"Shadow - 350301 - Back Pages - Grace Culver - Red Is For Fox" - читать интересную книгу автора (Brown Roswell)

mirror.
"Say, Redsie—what's on your mind?" Without turning, she spoke into the
glass.
"If six colored beads retailed for much more than three cents in the open
market, there'd be a swell story in tonight's Banner. There's still a big-time crook
at large, as it is. The smoothest smuggler of the season. Or Burton and
headquarters and Scotland Yard are all fish. And me."
Quickly, concisely, she gave him the details of the Ribden incident. Jerry
listened, grunting now and then as a salient feature of the story struck home.
When she was finished, he grunted again.
"So what?"
"Don't you know?" Grace demanded.
"They pull a pinch on a guy who hasn't got any rubies. They find that out and
let him go. Nothing to get all steamed up about in—"
There was acid in the redhead's voice as she answered.
"Why would a known crook hide six red beads in a detectably hollow cane,
and leave 'em where the cops would be sure to find out?"
"Practical joker, maybe?"
"Some joke! Especially when Scotland Yard knew he took the rubies out of
England. But if he once were arrested, and the charge had to be dismissed—
Then, if he had the real stones on him somewhere else—"
"A pipe dream, Redsie!" Jerry scoffed.
Unruffled, Grace sat down at the desk marked "Miss Culver, secretary," and
ran her fingers along the keyboard of her uncovered typewriter.
"So you say. But I'm going to dream it in Lakeview this week-end, big shot,"
"Quit kidding. Why, there's no case there!"
"No? If you were a woman, Riker, you'd wonder. Leaving aside the cane act,
why should Ribden come all the way across the Atlantic for a second-rate fox
hunt when there's plenty better in England?"
Jerry shrugged.
"Does sound useless, But maybe Ribden—"
"Maybe he knows that a lot of new-rich nitwits who want to crash the society
rotogravures are always hanging around those affairs, over here. Dummies who'd
fall like a thousand of brick for the Tamarov stuff, if he put on a smooth, silk-hat
sales act. Easy-money boobs."
There was a moment's silence in the office.
"Supposing he has got the stones, Red? If Uncle Sam's pet ferrets couldn't
unearth 'em, what chance have you? Anyhow, it's out of our territory. Tim will put
his foot down flat."
"Tim," said Tim's secretary, "will love it! It's front-page publicity for the
agency if we make a ten-strike, isn't it? Anyhow, I've got a hunch."
Jerry grinned.
"All right, pal. A-hunting we will go. But when the Honorable John turns out
to be nothing but a guy who likes to chase foxes, are you going to blush?"
Grace was paying little attention to him. Her fingers were tapping out aimless
words on the typewriter keys, while her eyes were fixed dreamily on the blank
wall ahead of her:
RIBDEN—RENEGADE—RASCAL. RENOWNED REVENUE RENEGER
RECEIVES RAP. RETRIBUTION REACHES RUBY RUNNER RIBDEN.
What a head for the Banner! And what a case for the agency. If—