Laura. Vera CasparyЧитать онлайн книгу.
my lawyer simply insists.”
“How generous of you!” I chattered. “You can spare yourself no pains. In spite of grief and sentiment, you carry on bravely. I dare say you’ll account for every button in poor Laura’s wardrobe.”
A key turned in the lock. We assumed postures of piety as Mark entered.
“Your men let us in, Mr. McPherson,” explained Mrs. Treadwell. “I called your office, but you weren’t in. I hope there’s nothing wrong about our . . . our attempt to bring order. Poor Laura was so careless, she never knew what she owned.”
“I gave orders to let you in if you came,” Mark told her. “I hope you’ve found everything as it should be.”
“Someone has been in the closet. One of the dresses has fallen off the hook and perfume was spilled.”
“The police are heavy-handed,” was my innocent observation.
Mark, I thought, took extra pains to appear nonchalant.
“There’s nothing of great value,” Mrs. Treadwell remarked. “Laura would never put her money into things that lasted. But there are certain trinkets, souvenirs that people might appropriate for sentimental reasons.” She smiled so sweetly in my direction that I knew she suspected the reason for my presence.
I took direct action. “Perhaps you know, Mrs. Treadwell, that this vase did not belong to Laura.” I nodded toward the mercury glass globe upon the mantel. “I’d merely lent it to her.”
“Now, Waldo, don’t be naughty. I saw you bring that vase on Christmas, all tied up in red ribbons. You must remember, Shelby.”
Shelby looked up as if he had not heard the argument. The role of innocence, he knew by experience, would protect him equally from my wit and her revenge. “Sorry, darling, I didn’t hear what you were saying.” He returned to his inventories.
“Not ribbons, dear lady. There was a string tied to my Christmas package. Laura wasn’t to give it away. You know that Spanish prodigality of hers, handing things to anyone who admired them. This vase is part of my collection and I intend to take it now. That’s quite in order, don’t you think, McPherson?”
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