"Kenneth Robeson - Doc Savage 160 - Colors For Murder" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

more than it should have been.

The First Officer, the stewardess, and, once the pilot, passed and re-passed.

“Stewardess!” she said anxiously. “My radiophone call!”
The stewardess looked at her queerly, she thought. “I'm so sorry. We did overlook your call in the
excitement, didn't we, Miss Nelson? I'll see, but I doubt if we have time now. We're landing in a few
minutes, you know. It would be much more economical to use the telephone at the terminal.”

“I'll do that, then. Phone from the terminal.”

“Very well.”

“Was he . . .?”

“Dead? Yes, he was dead. It was a shock, so upsetting. Well, he had been drinking, of course. But—”
The stewardess stared fixedly forward toward the control compartment and did not finish.




“A heart attack? The co-pilot, or whatever you call him, seemed to think so.”

The stewardess continued to stare fixedly; her face was strange, particularly around the mouth and she
didn't say anything. She moved away.

My God, Della thought, she acted as if I was guilty! Why should she do that? I didn't even know the fat
man. I never saw him before, and I never spoke to him, and I never gave him any thought until he died. I
had no contact whatever with him, except that he snatched those aspirin tablets. She became very still.
Her pulse seemed to stop, her nerves to freeze, and her mind turned ringing and blank, like the interior of
a room after a large firecracker had exploded in it.

The aspirin tablets!



MR. SOUTH was third man out of the airliner after it stopped at the unloading ramp at La Guardia Field.
He carried a topcoat over his arm, and also had a light bag of the sort resembling a suitcase that can
contain nicely an extra shirt, socks, underwear, razor, the things a man needs for a short trip. There was
nothing suspicious in his baggage or on him. He had dumped the remainder of the “aspirin” pills in the
men's washroom on the plane. It made no difference if they were found there, since proving he put them
there would, he believed, be a hard thing to do.

Mr. South strolled, not too hastily, into the terminal.

He was hailed at once by a blue-jowled young man who cried enthusiastically, “Why, hello, Uncle John!
How are you, Uncle John! I'm delighted to see you!”

“For God's sake!” said Mr. South, genuinely amazed. “How did you get down here? How the hell?
Listen, I left you in Boston when I got on that plane!”