"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 281 - Town of Hate" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

"You mean Brett of course."

"Yes, but he isn't here." Cranston paused at the doorway and watched Creswold go out with Lenstrom.
"Maybe Brett wants to avoid arguments, but he's losing business meanwhile."

"Business with Lenstrom?"

"That's right. Apparently our friend Creswold is selling Lenstrom a bill of goods."

"Maybe you ought to find Brett," suggested Margo with a naive smile, "so that you could tell him."

"I'll find Brett soon enough," returned Cranston, "or rather, he'll find me. I think it would be better to
appraise Brett first, from the standpoint of the opposite camp."

Margo followed Cranston's gaze and saw exactly what he meant. A tall, dominating man with straight
nose, broad forehead and wide chin was coming from the inquest. A cluster of men surrounded him. His
status in the county had been determined at the moment of his arrival. Immediately, the coroner had
invited him to sit as advisor in proceedings. The man was Claude Bigby, around whose family this county
literally had grown.

Getting in a word with Bigby was almost impossible at present. That fact was to Cranston's advantage,
for he saw a man who was highly anxious to talk to Bigby, but couldn't; namely, Clem Jolland. So
Cranston stepped over and clapped Clem on the back in a style so friendly that a smile came to the
innkeeper's worried face.

"Anything I can do for you, Clem?"

"I wish there was, Mr. Cranston," replied Clem, ruefully. "If you only knowed Mr. Bigby right well, you
could speak to him for me."
"Why not speak to Bigby yourself?"

"I would, if he warn't so busy. He'll be going up to his house with that farmer's committee. They're grange
folk mostly and I don't belong."

"I think you do, Clem," decided Cranston. "Since you don't have a car, suppose we drive you up there."

By then Bigby was in his car and was starting away, along with others. Old Clem looked highly pleased,
particularly when he reached Cranston's car and saw its de luxe quality. Apparently Clem judged this as
the sort of car that would impress the county's most important citizen. Clem was wrong.

As a long and trusted native of the Kawagha Region, Clem Jolland was personally the proper passport to
Bigby's hillside domain, as events soon proved.

Approaching The Gables along the driveway that began on the far side of the Kawagha, Cranston
encountered challengers. Some of Bigby's farmer friends clambered from their cars and hurried to flag the
smooth coupe. There was ire in the faces that looked in from Cranston's window. A voice gruffed:

"What are you doing here? We don't want no friends of Preston Brett around these premises."