Chapter 6 Maine's death
The Colonel told me that the men on the case were Harken and Berg.I caught them as they left the detective conference room.Berg was a big, freckled man, as friendly as a St. Bernard puppy, but not as smart.The tall, lanky Detective Harken isn't much fun to look at, but the brains behind his thin, worried face are the brains of the group.
"In a hurry?" I asked.
"It's like that when I'm off duty," Berg said, his freckled face puckering up in a smile.
"Is something wrong?" Harken asked.
"I want the report on the Manin case, if there is one."
"You want to participate?"
"Yes," I said, "for Manin's boss, Gugan."
"Then you can help us. Why does Manin have twenty thousand dollars in cash?"
"I'll tell you tomorrow morning." I promised. "I haven't met Gu Gen yet. I made an appointment with him tonight."
As we talked, we entered the conference room, where the tables and chairs were arranged like a school classroom.Six detectives sat around writing reports.The three of us sat around Harken's table, and the tall, lanky detective spoke:
"Manin came home from Los Angeles at 8 o'clock on Sunday night with 20,000 cash in his wallet. He went south to help Gugan sell goods. You go and find out why he has so much cash. He told his wife that he was with a friend Driven back from Los Angeles, but didn't say who. His wife was in bed at about 10:30, and he was alone in the living room reading. The money was in a brown wallet, two hundred hundred-dollar bills.
"Until then, there was no problem. He was reading in the living room, she was sleeping in the bedroom, and it was just the two of them in the house. Suddenly she was woken up by a loud noise, jumped out of bed and ran into the living room, only to see Man Yin with two men They were huddled together, one of them was tall and strong, and the other was small and dainty—something like a woman. Both had black handkerchiefs over their faces, and their caps were pulled down.
"When Mrs. Mainin appeared, the little man let go of Mainin, grabbed her, pointed a gun at her face, and told her not to move. Mainin was still fighting with the man, and he had already grabbed the gun in his hand. But the gangster grabbed his wrist and tried to take the gun away. He succeeded in two strokes, and Manin's gun fell to the ground. The gangster took out his own gun and threatened him, then bent down to pick up the one on the ground.
"When the man bent over, Manin was on top of him. He knocked the man's gun out of his hand, but when he knocked out, the guy had already picked up the one on the ground-the one that Manin dropped. They Rolled there for two seconds. Mrs. Main heard the bang without seeing it go by, and Main fell, burning where the bullet had been shot in his vest, and struck him in the heart, his gun hitting the man in the mask. There was smoke in his hand. Mrs. Maine fainted.
"When she woke up, there was no one in the house except herself and her dead husband. His wallet was gone, his gun was gone. She was unconscious for half an hour, which we know because there were others Hearing gunshots can tell us the time, though they don't know where it's coming from.
"Manin's house is on the sixth floor of an eight-story building. Next to the building, at the corner of Eighteenth Avenue, there is a two-story building—the downstairs is a small shop, and the upstairs is where the owner lives. This Behind the two buildings is a narrow back street, or an alley. That's basically it.
"Kenny was the patrolman on that line, and he was going down Eighteenth Avenue. He heard the gunshot, and he heard it very clearly, because Main's house was over the store, but Kenny Not immediately sure where exactly the gun went off. He wasted a lot of time searching the streets up and down the street. By the time he found the alley, the two guys had run away. But Kenny found out what was going on. Traces: They left the gun they snatched from Manin and killed him in the alley, but Kenny didn't see them, nor did they see any suspects.
"Having said that, it is easy to jump from the window of the third-floor lobby of the building where Manin lives to the roof of the building where the small shop is. Anyone who is not crippled can go over, whether it is entering or exiting, and the window Never locked. It was just as easy from the roof of the store to the back street. There was a cast-iron water pipe, a deep window, a door with heavy hinges, and a fixed ladder that went up and down the back wall. Berg and I both Climbed up there without breaking a sweat. That's probably how the two men got away. We're sure because on the roof of the store we found Main's wallet—empty, of course, and a Handkerchief. The four corners of the wallet are bounded with metal, and the handkerchief is caught in one corner, and it fell out when the gangster threw the wallet away."
"Manin's handkerchief?"
"A woman's—with an E in one corner."
"Mrs. Maine's?"
"Her name is Agnes, not an E," said Harken. "We showed her the purse, the gun, the handkerchief. She said the first two belonged to her husband, but she hadn't seen the handkerchief. But she knew the handkerchief. What kind of perfume was sprinkled on it—the desire of the heart. And based on this, she said that the small person with the handkerchief covering his face might be a woman, and she had said that the person had a woman's figure."
"Are there any fingerprints or something?" I asked.
"No. Phils checked Manin's house, windows, roof, purse, and gun, and there wasn't a single one."
"Does Mrs. Mann recognize them?"
"She said she recognized the little one, maybe."
"Is there any clue about these two people?"
"Not yet," said the tall, lanky detective as we walked toward the door.
Once in the street I said good-bye to the two detectives and set off for Bruno Gugan's house near Westwood Park.
The rare and antique jeweler was a well-dressed little man.His dinner coat was tightly cinched at the waist and had high, pointed shoulder pads.His hair, mustache, and spade-cut goatee on his chin were all dyed black and oiled, as shiny as his pointy pink nails.I wouldn't spend a penny betting that the color on his fifty-year-old face wasn't due to rouge.He stood up from a deep leather chair in the study, walked over and gave me a soft and warm hand, similar to a child's.He tilted his head to one side, smiled and bowed to me.
