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The Case of the Howling Dog :: Гарднер Эрл Стенли
Страница: 26 из 146"It's only the one story. The cook has his apartments on top of the garage."
"How about a chauffeur?" asked Pemberton.
"I presume the place was originally intended as a chauffeur's apartment," Foley admitted, "but I don't keep a chauffeur. What driving I do, I do personally."
"Well, then," Pemberton said, "let's talk with the Chink. That suit you, Mason?"
"Anything suits me," said Mason. "Only I want to have you talk with my client before you go."
"Oh, sure. That his place over there, Foley?"
"That's it; the one on the north."
The car slid along the driveway and came to a stop in front of the building where men were laboring with a sudden zeal which indicated a desire to impress the owner of the property, and, perhaps, forestall any complaint as to the manner in which the work had dragged along.
"Just go up here," said Foley, "and I'll get Ah Wong."
Pemberton started up a flight of stairs which hugged the concrete side of the building, then paused as there was the sound of a door banging and a woman's voice said: "Oh, Mr. Foley, I must see you at once. We've had trouble…"
The words became inaudible as the woman lowered her voice, on seeing the officer's car.
Bill Pemberton hesitated, then turned and walked to ward the back of the residence.
"Something about the dog, Foley?" he asked.
"I don't know," Clinton Foley said.
A young woman, attired in a housedress and apron, with her right hand and arm bandaged, walked rapidly toward Foley.
She was, perhaps, twentyseven or twentyeight. Her hair was slicked back on her head. Her face was without makeup, and she gave the impression of homely efficiency, yet it would have needed but a few deft touches of makeup, a change of clothes, and a fingerwave, to have made her quite beautiful.
Bill Pemberton looked at her with narrowing eyes.
"My housekeeper," Foley explained.
"Oh," said Pemberton significantly.
Foley whirled, started to say something, then paused and waited until the woman came to him.
"What happened?" he asked.
"Prince bit me," she said. "He was sick."
"How did it happen?"
"I don't know, but I think he'd been poisoned. He was acting queerly. I remembered what you'd said about putting salt on the back of his tongue if he ever gave any sign of sudden illness, so I took a handful of salt and put it on the back of his tongue. He closed his teeth and bit me."
Foley looked at the bandaged hand.
"Bad?" he asked.
"How about a chauffeur?" asked Pemberton.
"I presume the place was originally intended as a chauffeur's apartment," Foley admitted, "but I don't keep a chauffeur. What driving I do, I do personally."
"Well, then," Pemberton said, "let's talk with the Chink. That suit you, Mason?"
"Anything suits me," said Mason. "Only I want to have you talk with my client before you go."
"Oh, sure. That his place over there, Foley?"
"That's it; the one on the north."
The car slid along the driveway and came to a stop in front of the building where men were laboring with a sudden zeal which indicated a desire to impress the owner of the property, and, perhaps, forestall any complaint as to the manner in which the work had dragged along.
"Just go up here," said Foley, "and I'll get Ah Wong."
Pemberton started up a flight of stairs which hugged the concrete side of the building, then paused as there was the sound of a door banging and a woman's voice said: "Oh, Mr. Foley, I must see you at once. We've had trouble…"
The words became inaudible as the woman lowered her voice, on seeing the officer's car.
Bill Pemberton hesitated, then turned and walked to ward the back of the residence.
"Something about the dog, Foley?" he asked.
"I don't know," Clinton Foley said.
A young woman, attired in a housedress and apron, with her right hand and arm bandaged, walked rapidly toward Foley.
She was, perhaps, twentyseven or twentyeight. Her hair was slicked back on her head. Her face was without makeup, and she gave the impression of homely efficiency, yet it would have needed but a few deft touches of makeup, a change of clothes, and a fingerwave, to have made her quite beautiful.
Bill Pemberton looked at her with narrowing eyes.
"My housekeeper," Foley explained.
"Oh," said Pemberton significantly.
Foley whirled, started to say something, then paused and waited until the woman came to him.
"What happened?" he asked.
"Prince bit me," she said. "He was sick."
"How did it happen?"
"I don't know, but I think he'd been poisoned. He was acting queerly. I remembered what you'd said about putting salt on the back of his tongue if he ever gave any sign of sudden illness, so I took a handful of salt and put it on the back of his tongue. He closed his teeth and bit me."
Foley looked at the bandaged hand.
"Bad?" he asked.