"Van Dine, S S - Philo Vance 04 - The Bishop Murder Case" - читать интересную книгу автора (Van Dine S S)

I was afraid my imagination was playing tricks on me, and I had a yearnin' to see the word in black and white."

Markham opened the book in silence, and let his eye run down the page. After staring at the word for several moments he drew himself up resolutely, as if fighting off a spell. When he spoke his voice was defiantly belligerent.

"Sperling means 'sparrow.' Any school boy knows that. What of it?"

"Oh, to be sure." Vance lit another cigarette languidly. "And any school boy knows the old nursery rhyme entitled 'The Death and Burial of Cock Robin,' what?" He glanced tantalizingly at Markham, who stood immobile, staring out into the spring sunshine. "Since you pretend to be unfamiliar with that childhood classic, permit me to recite the first stanza."

A chill, as of some unseen spectral presence, passed over me as Vance repeated those old familiar lines: "Who killed Cock Robin?

'I,' said the sparrow, 'With my bow and arrow.

I killed Cock Robin.'"

CHAPTER II. ON THE ARCHERY RANGE.

(Saturday, April 2; 12.30 p.m.).

Slowly Markham brought his eyes back to Vance.

"It's mad," he remarked, like a man confronted with something at once inexplicable and terrifying.

"Tut, tut!" Vance waved his hand airily. "That's plagiarism. I said it first." (He was striving to overcome his own sense of perplexity by a lightness of attitude.) "And now there really should be an inamorata to bewail Mr. Robin's passing. You recall, perhaps, the stanza: "Who'll be chief mourner?

'I,' said the dove, 'I mourn my lost love; I'll be chief mourner.'"

Markham's head jerked slightly, and his fingers beat a nervous tattoo on the table.

"Good God, Vance! There IS a girl in the case. And there's a possibility that jealousy lies at the bottom of this thing."

"Fancy that, now! I'm afraid the affair is going to develop into a kind of tableau-vivant for grownup kindergartners, what? But that'll make our task easier. All we'll have to do is to find the fly."

"The fly?"

"The Musca domestica, to speak pedantically. . . . My dear Markham, have you forgotten?, "Who saw him die?

'I,' said the fly, 'With my little eye; I saw him die.'"

"Come down to earth!" Markham spoke with acerbity. "This isn't a child's game. It's damned serious business."

Vance nodded abstractedly.

"A child's game is sometimes the most serious business in life."

His words held a curious, far-away tone. "I don't like this thing, I don't at all like it. There's too much of the child in it, the child born old and with a diseased mind. It's like some hideous perversion." He took a deep inhalation on his cigarette, and made a slight gesture of repugnance. "Give me the details. Let's find out where we stand in this topsy-turvy land."

Markham again seated himself.

"I haven't many details. I told you practically everything I know of the case over the phone. Old Professor Dillard called me shortly before I communicated with you, "