"Heinlein, Robert A - The Unpleasant Profession of Jonathan Hoag" - читать интересную книгу автора (Heinlein Robert A)

"Wait till we get to the office."
She did not wish to wait, but she subsided. The bus they had entered took them directly to their office, a mere half-dozen blocks away. When they were there he unlocked the door of the tiny suite and went at once to the telephone. Their listed office phone was connected through the PBX of a secretarial service.
"Any calls?" he asked, then listened for a moment. "O.K. Send up the slips. No hurry."
He put the phone down and turned to his wife. "Well, babe, that's just about the easiest five hundred we ever promoted."
"You found out what he does with himself?"
"Of course."
"What does he do?"
"Guess."
She eyed him. "How would you like a paste in the snoot?"
"Keep your pants on. You wouldn't guess it, though it's simple enough. He works for a commercial jeweler-polishes gems. You know that stuff he found under his fingernails, that got him so upset?"
"Yes?"
"Nothing to it. Jeweler's rouge. With the aid of a diseased imagination he jumps to the conclusion it's dried blood. So we make half a grand."
"Mm-m-m. And that seems to be that. This place he works is somewhere in the Acme Building, I suppose."
"Room 1310. Or rather Suite 1310. Why didn't you tag along?"
She hesitated a little in replying. She did not want to admit how clumsy she had been, but the habit of complete honesty with each other was strong upon her. "I let myself get misled when Hoag spoke to you outside the Acme Building. I missed you at the elevator."
"I see. Well, I- Say! What did you say? Did you say Hoag spoke to me?"
"Yes, certainly."
"But he didn't speak to me. He never laid eyes on me. What are you talking about?"
"What am I talking about? What are you talking about! Just before the two of you went into the Acme Building, Hoag stopped, turned around and spoke to you. The two of you stood there chinning, which threw me off stride. Then you went into the lobby together, practically arm in arm.
He sat there, saying nothing, looking at her for a long moment. At last she said, "Don't sit there staring like a goon! That's what happened."
He said, "Cyn, listen to my story. I got off the bus after he did and followed him into the lobby. I used the old heel-and-toe getting into the elevator and swung behind him when he faced the front of the car. When he got out, I hung back, then fiddled around, half in and half out, asking the operator simpleton questions, and giving him long enough to get clear. When I turned the corner he was just disappearing into 1310. He never spoke to me. He never saw my face. I'm sure of that."
She was looking white, but all she said was, "Go on."
"When you go in this place there is a long glass partition on your right, with benches built up against it. You can look through the glass and see the jewelers, or jewelsmiths, or whatever you call 'em at work. Clever-good salesmanship. Hoag ducked right on in and by the time I passed down the aisle he was already on the other side, his coat off and a smock on, and one of those magnifying dinguses screwed into his eye. I went on past him to the desk-he never looked up- and asked for the manager. Presently a little birdlike guy shows up and I ask him if they have a man named Jonathan Hoag in their employ. He says yes and asks if I want to speak to him. I told him no, that I was an investigator for an insurance company. He wants to know if there is anything wrong and I told him that it was simply a routine investigation of what he had said on his application for a life policy, and how long had he worked there? Five years, he told me. He said that Hoag was one of the most reliable and skillful employees. I said fine, and asked if he thought Mr. Hoag could afford to carry as much as ten thousand. He says certainly and that they were always glad to see their employees invest in life insurance. Which was what I figured when I gave him the stall.
"As I went out I stopped in front of Hoag's bench and looked at him through the glass. Presently he looked up and stared at me, then looked down again. I'm sure I would have spotted it if he had recognized me. A case of complete skeezo, sheezo . . . how do you pronounce it?"
"Schizophrenia. Completely split personalities. But look, Teddy-"
"Yeah?"
"You did talk with him. I saw you."
"Now slow down, puss. You may think you did, but you must have been looking at two other guys. How far away were you?"
"Not that far. I was standing in front of Beecham's Bootery. Then comes Chez Louis, and then the entrance to the Acme Building. You had your back to the newspaper stand at the curb and were practically facing me. Hoag had his back to me, but I couldn't have been mistaken, as I had him in full profile when the two of you turned and went into the building together."
Randall looked exasperated. "I didn't speak with him. And I didn't go in with him; I followed him in."
"Edward Randall, don't give me that! I admit I lost the two of you, but that's no reason to rub it in by trying to make a fool of me."
Randall had been married too long and too comfortably not to respect danger signals. He got up, went to her, and put an arm around her. "Look, kid," he said, seriously and gently, "I'm not pulling your leg. We've got our wires crossed somehow, but I'm giving it to you just as straight as I can, the way I remember it."
She searched his eyes, then kissed him suddenly, and pulled away. "All right. We're both right and it's impossible. Come on."
" 'Come on' where?"
"To the scene of the crime. If I don't get this straightened out I'll never sleep again."

The Acme Building was just where they had left it. The Bootery was where it belonged, likewise Chez Louis, and the newsstand. He stood where she had stood and agreed that she could not have been mistaken in her identification unless blind drunk. But he was equally positive as to what he had done.
"You didn't pick up a snifter or two on the way, did you?" he suggested hopefully.
"Certainly not."
"What do we do now?"
"I don't know. Yes, I do, too! We're finished with Hoag, aren't we? You've traced him down and that's that."
"Yes . . . why?"
"Take me up to where he works. I want to ask his daytime personality whether or not he spoke to you getting off the bus."
He shrugged. "O.K., kid. It's your party."
They went inside and entered the first free elevator. The starter clicked his castanets, the operator slammed his doors and said, "Floors, please."
Six, three, and nine. Randall waited until all those had been served before announcing, "Thirteen."
The operator looked around. "I can give you twelve and fourteen, buddy, and you can split 'em."
"Huh?"
"There ain't no thirteenth floor. If there was, nobody would rent on it."
"You must be mistaken. I was on it this morning."