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

Cranston gestured nonchalantly across Margo to Clem, who was seated on the other side.

"I'm bringing Clem Jolland," said Cranston. "He wants to see Claude Bigby."

That made a difference. The coupe was waved right through to the gabled porte-cochere that fronted
Bigby's house. With old Clem looking proud and happy, Cranston and Margo were ushered into a finely
furnished living room. Bigby received them with a friendly handshake.

It was immediately evident that Claude Bigby knew everything that happened in the county and took it all
to heart. He accepted Cranston without question because the stranger had given precise testimony
regarding the curious death of Zeke Stoyer. As for Clem, Bigby recognized his troubles before the old
tavern-keeper could declare them.

"You're worried about your insurance," said Bigby to Clem. "Twenty-five thousand dollars' valuation,
wasn't it, Clem?"

"Yes, sir," replied Clem. "I was thinking, though, that some folks might have considered it kind of high--"

"Nonsense," interrupted Bigby.

"Your furniture consisted of antiques, didn't it?"

"It was old stuff if that's what you mean. Nigh onto as old as the inn, maybe older, some of it."

"Some of the finest hand-made furniture of this region," said Bigby, turning to Cranston and Margo.
"Better than many of the items in my own collection."

With a wide sweep of his hand, Bigby indicated the contents of his living room. Margo found herself lost
in admiration. Chairs, tables, and sideboards were all of the sort that would produce eager looks at New
York auctions. If Bigby's lost belongings resembled these, the appraisal of the inn's furnishings was low.

" 'T'warn't fancy, my furniture wasn't," said Clem, "but it was as old as yours, Mr. Bigby. Guess you're
more fitten' to judge than I am."

"And don't forget the portraits," added Bigby, with a sad shake of his head. "My whole family line was
represented at the Old Bridge Tavern. I always wanted to buy them from you. Remember, Clem?"

"Only I warn't selling for no price," nodded Clem. "They were like old friends, them pictures. I'd have
given 'em to you though, Mr. Bigby, if ever I'd sold the inn."

"And I would have given you five thousand dollars for them," declared Bigby. "That was the value an art
expert placed on them, the time I brought him up to the tavern. No, Clem, don't worry about your
insurance. The County Mutual will pay the claim in full."

"I'm wondering if it can, Mr. Bigby."

As Clem made that statement, Bigby's manner showed its first change. The broad eyes hardened and
spread their stern influence across the rugged face. It was like an aftermath of the furious clouds that had
stormed this region the day before. Bigby seemed to be gathering himself to forge a verbal thunderbolt
and hurl it upon the man who doubted him.