Death from Nowhere by Clayton Rawson Read Free Book Online

then asked, “Miss Skinner. Did Zalini have any bandages on his hand? Did it look as if he had hurt that too?”
    She shook her head. “No.”
    â€œRemember which hand he wrote with?”
    She thought. “Yes. His right. Oh, I remember now. He kept his left in his pocket the whole time.”
    â€œHmmpf,” Church said half to himself. “The wobbly way these letters are printed I’d have guessed he was writing with his left. But maybe—”

    Even the two thugs would have been surprised if they had known that under the clown’s white paint were the features of Don Diavolo
    â€œHello, Branner.” A cheery voice hailed from the anteroom. “How’s the boy!”
    Branner said, “Hey you! Keep outa there!”
    But Branner was late. J. Haywood Haines, crack reporter for The New York Press , was already in at the door. Woody was a dynamic young man with a persistent habit of popping up like a genie from a bottle wherever news was in the making. That was his business. Writing a column of behind-the-scenes Broadway gossip required a Johnny-on-the-spot. There was a trick to it of course — several of them. Knowing what the police department was up to was one of them. And keeping a weather eye on Don Diavolo, as Woody had found out, was another.
    He popped up sometimes, such as now, in places where a reporter wasn’t exactly welcome; but the breezy amiability of his gate-crashing technique saved him from getting the bum’s rush more often than not. The look Church was giving him now, however, suggested that this was one time it wasn’t going to work.
    Woody surveyed the scene before him, his gray hat tilted back on his blond head, a broad grin on his face. His eyes twinkled. “Well, well, well,” he said gaily. “Old Home Week. Hullo, Don. Hi, Inspector. Introduce me to the body … oh, I see. If it isn’t R.J. himself! I can’t say I’m too surprised. The old skinflint!”
    â€œBranner!” Church barked. “What do you think you’re supposed to be doing out there? Throw this guy out!”
    An order like that coming from an Inspector of Police would have dismayed some people, but not Woody. He’d been through the mill before. “Touchy this afternoon,” he said lightly. “Aren’t you, Inspector? Something you ate maybe? It’s too late to throw me out now. Way too late. I’m in. And if Branner—”
    But what Woody was going to do if Branner gave him the bum’s rush no one ever discovered. Dr. Pepper’s voice came from behind them.
    â€œYou know,” he said calmly. “ I think I’ve found Zalini! ”
    His words burst like rockets in the air. Woody was forgotten. They all whirled to stare at the doctor standing behind the desk. The photographer having finished, Pepper had pulled back Hagenbaugh’s chair and had been about to ask that the body be laid out on the floor where he could give it a closer examination. But beneath the desk in the hollow square where the circus owner’s knees had been he had noticed an extra pair of feet.
    The body of a man lay there, pushed deep back within the opening. Church, stooping, saw that the man’s head was swathed in bandages. He and Brophy dragged the body out.
    The dark blue suit and the bandages answered Miss Skinner’s description, except that now the suit was soaking wet. The body left a wide dark streak of damp behind it on the carpet as they drew it forth.
    Pepper gave a little cry of excitement and bent forward. “Look, Inspector, these bandages. They’re loose. They’ve been removed and put back on — hastily.” He pulled them away from the face. Once more they saw the curious five parallel scratches like the ones on Hagenbaugh. These ran right across the front of the man’s face, starting at his forehead and angling down to cut sharp gashes in his nose and lips.
    Don Diavolo,