Title:The Dain Curse
Author(s): Dashiell Hammett
Publisher(s): Vintage Books
Pages: 240
Year: 1989
Format: EPUB
Language: English
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The time of Collinson$prime;s death was placed between eight and nine o$prime;clock Friday night. No marks not apparently caused by his fall had been found on him. The pistol found in his room had been identified as his. No fingerprints were on it. I had an idea that some of the county officials half suspected me of having seen to that, though nobody said anything of that sort. Mary Nunez stuck to her story of being kept home by chills. She had a flock of Mexican witnesses to back it up. I couldn$prime;t find any to knock holes in it. We found no further trace of the man Whidden had seen. I tried the Bakers again, by myself, with no luck. The marshal$prime;s wife, a frail youngish woman with a weak pretty face and nice shy manners, who worked in the telegraph office, said Collinson had sent off his wire to me early Friday morning. He was pale and shaky, she said, with dark-rimmed, bloodshot eyes. She had supposed he was drunk, though she hadn$prime;t smelled alcohol on his breath.
Collinson$prime;s father and brother came down from San Francisco. Hubert Collinson, the father, was a big calm man who looked capable of taking as many more millions out of Pacific Coast lumber as he wanted. Laurence Collinson was a year or two older than his dead brother, and much like him in appearance. Both Collinsons were careful to say nothing that could be interpreted as suggesting they thought Gabrielle had been responsible for Eric$prime;s death, but there was little doubt that they did think so.
Hubert Collinson said quietly to me, «Go ahead; get to the bottom of it;» and thus became the fourth client for whom the agency had been concerned with Gabrielle$prime;s affairs.
Madison Andrews came down from San Francisco. He and I talked in my hotel room. He sat on a chair by the window, cut a cube of tobacco from a yellowish plug, put it in his mouth, and decided that Collinson had committed suicide.
I sat on the side of the bed, set fire to a Fatima, and contradicted him:
«He wouldn$prime;t have torn up the bush if he$prime;d gone over willingly.»
«Then it was an accident. That was a dangerous road to be walked in the dark.»
«I$prime;ve stopped believing in accidents,» I said. «And he had sent me an SOS. And there was the gun that had been fired in his room.»
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