The Case of the Velvet Claws   ::   Гарднер Эрл Стенли

“No,” admittedGriffin, “he didn’t fight me, because he knew that I didn’t give a damn about him or his money. I didn’t lick his boots, and, on the other hand, I didn’t doublecross him. I told him what I thought, and I shot fair with him.”

Sergeant Hoffman narrowed his eyes. “Who did doublecross him?” he asked.

“Why, what do you mean?”

“You said you didn’t doublecross him, so he liked you.”

“That’s right.”

“And there was an emphasis on the pronoun you used.”

“I didn’t mean it that way.”

“How about his wife? Didn’t he like her?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t discuss his wife with me.”

“Did she doublecross him?” demanded Sergeant Hoffman.

“How should I know that?”

Sergeant Hoffman stared at the young man. “You sure know how to keep things to yourself,” he mused, “but if you won’t talk, you won’t, so that’s all there is to it.”

“But I’ll talk, Sergeant,” protestedGriffin, “I’ll tell you everything I can.”

Sergeant Hoffman sighed and said, “Can you tell me exactly where you were when the murder was committed?”

A flush came overGriffin’s face.

“I’m sorry, Sergeant,” he said, “but I can’t.”

“Why?” asked Sergeant Hoffman.

“Because,” saidGriffin, “in the first place, I don’t know when the murder was committed, and in the second place, I wouldn’t know where I was. I’m afraid I’d been making quite an evening of it. I was out with a young woman earlier in the evening, and after I left her I went to a few speakeasies on my own. When I started home, I had that damned flat tire and I knew I was too drunk to change it. I couldn’t find a garage that was open, and it was raining, so I just fought the car along over the road. It must have taken me hours to get here.”

“The tire was pretty well chewed to pieces,” remarked Sergeant Hoffman. “And, by the way, did any one else know of your uncle’s will? Had any one else seen it?”

“Oh, yes,”Griffin answered, “my lawyer saw it.”

“Oh,” said Sergeant Hoffman, “so you had a lawyer, too, did you?”

“Of course I had a lawyer. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Who is he?” asked Hoffman.

“Arthur Atwood. He’s got offices in theMutualBuilding.”

Sergeant Hoffman turned to Mason. “I don’t know him. Do you know him, Mason?”

“Yes,” Mason said, “I’ve met him once or twice.