Чарльз Кенни - This Is Murder

“I figured there was something wrong with the kidnapping as soon as I saw how seasick the girl was, and I couldn’t figure why the parties were so suddenly anxious to have me act as intermediary to pay over the ransom, unless it was they wanted to convince you a ransom had been paid.”

Duncan said slowly, “It’s that sort of logic, Sam, which makes for high-class detective work. I think I m going to have to call on you from time to time to help me solve cases.”

Moraine, grinning, remarked, “You forget, Phil, that you re going to be retired from office in a few weeks.”

“No, I’m not,” the district attorney replied slowly, “I’ve had a heart to heart talk with the foreman of the Grand Jury. The Reform Party wants someone who will take the office out of politics and keep it out of politics. Fairfield can’t win, now that Dixon’s dead, unless he can get the support of the Reform Party. The Reform Party will follow the recommendations of the Grand Jury.”

Sam Moraine picked up some papers from his desk. “Well, Phil,” he observed, “I suppose I should congratulate you, but I don’t think I’m going to. You said a mouthful when you said solving crimes was a chore. I’m finished. I’ve got to work day and night for a while to catch up. Today I have to close the Johnson contract; the Pelton Paper Products people are waiting for a slogan, and...”

“Wait a minute,” Duncan interrupted, with a twinkle in his eye, “you aren’t going to tell me you’re working this evening?”

“This evening, to-morrow evening, every evening...”

“How about a little friendly game?”

Moraine put down the file of papers with a grin. “Well, now, that’s different.”

Natalie Rice looked at him reproachfully. “The Grantland woman,” she said, “has been calling, and...”

“I’m out of town,” Moraine interrupted.

“We’ll have to get a third,” Phil Duncan said. “Barney Morden is in jail, and he’s going to stay there for some time.”

Sam Moraine, grinning, turned to Alton Rice.

“Know anything about poker?” he asked.