JК
The Case of the Velvet Claws :: Гарднер Эрл Стенли
Страница: 93 из 149”
“That’s a hell of away to do it,” said the girl.
Mason nodded. “Get back into bed. You’ll catch cold.”
“Just for that,” she said, “I don’t think I will.”
She crossed to the window, raised the shade, and turned to face him.
“Well,” she said, “spill it.”
“I’m sorry,” said Mason, “but you’re in a jam.”
“Says you!” she retorted.
“It happens that I’m telling you the truth.”
“Who do you think you are?”
“My name’s Mason.”
“A detective?”
“No, a lawyer.”
“Huh.”
“I happen to represent Mrs. Eva Belter,” he went on. “Does that mean anything to you?”
“Not a damn thing.”
“Well,” he protested, “don’t get hard about it. You might at least be sociable.”
She made a grimace, spat forth a swift comment, “I hate to have my sleep interrupted at this hour in the morning, and I hate men who come busting in the way you did.”
Mason ignored her statement. “Did you know that Frank Locke didn’t own Spicy Bits?” he asked casually.
“Who’s Frank Locke, and what’s Spicy Bits?”
He laughed at her.
“Frank Locke,” he said, “is the man who’s been signing the checks on the special account of Spicy Bits, which you’ve been cashing every two weeks.”
“You’re one of these smart guys, ain’t you?” she said.
“I get around,” Mason admitted.
“Well, what about it?”
“Locke was just a figurehead. A man by the name of Belter owned the paper. Locke did what Belter told him to.”
She stretched up her arms and yawned. “Well, what’s that to me? Have you got a cigarette?”
Mason handed her a cigarette. She came close to him while he applied the match, then strolled over and sat down on the bed, tucked her feet up in under her, and hugged her knees.
“Go on,” she said, “if it interests you. I reckon I can’t get to sleep until after you leave.”
“You’re not going to sleep any more today.”
“No?”
“No. There’s a morning paper outside the door. Would you like to see it?”
“Why?”
“It tells all about the murder of George C. Belter.”
“I hate murders before breakfast.”
“You might like to read about this one anyway.”
“All right,” she said, “go get me the paper.”
He shook his head at her.
“No,” he said, “you get the paper.
“That’s a hell of away to do it,” said the girl.
Mason nodded. “Get back into bed. You’ll catch cold.”
“Just for that,” she said, “I don’t think I will.”
She crossed to the window, raised the shade, and turned to face him.
“Well,” she said, “spill it.”
“I’m sorry,” said Mason, “but you’re in a jam.”
“Says you!” she retorted.
“It happens that I’m telling you the truth.”
“Who do you think you are?”
“My name’s Mason.”
“A detective?”
“No, a lawyer.”
“Huh.”
“I happen to represent Mrs. Eva Belter,” he went on. “Does that mean anything to you?”
“Not a damn thing.”
“Well,” he protested, “don’t get hard about it. You might at least be sociable.”
She made a grimace, spat forth a swift comment, “I hate to have my sleep interrupted at this hour in the morning, and I hate men who come busting in the way you did.”
Mason ignored her statement. “Did you know that Frank Locke didn’t own Spicy Bits?” he asked casually.
“Who’s Frank Locke, and what’s Spicy Bits?”
He laughed at her.
“Frank Locke,” he said, “is the man who’s been signing the checks on the special account of Spicy Bits, which you’ve been cashing every two weeks.”
“You’re one of these smart guys, ain’t you?” she said.
“I get around,” Mason admitted.
“Well, what about it?”
“Locke was just a figurehead. A man by the name of Belter owned the paper. Locke did what Belter told him to.”
She stretched up her arms and yawned. “Well, what’s that to me? Have you got a cigarette?”
Mason handed her a cigarette. She came close to him while he applied the match, then strolled over and sat down on the bed, tucked her feet up in under her, and hugged her knees.
“Go on,” she said, “if it interests you. I reckon I can’t get to sleep until after you leave.”
“You’re not going to sleep any more today.”
“No?”
“No. There’s a morning paper outside the door. Would you like to see it?”
“Why?”
“It tells all about the murder of George C. Belter.”
“I hate murders before breakfast.”
“You might like to read about this one anyway.”
“All right,” she said, “go get me the paper.”
He shook his head at her.
“No,” he said, “you get the paper.