"deaddonttalk" - читать интересную книгу автора (Blackmon Robert C)

The bonds hadn't been found, of course. The East City police and the surety company had
given Morris Weir a clean slate, and the case was all but closed for everyone except Lee
Benton and his brother. Grimly determined to do what he could for Dick, Lee had found himself
wondering why Morris Weir should have appeared at the right moment in the obviously staged
fight.

Weir owned one of the most popular restaurants in East City and apparently always had
plenty of money. There were rumors that he didn't get all of his money from the restaurant
business that he gambled a great deal and had his long fingers into many things about East
City. But Weir's record was clean, as far as the East City police were concerned.

Still wondering about the tall restaurant owner's appearance at the crucial moment in the
staged fight that covered the theft of the bonds, Lee Benton had shadowed the man, making
himself believe that he would discover something before Dick reached trial next week. Weir
was his only possible lead; and if he didn't discover anything before the trial, it would
mean young Dick's conviction.


Benton's eyes went bleak as he watched Weir's lights in his mirror.

The roadster rolled another block along the street. Then Weir's coupe reached the next
corner and turned to the right, into a side street.

Promptly, Benton trod the gas pedal, raced the roadster to the next corner ahead and
turned to the right. He raced a block at high speed, made another turn, cut his lights off,
then swung into the side street after Weir.

Still in the turn, he spotted the coupe's taillights a little over two blocks away.
Almost at the same moment, stoplights flared as Weir braked the coupe to a halt. The dark
figure of a small, thin man hurried out of a doorway to the right. He ran through the rain
to the coupe, got in. The car started moving again, much faster.

Sandy hair stirred on Benton's scalp. An involuntary grunt escaped him. Fourteen days of
dreary, routine shadowing--now this!

His first impulse was to jam the gas pedal to the floor, overtake the coupe, and force a
showdown. But reason ruled that out. Weir could have just picked up a friend, Yet--

A small, thin man!

Both Dick and Weir had described one of the men who'd staged the fake fight as a small,
thin man!

Tight-lipped, Lee Benton stared through the rain-streaked windshield and followed Weir's
rapidly moving coupe. He kept his roadster moving just fast enough to hold the two-block
interval between the two cars. His roadster lights were still off.

Driving faster and faster, Weir stayed on the side street until it reached the secondary
highway leading south from East City. Turning into the highway, the restaurant owner stepped