Then he introduced me to his wife.The woman didn't even stand up, but nodded in her seat at the table.Apparently, she was a third his age—nineteen, not a day more, and looked more like sixteen.She was as small as he was, with two dimples in her olive face, round brown eyes, and full, lipsticked lips, like an expensive doll in a toy store window.
Bruno Gugan took the time to explain to her my relationship with the Continental Detective Agency, that he paid me to help the police track down Jeffrey Maine's killer and find the missing twenty thousand dollars .
She whispered, "Oh, oh!" without the slightest interest in her voice, and then got up and said, "Then I'll back off a bit, so that you—"
"No, no, honey!" Her husband shook his pink finger at her, "There is nothing I can't let you know."
His funny little face suddenly turned to look at me, tilted his head to the side, and asked with a giggle: "There should be no secrets between husband and wife, right?"
I pretended to agree.
"My dear," he said to his wife, who had sat down again, "I know you're as much interested in the matter as I am, because we feel as much for dear Geoffrey, don't we?"
She repeated, "Oh, oh!" in the same disinterested tone as before.
Her husband turned to me and asked expectantly, "How is it going?"
"I've seen the police," I told him. "They told me the gist of the story. Anything else you want to add? Something new? Something you didn't tell them?"
He turned his face sharply to his wife. "Have you, Enid dear?"
"I don't know anything," she replied.
He giggled and made a happy face at me.
"That's it," he said, "we don't know anything."
"He came back to San Francisco at eight o'clock on Sunday night -- three hours before he was robbed and killed -- with twenty thousand dollars, all in hundred-dollar bills. What was he doing with that money?"
"That's what the client paid," explained Bruno Guggan, "Mr. Nathaniel Osilvey of Los Angeles."
"But why cash?"
The little man wrinkled his face with makeup, shrewd and triumphant.
"Little trick," he admitted triumphantly, "you might say it's a trick of the trade. Do you know about classified collectors? Well, that's a thing! Listen, I got an early Greek handmade The tiara, more precisely - 'supposed' to be handmade in early Greece, and 'supposed' to have been found in southern Russia near Odessa. Whether these two 'supposed' have any basis in fact I don't know I know, but the triple tiara is really beautiful."
He giggled.
"I have a client, Mr. Nathaniel O'Silver of Los Angeles, who is very interested in these kinds of curios, but he is notoriously picky. The value of these things, you know, will definitely make you spend every dollar you spend on them." It's worth every penny. If I sold it as a commodity, I would estimate that the triple tiara would be worth at least ten thousand yuan now. But you can buy a crown that was custom-made for some unknown Scythian king long ago. Is it called 'common stock'? Certainly not. We bundled it carefully in cotton and wrapped it carefully while Geoffrey took it to Los Angeles to show Mr. Osilvey.
"How the crown got into our hands, Jeffrey will never say. But he will hint that there has been a series of scams, smuggling, violence and illegality, so we must keep it secret. For real collectors, This is the real bait! They only look at the hard to get. Geoffrey will not lie, for sure not, for goodness behold, it is immoral! But he will give a lot of hints, and refuse to accept Checks—categorically refused! No checks, my dear sir! No physical evidence to be left behind! Cash!
"It's just a trick, you see, but what harm does it do? Mr. Osilvey is sure to buy the triple tiara, and our little trick is just to whet his appetite, and he'll have more fun with it." .Besides, who can say that this triple tiara is not genuine? If it is genuine, Jeffrey's hints are true. The triple tiara sold for 20,000 yuan, which is why poor Jeffrey's hands There will be so much cash in there."
He waved a pink hand at me, nodded energetically to his dyed-haired head, and concluded, "That's all!"
"Did you know Manin is back?" I asked.
The jeweler smiled as if my question had scratched his itch.He turned his head so that the smile was on his wife.
"Enid darling, do we know?" he threw the question at his wife.
She pouted and shrugged indifferently.
"The first we heard of his return," Gugan translated the body language to me, "was Monday morning, when we heard of his death. My little pigeon, eh?"
His little pigeon muttered, "Yes," and got off his chair and said, "Excuse me, may I go? I have a letter to write."
"Of course, honey," Gugan told her, standing up with me.
She brushed past him as she made her way to the door.His little nose twitched on his dyed mustache, his eyes rolled, and he looked like a clown in a state of ecstasy.
"What a smell, baby!" he exclaimed cheerfully. "It's the smell of heaven! It's a olfactory delight! Does it have a name, dear?"
"Yes." She stopped at the door without looking back.
"what is it call?"
"The desire of the heart." She replied before leaving, but still did not look back.
Bruno Gugan looked at me and giggled.
I sat down again and asked him what he knew about Jeffrey Maine.
"Knows everything and everything," he assured me. "He has been my right-hand man for twelve years, since he was a lad of eighteen."
"Well, what kind of person is he then?"
Bruno's pink palms spread upward.
"What are people like?" he asked his palm.
It didn't make much sense to me, so I didn't respond and waited patiently.
"Let me tell you this," the little man began, "Jeffrey has my eye and taste in the business. I don't think anyone else can match Jeffrey's judgment. And, to tell you the truth— —Listen now, don't let my words mislead you on this point—Jeffrey has the keys to all my locks, and I keep nothing from him. If he could live longer, he'd keep this status.
"But—there's a 'but'—his private life can only be described as chaotic. He drinks, gambles, fucks, spends a lot. Jesus, he's a real spender. Drinking, gambling, so to speak. In terms of messing around, he is simply a dude who doesn't know how to save money. The money he inherited and the fifty thousand that his wife brought over when he got married—more than fifty thousand—were all spent by him .It's a good thing he's insured, otherwise his wife would be out of money by now. Well, he's got what he deserves, that fellow!"
