"DERLETH, August - The Adventure of the Late Mr. Faversham (A Solar Pons story)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Derleth August)

"He certainly could not miss seeing the door, could he?" be remarked drily. "Did von Ruda explain why he didn't go through the house?"

"Faversham was using only his library, where he had put up a cot for the nights he meant to be in London, since he didn't want to open a bedroom. The door immediately to the right of this front entrance leads directly into his library, and Faversham was not there when von Ruda looked into it as he came back to the stoop."

"And the other doors? What about them?"

"All locked, Mr. Pons. I tried them at once before I called Jamison."

Pons nodded and came briskly toward the library door. "Well, then, let us just have a look at the library."

The library was a low, dimly-lit room. Mecker turned up the lights as we entered, and revealed that every wall, to the jambs of the doors and the one window, was lined with high shelves, and every shelf filled with books. In the center of the room stood an old-fashioned desk-table. On it were a few scattered papers and two books--one closed, with a projecting slip of paper to mark a place, the other turned face down at a point to which Faversham must have got when von Ruda came to visit him. Against the shelves to the left of the table was a cot, which gave evidence of having recently been slept in, for the sheets were partly thrown back and rumpled.

Pons went directly to the bed and came to his knees the better to examine it. He pulled back the sheets gingerly, and spent some moments scrutinizing the impression in the bed. That he had discovered something when he rose, I saw at a glance, but I forebore to question him, knowing that if his discovery should ultimately fit into the pattern of his solution, he would reveal it in good time. Then he went to the library table and proceeded to examine the books and papers on it. One paper he passed over to Mecker; it was Professor Faversham's passport, dated for the following day.

Pons next gave his attention to the books on the shelves, passing from one shelf to another and drawing books from their places to leaf through them. He crossed and recrossed the room, finally returned to his starting point. Contrary to our expectations, he did not stop his examination of the books, but started all over, taking each book as he came to it, skipping only those he remembered having looked into before.

"You might take Parker over the house, Mecker," he said, turning to the constable. "It will take some time to finish here."
Mecker agreed reluctantly.

When we returned to the library, we found Pons engrossed in a volume of German prose written, as the printing on its cover gave evidence, by Dr. Hans von Ruda. He looked up at our entrance.

"Will you want to look over the rest of the house, Mr. Pons?" asked Mecker.

"I think not. My little examination has been most valuable, and I doubt whether anything found in the other rooms could contribute much more. I'm taking this book with me, by the way. It's a text on philosophy by Dr. von Ruda, a presentation copy from the author to Faversham--a gift, I take it, since the inscription is Christmas, 1921."

"Was it on the shelves?"

"No--in one of the drawers of the desk."

We left the house, Mecker walking down the path with us. At the walk, Mecker asked, "Have you any suggestion that might help us, Mr. Pons?"

"I might suggest only that you examine the books in the library. It may lead you to something. Then, you might look into the drawers, if you have not already done so. By the way, you've looked up the hotel at which Dr. von Ruda stayed?"

"Of course. It is the Adelphi."

"Indeed! Well, I may call them." Pons half turned, then hesitated. "And Mecker, you might give that bed a closer scrutiny. You'll find, I think, that it's been slept in only once; it looks rather as if it had been used with the intention of giving that impression. Faversham, however, has been in London five days. Dr. Dunnel, who lives just across the street in that white, railed-in house, informs me that Faversham did not spend his nights, here."

"What do you make of it?"

"I think it would be wise to discover where Faversham spent his nights, eh, Mecker?"

"Yes, it might be," agreed Mecker, now deeply puzzled.

"When are you relieved here?"

"At seven-thirty this evening. Then I report to the Yard before being released for the night."

"Well, if it is not too inconvenient, try to get over to 7 Praed Street before midnight. I may have something for you."

It was already dark when we ascended to our lodgings in Praed Street. Under the green-shaded table lamp in our study, Pons took the German book from his pocket and handed it to me.