The Second Talmage Powell Crime MEGAPACK™: 20 More Classic Mystery Stories
- Автор: Пауэлл Тэлмидж
- Год: 2015
- Язык: английский
- Год: Wildside Press
- Жанр: Криминальные детективы
Электронная книга - «The Second Talmage Powell Crime MEGAPACK™: 20 More Classic Mystery Stories». Краткое содержание книги:
The subdued plush-and-brocade interior included no welcome mat for the low budget buyer. The décor was intended to rule out the poor and give the rich a sense of importance. As a result, the proletariat rarely ventured past the carven walnut doors. Today, however, was one of the rare exceptions.
An hour after lunch, with business at a total standstill, Richard Nollner was alone in the sales area nursing his boredom. He was well-cast for the role of Madame’s charming young clerk, a cool image that fitted the decor nicely. He was impeccably tailored, his softly waving brown hair carefully styled. His face was lean and handsome with quick, dark eyes. Before he moved or opened his mouth, he was clearly a young man with proper manners and a certain polish in speech. As a salesman, he was especially effective with the older, corseted, buxom matrons who accounted for a good part of La Bijouterie’s patronage.
At the moment, his good looks were clouded with dark dissatisfaction. He’d never let his feelings show to Madame Fouchard, who took a motherly interest in him, but after three years of kowtowing to her patrons he desperately wanted to escape the elegant cell, forever. Money, however, was a major source of trouble. Madame’s fondness didn’t stretch the scanty supply of dollars supplied to Richard each pay day. The job was supposed to carry prestige, but a clerk was still a clerk, even at Fouchard’s. Richard had to dress the part, no mean expense; and he and Willa, his lovely and saucy young wife, had tastes in food and entertainment more easily afforded by Fouchard customers. The Nollner apartment was small and cramped, and they simply had to get out on frequent evenings and weekends. So there were always bills, bills, and more bills, with life a strain and stretch from one pay day to the next.
Richard’s restless musings were broken this day by the advent of the most disreputable youthful apparition that had ever dared enter the elegant La Bijouterie.
A pulse suddenly throbbing in his neck, Richard stood rooted to the thick carpet, staring at what was obviously the lowest rank in the order of hippiedom. The slender figure crossing to Richard looked positively malodorous, clad in an enveloping poncho of dirty gray, baggy jeans that needed a wash, and grimy sneakers. The newcomer’s head and face were bundled in a cootie’s nest of wild and matted brown hair and beard, while eyes lurked unseen behind huge colored glasses.
Richard came to life with a start, lifting a cool brow. “Yes?” he inquired in a tone intended to discourage.
“Like, man, you’re Richard Nollner,” the brash apparition stated in a husky contralto, “and my name is Smith.”
Richard glanced at the street door as if quaking from the thought of a well-heeled Fouchard client walking in while Mr. Smith was present.
“So, if I’m fouling up the joint, take me to your leader,” Smith said. “I want to talk about some diamonds and a mere clerk won’t do.”
Richard was stiffened into momentary silence by a situation which had never presented itself before.
Young Smith snapped his fingers. “Come on, come on! On to Fouchard, the grande dame herself. For all you can see of me, Mr. Nollner, I might be a mentally defective young heir about to buy this decadent adjunct of the capitalistic system.”
Richard managed a movement of muscle. “Why not?” he murmured. “It’s her place, her problem. It’ll at least get the character out of public view...”
Madame Fouchard’s private office, unlike the front of her establishment, was Spartan in its use of space and furnishings. She was behind her old flat-topped desk when Richard knocked and opened the door.
“Madame...”
She looked up from the ledger spread before her. She was a trim, silver-haired little figure, with a small, ageless face and china-blue eyes. She was dressed simply in no-nonsense black, her only adornment a fantastic pearl worn about her slim neck on a fine gold chain.
“Yes, Richard? Well, do speak. Are you ill? You look positively pale.”
“There’s a... uh... young man out here who refuses to go away until he has seen you.”
No sooner had Richard made the statement than he was elbowed roughly aside by Mr. Smith, who’d followed on his heels. Smith barged into the office, Richard falling in ineffectually behind him.
Madame looked the youth up and down without batting an eye or flickering an expression; but behind the eyes, Richard knew, the keen old brain was trying to decide whether Smith was a dangerous breed of nut.
“Do sit down, young man,” she said graciously. “What may we do for you?”
Richard suspected that she was playing for time in which to assess the situation. Nothing really fazed the old girl. She’d lost her capacity for dismay during a lifetime that had begun in depression-ridden France. During World War II, she and her husband aided the Resistance. Betrayed, they got out of France a jump ahead of a German firing squad, leaving business and home behind. They went to Spain, Portugal, England, and finally to America, enduring hardship every step of the way.
In the United States, Monsieur Fouchard’s reputation as a diamond cutter quickly brought a change of fortune. In due time, La Bijouterie was established and the Fouchard integrity wrote a success story. Madame had taken over the business helm more than a year ago when her husband suffered a heart condition and went into semiretirement, pursuing his beloved craft of diamond cutting as a part-time occupation.
Smith accepted Madame’s suggestion, slipping to an alert crouch on a hard wooden chair. “It’s not what you can do for me. Rather, what you might do for yourself.”
“In what respect, young man?”
Smith glanced at the clock on the wall. “Old girl, only I can spare you.”
“From what?”
The baleful dark glasses swung back in the direction of Madame’s face. “In just thirty-one minutes,” Mr. Smith said, “you are going to commit murder.”
The breath jolted from Richard. Madame took the outlandish news with the slightest stiffening of her lean old body.
“Why, you...” Richard choked, taking a threatening step. “I’ll call a policeman and have you thrown out of here!”
“That would do it,” Mr. Smith said with contempt. “That would really do it.”
Madame Fouchard made a small motion with her hand. “I think he first owes us an explanation, Richard”
“You’ve a little more gray matter in your skull than your nitwit clerk,” Smith said. “One peep to the fuzz and the tragedy transpires.”
“Who am I supposed to kill?” Madame inquired.
“Willa,” Smith said.
“My wife?” Richard howled. “How dare you suggest—”
“Oh, pipe down.” Smith’s gritty contralto showed the first signs of real irritation. “Every second you waste is one second less that you have. I can make everything clear in a few sentences if you’ll quit interrupting.”
Smith paused for a long-drawn three or four seconds. From somewhere under the poncho he brought out a corncob pipe and filled it from a small, grubby pouch. He didn’t light the pipe right away, but sat tapping it on a knuckle.
“That’s better,” he said into the silence. “The setup is simple. At this moment, an associate of mine is in Mr. Nollner’s apartment — with a knife at Willa Nollner’s throat. He is quite prepared to color the pad red unless I phone him—” the glasses briefly sought the wall clock, “—within the next twenty-nine minutes and advise him that you have extended your full cooperation.”
Richard stared in openmouthed paralysis.
Madame was less slow in her reaction. “Cooperation in what way, young man?”
Smith looked at the rough bowl of the corncob. “I happen to know that a large shipment of uncut diamonds was delivered here under tight security last evening. They’re in your vault right now, destined for cutting by M. Fouchard. You hand them over and raise no alarm until I’m thirty minutes out of the building, and Mrs. Willa Nollner lives. Otherwise, Madame, you’ll be responsible for the young woman’s death. You will have triggered her murder.”