Brass Rainbow Read Online Free PDF

stump. “On the couch.”
    I sat.
    â€œWho are you? Who let you in? Walter?”
    She had the Belgian automatic in her right hand, the telephone in her left. A young woman with a fine, classic oval face and no make-up. Chestnut hair hung long on her shoulders. Tallish, she had good legs. She probably had good hips and breasts, but the severe blue suit she wore did not display her hips, and in the suit she had nothing as obvious as breasts; she had a bosom.
    The way she used Walter Radford’s first name, the fact that she had a key, and the way she looked at my empty sleeve told me who she had to be. George Ames must have described my arm.
    â€œNo, Miss Fallon,” I said. “I’m afraid I came snooping.”
    â€œYou’re the private detective Uncle George reported?”
    â€œDan Fortune,” I acknowledged.
    â€œShow me,” she said, “and open your coat.”
    â€œI don’t carry a gun,” I said, but I carefully opened both sides of my coat. Then I fished out my wallet and tossed my license to her.
    She picked it up and looked at it. She did not put down the automatic, but she had put down the telephone. I felt a little better. I hadn’t wanted to face Gazzo again.
    â€œUncle George said the police were going to stop you.”
    â€œI guess I talk faster than Ames,” I said. “The police can make mistakes, Miss Fallon, and they really want the truth.”
    â€œThey aren’t convinced that this Weiss creature killed Uncle Jonathan?”
    â€œThey’re convinced, but they’re willing to let me waste my time—grudgingly.”
    She nodded slowly, thinking. She put the gun down on the telephone table, sat down, and lighted a cigarette.
    â€œSo you came here to investigate Walter?”
    The word for Deirdre Fallon was “poised.” That was something of a surprise, since she didn’t look a day over twenty. The second word was “class.” Neat, graceful class. The third word I had in mind was “virginal,” but there was something about the way she handled her body that held me back on that word.
    â€œI came to talk to Walter,” I said. “He wasn’t here. I decided to nose around. I’d still like to talk to Walter.”
    â€œWalter is in North Chester at his mother’s. At least I supposed he was. When I saw those marks on the rug …”
    â€œIt was possible he was here,” I said. “He could have let me in. That was lucky for me. Now maybe I could talk to you?”
    â€œTo me?”
    â€œYou had lunch with Jonathan Radford. Where?”
    â€œThe Charles XII on Lexington Avenue.”
    â€œHow was he? His mood?”
    â€œNormal, I’d say. Perhaps a little testy.”
    â€œAs if he had something on his mind?”
    â€œI suppose so. I didn’t notice at the time. We talked about Walter and myself.”
    â€œDid anything happen? Anything unusual?”
    â€œNo. We talked, ate, and went home. Walter wasn’t at the apartment, so I left. As I was leaving, this fat man in an awful old overcoat rang the bell and asked for Jonathan. I sent him into the study and left.”
    â€œDid you know Walter owed $25,000?”
    â€œYes. Walter gambles and usually loses. It’s happened before.” There was a kind of weariness in her voice.
    â€œYou don’t gamble with him?”
    â€œWhy do you say that?”
    â€œBecause you apparently didn’t know Weiss. Or did you?”
    â€œNo, I didn’t know him. I don’t know him.”
    â€œSo if Walter owed the $25,000 to Weiss, he must have lost the money without you around.”
    She stabbed her cigarette out in an ashtray, stood, and walked to the picture window of the room. The window gave a fine view of shadowy tenements. I had a better view—her lean, but curved figure against the night sky. She stood there, lighted another cigarette, then turned and went back to her