Bruno Gugan escorted me to the front door as I was leaving.I said "good night" and walked down the gravel road to where I parked.It was sunny and dark that night, with no moon.Tall hedges towered over Gugan's house like two walls.In the shadows on the left, there is a barely noticeable patch of dark gray, oval in shape, the size of a face.
I got in the car, started the engine and drove away, turned into the first side street, parked the big guy, got out and walked back to Gugan's house.I'm curious about that face-sized oval.
When I turned the corner, I saw a woman coming towards me from the direction of the Gugans.I stepped back cautiously to the brick buttress that protruded from a door, and ducked inside.
The woman crossed the street, walked up the driveway, and walked toward the stop line.I could only make out that she was a woman, nothing else.She may or may not be from the Gugans.It may or may not be her face I see on the hedge.It's like flipping a coin to guess heads or tails.I guessed so, so followed her up the driveway.
Her destination was a grocery store over the stop line, to find the phone.She was there for ten minutes.I didn't go into the store, and I didn't try to eavesdrop.I was content to stay across the street and get a few clear glimpses of her.
She was about twenty-five years of age, of medium height, stocky, with light gray eyes with subtle bags under them, a thick nose, and a slightly protruding lower lip.She was hatless over her brown hair and was wrapped in a long blue cloak.
I followed her from the grocery store to the Gugans' house, and she went in through the back door.
A servant, perhaps, but not the maid who opened the door for me at night.
I got back in the car and drove towards my office in the city.
"What's Dick Foley up to?" I asked Fisk, the night supervisor of the Continental Detective Agency.
"Nothing. Did you hear the story that some guy had surgery on his neck?"
With a little encouragement, Fisk could go through a lot of stories in one sitting, so I interrupted him: "Got it. Find Dick and tell him there's a stalker's job at Westwood Park starting tomorrow morning."
I gave Gugan's address to Fisk, who would pass it on to Dick, and the face of the girl on the phone at the grocery store, and then assured the night shift guy that I'd heard of that little black guy nicknamed Opium too. Ghost stories, and what the old man said to his wife on the golden wedding day.Before he could go on to the next thing, I escaped into my office and drafted a coded telegram to the Los Angeles bureau asking them to go over the details of Charmain's recent trip to Los Angeles.
Harken and Berg stopped by to see me the next morning, and I told them the reason Guggan had told me that the twenty thousand dollars was cash.Two detectives told me that an insider had told me that Bunker Dahl, a local mugger of some sort, had been spending cash since Maine's death.
"We haven't got him yet," said Harken, "and we can't find out what happened to him, but we have information about his woman. Of course, he may have gotten his money elsewhere."
At ten o'clock that morning I had to go to Oakland to testify against two crooks who pretended to be rubber merchants and sold several baskets of stock.When I got back to the agency at six o'clock that evening, I found a telegram from Los Angeles on my desk.
The telegram stated that Jeffrey Manin had checked out of the room immediately after finishing the deal with Osilvi on Saturday afternoon, and returned by the Owl train that night, and was supposed to arrive in San Francisco early on Sunday morning.The hundred-dollar bills O'Sylvie paid for the triple tiara were new with consecutive numbers, and his bank gave the numbers to the Los Angeles detectives.
Before closing for the day, I called Harken and gave him the number and everything else in the telegram.
"Dahl hasn't been found yet," he told me.
Dick Foley's report arrived the next morning.The girl had left the Gugans at nine-fifteen the night before for the intersection of Miramar Avenue and Southwood Drive, where she was met in a Buick.Dick described the man as about thirty years old, about five feet ten inches tall, with a slender build, weighing about one hundred and forty pounds; light brown face, brown hair, brown eyes; long thin face, pointed chin; brown hat, suit and shoes, Gray long coat.
The girl got into the car too.They drove to the beach, first along the Gray Highway for a little while, then back to Miramar and Southwood, and the girl got out of the car.She seemed to be going back to the Gugans, so Dick left her and followed the man in the Buick all the way to the Futurama complex on Mason Street.
The man stayed inside for about half an hour, and when he came out, there were another man and two women with him.The second man was about the same age as the first, about five feet eight inches tall, probably a hundred and seventy pounds, with brown eyes, brown hair, a dark complexion, and a flat, broad face with high cheekbones.He wore a blue suit, long brown coat, black shoes, and a pear-shaped pearl collar button.One of them was a woman of about twenty-two, thin and small with blond hair.The second was about three or four years older, with red hair, of medium build, and an upturned nose.
The four got into the car, drove to the Algeria coffee shop, stayed there until after one o'clock in the morning, and then returned to the future world.The two men left at three-thirty, drove the Buick to a garage on Post Street, and walked to the Mars Hotel.
After reading this report, I called Mitch Linehan over from the detective room and gave him the report with one instruction: "Find out who these people are."
Mitch was out and my phone rang.
It's Bruno Guggan. "Good morning, any news today?"
"Maybe," I said, "you're in the city?"
"Well, in the store, I'll stay until four o'clock."
"Okay, I'll go find you in the afternoon."
Mitch Linehan came back at noon.He reported, "The first guy, the one that Dick saw with that girl, was called Benjamin Weir. His Buick was his, and he lived in room 410 of the Mars Hotel, and he was a salesman, what Not sure yet. The other one is his friend, and the two lived together for two days, but the second person didn’t register, so we didn’t find any news about him. The two women in the future world are prostitutes and live at No. 3303. The tall one called herself Mrs. Effie Roberts, and the short one with the blond hair Violet Evarts."
