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

There was general laughter, only Pons retaining his composure. Pons now produced a pen and paper and extended them to Green.

"Just as a matter of course," he explained, "will you write down and sip a statement that you heard a shot between nine and ten on the night of the crime?"

"Certainly," said Green. He took the paper and pen, and retired to a small desk nearby, where he sat and wrote out the desired statement. He turned and read what he had written: "I hereby depose that I heard a shot between nine and ten o'clock on the night of 17 August." He looked up. "Is that satisfactory?"

"Quite," said Pons, and gravely took the extended paper, folded it, and slipped it into his pocket. "I think that will be all, Mr. Green. Thank you for bearing with us."

On the street once more, Pons turned to Hudson. "Now I should like to ask a few questions of Mr. Hendricks."

Hudson nodded. "He must be up by this time. If not, we'll have no difficulty in routing him."

Pons nodded absently.

"By the way, Mr. Pons," Hudson broke in. "if I might ask, why did you want Green to write out a statement?"

"I though that quite obvious, Hudson," replied Pons. "You'll note that the statement contains both the words nine and ten. A brief glance at the fragment of note found behind the hedge has already assured me that its writer and Mr. Jonathan Green are one and the same. The writing is marked by the roman e; the J of the signature is precisely the same; there is the identical pronounced upward slant--all in all, there is only a very slight difference between the two writings."

Hudson pondered this briefly before he protested, "But if Green wrote that note, he can't be our man, for the note could not have been written to himself."

"Certainly not. But you forget that, as you yourself proposed, the murderer might have recovered the note in some fashion. Also, you might have noticed on the wall of Green's library just such a weapon as killed Woodall--a .25 calibre rifle."

Hudson gave vent to an exclamation and slowed his pace perceptibly.

"And to top that, my dear Hudson, it is quite possible that some painful business details between the late Woodall and Mr. Green supplied the motive for this apparently so perplexing puzzle. It would be interesting to build up a hypothetical case along those lines."

"Strikingl" murmured Hudson. "I never considered that angle."

"Obviously," said Pons dryly. "Nor would I suggest that you give much thought to it now."

Inspector Hudson turned a chagrined face to me.

"However," continued Pons imperturbably, "if you're determined to get ahead with your investigation, I would advise that you return to Mr. Green and discover just where he was going the night of the murder."

"You think that important?"

"Extremely so. Indeed, perhaps it is most important. Has it not occurred to you that Green might have been on his way to visit the person to whom he had addressed his note?" Pons waved Hudson away. "Don't think of us, Hudson. We'll find Hendricks easily enough. Do you go ahead and do as you please--question Green; find out where he was going. Don't be too harsh with him."

"You think it will be necessary to be harsh with him?" asked Hudson dubiously.

"Perhaps. In any case, I venture to predict that Mr. Green will prove remarkably reticent about where he had intended going between the hours of nine and ten on the night of the murder--despite his show of good-natured willingness to tell us a few minutes ago."

"I'll go back," said Hudson with determination.

"Follow us to Hendricks' as soon as you can."

Hudson turned and walked rapidly back along the street, while Pons and I turned in at the third of the houses that were so alike. Our coming had not been unobserved, for no sooner had we closed the gate behind us than a tall, striking figure, dressed in hunting clothes, came striding around a comer of the house and bore rapidly down on us. As he came on, I observed that his face was marked by small sharp eyes beneath bristling brows, a full sensuous mouth, and a dark, heavy moustache. He came to a halt ten feet away and glowered at us suspiciously.

"Mr. Hendricks, I presume," ventured Pons.