Detective Fiction Weekly. Vol. 105, No. 5, October 10, 1936
- Автор: Вулрич Корнелл, Tinsley Theodore
- Год: 1936
- Язык: английский
- Год: The Red Star News Company
- Жанр: Другие детективы
Электронная книга - «Detective Fiction Weekly. Vol. 105, No. 5, October 10, 1936». Краткое содержание книги:
Returning from his room and halfway downstairs, Kessler paused, eyes narrowed and suddenly suspicious on the lighted transom of the living room below and to his right. Through the tipped glass he saw the gaunt form of Mrs. Dilke crouched over the table. He leaned forward, and his lips went to a thin line. The woman had the telephone receiver to her ear. Her head was turned anxiously toward the door.
Kessler descended on cat-soft feet, padded to the closed door and pressed his ear to the crack. He heard her say, in a low, husky tone:
“No, there’s something wrong. A slip somewhere. Tavelli... is...” Her voice dropped so low then that Kessler couldn’t catch the words. A moment later she said, a trifle louder, “Watch your step, Dan. There’s that damned dog, you know...” Then the receiver clicked into place.
Kessler swung round, face a chiseled mask.
Dilke’s slow, heavy steps were approaching the door. He stepped across and entered the dining room. There was nothing to indicate his feelings as he genially passed the Russian cigarettes. Dilke entered very shortly after with the dessert.
Ellen left almost at once, going to her room. She patently was not wanted. It was nine o’clock — too early for bed. Mechanically she changed into the tweed skirt and rumpled blouse. Those others down below had business — strange business.
An almost overwhelming curiosity danced in her eyes, sent a flush to her cheeks. The mysterious Mr. Tavelli was an intriguing person. Men who could park savage attackers in haystacks and casually fill dinner engagements were unusual, to say the least. She had thrilled to his dynamic touch.
Her heart thumped at her ribs. She fought a desire to slip down the stairs and listen at the keyhole. Scornful words rang in her ears, Kessler speaking behind the living room panels: “She’s just a little featherweight, believes in Santa Claus—” Her cheeks burned angrily. Pigeon-holed till morning, was she? Maybe so — maybe not.
Suddenly over the drum of the rain sounded again that savage baying of the chained Kato! She gasped, backing swiftly toward the bed. What a horrible beast and why was he kept, chained or otherwise? A watch dog, of course. Just now he was signaling the approach of an intruder.
She snapped off the light, ran to the window, pulled the curtains. Blackness greeted her, Rain poured down the panes. The tall trees swayed before the wind. Kato kept up his thunderous howling. Downstairs a door closed. Feet crossed the hall. She heard Kessler say, “See what’s the matter with that damned hound?” and the outer door banged behind him. She heard him tramping across the porch.
He seemed gone a long time. Ellen was standing at the stair head when he entered, his face flushed and angry, water sluicing from his raincoat. He slapped his hat to a hook, jerked off the coat and went into the living room.
Ellen sighed, eased down a step or two and peered inquisitively through the transom glass into the room. Firelight glinted on the walls. She could see Paget’s sleek black head where he sat on the divan by the table. Mrs. Kessler’s lovely snowy back was toward her, Louis Tavelli stood just behind the divan. His face was in shadow, but Ellen caught his queer quirky smile. As if he enjoyed a tremendous joke all by himself.
Kessler came into her line of vision. His face looked apoplectic. He was talking, but she could not hear him, of course. There was no denying his angry insistence. The sullen displeasure of his wife and Paget. Only Tavelli seemed to be enjoying himself.
Ralph Kessler jerked a brown leather sack from his side pocket, fumbled with the strings a moment while the others leaned forward tensely. Then onto the table he spilled an unbelievable glittering mass of jewels! They slithered out, forming a heap of mingled flame on the table’s center.
Ellen, frozen to the stair rail, caught the blue-white brilliance of diamonds. The blood red of rubies. The moonlight luster of priceless pearls. The green glory of emeralds. Breath sucked between her teeth. Unconsciously she crouched down, fascinated glance on that little pyramid of wealth.
No one was moving in the room. She got the feel of utter motionlessness about the group. As if they, too, were spellbound by what Kessler displayed.
Then a hand came out. A strong, handsome hand, with long, spatulate fingers. Tavelli’s. He lifted a pearl rope, held it, head on one side, studying it. He let it fall, picked up a necklace of emeralds. Kessler’s head started bobbing eagerly. She could see his thick lips moving. The emeralds slithered through Tavelli’s fingers.
On the wings of the stormy wind came Kato’s howl! Ellen choked a scream, started up, collapsed weakly as a heavy hand fell on her shoulder. She lifted her head, saw Mrs. Dilke’s gleaming mahogany face above her, the lips grim set, the black eyes dangerous. The dog kept up his unearthly racket. Ellen heard quite plainly Mrs. Dilke’s hurried, uneven breathing, saw drops of moisture on her long, upper lip.
“What are you doing here?”
Ellen’s dry tongue clicked against her teeth. “Nothing. Just got lonely in my room, thought I’d come down—”
Dilke grunted. Her grip tightened until Ellen’s lips whitened with pain. Then the woman turned her as she might have turned a chair, marched her along the hall and back to her own room. She shoved her inside, entered after her, closing the door and leaning against it. Ellen brought up against the table, panting.
Dilke said, in her deadly monotonous voice, “You’re a little fool. Snooping into what does not concern you.”
“I didn’t snoop,” Ellen gasped. “I didn’t mean—”
Dilke smiled. It was infinitely more terrifying than her normal expressionless mask. “Stay in your room!” she ordered. “Get into bed and go to sleep and at the first crack of dawn get free of this house and be thankful for the chance.” She glanced down at the key in the lock. Deliberately she withdrew it, opened the door and slid through into the hall. “Take my advice,” she said very low, “and don’t try to get out. I’ll see to it that you don’t.” She nodded definitely. “I don’t want your blood on my head.” She inserted the key in the lock on the outside, closed the door and locked it.
Ellen’s wide, horrified eyes clung to the smooth panels of the locked door, and she heard Dilke’s heavy steps retreating along the shadowy corridor. She realized that Kato had stopped his clamor. The silence was worse.
For a long moment she did not stir. There was an uncomfortable dryness in her throat. Her heart pounded furiously. She turned, letting her strained eyes travel over the room. Its comfortable chairs, its pleasant, faded rugs. The bright fire.
She smiled faintly, breathing the one word, “Featherweight,” through suddenly taut lips. Then, crossing to the table, she picked up her small handbag; fingering through its contents, she produced a slim key. She went to the door, slipped it into the lock, worked gently. It clicked. The door opened easily.
She glanced through the narrow crack into the deserted hall. Curtains moved over the window at the far end. Shadows chased along the somber walls. From downstairs she heard the rumble of voices. Irene’s sudden high laugh.
Just then she saw Dilke. On a quick breath, Ellen narrowed the crack in the doorway, snapped the wall switch. The old woman was advancing along the hall on the other side of the staircase. Suddenly a door opened. A man stepped out, almost directly in Dilke’s path. She jerked up, backed, hand flashing to her lips. The light from the shaded floor lamp at the stair head touched her face. The mahogany had paled to a thin tan.
Ellen did not recognize the man, standing as he did in the shadows outside the closed door. He said something very low. Dilke’s hands fell. She nodded. The man opened the door against which he leaned, disappeared. Dilke stood hesitantly, eyes flashing over the somber hall, then followed. The door clicked shut.