Cue For Murder полностью

“Sure. Why not? There’s a play of Shakespeare’s about a couple named Beatrice and Benedick. They don’t care a hoot about each other, but their pals play a joke on them by telling Beatrice that Benedick’s nuts about her and vice versa. So I told Wanda that Rod was nuts about her, and I hinted to Rod that Wanda was falling for him. They were both flattered. She began asking him to go places with her, and he didn’t dare refuse. I had a camera man trail them whenever they were together, and the publicity boys saw the shots were published with captions and—”

“Why, you—”

“So that was—”

“You nasty little beast!”

The three exclamations came from Wanda, Pauline, and Rodney. All three were converging on Milhau. He backed toward the desk as close to the Inspector as he could get. “Now—now—don’t get excited!” begged Milhau. “You know it’s an old Hollywood custom—these publicity romances. People aren’t going to fall for a glamour girl on stage or screen if she’s a dud off stage and—”

“Dud!” shrilled Wanda.

“In Hollywood the victim of the ‘romance’ is in on the secret!” cried Pauline.

Rod doubled his fist and advanced on Milhau without saying anything.

“Listen to reason will you?” Milhau scuttled around the desk, putting the Inspector between himself and Rod. “It was for your own good. I was building you up as a male lead by making every newspaper reader think Wanda was nuts about you—”

“Am I interrupting?”

Everyone turned. Lazarus was standing in the doorway. In one hand he held the bird cage under its burlap cover. His eyes sought Basil. “You said I could leave Dickie in some other place tonight where he would be safer.”

This concern for the safety of a pet canary when a human being had just been murdered should have been funny. But no one laughed or even smiled. Milhau’s little publicity stunt was forgotten immediately. In a loaded silence, Foyle rose and took the bird cage. He pulled off the cover and set the cage on Milhau’s desk. Dickie was asleep, head tucked under one wing. As light smote him suddenly, the head came out and the eyes blinked, but he remained on his perch, a little ball of yellow feathers, as if the presence of so many strangers frightened him.

“This is the canary I told you about,” said Foyle. “You’ll agree it’s a rather curious coincidence, and it has occurred twice. Before each of these murders this canary has been let out of its cage. On both occasions the knife used was sharpened recently—presumably in Mr. Lazarus’ workshop across the alley. That explains why the murderer broke into the workshop, but it doesn’t explain why he released the canary. Can anyone suggest an explanation? Miss Morley, perhaps you can tell us.”

“No. I can’t.” Wanda was staring at the bird. Her face was twisted out of its usual shape by some fierce emotion. Basil thought it was fear.

“You’re sure this wasn’t another publicity stunt of some sort, Mr. Milhau?” went on Foyle.

“No.” Milhau seemed honestly puzzled. “I tell you what, Jake,” he said to Lazarus. “You can leave the bird here in my office if you like. I’ll lock the door.”

Foyle shut his notebook with a snap and rose.

“Can we go now?” queried Hutchins wearily.

“Yes, that’ll do for tonight. But you must all hold yourselves ready for questioning tomorrow.”

“Where shall I put Dickie?” Lazarus asked Milhau.

“He’ll be O.K. right on the desk.” Milhau helped to readjust the burlap cover.

As the others moved toward the door, Hutchins laid a hand on Basil’s arm. “Funny about Sam adapting Shakespeare to a modern publicity stunt, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Basil looked at Hutchins questioningly.

“Shakespeare is applicable to so many modern situations,” went on Hutchins gravely. “All evening I’ve been trying to recall a line from Othello. It goes something like this: Were it my cue to murder I should have known it without a prompter. . . .”

Foyle was standing at the door of the outer office, a bunch of keys in his hand. He pressed an electric switch in the wall. Light flooded the lobby beyond. The silence was shattered by a woman’s scream.

It was Pauline. Rod hurried to where she was standing—just inside the lobby beyond the door.

“Anything wrong?” said Foyle sharply.

“No. It’s nothing. I’m—I’m sorry.” She shrank away from all of them. Her face was almost as distorted as Wanda’s had been a moment ago and by the same emotion—fear. She tried to smile, but her mouth only quivered. “My nerves must be on edge.”

Basil’s glance surveyed the lobby. It was empty except for one uniformed policeman standing against a red velvet curtain weighted with gilt fringe.

“You didn’t see anything or anybody?” persisted Foyle.

“No. I—I just stumbled.” Her eyelids dropped. “I’d like to go home now. Right away.”

“All right.” Foyle switched off the light in Milhau’s office and locked the door on the outside with a key from the bunch he held. “Going my way, doc?” he said to Basil.

“No. If you don’t mind I’m going to stay here a little longer.”