"twogirlsmissing" - читать интересную книгу автора (Oliphant Ronald)

TWO GIRLS--MISSING
by Ronald Oliphant



The waiter looked scared stiff as he came out of the kitchen, toting his greasy tray loaded
with dishes. He passed the table where I sat waiting for Shirley Smith, and I could see that
his hands were shaking. His face had an ashen tinge, and big beads of sweat were standing out
on his low forehead under the wiry brush of dirty-blond hair.

I hailed him as he went by "What's the matter, Rudolph?" I always call those muddy-blond
waiters "Rudolph."

"Nothing," he answered, in a voice that trembled. "Nothing at all!"

"What you looking so scared about, then?"

"Me!" he exclaimed. "I'm not scared, sir!" And he hurried along.

I knew he was Iying, but there was no use arguing with him. I made up my mind to see what
was going on in that kitchen, behind the swinging door with the oval glass panel in it.

While I was waiting for Shirley Smith to arrive, I might as well satisfy my curiosity.

This Shirley Smith was one of half a dozen female operatives--girl detectives, to you--
whom I called in to help me from time to time. I pick different types for different cases.

Tonight's particular job called for Shirley's type--small, active, with a lean, wiry body,
and a flat little face that was only saved from being downright homely by a pair of nice gray
eyes. And she hadn't much idea of dressing herself; generally wore black or gray, without much
style, and her hats were worse than terrible.

But she was smart--and game; a girl with the instincts of a real detective, and a whole
lot of brains. I'd rather have her working with me on a case like this than half a dozen
wooden-headed dolls.

I waited a moment, till Rudolph's back was turned. Then I got up and tiptoed toward the
door leading to the kitchen, pushed it open, and stepped through.

Right away, I saw what Rudolph had been so scared about. For the fat Italian and his wife
who ran this little spaghetti-and-red-ink joint were standing with their backs against the wall,
with their eyes popping out of their heads, while a thick-necked man with curly black hair was
pointing a revolver at a young woman who was tied in a chair, with her arms behind her back,
and her mouth gagged.

Thick-neck was questioning the girl, and she could only answer yes or no by nodding her
head, or vice versa. And--to make a long story short--the girl was Shirley Smith.

She caught my eye the minute I came in, but I didn't have to give her any high sign.