JК
The Case of the Velvet Claws :: Гарднер Эрл Стенли
Страница: 103 из 149If you could raise a reasonable doubt, why, there isn’t a jury on earth that would convict you!”
Locke slammed the cigarette to the floor of the car. “For God’s sake, cut out that damned talk! I know what you’re trying to do, and you know what you’re trying to do. You’re trying to break my nerve and get my goat. What the hell’s the use of beating around the bush? You’re trying to pin something on me, and I don’t propose to stand for it.”
“What are you getting so worked up for if it’s a frameup?”
“Because,” Locke said, “I’m afraid of some of the stuff you might bring up.”
“You mean that Savannah stuff?”
Locke cursed, turned his head so that Mason couldn’t see his face, and looked out of the cab window.
Mason sat back, apparently entirely absorbed in the crowds on the sidewalks, the fronts of the buildings, the window displays.
Locke started to say something once, but changed his mind and lapsed into silence. His milkchocolate eyes were wide and worried. His face had not regained its color. It showed white and pasty.
The cab drew up in front of the Wheelright Hotel.
Locke got out and indicated Mason to the cab driver, with a gesture of his hand.
Mason shook his head.
“No, Locke,” he said, “this is your party. You wanted the cab.”
Locke pulled a bill out of his pocket, tossed it to the cab driver, turned, and started through the entrance of the hotel. Mason followed.
Locke walked at once to the elevator, said, “Ninth floor,” to the operator.
When the cage stopped, he got out and walked straight toward Esther Linten’s room, without bothering to see if Mason was following. He knocked on the door. “It’s me, Honey,” he called.
Esther Linten opened the door. She had on a kimono which opened in the front sufficiently to reveal pink silk underwear. When she saw Mason, she pulled the kimono abruptly about her, and stepped back, her eyes large.
“What’s the meaning of this, Frank?” she asked.
Locke pushed on past her. “I can’t explain things, Honey, but I want you to tell this fellow where I was last night.”
She lowered her eyes, and said, “What do you mean, Frank?”
Locke’s voice was savage. “Oh, nix on that stuff. You know what I mean. Go on. This is a jam, and you’ve got to come clean.”
She stared at Locke with fluttering eyelids. “Tell him everything?” she asked.
“Everything,” said Locke. “He ain’t a vice squad. He’s just a dumb boob that thinks he can work a frameup on me, and get away with it.
Locke slammed the cigarette to the floor of the car. “For God’s sake, cut out that damned talk! I know what you’re trying to do, and you know what you’re trying to do. You’re trying to break my nerve and get my goat. What the hell’s the use of beating around the bush? You’re trying to pin something on me, and I don’t propose to stand for it.”
“What are you getting so worked up for if it’s a frameup?”
“Because,” Locke said, “I’m afraid of some of the stuff you might bring up.”
“You mean that Savannah stuff?”
Locke cursed, turned his head so that Mason couldn’t see his face, and looked out of the cab window.
Mason sat back, apparently entirely absorbed in the crowds on the sidewalks, the fronts of the buildings, the window displays.
Locke started to say something once, but changed his mind and lapsed into silence. His milkchocolate eyes were wide and worried. His face had not regained its color. It showed white and pasty.
The cab drew up in front of the Wheelright Hotel.
Locke got out and indicated Mason to the cab driver, with a gesture of his hand.
Mason shook his head.
“No, Locke,” he said, “this is your party. You wanted the cab.”
Locke pulled a bill out of his pocket, tossed it to the cab driver, turned, and started through the entrance of the hotel. Mason followed.
Locke walked at once to the elevator, said, “Ninth floor,” to the operator.
When the cage stopped, he got out and walked straight toward Esther Linten’s room, without bothering to see if Mason was following. He knocked on the door. “It’s me, Honey,” he called.
Esther Linten opened the door. She had on a kimono which opened in the front sufficiently to reveal pink silk underwear. When she saw Mason, she pulled the kimono abruptly about her, and stepped back, her eyes large.
“What’s the meaning of this, Frank?” she asked.
Locke pushed on past her. “I can’t explain things, Honey, but I want you to tell this fellow where I was last night.”
She lowered her eyes, and said, “What do you mean, Frank?”
Locke’s voice was savage. “Oh, nix on that stuff. You know what I mean. Go on. This is a jam, and you’ve got to come clean.”
She stared at Locke with fluttering eyelids. “Tell him everything?” she asked.
“Everything,” said Locke. “He ain’t a vice squad. He’s just a dumb boob that thinks he can work a frameup on me, and get away with it.