"Chandler, Raymond - High Window, The" - читать интересную книгу автора (Chandler Raymond)

"You're just too modest," I said.
His eyes glinted, but he kept his smooth manner pretty well in place.
"Not good, Marlowe. Not even fresh. Look, you have the air of a decent sort of guy. I know my mother is not putting out two hundred and fifty bucks just to be breezy. Maybe it's not Linda. Maybe it's something else. Maybe--" he stopped and then said this very slowly, watching my eyes, "maybe it's Morny."
"Maybe it is," I said cheerfully.
He picked his gloves up and slapped the desk with them and put them down again. "I'm in a spot there all right," he said. "But I didn't think she knew about it. Morny must have called her up. He promised not to."
This was easy. I said: "How much are you into him for?" It wasn't so easy. He got suspicious again. "If he called her up, he would have told her. And she would have told you," he said thinly.
"Maybe it isn't Morny," I said, beginning to want a drink very badly. "Maybe the cook is with child by the iceman. But if it was Morny, how much?"
"Twelve thousand," he said, looking down and flushing.
"Threats?"
He nodded.
"Tell him to go fly a kite," I said. "What kind of lad is he? Tough?"
He looked up again, his face being brave. "I suppose he is. I suppose they all are. He used to be a screen heavy. Good looking in a flashy way, a chaser. But don't get any ideas. Linda just worked there, like the waiters and the band. And if you are looking for her, you'll have a hard time finding her."
I sneered at him politely.
"Why would I have a hard time finding her? She's not buried in the back yard, I hope."
He stood up with a flash of anger in his pale eyes. Standing there leaning over the desk a little he whipped his right hand up in a neat enough gesture and brought out a small automatic, about .25 caliber with a walnut grip. It looked like the brother of the one I had seen in the drawer of Merle's desk. The muzzle looked vicious enough pointing at me. I didn't move.
"If anybody tries to push Linda around, he'll have to push me around first," he said tightly.
"That oughtn't to be too hard. Better get more gun--unless you're just thinking of bees."
He put the little gun back in his inside pocket. He gave me a straight hard look and picked his gloves up and started for the door.
"It's a waste of time talking to you," he said. "All you do is crack wise."
I said: "Wait a minute," and got up and went around the desk. "It might be a good idea for you not to mention this interview to your mother, if only for the little girl's sake."
He nodded. "For the amount of information I got, it doesn't seem worth mentioning."
"That straight goods about your owing Morny twelve grand?"
He looked down, then up, then down again. He said: "Anybody who could get into Alex Morny for twelve grand would have to be a lot smarter than I am."
I was quite close to him. I said: "As a matter of fact I don't even think you are worried about your wife. I think you know where she is. She didn't run away from you at all. She just ran away from your mother."
He lifted his eyes and drew one glove on. He didn't say anything.
"Perhaps she'll get a job," I said. "And make enough money to support you."
He looked down at the floor again, turned his body to the right a little and the gloved fist made a tight unrelaxed arc through the air upwards. I moved my jaw out of the way and caught his wrist and pushed it slowly back against his chest, leaning on it. He slid a foot back on the floor and began to breathe hard. It was a slender wrist. My fingers went around it and met.
We stood there looking into each other's eyes. He was breathing like a drunk, his mouth open and his lips pulled back. Small round spots of bright red flamed on his cheeks. He tried to jerk his wrist away, but I put so much weight on him that he had to take another short step back to brace himself. Our faces were now only inches apart.
"How come your old man didn't leave you some money?" I sneered. "Or did you blow it all?"
He spoke between his teeth, stifi trying to jerk loose. "If it's any of your rotten business and you mean Jasper Murdock, he wasn't my father. He didn't like me and he didn't leave me a cent. My father was a man named Horace Bright who lost his money in the crash and jumped out of his office window."
"You milk easy," I said, "but you give pretty thin milk. I'm sorry for what I said about your wife supporting you. I just wanted to get your goat."
I dropped his wrist and stepped back. He still breathed hard and heavily. His eyes on mine were very angry, but he kept his voice down.
"Well, you got it. If you're satisfied, I'll be on my way."
"I was doing you a favor," I said. "A gun toter oughtn't to insult so easily. Better ditch it."
"That's my business," he said. "I'm sorry I took a swing at you. It probably wouldn't have hurt much, if it had connected."
"That's all right."
He opened the door and went on out. His steps died along the corridor. Another screwball. I tapped my teeth with a knuckle in time to the sound of his steps as long as I could hear them. Then I went back to the desk, looked at my pad, and lifted the phone.


4

After the bell had rung three times at the other end of the line a light childish sort of girl's voice filtered itself through a hank of gum and said: "Good morning. Mr. Morningstar's office."
"Is the old gentleman in?"
"Who is calling, please?"
"Marlowe."
"Does he know you, Mr. Marlowe?"
"Ask him if he wants to buy any early American gold coins."
"Just a minute, please."
There was a pause suitable to an elderly party in an inner office having his attention called to the fact that somebody on the telephone wanted to talk to him. Then the phone clicked and a man spoke. He had a dry voice. You might even call it parched.
"This is Mr. Morningstar."