The Benson Murder Case / Дело Бенсона. Книга для чтения на английском языке

”

Markham was both amused and ruffled.

“One’s pretty safe with the police, Vance,” he said. “They get there eventually.”

“I simply adore your trusting nature,” murmured Vance. “But confide in me: what do you know regarding Benson’s murderer?”

Markham hesitated.

“This is, of course, in confidence,” he said at length; “but this morning, right after you ’phoned, one of the men I had put to work on the amatory end of Benson’s life, reported that he had found the woman who left her hand-bag and gloves at the house that night,—the initials on the handkerchief gave him the clue.

And he dug up some interesting facts about her. As I suspected, she was Benson’s dinner companion that evening. She’s an actress—musical comedy, I believe. Muriel St. Clair by name.”

“Most unfortunate,” breathed Vance. “I was hoping, y’ know, your myrmidons wouldn’t discover the lady. I haven’t the pleasure of her acquaintance, or I’d send her a note of commiseration… Now, I presume, you’ll play the juge d’instruction[45 - juge d’instruction (фр.

) —следственный судья] and chivvy her most horribly, what?”

“I shall certainly question her, if that’s what you mean.”

Markham’s manner was preoccupied, and during the rest of the lunch we spoke but little.

As we sat in the Club’s lounge-room later having our smoke, Major Benson, who had been standing dejectedly at a window close by, caught sight of Markham and came over to us. He was a full-faced man of about fifty, with grave kindly features and a sturdy, erect body.

He greeted Vance and me with a casual bow, and turned at once to the District Attorney.

“Markham, I’ve been thinking things over constantly since our lunch yesterday,” he said, “and there’s one other suggestion I think I might make. There’s a man named Leander Pfyfe who was very close to Alvin; and it’s possible he could give you some helpful information. His name didn’t occur to me yesterday, for he doesn’t live in the city; he’s on Long Island somewhere—Port Washington, I think.

—It’s just an idea. The truth is, I can’t seem to figure out anything that makes sense in this terrible affair.”

He drew a quick, resolute breath, as if to check some involuntary sign of emotion. It was evident that the man, for all his habitual passivity of nature, was deeply moved.

“That’s a good suggestion, Major,” Markham said, making a notation on the back of a letter. “I’ll get after it immediately.