Pronzini, Bill (ed) - Detective Duos / Пронзини, Билл (ред) - Детективные дуэты [1997, EPUB, ENG]

The Purloined Letter / Украденное письмо by Edgar Allan Poe The Adventure of the Empty House / Пустой дом by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle Death at the Excelsior (= The Education of Detective Oaks; The Harmonica Mystery) / Урок сыщику by P. G. Wodehouse The Puzzle Lock / Головоломка by R. Austin Freeman The Love Detectives / Дело о любви by Agatha Christie The Sealed House by Hulbert Footner The Footsteps That Ran / Назидательная история о тяжёлых шагах by Dorothy L. Sayers Pattern for Murder by Frances and Richard Lockridge Fourth of July Picnic / Праздничный пикник by Rex Stout Two Over Par by Kelley Roos One Morning They'll Hang Him / Однажды утром его повесят by Margery Allingham Puzzle for Poppy by Patrick Quentin Once Upon a Train by Stuart Palmer and Craig Rice The Phantom Cry-Baby by Lawrence G. Blochman Phut Phat Concentrates / Фут-фэт концентрируется by Lilian Jackson Braun Before She Kills by Fredric Brown And Start With a Blonde by Jack Webb The Road to Damascus by Michael Gilbert Dalziel's Ghost by Reginald Hill Interpol: The Case of the Modern Medusa by Edward D. Hoch The Holes in the System by Marcia Muller The Desert Limited by Brill Pronzini Stop, Thief! by Barbara D'Amato The Adventure of the Perpetual Husbands by Ellen Dearmore The End of the Earth by Julie Smith

The door was that of an office in an old building on State Street near Chicago Avenue, on the near north side, and the lettering on it read Hunter and Hunter Detective Agency. I opened it and went in. Hunter is my uncle, Ambrose Hunter. The door to the inner office was open and I could see Uncle Am playing solitaire at his desk in there. He’s shortish, fattish and smartish, with a straggly brown mustache. I waved at him and headed for my desk in the outer office. I’d had my lunch—we take turns—and he’d be leaving now. Except that he wasn’t. He swept the cards together and stacked them but he said, “Come on in, Ed. Something to talk over with you.” I went in and pulled up a chair. It was a hot day and two big flies were droning in circles around the room. I reached for the fly swatter and held it, waiting for one or both of them to light somewhere. “We ought to get a bomb,” I said. . . .