), aren't you (не так ли)? I suppose there was some petty racket going on (я полагаю, имело место какое-нибудь мелкое мошенничество;
to suppose — допускать, думать, полагать, предполагать; to go on — происходить, продолжаться: «идти дальше») with petrol (с бензином) and you couldn't pin it on anyone (и вы не могли прицепить его на кого-либо;
pin — булавка, кнопка, шпилька; to pin — прикалывать, прикреплять), so you've picked a dead man (так что вы выбрали/подцепили мертвого человека;
to pick — собирать, снимать /плоды/, рвать, срывать /цветы, фрукты/; выбирать, отбирать, подбирать). That's just like a policeman (это очень похоже на полицейского). You're a real policeman, I suppose (вы настоящий полицейский, я полагаю)?"
"Yes, Scotland Yard (да, Скотленд-Ярд), but they've put me into a Colonel's uniform (но они засунули меня в униформу полковника) when I'm on duty (когда я на службе)."
He was between me and the door now (он был теперь между мной и дверью). I couldn't get away from the table (я не мог отойти прочь от стола) without coming into range (без того, чтобы попасть в досягаемость /возможного удара/), I'm no fighter (я вовсе не боец: «я никакой боец»), and he had six inches of advantage anyway (и у него было шесть дюймов преимущества в любом случае). I said, "It wasn't petrol (это был не бензин)."
"Tyres, saccharin (шины, сахарин)... why don't you policemen catch a few murderers (почему вы, полицейские, не поймаете нескольких убийц) for a change (для разнообразия)?"
"Well, you could say (ну, вы могли бы сказать = можно сказать) that murder was part of his racket (что убийство было частью его махинаций)."
whistle [wIsl], familiar [fq'mIlIq], signature ['sIgnICq], caught [kO:t], attention [q'tenS(q)n], dangerous ['deInG(q)rqs], physical ['fIzIk(q)l], courage ['kArIG], situation ["sItju'eIS(q)n], accident ['xksId(q)nt], racketeer ["rxkI'tIq], measure ['meZq], advantage [q'dvRntIG], organisation ["O:gqnaI'zeIS(q)n], colonel ['kq:nl], petrol ['petr(q)l], racket ['rxkIt]
He whistled a tune—it was oddly familiar to me. "I always remember that. I saw Harry write it. Just in a couple of minutes on the back of an envelope. That was what he always whistled when he had something on his mind. It was his signature tune." He whistled the tune a second time, and I knew then who had written it—of course it wasn't Harry. I nearly told him so, but what was the point? The tune wavered and went out. He stared down into his glass, drained what was left and said, "It's a damned shame to think of him dying the way he did."