"Arthur, Robert - The Three Investigators 002 - The Mystery of the Stuttering Parrot" - читать интересную книгу автора (Arthur Robert)

“I’m not going to run.” Pete whispered back. “My legs
are so wobbly, I feel as if I were just learning to walk.”
Their feet scrunched on the gravel. Behind them the fat
man’s greater weight made the gravel crunch with a sound
that gave Pete a very crawly feeling. He was almost glad
when they stepped on the tiled patio of the house and
paused before the huge front door.
“Now open the door, boys,” the fat man said. “Step
inside. Remember that I have an itchy trigger finger. Turn
to your right. Enter the room there, and take seats against
the far wall.”
Jupiter turned the knob. The door swung open, reveal-
ing a dark hall. Pete braced himself and they both stepped
in, turned right, and entered a large room cluttered with
books and newspapers and old furniture. Against the
opposite wall were several large leather chairs. They
marched across the room and sat down.
The fat man stood looking at them with satisfaction.
He blew into the barrel of his pistol, as if removing a
speck of dust that might get in the way of a bullet.
“Now,” he said, “you had better explain what mischief
you had in mind, slipping so sneakily up to my house
through my garden.”
“We were just coming to call on you, Mr. Fentriss,”
Jupiter said. “You see——”
10
But the fat man did not let him finish. He put his finger
alongside his nose and looked slyly at them.
“Just coming to call?” he asked. “Slipping from tree to
tree, like Indians? Or thieves? Or cut-throats?”
“We heard somebody yell for help.” Pete blurted out.
“When that happened we ducked behind the trees to see
what was happening.”
“Ah.” The fat man pursed his lips. “You heard that
did you? Someone calling for help?”
“You see, Mr. Fentriss,” Jupiter explained, “Mr.
Alfred Hitchcock sent us here. He said you had lost your
parrot and the police wouldn’t help you find it. We’re
investigators, and we were coming to assist you in the
recovery of your missing pet.”
He reached into his pocket and produced one of their
business cards, on which was printed:

“I’m Jupiter Jones,” Jupiter said. “This is my partner.
Pete Crenshaw.”
“Oh.” The fat man took the card and studied it “In-
vestigators, eh? And what are the question marks for?
Do you doubt your ability?”
Pete had been waiting for that question. Practically
everybody asked about those question marks. Jupiter had