanced critically across the hall at the ungainly pattern of chalk
lines that Fernack referred to.
"Henry," he said reasonably, "I'm not a hellof an artist, but you've seen
some of my early original work. Would you honestly say that that was a typical
job of mine? It looks kind of shaky and spavined to me."
Page 23
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
The detective glowered at the drawing, and almost wavered. You could see the
doubt beginning to curdle and grow heavier inside him, like a complicated meal
in a fragile stomach.
"Besides which," Simon mentioned diffidently, "wouldn't it be just a little
bit silly of me to leave that trademark around at all in these days, so that
you wouldn't even waste a minute before you had the dragnet out for me?"
"I've heard you say something like that before, loo," Fernack retorted. "But
it isn't my job to throw out evidence just because it looks silly. You give me
your story, and we'll start from there."
"Figure it for yourself," Simon persisted inexorably. "Somebody wanted to
keep me from talking to Linnet in the worst way. They wanted it badly enough
to make quite sure he wouldn't sing. And they thought they could tie it off
with the corny slickness of putting me out of action at the same fell swoop.
So they must be just a little bit worried about me. And it also suggests that
our iridium merchants may have something quite ingenious to put over while I'm
presumably languishing in the jug. Now would you like to play their game for
them, or shall we try to make sense?"
Fernack studied his face with intractable doggedness. He might have been
about to make any comeback, or none at all. It was one of those teetering
moments that might have toppled on either side.
And it inevitably had to be that moment when the plain-clothes man called Al
appeared at the top of the stairs with another individual who was a stranger
to all of them, to whom he was probably trying to give sympathetic assistance,
but who looked more as if he were being frogmarched into a back room for a
friendly rubber of third degree. This specimen wore the black coat and striped
trousers of a conventional butler, and his fleshy face was as distressed as
the face of any conventional butler would have been at the humiliation of his
production.
"I found 'im," Al announced cheerfully, helping his patient down the stairs
with much the same tenderness as he would have helped any old trunk. "The guy
slugged 'im when he opened the door, an' tied 'im up an' locked him in a
closet."
There was a different and hardening detachment about the way that Fernack
waited until the man had been shepherded down to his level, and then said:
"Would you know the man who slugged, you if you saw him again?"
"I don't really know, sir. He had his coat collar turned up, anc there wasn't [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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"A man."
"Name and address?"
Page 22
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Fernack took a breath.
"I don't know."
"Did you talk to him yourself?"
"Yes. He asked for me."
"Why?"
"People do sometimes. Besides, it's been published quite a bit that I'm the
man who's supposed to do something about you."
"Fame is a wonderful thing," said the Saint admiringly. "And what did this
anonymous fan of yours have to report?"
"He said: 'I was passing Mr Linnet's house onEast Sixtythird Street, and I
saw a man who looked as if he was breaking in. He looked just like the
pictures of that fellow the Saint. I didn't get it at first, and then when I
did I walked back and there were noises | in the house as if there was a fight
going on.' "
Simon nodded a number of times with the gravest respect.
"I can see that I shouldn't have underestimated your public," he drawled.
"They come from a very talented class. They know' just whose house they're
passing on any street in town. With their catlike eyes, they can recognise
characters like me in dark corners in a dimout. They can tell at a glance
whether I'm trying to break in, or whether I'm just looking for the bell or
the right key. And of course they know that you're the only officer inNew
Yorkto call out on a case like that. They wouldn't dream of losing face by
just mentioning it to the first cop they met on his beat."
The detective eased his collar with one powerfully controlled forefinger.
"That's all very clever," he said stubbornly. "But I came here. And Linnet
has been murdered. And you're still here."
"Naturally I'm here," said the Saint blandly."I wanted to see him."
"What for?"
"Because he manufactures electrical gadgets, and he needs iridium, and I
heard he'd been buying from the black market. I thought I might persuade him
to tell me a thing or two."
"And he wouldn't talk, so you strangled him."
"Yes," said the Saint tiredly. "I tied a string around his larynx to ease his
vocal cords."
"And you left your mark on his door."
Simon glanced critically across the hall at the ungainly pattern of chalk
lines that Fernack referred to.
"Henry," he said reasonably, "I'm not a hellof an artist, but you've seen
some of my early original work. Would you honestly say that that was a typical
job of mine? It looks kind of shaky and spavined to me."
Page 23
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
The detective glowered at the drawing, and almost wavered. You could see the
doubt beginning to curdle and grow heavier inside him, like a complicated meal
in a fragile stomach.
"Besides which," Simon mentioned diffidently, "wouldn't it be just a little
bit silly of me to leave that trademark around at all in these days, so that
you wouldn't even waste a minute before you had the dragnet out for me?"
"I've heard you say something like that before, loo," Fernack retorted. "But
it isn't my job to throw out evidence just because it looks silly. You give me
your story, and we'll start from there."
"Figure it for yourself," Simon persisted inexorably. "Somebody wanted to
keep me from talking to Linnet in the worst way. They wanted it badly enough
to make quite sure he wouldn't sing. And they thought they could tie it off
with the corny slickness of putting me out of action at the same fell swoop.
So they must be just a little bit worried about me. And it also suggests that
our iridium merchants may have something quite ingenious to put over while I'm
presumably languishing in the jug. Now would you like to play their game for
them, or shall we try to make sense?"
Fernack studied his face with intractable doggedness. He might have been
about to make any comeback, or none at all. It was one of those teetering
moments that might have toppled on either side.
And it inevitably had to be that moment when the plain-clothes man called Al
appeared at the top of the stairs with another individual who was a stranger
to all of them, to whom he was probably trying to give sympathetic assistance,
but who looked more as if he were being frogmarched into a back room for a
friendly rubber of third degree. This specimen wore the black coat and striped
trousers of a conventional butler, and his fleshy face was as distressed as
the face of any conventional butler would have been at the humiliation of his
production.
"I found 'im," Al announced cheerfully, helping his patient down the stairs
with much the same tenderness as he would have helped any old trunk. "The guy
slugged 'im when he opened the door, an' tied 'im up an' locked him in a
closet."
There was a different and hardening detachment about the way that Fernack
waited until the man had been shepherded down to his level, and then said:
"Would you know the man who slugged, you if you saw him again?"
"I don't really know, sir. He had his coat collar turned up, anc there wasn't [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]