"You don't go yet," I said to Mitch, and I went back to the archives and went to the drawer with the index cards.
I flipped through the W names—Benjamin Weir, nicknamed "Cough Ben," 36312W.
File 36312W tells me: Cough Ben Weir was arrested for jewel theft in 1916 and served three years in San Quentin Prison.He was arrested again in Los Angeles in 1922, accused, but not convicted, of attempting to blackmail a female film star.His appearance matched Dick's description of the man in the Buick.A photograph taken by the Los Angeles police in 1922 shows him as a sharp-featured young man with a wedge-shaped jaw.
I took the photo back to the office and showed it to Mitch.
"This is Will five years ago, follow him for a while."
After Mitch left, I called the detective team, and neither Harken nor Berg was there.So I went to Lewis in the Identification Department.
"What does Bunker Dahl look like?" I asked.
"Wait a minute," Lewis said after a while, "he is thirty-two years old, five feet seven and a half inches tall, one hundred and seventy-four pounds, medium build, brown eyes, brown hair, flat face, prominent cheekbones, lower left He has a gold tooth in his gum, a brown mole under his right ear, and a slightly misshapen right thumb."
"Do you have a photo?"
"Have."
"Thanks, I'll send someone over to get it."
I gave the task to Tommy Howard and went out to get some food.After lunch, I went to Gugan's store on Post Street.The little jeweler looked gaudy this afternoon, with a black coat with higher padded shoulders and a tighter waist than the dinner coat he wore the night before; gray striped trousers, vest should be reddish brown, satin tie with wavy patterns , delicately embroidered with gold thread.
We walked through his shop, up a narrow flight of stairs, to a small square office on the mezzanine.
"Shouldn't you tell me now?" he asked after we were seated and the door closed.
"I have more questions than I have to tell you. First of all, who is your thick-nosed, overgrown girl with bags under her gray eyes?"
"Rose Rubery." His small, made-up face wrinkled into a satisfied smile. "My wife's maid."
"She went for a drive with an ex-con."
"Really?" He ran a pink hand over his dyed goatee with great satisfaction. "Oh, she is my dear lady's maid."
"Manin told his wife he was driving from Los Angeles with friends, which is nonsense. He came back by train on Saturday night, 12 hours earlier than his announced return time."
Bruno Guggan giggled, his face tilted to one side in delight.
"Haha!" he said, laughing, "we're making progress, making progress, aren't we?"
"Maybe. Do you remember this Rose Rubery was at home on Sunday night? Say eleven to twelve?"
"Remember, I'm sure she was home. My dear wife was not feeling well that night. She went out early in the morning and said that she was driving to the country with a friend. I don't know what friend. When she came back after eight o'clock in the evening, she Crying and having a terrible headache. She really freaked me out like that, and made several trips to see her, so I knew her maid was in the house all night, at least until one o'clock in the morning."
"Did the police show you the handkerchief found with Main's wallet?"
"Look." He moved on the edge of the chair with the face of a child looking at a Christmas tree.
"Are you sure it's your wife's?"
His giggle got in the way of his speech, so he just nodded for "yes."His head bobbed up and down, his goatee swept his tie back and forth like a tiny broom.
"Maybe she stayed with them when she went to see Mrs. Maine?" I suggested.
"Impossible," he corrected me eagerly, "my dear lady does not know Mrs. Maine."
"But she knows Mainin?"
He giggled and brushed his tie again with his mustache.
"To what extent do you realize?"
His shoulder pads shrugged over his ears.
"I don't know," he said cheerfully. "I've got a detective."
"Really?" I frowned at him, "You asked me to find out who killed Manin and robbed the money, nothing else. If you think you can dig out the secrets of your family if you invite me, then you It was a big mistake."
"Why? Why?" He became anxious, "I have no right to know? I promise this will not cause trouble, there will be no scandal, there will be no divorce lawsuits. Jeffrey is dead, so this matter It's old stuff. When he was alive I was in the dark and didn't know anything. After he died, I discovered something. I really just did it to satisfy my curiosity, please believe me, I Must know all the truth."
"You won't get any information from me," I said bluntly. "I don't know anything about it other than what you tell me, and it's not my responsibility to ask you about it. Besides, you If you're not going to take action, why not just let it go?"
"No, no, my friend," he said cheerfully again, with bright eyes, "I am not old, but I am fifty-two. My dear wife is only eighteen, and a pretty girl. He giggled and said, "This kind of thing happened once, wouldn't there be a second time? A smart husband just wants to control his wife and set her up, right? If the matter stops here, Maybe because I have this handle, my dear wife will be more docile in the future."
I stood up. "This is your family's business, I don't want to interfere."
"Oh, let's not quarrel!" He jumped up and grabbed one of my hands. "If you don't agree, it's fine. But there are still crimes to investigate, and that's the purpose of inviting you so far. You're not going to quit, are you? You're going to find out, aren't you?"
"Assuming—just assuming—that your wife is found to be involved in Man Yin's death, what are you going to do?"
"Then," he shrugged and stretched out his hand, palm up, "let's do it according to the law."
"Great, I'll stick with it. But you know you're not entitled to know anything other than what's involved in the crime."
"Great, if you happen to be unable to separate my wife from this—"
I nodded, and he grabbed my hand and patted it gently.I withdrew my hand and went back to the club.
There was a note on my desk asking me to call Detective Harken, and I did.
