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:
Irene’s glance jerked to the divan, standing so innocently in the corner. She could not look away. She thought that any moment it would move, as Ralph Kessler rose, pushed it aside, came walking toward her, hands outstretched toward her throat. She cowered back, hands pressed across her lips. Terror mounted round her like a rising tide, lapped her in black waters of complete despair. She was alone with the dead, and the dead was moving! The dead was walking toward her.
She staggered to her feet, took two swaying, uncertain steps, slipped senseless to the rug, lay there without stirring.
Chapter V
Partnership
Louis Tavelli opened his door softly, snapped on the light. His eyes went over the room in a swift, comprehensive survey, stopped on the top of a brown head showing above the back of a chair by the fire. He stiffened. His hand went toward his side pocket.
Ellen Conway rose, faced him. Tavelli stepped inside, closed the door. They looked at each other.
He said, “What the devil?”
She tried to reply, but her trembling lips only jerked spasmodically. He came to her side. His eyes were hard as slate. “Well?” he ordered. “What are you doing here?”
“There wasn’t any other place to go. They locked me out.”
“Locked you out? Out of what?”
“My room.”
“Why?”
“I... don’t... know.”
His hard eyes raked her face. She looked haggard, spent. There was a spot of blood on her under lips where her teeth had gouged it. Deep blue circles beneath her eyes.
He said very low, “Who are you?”
Her direct gaze did not waver. “Ellen Conway, State Department of Education,” she pattered.
He grunted. “Of course.”
Silence for a moment, then she said slowly, “Who... who are you?”
He smiled bleakly. “Louis Tavelli — of course.”
“Of course,” she agreed tonelessly. After a moment she said, a bit faintly.
“Coming to bed, were you?”
He laughed shortly, “Hardly. I’m after proofs to convince the folks downstairs that I am — Louis Tavelli.”
“Oh!” She leaned back on the chair. “Well, go ahead and get them.”
“That’s the riddle,” he told her. “I haven’t any.”
“Oh. Well, that’s scarcely to be expected.”
His lips sucked in. Sweat gleamed on his forehead. “Smart girl, aren’t you, darling?”
“Not very, sweetheart, but I do happen to know Louis Tavelli by sight.”
“Yes? Not very many claim that distinction.”
“I know. I happen to be one of the few.”
“This was in the interest of public education?”
Her eyes were as hard as his own. “In a way, yes. The public could stand some education about Mr. Tavelli. But you see, I do know him, and when I heard he was coming tonight—”
“I see,” he interrupted. “You invented a bad headache, to avoid coming down for dinner. Then when you saw me in the hall—”
“Exactly. I knew you were an impostor,” she smiled very faintly.
He watched her intently, the pupils of his eyes black points of intense concentration. Downstairs a door slammed, but neither noticed.
She continued, “For your information, the real Louis Tavelli is at this moment stuffed back in a closet of that room opposite — with a bullet wound in his chest.”
“The devil!” The ejaculation twisted a smile to her lips.
“Paget’s room, I suppose.”
“No, Kessler’s.” His eyes flicked over the room, returned to her. “So that’s how Kessler guessed,” he muttered. “Why he demanded proofs. But how the devil— Look. You saw the fight in the lane?”
She nodded. “And heard the shots—”
“That was Tavelli plugging at me when I was grabbin’ him,” he stated. “I ’jacked him over the ear and trucked him a mile or so down the road, sticking him under a culvert—”
“He must have come back,” she supplemented, “prowling around the place. Who shot him?”
“I don’t know. Kessler, maybe, when he went out to see about the dog. He was gone a long time. He most likely plugged Tavelli, stashed him in his room until—”
“Kessler killed Dilke,” Ellen said.
She backed before the sudden unleashed fury in the man’s eyes. “Dilke?” he whispered. “Kessler killed her?”
“Yes. I was at the end of the hall. I saw him go into the kitchen. I watched through a crack in the door. I left just before you came. Oh, I shouldn’t have told you—”
He said through his teeth, “I’ve got to know. We’re in a spot. You won’t tell me why you’re here?”
“Sure, making a survey. You came for the Vanderfelt gems, I suppose?”
“Good guesser, baby, and I’m afraid I’m upsetting a little plant of your own.”
She smiled enigmatically. “Possibly. What’s the chance for the ice?”
“Damned slim just now.” Again he studied the room. “Kessler’s wise; my only chance now is to get the drop on him—”
“There are two others,” she reminded him.
“I know.” He scowled, plucking at his under lip. Quickly his eyes jerked to her. “We might as well team up,” he suggested. “It’s our only chance. How about it?”
She considered. “Say we cop the ice — what’s the split?”
He grinned, not very mirthfully. “All business, aren’t you, sweetheart?”
Her red lips hardened. “Every ounce of me, big man.”
“How’s seventy-five, twenty-five when the stones are fenced?”
“That’s okay,” she agreed. “Seventy-five to me, twenty-five—”
He laughed. “Skip it, Ellen. I’ve gone to a lot of trouble to frame this set-up.”
“It wasn’t handed to me on a silver platter. Make it fifty-fifty or I won’t play.”
His head turned, as running feet sounded in the corridor. The man and girl stood very still until they had died away, then he nodded. “All right, call it fifty-fifty. Shake.” He extended his hand. She hesitated just a moment, slipped her own inside, felt the strong, vital fingers close firmly with a strange gentleness which changed abruptly to a cruel pressure, as his eyes bored into her.
“Oh,” she gasped, “you’re hurting me.”
He grinned mirthlessly. “Serves you right for being mixed up with such a lousy racket, nice kid like you.”
Hot color flooded her cheeks. Angrily, she jerked her hand free. Her polished nails bit through the firm flesh of his palm. He cursed softly. “Little cat! You scratched me.”
“Good enough for you, being nothing better than a common thug, a big, fine man like you.”
They stared at each other, eyes hostile, wary, somehow hurt. She said, “Take off those beastly cheaters. Everyone knows you’re not Tavelli now.”
He hesitated a moment, removed the glasses. His dark gray eyes were bloodshot from the strain of the lenses. He blinked rapidly. “That better?”
“Yes. Thank you. Now what?”
“I’ve got a pal working this set-up with me.”
She frowned. “Yes? Well, don’t figure on changing the per cent; I’m on my own.”
He said impatiently, “Can’t you forget the money angle for a moment? We’re in a spot. My pal, Dan, is loose somewhere in the grounds tonight—”
“Oh. That’s what’s been annoying that devilish dog?”
“Probably, along with Tavelli’s coming.” He brushed heavy hair from his forehead. “You see, Mother Dilke was giving Dan and me a lift—”
Again she said, “Oh,” slowly, eyes narrowed on his face. “And Kessler got wise and killed her.”