The «Canary» Murder Case / Смерть Канарейки. Книга для чтения на английском языке - стр. 34
“It wasn’t no spook that made those finger-prints,” growled Heath, with surly truculence.
Markham halted his nervous pacing and regarded Vance irritably.
“Damn it! This is rank nonsense. The man got in some way, and he got out, too. There’s something wrong somewhere. Either the maid is mistaken about some one being here when she left, or else one of those phone operators went to sleep and won’t admit it.”
“Or else one of ’em’s lying,” supplemented Heath.
Vance shook his head. “The dusky fille de chambre[39], I’d say, is eminently trustworthy. And if there was any doubt about any one’s having come in the front door unnoticed, the lads on the switchboard would, in the present circumstances, be only too eager to admit it. … No, Markham, you’ll simply have to approach this affair from the astral plane, so to speak.”
Markham grunted his distaste of Vance’s jocularity.
“That line of investigation I leave to you with your metaphysical theories and esoteric hypotheses.”
“But, consider,” protested Vance banteringly. “You’ve proved conclusively—or, rather, you’ve demonstrated legally—that no one could have entered or departed from this apartment last night; and, as you’ve often told me, a court of law must decide all matters, not in accord with the known or suspected facts, but according to the evidence; and the evidence in this case would prove a sound alibi for every corporeal being extant. And yet, it’s not exactly tenable, d’ ye see, that the lady strangled herself. If only it had been poison, what an exquisite and satisfying suicide case you’d have! … Most inconsiderate of her homicidal visitor not to have used arsenic instead of his hands!”
“Well, he strangled her,” pronounced Heath. “Furthermore, I’ll lay my money on the fellow who called here last night at half past nine and couldn’t get in. He’s the bird I want to talk to.”
“Indeed?” Vance produced another cigarette. “I shouldn’t say, to judge from our description of him, that his conversation would prove particularly fascinatin’.”
An ugly light came into Heath’s eyes.
“We’ve got ways,” he said through his teeth, “of getting damn interesting conversation outa people who haven’t no great reputation for repartee.”
Vance sighed. “How the Four Hundred needs you, my Sergeant!”
Markham looked at his watch.
“I’ve got pressing work at the office,” he said, “and all this talk isn’t getting us anywhere.” He put his hand on Heath’s shoulder. “I leave you to go ahead. This afternoon I’ll have these people brought down to my office for another questioning—maybe I can jog their memories a bit. … You’ve got some line of investigation planned?”
“The usual routine,” replied Heath drearily. “I’ll go through Odell’s papers, and I’ll have three or four of my men check up on her.”
“You’d better get after the Yellow Taxicab Company right away,” Markham suggested. “Find out, if you can, who the man was who left here at half past eleven last night, and where he went.”
“Do you imagine for one moment,” asked Vance, “that if this man knew anything about the murder, he would have stopped in the hall and asked the operator to call a taxi for him?”
“Oh, I don’t look for much in that direction.” Markham’s tone was almost listless. “But the girl may have said something to him that’ll give us a lead.”