"Bunker Dahl's nothing to do with the Manin case," the thin-faced man told me, "he was having a party with a guy named Cough Ben Weir that night at a roadside diner near Varacho. They were about ten o'clock You got kicked out at two o'clock in the morning because of a fight, everyone knows about it. I was told about it by a decent person, and I checked with two other people."
I thanked Harken, called the Gugans, asked to speak to Mrs. Gugans, and asked if she could see me if I came over.
"Oh, oh!" she said.
It seems that this is the way she likes to express it, although it expresses nothing.
I pocketed the photo of Dahl and Will and hailed a cab to Westwood Park.Along the way, I smoked Fatima to refresh my mind, and made up a string of beautiful lies, which I was going to tell my client's wife—a string of lies that I thought would help me get the necessary information.
As we drove past, I saw Dick Foley's car parked about a hundred and fifty yards from the Gugans' house.
A thin, pale-faced maid opened the door of Gugan's house and took me to the second-floor living room.Mrs. Gugen was putting down a book ④, pointing to a chair next to her with a cigarette in her hand.She was wearing a Persian orange dress this afternoon that looked like an expensive doll, and she was sitting in a brocade chair with one foot tucked under her hip.
I looked at her as I lit my cigarette, remembered my first conversation with her and her husband, and my second conversation with her husband, and decided to abandon the sad story I had made up in the taxi along the way.
"Your maid Rose Rubery," I began, "I don't want her to hear our conversation."
"Very well," she said, without a hint of surprise, and added, "Sorry, wait a minute." She got up from her chair and left the room.
She came back not long after, and sat down, with both feet under her buttocks now.
"She'll be gone for at least half an hour."
"That's enough. This Rose is on good terms with an ex-con named Will."
The baby face frowned, and the full lips with lipstick were tightly pressed together.I waited, giving her time to talk, but she said nothing.I pulled out the picture of Will and Dahl and handed it to her.
"Face-thin is your friend of Rose's, and the other is his accomplice and liar."
She took the photo with her tiny hand—as firmly as I handed it—and looked at it carefully.Her mouth got smaller, her lips were drawn tighter, her brown eyes darkened.Then her face slowly brightened and she muttered, "Oh, oh!" and handed the photo back to me.
"When I mentioned this to your husband," I said deliberately, "he said 'she was my wife's maid,' and laughed."
Enid Gugan said nothing.
"So?" I asked, "What does he mean?"
"How do I know?" She sighed.
"You know your handkerchief was found with Maine's empty purse," I said casually, in passing, pretending to concentrate on shaking the ashes into a jasper ashtray carved into An uncovered coffin.
"Oh, oh! Someone told me," she said wearily.
"What do you mean?"
"I can't figure it out."
"I can figure it out," I said, "but I want to say, Mrs. Guggan, that we could save a lot of time if we could just go straight and not go around the corner."
"Why not?" she asked listlessly, "you belong to my husband, and you've come to question me on his orders, and maybe you're going to humiliate me along the way. Well, it's no big deal, I'm just his wife. Besides Now, haven't I been wronged enough? Can any of you come up with new tricks that are more insulting?"
After listening to her dramatic speech, I snorted and went on, "Mrs. Gugan, I'm only interested in finding out who took Manin's money and killed him. All the circumstances surrounding this matter It’s all valuable to me, as long as it’s related to this matter, understand?”
"Of course," she said, "I know you work for my husband."
I didn't say that, so I tried again.
"What do you think you made of me when I was here that night?"
"I can't imagine."
"Please try it."
She smiled faintly. "No doubt you have the impression that my husband considers me Geoffrey's mistress."
"so what?"
"Are you...asking me if I'm really his mistress?" She dimpled, as if amused.
"No, but I sure would like to know."
"Of course you do," she said happily.
"What was your impression of me that night?" I asked.
"Me?" She frowned. "Oh, I think my husband hired you to prove that I'm Jeffrey's mistress." She repeated the word mistress, as if enjoying the shape of her lips when she pronounced it.
"you are wrong."
"I know my husband, your words are unbelievable."
"I know myself, I'm sure of that," I insisted. "Your husband made it clear to me, Mrs. Gugan, very clearly: My job is to find the robber-murderer, and then Nothing else."
"Really?" She politely ended a debate she had found boring.
"You're so inconvenient," I grumbled, standing up, pretending not to be watching her carefully, "so I'll just have to grab this Rose Rubery and those two guys and see what I can get out of their mouths." What did the trial find. You said the girl will be back in half an hour?"
Her round brown eyes looked steadily at me.
"She should be back in a few minutes. Are you going to question her?"
"Not here for interrogation," I told her, "I'm going to take her to the police station and send someone to arrest those two men. Can I borrow your phone?"
"Of course, next door." She walked across the room and opened the door for me.
I dialed the number and said to find the detective team.
Mrs. Gugan stood in the living room and said in a voice so soft I could barely hear, "Wait."
I took the receiver and turned to look at her through the door.She pinched her red lips between her thumb and forefinger, frowning.I waited until she took her hand from her mouth and reached for me, then put down the receiver and went back to the living room.
I prevailed and kept my mouth shut.Now is the time for her to take the initiative.She studied my face for a minute or so before she spoke.
"I don't want to pretend to trust you." She said hesitantly, as if talking to herself, "You belong to my husband, but to him, what I do is even more attractive to him than money. This It’s the power of two evils——if I don’t say it, there will be trouble, but it may not be good if I say it.”
She stopped talking and rubbed her hands, her round eyes became uncertain.If you don't give her a hand at this time, she will retreat.
