"DERLETH, August - The Adventure of the Sotheby Salesman (A Solar Pons story)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Derleth August)

Hudson sprang forward with an exclamation. Pons extended a match, burned a good two-thirds of the way from the head, which he had evidently found on the floor during his previous examination.

"You intimate that someone waited for Woodall!" asked Hudson in some trepidation.

"Precisely. The fact is self-evident. Someone came to this house and opened the window; this was certainly not Woodall, for he was unfamiliar with the house. Therefore, whoever opened that window knew that Woodall was to come here tonight .

Pons stopped suddenly, still looking intently at the open window, then clapped one hand to his head, and ran swiftly out of the open back door, to the amazement of Inspector Hudson and the constables. In a few moments it was possible to determine Pons' whereabouts, for there came through the window a flash of light behind a hedge some distance from the house. This vanished after five minutes, and there now occurred an interval of fully a quarter of an hour, at the expiration of which Pons suddenly appeared in the open doorway.

"Singular!" he muttered, coming into the room. "Most singular." He flashed a glance at Hudson. "I understand that Woodall was an inhabitant of Aldershot. Do I understand that he made his home there?"

"He didn't have a home of his own, Mr. Pons. But he certainly spent his free time there, staying at a second-rate hotel, The Antler Inn."

"You are aware of no enemies he might have had?"

"Entirely unaware of any. Woodall was a meek, timid man, not likely to arouse enmity. It is always the strong man who has enemies, seldom the weak."

"True," assented Pons. "But surely this must have blocked your search for a motive?"

"The murder seems marked by an entire absence of motive," admitted Hudson. "But if you've discovered anything," he continued, looking sharply at Pons, "I should be glad if you could suggest it to me."

"I think it quite possible to say that the murderer was concealed behind a hedge dividing this property from that of its owner, Mr. Hendricks. It is obvious that he waited there for some time--over an hour, I should say. The distance from here to the hiding place is roughly about fifty yards. I think you'll find upon investigation that a bullet from a .25 calibre rifle will not go through a man's head at fifty yards. While he waited, the murderer dropped a fragment of a note."
Pons took from his pocket a small, triangular scrap of paper, which he spread on his palm for Hudson to see.

"You will observe," Pons went on, "that the piece is so torn as to give us three words--the first word, he, on the topmost line of this scrap, and two words on a following line, nine and ten, from which the connective has been torn, but I daresay we would be quite safe in assuming the missing word to be and. Then, below, we have the first letter of a signature, the letter J. I give you that for what it is worth to you, Hudson; for the present I should like to retain the scrap. Also, I would commend to your attention the clothes of the late Mr. Woodall, and the articles found in them."

"But there were no articles found---only a box of matches."

"That is what I would draw to your notice." Pons turned and looked from the window, where in the grey of the sky white rifts were coming. "Dawn is breaking, Hudson, and I would like to have a few words with Mr. Jonathan Green. I daresay it can be arranged."

"Certainly, Mr. Pons." Hudson turned to one of the constables and instructed him to go to Green's house and rouse him.

It was becoming rapidly lighter as we left the empty house and walked slowly down the path. In the street Pons spoke again.

"You will note that these three houses--Hendricks' two, and Green's--are fenced in as one estate, though hedges divide them."

"Yes," replied Hudson, "I understand that Green bought his house from Hendricks, who built all three. They are similar in structure, too."

We entered Green's property. Just beyond the gate Pons stopped and indicated a short triangular series of footprints leading from the gate and back to it again.

"Let me call to your notice that Woodall first entered here and ventured some distance before discovering his error and retracing his steps."

"The man made a mistake anyone might have made."

"Quite so. But recall the note. One does not appoint a rendezvous at a place with which one of the parties is not familiar. Especially is this true when the rendezvous has been made for night."

"You think there was a rendezvous, then?"

"Surely it is not a coincidence that the fragment of note should mention the hours of nine and ten, between which the coroner has given his verdict that Woodall was killed?"

"But who would write to Woodall?" asked Hudson in a perplexity. "Since you put it that way, you certainly bring forward a new aspect. Unless I've been greatly deceived by Woodall's appearance, I find it difficult to concede that anyone might write him to appoint a rendezvous, obviously meant to be secret."