Death from Nowhere by Clayton Rawson Read Free Book Online Page B

might be that dame’s husband, the tight-rope walker — Belmonte!”
    Church frowned, considered the idea and replied, “This bird looks like a Swede to me, not a Spaniard.”
    â€œYes,” Brophy said, “but remember Stefanovsky, that Russian actor we put the bee on for loading his wife’s borscht with strychnine. His real name turned out to be George Throopmorton. You can’t tell about actors.”
    â€œOkay,” Church gave in. “I’ll try anything once. Get her.”

    Juan Belmonte
    Brophy brought her in. The mascara around her eyes was a bit smudgy now. She looked at the body. Her voice was limp. “No,” she said. “That is not my husband.”
    Miss Skinner agreed with her. “Juan Belmonte’s a Mexican,” she said. “Dark, skinny, little moustache.”
    â€œInspector,” the fingerprint man said looking up from the magnifying glass through which he had been comparing prints. “I’ve got an index finger and a thumb here on the desk top. A dame’s. Doesn’t match either Skinner or Mrs. Belmonte.”
    Church looked at the secretary. “Who else has been in here today?”
    â€œThat must be Miss Powers,” Blondie said. “She was here this morning. Lillian Powers.”
    â€œWho is she, what did she want?”
    â€œR.J. had a controlling interest in the Hagenbaugh Powers Circus. She owns the rest of it. It used to be her father’s show until R.J. bought into it three or four years ago. She still works the flying act. It’s all old circus family.”
    The Inspector’s glance moved to the window and back again. “Flying act?” he asked as if he didn’t like the sound of it. “What’s that?”
    Miss Skinner raised an eyebrow. “When did you see a circus last? It’s the trapeze act of course. She doubles the cloud swing and Spanish web act too.
    â€œThat’s enough,” Church growled. “She’s an acrobat. I’d like this case better if it had just one suspect who has a game leg.”
    â€œCap. Schneider is using a cane,” Miss Skinner offered. “Does that help?”
    â€œSchneider? Who’s he?”
    â€œHagenbaugh Powers’ feature act this season. Animal trainer. Satan jumped him in Brooksville two weeks ago and clawed his leg. He’s working again, but he needs a cane except when he’s in the ring.”
    â€œSatan?”
    Church couldn’t understand just what it was but somehow he couldn’t talk to this Skinner dame for more than three minutes at a time without having to duck a verbal thunderbolt.
    â€œSatan,” she said, “is a black leopard.”
    Church sighed. “I’ve been waiting for that,” he said. Then he added, “The show is on the road now, isn’t it? What was Miss Powers doing in New York this morning and what did she see your boss about?”
    Miss Skinner frowned. “The show is playing Lakewego, Connecticut. That’s only an hour and a half or so out on the Merritt Parkway. I—I don’t know what she saw him about.”
    The Inspector gave her a careful look. “You don’t say that as if you meant it, Miss Skinner. This is a murder investigation. Come on. Let’s have it.”
    Miss Skinner stuck out her chin. “I said I didn’t know. You might ask Miss Powers.”
    There was another commotion in the outer office, Branner’s voice commanding, “You heard what the Inspector said. Scram!”
    â€œNow, Branner,” Woody Haines replied, “You know the old boy as well as I do. He has to have his little joke. Kindly stand to one side.”
    Church opened the door, gave the reporter a scowl that would have made Hitler think twice, and then ordered, “Brophy, we’re moving down to headquarters. Now that this guy’s wise we’ll be up to our ears in reporters in another ten minutes. Have Maurer go on