Читаем Flynn’s Weekly Detective Fiction. Vol. 25, No. 2, August 13, 1927 полностью

“Your first theory is right, Heywood. I’m turning detective for a couple of weeks and you are going to help me solve a fascinating mystery and find a girl in a green evening dress.”

“Well, well,” said Heywood. “Sounds good. Tell me more. What is this dark mystery, and why do we seek a girl in a green evening dress?”

“I’ll begin at the beginning,” said I, and while the sun fell behind a bank of dark clouds and the shadows lengthened across the street, I repeated my experiences with Copeland, his black capsule, the girl who had invaded by home, and the strange pair of visitors who had tricked me so easily that morning.

“So,” I concluded, “I am convinced that this letter means a great deal to somebody, and I am going to find out who it is. I need a vacation anyway. What do you think of it?”

“I think,” said Heywood frankly, “that you are as crazy as a cuckoo clock on daylight saving time. You’re as buggy as they make ’em. This plot is probably some low scheme that you wouldn’t want to be hooked up with in a hundred years. It looks to me like you’ve got a fine chance to get churned up into a merry mess.

“However, I’m with you, hook, line, and sinker.”

He blew smoke rings into the air and then leaned over and peered at me.

“Say, doc, you’re not in love?”

“In love?”

“With the dame in the green dress.”

I laughed and tried to make it convincing.

“Well, hardly. I confess that she attracted me, but I wouldn’t say it was love. She might be a lady safe-blower for all I know.”

“Exactly.” Heywood regarded the end of his cigar. “I was rather alarmed at your enthusiastic description of the lady. You say this girl had no coat?”

“Not that I saw.”

“Hum. She couldn’t get very far prancing the streets in an evening dress without being noticed. That’s as good a place to start as any.”

“Where?”

“Taxicab drivers. She probably walked a block and hopped into a cab. Worth trying. I haven’t got anything to do this evening. Suppose I prowl around and see what I can pick up.”

“Get back by seven and we’ll have dinner and hold a coroner’s inquest,” said I.

“Righto.”

Heywood seized his hat, shook hands hastily and hurried away. I knew by the gleam of interest in his gray eyes that my choice of a helper had been a wise one.

Chapter VI

Heywood Proves a Sherlock

There was a look of triumph about him when he returned.

“We are getting along amazingly well, Sherlock,” he said as he took a seat opposite me at the dining table. “I’ve managed to get track of your husky young man and have proved, to my own satisfaction, that it was he who sent the girl to your house.”

“Good,” I approved. “Tell me about it.”

“It was as I surmised. Your girl friend left here, took a taxicab and went straight to headquarters to report her failure. I had no difficulty in finding the chauffeur, and for a five-spot he drove me to the place. It is the home of Charles Blake, diamond importer, a rather imposing residence on the heights.

“I made a few discreet inquiries about Blake. A bad egg. Hardboiled as a dress shirt front. Been mixed up in some shady deals, but never caught with the goods. He has been suspected for a number of years with having some connection with a crowd of jewel smugglers. So, you see, we are going to be in rather fancy company.”

“And the girl?”

It was the question in which I was most interested, but Heywood waved it away.

“Just an agent of Blake’s probably. A mere incident in our story. Understand, I haven’t seen this fellow Blake. Wouldn’t know him from Adam, but it strikes me that he was probably the man who tangled up your shirts to-day.

“We will say it was like this: Blake, with the half of the letter in his possession, was arrested and, fearing that the police would see some significance in the message, intrusted it to Copeland. He learned that you had removed Copeland from the hospital and figured that the vagrant had given you the capsule then and there. He sent the girl to your house, not knowing that you were out calling on Copeland. Follow me?

“Well, between the time you left Copeland’s rooms and got back to your house, other spies had found Copeland and had murdered him in an attempt to get the paper.

“Then they found that they had made a mistake. The girl returned and reported that you had the capsule, so Blake rigged up this sick-father business and had a try for it himself. That’s the way I’ve got it sized up.”

“Sounds reasonable,” said I. “By the way, I presume this letter was written to Blake. You remember, it starts out, ‘ake.’ The ‘b’ and the ‘l’ were torn away. Now as to the man who wrote the letter. How will we get some trace of him?”

Heywood bowed over his steak.

“I have anticipated you, my friend,” he smiled. “The letter mentions stuff. Since Blake is an importer, stuff would probably be jewels of some kind. The letter is signed ‘Joshua Ba.’ I picked up a city directory and looked under jewelers. There I found a man named Joshua Barton. Wouldn’t it be reasonable to suppose that he is the writer of the letter?”

Перейти на страницу:

Похожие книги