"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 243 - Room of Doom" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

Cranston. They purposely arranged that Aldriff would take all responsibility
in
backing Pharco."
"Which rather marks Aldriff as a big fool," commented Cranston calmly.
"Not at all," insisted Joan. "Uncle Smead thought it very fair, and he is
no fool. My uncle felt this way: if Magnax refused to support Pharco, he could
take it up with Aldriff. To protect himself, Aldriff would force Dulther and
Sigby to come clean. It would have put my uncle and Aldriff in one boat,
Dulther
and Sigby in the other. An even match, Mr. Cranston."
Slowly, Cranston nodded.
"We can assume, then, that Dulther and Sigby double-crossed Aldriff,"
said
Cranston. "He turned the funds over to them, as agreed, thinking they couldn't
possibly betray him -"
"And they murdered him!" broke in Joan forcefully. "There is no other
answer, Mr. Cranston. Why should Aldriff have committed suicide, when he could
have forced the use of Magnax funds to back the Pharco stock?"
Cranston was quite impressed. Without indicating that Joan was merely
driving home the issue that he, himself, had pictured, he remarked:
"I suppose those are your uncle's opinions."
"They are," acknowledged Joan. "You see, Mr. Cranston" - her forehead
wrinkled as she earnestly tried to make her statement convincing - "my uncle
really feared that Aldriff was working with the others. Aldriff kept
reassuring
him that everything would be all right. Aldriff must have believed that it
would
be."
Joan felt that she had sold her argument, for Cranston's eyes agreed. His
tone was speculative, when he said:
"I hope you hear from your uncle shortly, Joan. My friend still wants to
meet him."
"I'm sure I shall," returned Joan sincerely. "If you don't mind, Mr.
Cranston, I'd like to get back to my apartment, just in case Uncle Smead
should
call. Of course" - her tone was hasty - "I'll let you know, if he does."
"Of course," acknowledged Cranston. "I shall stay here a while, Joan.
Phone
me if you hear from him."
As soon as Joan had left the little cafe, Cranston turned to another
table,
where a very becoming brunette was dining alone. As he sat down, Cranston
smiled.
"Nothing sentimental about that friendship," remarked Cranston. "You
heard
for yourself, Margo. She called me 'Mr. Cranston' every time. Never once was
it
'Lamont.'"
Margo Lane registered mock surprise.
"Why, Lamont!" she exclaimed. "What a fool you are to think I could be