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The Case of the Velvet Claws :: Гарднер Эрл Стенли
Страница: 55 из 149You’d better come in the house and see if you can pullyourself together.”
“Did you say ‘murdered’?” asked the young man.
“That’s what I said—murdered,” repeated Sergeant Hoffman.
The young man started walking toward the house. He was holding his head very erect with his shoulders back.
“If he was murdered,” he said, “it was that damned woman that did it.”
“Who do you mean?” asked Sergeant Hoffman.
“That babyfaced bitch he married,” said the young man.
Hoffman took the young man’s arm and turned back to Perry Mason.
“Mason,” he said, “would you mind switching off the motor on that car and turning off the lights?”
Carl Griffin paused, and turned unsteadily back.
“Change tire, too,” he said, “right front tire—it’s been flat for miles and miles… better change it.”
Perry Mason switched off the motor and lights, slammed the door on the roadster, and walked rapidly to catch up with the pair ahead of him.
He was in time to open the front door for Bill Hoffman and the man on his arm.
Seen under the light in the hallway, Carl Griffin was a rather goodlooking young man with a face which was flushed with drink, marked with dissipation. His eyes were red and bleary, but there was a certain innate dignity about him, a stamp of breeding which made itself manifest in the manner in which he tried to adjust himself to the emergency.
Bill Hoffman faced him, studied him carefully.
“Do you suppose that you could sober up enough to talk with us,Griffin?” he asked.
Griffin nodded. “Just a minute… I’ll be all right.”
He pushed away from Sergeant Hoffman and staggered toward a lavatory which opened off the reception room on the lower floor.
Hoffman looked at Mason.
“He’s pretty drunk,” said Mason.
“Sure he’s drunk,” Hoffman replied, “but it isn’t like an amateur getting drunk. He’s used to it. He drove the car all the way up here with the roads wet, and with a tire flat.”
“Yes,” agreed Mason, “he could drive the car all right.”
“Apparently no love lost between him and Eva Belter,” Sergeant Hoffman pointed out.
“You mean what he said about her?” asked Mason.
“Sure,” said Hoffman. “What else would I mean?”
“He was drunk,” Mason said. “You wouldn’t suspect a woman on account of the thoughtless remark of a drunken man, would you?”
“Sure, he was drunk,” said Hoffman, “and he piloted the car up here, all right.
“Did you say ‘murdered’?” asked the young man.
“That’s what I said—murdered,” repeated Sergeant Hoffman.
The young man started walking toward the house. He was holding his head very erect with his shoulders back.
“If he was murdered,” he said, “it was that damned woman that did it.”
“Who do you mean?” asked Sergeant Hoffman.
“That babyfaced bitch he married,” said the young man.
Hoffman took the young man’s arm and turned back to Perry Mason.
“Mason,” he said, “would you mind switching off the motor on that car and turning off the lights?”
Carl Griffin paused, and turned unsteadily back.
“Change tire, too,” he said, “right front tire—it’s been flat for miles and miles… better change it.”
Perry Mason switched off the motor and lights, slammed the door on the roadster, and walked rapidly to catch up with the pair ahead of him.
He was in time to open the front door for Bill Hoffman and the man on his arm.
Seen under the light in the hallway, Carl Griffin was a rather goodlooking young man with a face which was flushed with drink, marked with dissipation. His eyes were red and bleary, but there was a certain innate dignity about him, a stamp of breeding which made itself manifest in the manner in which he tried to adjust himself to the emergency.
Bill Hoffman faced him, studied him carefully.
“Do you suppose that you could sober up enough to talk with us,Griffin?” he asked.
Griffin nodded. “Just a minute… I’ll be all right.”
He pushed away from Sergeant Hoffman and staggered toward a lavatory which opened off the reception room on the lower floor.
Hoffman looked at Mason.
“He’s pretty drunk,” said Mason.
“Sure he’s drunk,” Hoffman replied, “but it isn’t like an amateur getting drunk. He’s used to it. He drove the car all the way up here with the roads wet, and with a tire flat.”
“Yes,” agreed Mason, “he could drive the car all right.”
“Apparently no love lost between him and Eva Belter,” Sergeant Hoffman pointed out.
“You mean what he said about her?” asked Mason.
“Sure,” said Hoffman. “What else would I mean?”
“He was drunk,” Mason said. “You wouldn’t suspect a woman on account of the thoughtless remark of a drunken man, would you?”
“Sure, he was drunk,” said Hoffman, “and he piloted the car up here, all right.