"It's just the two of us now," I urged her, "in the future you can deny everything, it's up to who they believe. You don't have to tell me, but I know you can get it from other people. You won't let me call it as proof 。你担心我会告诉你先生。呃，如果我不得不逼其他人讲的话，他倒是有可能在报纸上看到整个故事。你唯一的机会是信任我，这并不像你想的那么希望渺茫。就看你的了。”
她沉默了半分钟，小声说：“如果我给你钱——”
“有什么用？如果我打算告诉你先生，我可以收了你的钱再告诉他，不是吗？”
她的红嘴唇抿起来，露出了酒窝，眼睛也亮起来。
“那我就放心了，”她说，“我这就告诉你。杰弗里提前从洛杉矶回来，为的是能到我们租的小房子跟我待一天。当天下午闯进来两个男人——他们有开门的钥匙，手里还拿着左轮手枪。他们就是奔着钱来的，抢了杰弗里。那两个人好像对钱还有我们俩的关系一清二楚。他们直接叫我们的名字，还一边取笑一边威胁我们，说如果报警，他们就要把我们的事传出去。
“他们走了以后，我们俩就蒙了，真是进退维谷、焦头烂额。因为不可能补上那笔钱，我们俩绝对死定了。杰弗里还不能装成钱是他独自一人时丢的或者被抢的，因为他偷偷地提前回旧金山本来就有嫌疑。杰弗里急疯了，要我跟他私奔，或者跟我先生坦白。两个办法我都没答应，那实在不是好法子。
“七点多一点我们离开那房子各自回家。说实话，那时候我们已经有裂痕了。他不够——在我们有麻烦的时候——不，我不应该这么说。”
她停下来，站着看我，平静的洋娃娃脸好像没事了，因为她已经把所有麻烦都转交给了我。
“是照片上那两个人？”我问。
"Ok."
“你那个女仆知道你和曼因的事？知道那房子？知道他去了趟洛杉矶，知道他打算带现金回来？”
“这可说不准。不过如果她偷听我说话，偷看我的东西的话，她肯定会知道个大概。另外，杰弗里给了我张字条，上面写了他去洛杉矶，还约好周日早上见面，也许她看到了。我是个粗心大意的人。”
“我走了，有我消息前不要轻举妄动，也不要吓到女仆。”我说。
“记住了，我什么也没跟你说。”跟着我走到客厅门口时，她提醒我。
我从古根家直接到了火星旅馆。米奇·莱恩汉坐在大厅角落里看报纸。
“他们在里头？”我问他。
"Ok."
“咱们上去瞧瞧。”
米奇伸手对着四一○号房门一顿猛敲，一个有金属质感的声音问道：“谁啊？”
“送包裹的。”米奇装出送快递的小伙子的声音答道。
一个瘦瘦的尖下巴的男人打开门。我递了名片，他没请我们进去，不过我们进去他也没拦着。
“你是威尔？”米奇在我们身后关上门后，我问他。可没等他说是，我又对坐在床上脸很宽的男人说：“你是达尔？”
威尔用金属般的声音漫不经心地对达尔说：“两个警察。”
床上的男人看着我们，咧嘴笑了笑。
我没时间跟他们兜圈子。
“把从曼因那儿拿走的钱交出来。”我宣布说。
他们一起冷笑，好像以前排练过似的。
我拔出枪来。
威尔粗声笑起来。“拿帽子吧，邦克，”他嗤笑着说，“咱们要给关起来了。”
“你弄错了，”我解释道，“这不是逮捕，是抢劫。手举起来！”
达尔的手很快举了上去。
威尔迟疑了一下，直到米奇的三八口径特种枪的枪口抵在他肋骨上。
“搜身。”我命令米奇。
他上上下下里里外外地搜了威尔的衣服，找到一把枪，一些文件和零钱，还有一条厚厚的装钱的腰带。然后他对达尔也如法炮制了一遍。
“数数。”我告诉他。
米奇把腰带倒空，往手指上吐了口唾沫，开始数钱。
“一万九千一百二十六块六角二分。”他数完后报告说。
我伸出没拿枪的手，从口袋里摸出那张写了曼因从奥希尔维手里拿到的百元大钞号码的纸条，递给米奇。
“看看这些百元大钞号是否相符。”
他看了看纸条说：“相符。”
“很好。钱跟枪你收好，看看还能不能找到更多东西。”
这时咳嗽本·威尔的呼吸恢复了正常。
“你他妈给我听着，少跟老子来这套！你以为你算老几？你跑不了的！”他抗议道。
“我可以试试，”我跟他保证道，“你要是打算叫警察，就大声点儿。笨蛋才叫这么小声呢；笨蛋才会以为抓住一个女人的把柄，她就不敢报警了。我现在跟你玩的就是你对曼因和她耍的那一套，不过我比你高明，因为事后你要是玩硬的，你就玩进监狱了。现在给我闭嘴！”
“没钱了，就找到四张邮票。”米奇说。
“拿上吧，好歹加起来还有八分钱呢。走！”我跟米奇说。
“喂，给我们留一点吧！”威尔哀求道。
“我没跟你说闭嘴吗？”我一边朝他吼道，一边退向米奇打开的门。
