The Benson Murder Case / Дело Бенсона. Книга для чтения на английском языке - стр. 20
“Looks that way,” said Markham.
“And pardon me for saying so,” remarked Vance, “but Benson let him in.”
“Yes?” retorted Heath unenthusiastically. “Well, we’ll find all that out later, I hope.”
“Oh, doubtless,” Vance drily agreed.
We ascended the stairs, and entered Benson’s bed-room which was directly over the living-room. It was severely but well furnished, and in excellent order. The bed was made, showing it had not been slept in that night; and the window shades were drawn. Benson’s dinner-jacket and white piqué waistcoat were hanging over a chair. A winged collar and a black bow-tie were on the bed, where they had evidently been thrown when Benson had taken them off on returning home. A pair of low evening shoes were standing by the bench at the foot of the bed. In a glass of water on the night-table was a platinum plate of four false teeth; and a toupee of beautiful workmanship was lying on the chiffonier.
This last item aroused Vance’s special interest. He walked up to it and regarded it closely.
“Most int’restin’,” he commented. “Our departed friend seems to have worn false hair; did you know that, Markham?”
“I always suspected it,” was the indifferent answer.
Heath, who had remained standing on the threshold, seemed a little impatient.
“There’s only one other room on this floor,” he said, leading the way down the hall. “It’s also a bed-room—for guests, so the housekeeper explained.”
Markham and I looked in through the door, but Vance remained lounging against the balustrade at the head of the stairs. He was manifestly uninterested in Alvin Benson’s domestic arrangements; and when Markham and Heath and I went up to the third floor, he sauntered down into the main hallway. When at length we descended from our tour of inspection he was casually looking over the titles in Benson’s bookcase.
We had just reached the foot of the stairs when the front door opened and two men with a stretcher entered. The ambulance from the Department of Welfare had arrived to take the corpse to the Morgue; and the brutal, business-like way in which Benson’s body was covered up, lifted onto the stretcher, carried out and shoved into the wagon, made me shudder. Vance, on the other hand; after the merest fleeting glance at the two men, paid no attention to them. He had found a volume with a beautiful Humphrey-Milford binding, and was absorbed in its Roger Payne tooling and powdering.
“I think an interview with Mrs. Platz is indicated now,” said Markham; and Heath went to the foot of the stairs and gave a loud, brisk order.
Presently a grey-haired, middle-aged woman entered the living-room accompanied by a plain-clothes man smoking a large cigar. Mrs. Platz was of the simple, old-fashioned, motherly type, with a calm, benevolent countenance. She impressed me as highly capable, and as a woman given little to hysteria—an impression strengthened by her attitude of passive resignation. She seemed, however, to possess that taciturn shrewdness that is so often found among the ignorant.
“Sit down, Mrs. Platz,” Markham greeted her kindly. “I’m the District Attorney, and there are some questions I want to ask you.”
She took a straight chair by the door and waited, gazing nervously from one to the other of us. Markham’s gentle, persuasive voice, though, appeared to encourage her; and her answers became more and more fluent.