Stockholders in Death

Начало книги

It was after one o’clock in the morning, but Joseph Crimm, semi-retired lawyer, was just walking home from his office on Lexington Avenue. It was the latest he had worked for a long time. Joseph Crimm, dapper and elderly and kindly-eyed, very seldom had anything important enough to work that late on.

He did now. Something very important. He was extremely thoughtful about it. Now and then he frowned a little.

It was dark here. Crimm had a beautiful house, remodeled, though the house was in a spotty neighborhood on the East Side. New York is like that — big, expensive apartments nest in the middle of slums; remodeled tenement buildings that house millionaires, right in the center of warehouse or loft districts.

Crimm’s place had a terrace overlooking the East River, and was as nice a home as you’d care to see, once you’d entered the front gate. But outside the wall, the street was shabby and as dark as the inside of a hobo’s hat.

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