Odor of Violets, Baynard Kendrick [best short novels .txt] 📗

A table lamp glowed softly as he pushed the switch. It disclosed a bedroom furnished in simple masculine fashion with a double bed, a combination bookcase and desk, and two comfortable chairs.

Without hesitation Cameron opened the desk. The front swung down to make a writing table. He reached inside and opened the right-hand drawer, pulling it out entirely. Groping inside the cavity, he located a niche large enough to receive the end of his finger. A slight tug swung out the center of the desk, disclosing a hidden drawer.

The shallow compartment was empty. He closed it slowly, tried it once to make sure it was fastened, and replaced the desk drawer. Answering promptly, as though shutting the desk had released some controlling spring, the cuckoo clock struck half-past eleven.

Cameron’s gray eyes turned toward the curtains separating the two rooms. He sucked in his lower lip and bit it lightly, then slid his right hand into his coat pocket and closed it about the butt of the Luger 7.65. Following close on the noisy strike of the cuckoo clock someone had knocked demandingly on the apartment door.

He stood motionless, breathing easily, his thumb pressed against the safety catch of the gun. The knock sounded again, more insistent. Cameron’s eyes widened and his serious face was lightened by a perversely mischievous smile.

Moving effortlessly, and with the quiet ease of muscles kept in perfect trim, he brushed the curtains aside, stepped into the living room, and bent over the still form on the floor. Quickly he seized the poker, and with a rolling motion pressed the shiny brass handle against the fingers of the body’s stiffening right hand. When that was done, he grasped the brass handle with his own right hand and for a split second brandished the weapon threateningly in the air.

From the hall, a voice called “Mr. Gerente!” The summons was followed by another knock. Cameron replaced the poker beside the body, strode across the room, and opened the door.

A dark, strikingly handsome man in a sleet-spattered tan mackintosh stood across the threshold. He gave a friendly grin which brought the whole of his rugged face to life, except his eyes. They gave Cameron an uneasy illusion that the newcomer was looking through him, concentrating on some indefinite spot on the opposite wall.

“It’s beastly of me to disturb you again tonight.” The man stepped inside. “I’m overcautious, I guess—” He stopped just inside the door.

“Come in, Captain Maclain.” Cameron fell back precipitately. Two German shepherd dogs had preceded Maclain from the hall. The one on the Captain’s left stared about the room with kindly inquisitiveness. Maclain’s left hand rested lightly upon a U-shaped brace attached to her harness. It was the dog to the Captain’s right which kept Cameron’s feet leadenly still.

There was danger in the set of the white teeth, strength in the broad jaws and forechest, unflinching courage in the stance of the full, erect tail. Menacing almond eyes turned their unwavering gaze from Cameron to the corpse on the hearth. The heavy leather leash tightened around the Captain’s hand as the dog stepped forward with a threatening growl.

“Stand, Dreist!” Maclain snapped out. The affability of his voice was gone. “This dog is extremely dangerous,” he continued in a flat warning tone. “I won’t be able to control him and he’ll tear you to pieces if you try to pull a gun. Move very cautiously, please, and seat yourself in a chair.”

Cameron obeyed without answering. His forehead was damp and a muscle showed tight along the length of his jaw. When he was seated, he said, “Perhaps you don’t mind explaining your reasons for coming here, Captain Maclain.”

“Not at all. Lie down, Schnucke!” the dog in the Seeing-Eye harness obeyed. The Captain tightened his hold on Dreist’s leash and walked toward the sound of Cameron’s voice. “Sit quietly, please, and keep your arms out from your sides.” An instant later he produced Cameron’s gun, and quickly stowed it away in his mackintosh.

“You’re very efficient,” Cameron remarked sarcastically.

“I’ve been told so,” said Maclain. “My chauffeur, Cappo, is waiting for me downstairs in my car. Either you’re not Paul Gerente, or your voice has changed since you were in my office an hour ago.”

“How did you get in here without ringing?” Cameron carefully changed his position in the chair.

“My chauffeur found the superintendent. If you’re not Paul Gerente, I think you’d better tell me who you are.”

“I’ll tell you even more,” said Cameron. “Arnold Cameron’s my name. I was a good friend of Gerente’s. I live in the back apartment on the second floor.”

“ ‘Was’ a good friend?” repeated Maclain.

“That’s right,” said Cameron levelly. “He wasn’t in your office an hour ago, either. He’s very much dead behind you on the floor. Your dog was growling at his body when you came in the door.”

“Schnucke!” Maclain called.

The Seeing-Eye dog came up and placed herself at the Captain’s side. “Guard, Dreist!” he ordered the other dog, and dropped the leash from his hand. “If you don’t move,” he said coldly to Cameron, “Dreist won’t molest you.”

“Then he won’t molest me,” said Cameron. “That’s okay by me.”

Under Schnucke’s guidance the Captain stopped close by the body. Down on one knee, he ran his agile fingers over the features and lightly touched the clotted blood in the hair.

“He’s been dead for some time,” he announced thoughtfully, rising from the floor.

“Since seven forty-five,” said Cameron.

“You place it with great exactness.” Maclain stood holding his chin between thumb and finger. “How do you know?”

“I looked at the clock right after I hit him with the poker,” Cameron declared with a nervous laugh. “He came at me with it and I wrested it away. It was self-defense.”

“I’ll have to phone the police.”

“Go ahead,” said Cameron. “I can’t stop you with this dog slavering over me. I have a witness who can clear me.”

“That’s probably lucky for you. Who is it?”

“The girl we were quarreling over,” said Cameron. “Hilda Lestrade’s her name. She’s