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The Case of the Caretakers Cat :: Гарднер Эрл Стенли
Страница: 37 из 146Can't a man ever have any privacy without you snooping around? "
"What did you say?"
"I turned on my heel and left the garage."
"Didn't say anything to him?"
"No."
"Did you switch out the lights when you went out?"
"No, I left the lights on so he could find his way out."
"How did you know he was drunk?"
"From the way he was sprawled all over the seat and the tone of his voice."
Mason's eyes narrowed into thoughtful slits. "See his face clearly?" he asked.
She frowned for a moment, and said, "Why, I don't believe I saw his face. He wears a big creamcolored Stetson, you know, and when I switched on the lights the first thing I saw was this Stetson hat. I walked over toward the side of the car. He was slumped down over the wheel and when I came up beside the car, he hung his head… Come to think of it, I didn't see his face at all."
"Did you recognize his voice?"
"The voice was thick—you know the way a man's voice sounds when he's been drinking."
"In other words," Mason said, "if it came to a showdown in court, you couldn't swear positively that it was Sam Laxter who was in that car, could you?"
"Why, of course I could. No one else around the house wore that sort of a hat."
"Then you're identifying the hat instead of the man."
"What do you mean?"
"Anyone could have put on that hat."
"Yes," she said acidly, "they could have."
"It may be important," Mason said, "and if you had to testify, you'd be crossexamined ruthlessly."
"You mean I'd have to testify about how the fire started?"
"Something like that. How do you know it wasn't Frank Oafley who was sitting in there behind the wheel?"
"I know it wasn't."
"How?"
"Well, if you want to know, because I'd been out with Frank Oafley. We'd been walking, and I'd left him at the corner of the house. He went around toward the front and I came up toward the back. That took me past the garages. That was when I heard the sound of the motor running."
"How about the chauffeur—what was his name Jim Brandon?"
"That's right."
"Could it have been the chauffeur?"
"Not unless he was wearing Sam Laxter's hat."
"Whom else have you told about this?" Mason asked.
"I've told Frank."
"You usually call him by his first name?" Mason asked.
She turned her eyes quickly from Mason's, then, after a moment, raised them to stare defiantly at him. "Yes," she said. "Frank and I are very close friends.
"What did you say?"
"I turned on my heel and left the garage."
"Didn't say anything to him?"
"No."
"Did you switch out the lights when you went out?"
"No, I left the lights on so he could find his way out."
"How did you know he was drunk?"
"From the way he was sprawled all over the seat and the tone of his voice."
Mason's eyes narrowed into thoughtful slits. "See his face clearly?" he asked.
She frowned for a moment, and said, "Why, I don't believe I saw his face. He wears a big creamcolored Stetson, you know, and when I switched on the lights the first thing I saw was this Stetson hat. I walked over toward the side of the car. He was slumped down over the wheel and when I came up beside the car, he hung his head… Come to think of it, I didn't see his face at all."
"Did you recognize his voice?"
"The voice was thick—you know the way a man's voice sounds when he's been drinking."
"In other words," Mason said, "if it came to a showdown in court, you couldn't swear positively that it was Sam Laxter who was in that car, could you?"
"Why, of course I could. No one else around the house wore that sort of a hat."
"Then you're identifying the hat instead of the man."
"What do you mean?"
"Anyone could have put on that hat."
"Yes," she said acidly, "they could have."
"It may be important," Mason said, "and if you had to testify, you'd be crossexamined ruthlessly."
"You mean I'd have to testify about how the fire started?"
"Something like that. How do you know it wasn't Frank Oafley who was sitting in there behind the wheel?"
"I know it wasn't."
"How?"
"Well, if you want to know, because I'd been out with Frank Oafley. We'd been walking, and I'd left him at the corner of the house. He went around toward the front and I came up toward the back. That took me past the garages. That was when I heard the sound of the motor running."
"How about the chauffeur—what was his name Jim Brandon?"
"That's right."
"Could it have been the chauffeur?"
"Not unless he was wearing Sam Laxter's hat."
"Whom else have you told about this?" Mason asked.
"I've told Frank."
"You usually call him by his first name?" Mason asked.
She turned her eyes quickly from Mason's, then, after a moment, raised them to stare defiantly at him. "Yes," she said. "Frank and I are very close friends.