The Black Lizard Big Book of Black Mask Stories
- Автор: Adams Cleve F., Babcock Dwight V.
- Год: 2010
- Язык: английский
- Год: A Vintage Crime/Black Lizard
- ISBN: 978-0-307-45543-7
- Жанр: Криминальные детективы
Электронная книга - «The Black Lizard Big Book of Black Mask Stories». Краткое содержание книги:
Black Mask was the apotheosis of noir. It was the magazine where the first hardboiled detective story, which was written by Carroll John Daly appeared. It was the slum in which such American literary titans like Dashiell Hammett and Raymond Chandler got their start, and it was the home of stories with titles like “Murder Is Bad Luck,” “Ten Carets of Lead,” and “Drop Dead Twice.” Collected here is best of the best, the hardest of the hardboiled, and the darkest of the dark of America’s finest crime fiction. This masterpiece collection represents a high watermark of America’s underbelly. Crime writing gets no better than this.
He leaned down and picked up the bead. It was peculiarly cut, for a bead — touch told him that instantly. He glanced at it, his eyes narrowing. Several men were picking up other beads from the deck surface — much fuss was being made over the child. The woman in black had taken her back to her chair, was talking rapidly to her. Jo Gar slipped the bead in his pocket and stared at the vanishing school of flying fish.
When he glanced towards the woman in black again she was still talking to the child. Men were putting beads in the girl’s lap. There was laughter now, and the woman in black did not seem so angry. After a few minutes Jo Gar went below, locked his cabin door and got the one Von Loffler diamond from its tiny pocket in the cork of one of his medicine bottles.
He compared it with the bead, which was blue. His lips parted and he said very softly:
“The cutting is — exactly the same!”
An hour later, in the captain’s cabin, he had the diamond expert who had helped him earlier in the trip examine the bead. When the expert had finished his examination he said in a puzzled voice:
“It is exceptionally well cut — diamond cut. Nothing cheap about the cutting. A great deal of care has been taken — for a piece of blue glass.”
Jo Gar said slowly: “There is no doubt but what it is glass?”
The expert smiled at him. “Not a bit — it is blue glass, cut as a fine diamond might be. A good-sized diamond. Like, say, one of the Von Loffler stones you—”
Jo Gar’s frown stopped him. The captain raised his head and stared at Jo. But the Island detective simply reached for the bead, slipped it into a pocket of his light suiting. He reached for his packet of cigarettes.
The captain of the Japanese liner said in his stiff English:
“It is very curious, Señor Gar—”
The Island detective showed his white teeth in a lazy smile. He nodded his head very slowly.
“Very curious,” he agreed cheerfully. “But many curious facts are not too important.”
The captain said: “It will not be very long before we dock in San Francisco, Señor. It has been an exciting voyage for you, and not very successful. One diamond recovered — and nine still missing.”
Jo Gar offered cigarettes, lighted one. The diamond expert spoke.
“But he has this bit of blue glass — it may be that it is important.”
The Island detective smiled. “In what way?” he asked.
The two others looked at each other. The captain shrugged, smiled. The diamond expert muttered to himself. The captain said:
“Each of us has our profession — yours is a difficult one, Señor Gar.”
The Island detective grinned. “Often I am given unexpected help,” he said. “Perhaps it will be that way — before we land.”
He went towards the door of the captain’s cabin, still smiling. But when he had bowed to the two men and was outside, his smile faded. He went without too much haste to his cabin, and had been inside only a few minutes when the phone buzzed. The flat voice said:
“I have additional information for you, Señor. The diamonds are to be smuggled through the customs as the child’s beads. Perhaps they will be dipped in ink, or painted blue.”
Jo Gar said evenly: “Thank you. But the diamonds have no holes in them — how can they be strung?”
There was slight impatience in the other’s tone.
“Perhaps there will be some beads cut somewhat like the diamonds, in a box the child has. Some will be strung, but others will not be strung. It is not likely the customs officers will examine each bead in the box.”
Jo Gar was smiling grimly, but his voice was serious.
“That is so. It is a clever idea.”
The other’s voice said: “But do not work too fast, Señor. I do not think the child has the diamonds, at present.”
The clicking sound followed. Jo hung up and looked out of the port, at the roughening water. He thought: Nor do I think the child has them at the present moment. The woman in black was not much concerned about the spilled beads, when the girl fell on the deck. If I were to get into the cabin occupied by the woman and child, find a box of beads — I would probably find no diamonds. And yet, if I wait until the customs inspection is made—
He turned away from the port, frowning. He breathed softly:
“This one who calls — he knows so much. And yet he would share much with me. He would lose a great deal of money by doing that. The whole reward would be his if he did not—”
He broke off, and his gray-blue eyes got very small and long. After a short time he inspected his Colt automatic, slipped it into a pocket of his light coat, stuffing a handkerchief over it. When he reached deck he walked slowly towards the bow, conscious, as usual, of the curious glances the passengers directed towards him.
He circled the deck twice; the second time he noted that the woman in black and the child had vacated their chairs. A middle-aged man approached, walking unsteadily as the boat rolled. He looked at Jo, but there was no expression in his blue eyes. He had flabby, pale skin and very thin lips. They were almost opposite each other when the boat rolled more sharply. The Island detective let his small body strike the left side of the thin-lipped one, knocking him off balance.
“Pardon,” Jo said. “I’m very — sorry.”
He stood close to the other man, watched anger show in the blue eyes. More than anger showed, he thought. It was as though the thin-lipped one hated him fiercely, and had hated him for more than seconds.
“It was very careless of me,” Jo said.
The other man’s lips parted. He started to speak, but did not. A faint smile showed in his eyes; slowly his face twisted with it. He jerked his head downward abruptly, in an awkward bow. He shrugged, moved away from the Island detective.
Jo Gar continued his walk around the deck. But he did not meet the thin-lipped one on the starboard side. He did not see him again in the next half hour, and when he did locate the man he was in the smoking room, seated at a small table and with his back turned to the entrance from the port side of the deck.
A steward strolled along and smiled amiably at Jo. He beckoned to him, handed him a dollar bill. He designated the chair occupied by the thin-lipped one.
“That gentleman I seem to know,” he said. “I should like you to go to the far end of the smoking room, then turn and come back. You will be able to see him. I should like to know his name. You are the deck steward?”
The steward nodded. He went into the smoking room and Jo Gar went to the port rail. When the steward returned he was smiling cheerfully.
“I placed his chair for him,” he said. “He is a Mr. Tracy. He came aboard at Honolulu.”
Jo nodded. “Thank you,” he said. “It is not the one with whom I am acquainted.”
He did a few more turns on the deck, his face expressionless. Then he went below and talked to the purser. Mr. Eugene Tracy occupied Cabin C. 82. He had booked passage at the last moment and had been forced to take a cabin on the lower deck, though he had wanted better quarters.
Jo Gar went up above and saw that the thin-lipped one was still in the smoking room. He was reading a magazine, and was slumped low in a comfortable chair. The Island detective moved close to the chair, very quietly. No other person was near the two of them; Jo spoke sharply but low, his voice holding a faint questioning note.
“Mr. Tracy?”
His words were very clear, but the one in the chair did not move. Jo stepped directly in front of the chair and looked down at the magazine that hid the thin-lipped one’s face.