"Tom Reamy - That Detweiler Boy" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reamy Tom)

picture of Charles Laughton riding those bells or Igor stealing that brain
from the laboratory. "He's good-looking and he's a hunchback?"

"Sure." She raised her eyebrows. The one over the patch didn't go up as high
as the other. "If you see him from the front, you can't even tell."

"What's his first name?"

"Andrew."

"How long has he been living here?"

She consulted a file card. "He checked in last Friday night. The
twenty-second. Six days."

"What's this spell he was having?"

"I don't know for sure. It was the second one he'd had. He would get pale and
nervous. I think he was in a lot of pain. It would get worse and worse all
day; then he'd be fine, all rosy and healthy-looking."

"Sounds to me like he was hurtin' for a fix."

"I thought so at first, but I changed my mind. I've seen enough of that and it
wasn't the same. Take my word. He was real bad this evening. He came down
about four-fifteen, like I said. He didn't complain, but I could tell he was
wantin' company to take his mind off it. We played gin until six-thirty. Then
he went back upstairs. About twenty minutes later he came down with his old
suitcase and checked out. He looked fine, all over his spell."
"Did he have a doctor?"

"I'm pretty sure he didn't. I asked him about it. He said there was nothing to
worry about, it would pass. And it did."

"Did he say why he was leaving or where he was going?"

"No, just said he was restless and wanted to be movin' on. Sure hated to see
him leave. A real nice kid."

When the cops finally got there, I told them all I knewтАФexcept I didn't
mention the Detweiler boy. I hung around until I found out that Harry almost
certainly wasn't killed after six-thirty. They set the time somewhere between
five-ten, when he called me, and six. It looked like Andrew Detweiler was
innocent, but what "peculiar" thing had Harry noticed about him, and why he
had moved out right after Harry was killed? Birdie let me take a look at his
room, but I didn't find a thing, not even an abandoned paper clip.

Friday morning I sat at my desk trying to put the pieces together. Trouble
was, I only had two pieces and they didn't fit. The sun was coming in off the
Boulevard, shining through the window, projecting the chipping letters painted