Unquiet Spirits: Whisky, Ghosts, Murder. Bonnie Macbird
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Название: Unquiet Spirits: Whisky, Ghosts, Murder
Автор: Bonnie Macbird
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Полицейские детективы
isbn: 9780008129736
isbn:
There was an audible gasp from those around the table. Isla McLaren coughed to stifle a laugh. The laird stared at Holmes in some confusion.
‘Well, your method bears some explanation,’ said the laird. ‘But you may very well have hit the nail on the head. Has he, Charles?’ Charles said nothing but reddened. Poor Catherine looked down at her lap and I felt a pang of sympathy for her. Alistair offered Charles his seat with a flourish and the elder brother duly changed places and sat, glowering.
The laird laughed, although with some discomfort. ‘Well, then, you have just given us confirmation, son. You must learn discretion.’ He turned to Holmes. ‘And how did you come to this theory? Pardon us, Catherine.’
‘They are not theories,’ began Holmes. ‘They are—’
‘I am no philanderer!’ exclaimed ‘Chimney’. He turned to Holmes in a fury, and pounded his fist on the table, making the silverware jump. ‘Be damned man, I will not have my name besmirched.’
‘I am merely acting at your father’s behest,’ said Holmes quietly.
‘Hmph. I see that you are right,’ said the laird. ‘Charles, you reveal yourself piteously. Get control. Mr Holmes, I demand to know your reasoning. What are the clues?’
‘Perhaps it would be best—’
‘Sir, I insist.’
Holmes shrugged, and then turned on his considerable charm. The malice beneath it was obvious to me but masked, I hoped, to others. I glanced at Isla McLaren. Her look of alarm told me I was mistaken. At least one other saw what was ahead.
‘It was quite simple. Obvious, really,’ said Holmes. He turned back to Charles. ‘Your wife called you by your nickname earlier when you arose to speak to that waiter. Softly, but I heard it. Your shifting in your chair, obvious discomfort, and the placement of a small pillow to support your lumbar region – none of the rest of the chairs has one – and your particular manner of eyeing the flaxen-haired young woman pouring coffee, and your wife’s observation of this tells me what I need to know. Perhaps your back condition is not due to riding horses, but some other strain. You must take care. And then, the gambling—’
His furious wife stifled a gasp. Holmes turned to her. ‘By the way, you, my dear lady, must see a doctor and soon. The slight palsy in your hand and your pale face indicate lead poisoning. It could be the use of an inauspicious cosmetic, and made all the worse by drink. Perhaps Doctor Watson could be of service.’
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