"A. E. Merritt - Creep, Shadow!" - читать интересную книгу автора (Merritt A. E)

become of them. He seemed immediately to regret that he had given this information, saying that the
circumstance could have no bearing upon Mr. Ralston's suicide. He reluctantly admitted, however, that
the sum might be well over $100,000, and that the police were investigating."

I said: "That looks like blackmail--if it's true."

He said: "I haven't the slightest proof that it is true. But it's what I told the police and the reporters."

He read the paragraph over again and arose.

"The reporters will soon be here, Alan," he said. "And the police. I'm going. You haven't seen me. You
haven't the slightest idea of what it's all about. You haven't heard from Ralston for a year. Tell them that
when you get in touch with me, you may have something more to say. But now--you don't know
anything. And that's true--you don't. That's your story, and you stick to it."

He walked to the door. I said:

"Wait a minute, Bill. What's the idea behind that bunch of words I've just read?"
He said: "It's a nicely baited hook."

I said: "What do you expect to hook?"

He said: "Dick's murderer."

He turned at the door: "And something else that's right down your alley. A witch."

He shut the door behind him.

CHAPTER II. THE DEMOISELLE DAHUT
Not long after Bill had gone, a man from the Detective Bureau visited me. It was evident that he regarded
the call as waste motion; just a part of the routine. His questions were perfunctory, nor did he ask me if I
had seen Bennett. I produced the Scotch and he mellowed. He said:

"Hell, if it ain't one thing it's another. If you ain't got money you wear yourself out tryin' to get it. If you got
it, then somebody's tryin' all the time to rob you. Or else you go nuts like this poor guy and then what
good is your money? This Ralston wasn't a bad guy at that, I hear."

I agreed. He took another drink and left.

Three reporters came; one from the City News and the others from afternoon papers. They asked few
questions about Dick, but showed flattering interest in my travels. I was so relieved that I sent for a
second bottle of Scotch and told them a few stories about the mirror-magic of the Riff women, who
believe that at certain times and under certain conditions they can catch the reflections of those they love
or hate in their mirrors, and so have power thereafter over their souls.

The City News man said that if he could get the Riff women to teach him that trick, he could lift all the
mirror-makers in America out of the depression and get rich doing it. The other two morosely agreed that
they knew some editors whose reflections they'd like to catch. I laughed and said it would be easier to
bring over a good old-fashioned Bulgarian mason or two. Then all they need do was to get the mason a
job, decoy the editor to the place and have the mason measure his shadow with a string. After that, the