走廊里没人，米奇站在那儿，拿枪指着威尔和达尔。等我退出房间，把钥匙从里面的锁拨出来插进外面的锁以后，我砰的一声关上门，拨出钥匙装进口袋，然后我们下楼出了旅馆。
米奇的车停在转角。除了枪以外，我们在车里把赃物从他兜里转到我兜里。然后他下车回社里，我把车开向杰弗里·曼因遇害的那栋楼。
曼因太太是个高个子姑娘，不到二十五岁，棕色鬈发，灰蓝色眼睛周围的睫毛很浓，还有一张温暖的五官分明的脸。她从头到脚都穿着黑色。 她看了看我的名片。我解释了古根请我调查她丈夫死因的事，她点了点头，领我走进一间灰白相间的客厅。 “就是这个房间？”我问。 “对。”她的声音悦耳，但略微沙哑。 我走到窗户边，往下看小卖店的屋顶，还有半条可以看得到的后街。我没浪费时间。 “曼因太太，”我转身说道，声音压得很低，好淡化话里的唐突，“你丈夫死后，你把枪扔出窗外，然后把手绢塞到钱包角里一起扔掉。但因为手绢和钱包比枪轻，没掉到胡同里，反而飞到屋顶上去了。你为什么把手绢——” 她一声没吭，昏过去了。 在她快摔到地板上时，我接住了她，把她扛到沙发上，找了古龙水和嗅盐熏她。 “你知道手绢是谁的？”等她醒后坐起来，我问道。 她的头摇得跟拨浪鼓似的。 “那你为什么要费那个事？” “手绢在他兜里，我不知道该怎么办。我想警察会问的，我不希望他们起疑。” “为什么要编抢劫犯的故事？” There is no sound. “为了保险金？”我提议道。 她甩了一下头，愤愤不平地喊道：“是的！他花光了他自己的钱，把我的也花得精光。然后他又……来那么一下。他——” 我打断她的抱怨。 “他留的那张字条，我希望可以用来当证据。”我的意思是她没杀他的证据。 “嗯。”她开始翻她黑色裙子的胸部。 “很好，明天早上第一件事就是把字条拿到律师那儿，跟他说明事情经过。”我站起来说。 我又嘟囔了些同情的话，然后溜掉。 那天我第二次按古根家的门铃时，夜幕已经低垂。开门的脸色苍白的女仆告诉我古根先生在家，她领我上了楼。 罗丝·鲁贝里正在下楼，她停在楼间平台让我们先过去。领我上楼的女孩继续往书房走，我在罗丝面前站住了。 “罗丝，你完了，”我在平台上告诉那姑娘，“我给你十分钟走人，一个字不许泄露。如果你不乐意的话，你就有机会看看你喜不喜欢牢房了。” “呃，你怎么敢这么说话！” “你们的事露馅了。”我把手伸进口袋，给她看了我在火星旅馆拿的一叠钱，“我刚刚拜访过咳嗽本和邦克。” 这话让她印象深刻，转身匆匆上楼。 布鲁诺·古根到书房门口来找我。他好奇地看看正往三楼跑的那姑娘，又看看我。小男人的嘴唇扭成了问号，不过我先发制人。 "It's over." “漂亮！听到没，亲爱的？完事了！”我们走进书房时他惊叹道。 他亲爱的坐在前几个晚上坐的桌子旁边，娃娃脸上表情空洞地笑着，含糊说道：“哦，噢！”话中也不带一点感情。 我走到桌边，把兜里的钱都掏出来。 “一万九千一百二十六块七毛，包括邮票钱，那八百七十三块三毛被他们花了。”我宣布道。 “啊！”布鲁诺·古根抖着一只粉红的手摸摸他的铲形黑胡子，明亮锐利的眼睛逼视着我的脸，“你是在哪儿找到钱的？请你务必坐下来告诉我们这个故事，我们可真是等不及了，对不对，亲爱的？” 他亲爱的打了个呵欠：“哦，噢！” “没什么好说的，”我说，“为了找回这笔钱，我不得不讨价还价，答应什么都不说。曼因在周日下午被抢，不过就算我们逮捕了抢劫犯也没法定他们的罪，因为唯一的证人不愿意出面指认他们。” “不过是谁杀了杰弗里呢？”小男人两只粉手都在抓我的胸膛，“那天晚上是谁杀了他？” “自杀。被人抢了又有苦说不出，崩溃了。” “荒唐！”我的客户不喜欢他自杀。 “曼因太太被枪声吵醒。自杀就没办法领保险金了，她会一个子儿也不剩的。所以她把枪和钱包扔到窗外，把他留下的纸条藏起来，然后编了个抢劫犯的故事。” “可那手绢！”古根尖叫道，他全身神经都绷紧了。 “那可不代表什么，”我严肃地向他保证，“只是曼因——你说过他很风流，有可能跟你太太的女仆有一手，而她跟很多女仆一样，偷了你太太的东西。” 他抹了胭脂的脸鼓起来，跺着脚，还真像在跳舞。那愤愤不平的样子很滑稽，就像他愤愤不平地说的那句话一样可笑。 “咱们等着瞧！”他鞋跟一转跑出房间，不断重复着，“咱们等着瞧！” 伊妮德·古根向我伸出一只手，她的洋娃娃脸上露出了酒窝。 “谢谢你。”她悄声说。 “我可不知道你需要谢我什么。”我低吼道，没和她握手，“这案子已经让我搞乱了，所以找什么证据都是不可能的。不过他当然已经知道了，实际上我不是已经说出来了吗？” “噢，那个啊！”她小小的头一甩，把事情全甩到脑后了，“只要他没有确切证据，我是可以照顾自己的。” I trust her. 布鲁诺·古根颤巍巍地跑回书房，嘴边都是白沫，扯着他染过的山羊胡，大发雷霆地说家里找不到罗丝·鲁贝里。 第二天早上迪克·弗利告诉我，女仆已经和威尔还有达尔跑到波特兰去了。
