Рекс Стаут - The Father Hunt

Saul slid the panel shut. Amy, leaving the stool, misjudged the distance to the floor and landed off balance. I took her arm, and she said, “Thank you,” politely. Her cheeks had less color than usual.

I said politely, “You’re welcome. You heard all right?”

“Yes. I don’t... Do you mind if I go now?”

“Certainly not. How about an escort? Saul or me.”

“I’d rather not. I don’t want to talk. I don’t... feel like it. When I get... I’ll give you a ring. But I have already decided one thing. My mother named me Amy Denovo, and that’s my name.”

“Good for you.”

“I don’t have to see him now, do I? I don’t want to.”

“Of course not. He’s probably settled back, reading a book about Germany. Ring me any time.”

She turned and started off but was blocked by Saul coming from the kitchen. “Your shoes,” he said.

“Thank you,” she said politely, and took my arm with her left hand while she put them on with her right. “Don’t come,” she said, and went.

When the door had closed behind her, Saul said, “She took it fine. Don’t pay me for today. I wasn’t needed.”

The purpose of this footnote is to add to your knowledge of your fellow man. Cyrus M. Jarrett’s check for fifty grand — personal, not a bank check — came in the mail on January twenty-sixth, three days after the jury brought in their first-degree verdict on Floyd Vance.