Notes:
曼因太太是个高个子姑娘，不到二十五岁，棕色鬈发，灰蓝色眼睛周围的睫毛很浓，还有一张温暖的五官分明的脸。她从头到脚都穿着黑色。 她看了看我的名片。我解释了古根请我调查她丈夫死因的事，她点了点头，领我走进一间灰白相间的客厅。 “就是这个房间？”我问。 “对。”她的声音悦耳，但略微沙哑。 我走到窗户边，往下看小卖店的屋顶，还有半条可以看得到的后街。我没浪费时间。 “曼因太太，”我转身说道，声音压得很低，好淡化话里的唐突，“你丈夫死后，你把枪扔出窗外，然后把手绢塞到钱包角里一起扔掉。但因为手绢和钱包比枪轻，没掉到胡同里，反而飞到屋顶上去了。你为什么把手绢——” 她一声没吭，昏过去了。 在她快摔到地板上时，我接住了她，把她扛到沙发上，找了古龙水和嗅盐熏她。 “你知道手绢是谁的？”等她醒后坐起来，我问道。 她的头摇得跟拨浪鼓似的。 “那你为什么要费那个事？” “手绢在他兜里，我不知道该怎么办。我想警察会问的，我不希望他们起疑。” “为什么要编抢劫犯的故事？” There is no sound. “为了保险金？”我提议道。 她甩了一下头，愤愤不平地喊道：“是的！他花光了他自己的钱，把我的也花得精光。然后他又……来那么一下。他——” 我打断她的抱怨。 “他留的那张字条，我希望可以用来当证据。”我的意思是她没杀他的证据。 “嗯。”她开始翻她黑色裙子的胸部。 “很好，明天早上第一件事就是把字条拿到律师那儿，跟他说明事情经过。”我站起来说。 我又嘟囔了些同情的话，然后溜掉。 那天我第二次按古根家的门铃时，夜幕已经低垂。开门的脸色苍白的女仆告诉我古根先生在家，她领我上了楼。 罗丝·鲁贝里正在下楼，她停在楼间平台让我们先过去。领我上楼的女孩继续往书房走，我在罗丝面前站住了。 “罗丝，你完了，”我在平台上告诉那姑娘，“我给你十分钟走人，一个字不许泄露。如果你不乐意的话，你就有机会看看你喜不喜欢牢房了。” “呃，你怎么敢这么说话！” “你们的事露馅了。”我把手伸进口袋，给她看了我在火星旅馆拿的一叠钱，“我刚刚拜访过咳嗽本和邦克。” 这话让她印象深刻，转身匆匆上楼。 布鲁诺·古根到书房门口来找我。他好奇地看看正往三楼跑的那姑娘，又看看我。小男人的嘴唇扭成了问号，不过我先发制人。 "It's over." “漂亮！听到没，亲爱的？完事了！”我们走进书房时他惊叹道。 他亲爱的坐在前几个晚上坐的桌子旁边，娃娃脸上表情空洞地笑着，含糊说道：“哦，噢！”话中也不带一点感情。 我走到桌边，把兜里的钱都掏出来。 “一万九千一百二十六块七毛，包括邮票钱，那八百七十三块三毛被他们花了。”我宣布道。 “啊！”布鲁诺·古根抖着一只粉红的手摸摸他的铲形黑胡子，明亮锐利的眼睛逼视着我的脸，“你是在哪儿找到钱的？请你务必坐下来告诉我们这个故事，我们可真是等不及了，对不对，亲爱的？” 他亲爱的打了个呵欠：“哦，噢！” “没什么好说的，”我说，“为了找回这笔钱，我不得不讨价还价，答应什么都不说。曼因在周日下午被抢，不过就算我们逮捕了抢劫犯也没法定他们的罪，因为唯一的证人不愿意出面指认他们。” “不过是谁杀了杰弗里呢？”小男人两只粉手都在抓我的胸膛，“那天晚上是谁杀了他？” “自杀。被人抢了又有苦说不出，崩溃了。” “荒唐！”我的客户不喜欢他自杀。 “曼因太太被枪声吵醒。自杀就没办法领保险金了，她会一个子儿也不剩的。所以她把枪和钱包扔到窗外，把他留下的纸条藏起来，然后编了个抢劫犯的故事。” “可那手绢！”古根尖叫道，他全身神经都绷紧了。 “那可不代表什么，”我严肃地向他保证，“只是曼因——你说过他很风流，有可能跟你太太的女仆有一手，而她跟很多女仆一样，偷了你太太的东西。” 他抹了胭脂的脸鼓起来，跺着脚，还真像在跳舞。那愤愤不平的样子很滑稽，就像他愤愤不平地说的那句话一样可笑。 “咱们等着瞧！”他鞋跟一转跑出房间，不断重复着，“咱们等着瞧！” 伊妮德·古根向我伸出一只手，她的洋娃娃脸上露出了酒窝。 “谢谢你。”她悄声说。 “我可不知道你需要谢我什么。”我低吼道，没和她握手，“这案子已经让我搞乱了，所以找什么证据都是不可能的。不过他当然已经知道了，实际上我不是已经说出来了吗？” “噢，那个啊！”她小小的头一甩，把事情全甩到脑后了，“只要他没有确切证据，我是可以照顾自己的。” I trust her. 布鲁诺·古根颤巍巍地跑回书房，嘴边都是白沫，扯着他染过的山羊胡，大发雷霆地说家里找不到罗丝·鲁贝里。 第二天早上迪克·弗利告诉我，女仆已经和威尔还有达尔跑到波特兰去了。
Notes: