"Wilkie Collins - The Evil Genius" - читать интересную книгу автора (Collins Wilkie)

poor. His mean room was littered with shabby books. None of the ordinary
courtesies of life seemed to be known to him; he neither wished Mrs. Westerfield
good-morning nor asked her to take a seat. When she attempted to enter into
explanations relating to her errand, he rudely interrupted her.
"Show me your cipher," he said; "I don't promise to study it unless I find it
worth my while."
Mrs. Westerfield was alarmed.
"Do you mean that you want a large sum of money?" she asked.
"I mean that I don't waste my time on easy ciphers invented by fools."
She laid the slip of paper on his desk.
"Waste your time on that," she said satirically, "and see how you like it!"
He examined it--first with his bleared red-rimmed eyes; then with a
magnifying-glass. The only expression of opinion that escaped him was indicated
by his actions. He shut up his book, and gloated over the signs and characters
before him. On a sudden he looked at Mrs. Westerfield. "How did you come by
this?" he asked.
"That's no business of yours."
"In other words, you have reasons of your own for not answering my question?"
"Yes."
Drawing his own inferences from that reply, he showed his three last-left yellow
teeth in a horrid grin. "I understand!" he said, speaking to himself. He looked
at the cipher once more, and put another question: "Have you got a copy of
this?"
It had not occurred to her to take a copy. He rose and pointed to his empty
chair. His opinion of the cipher was, to all appearance, forced to express
itself by the discovery that there was no copy.
"Do you know what might happen?" he asked. "The only cipher that has puzzled me
for the last ten years might be lost--or stolen--or burned if there was a fire
in the house. You deserve to be punished for your carelessness. Make the copy
yourself."
This desirable suggestion (uncivilly as it was expressed) had its effect upon
Mrs. Westerfield. Her marriage depended on that precious slip of paper. She was
confirmed in her opinion that this very disagreeable man might nevertheless be a
man to be trusted.
"Shall you be long in finding out what it means?" she asked when her task was
completed.
He carefully compared the copy with the original--and then he replied:
"Days may pass before I can find the clew; I won't attempt it unless you give me
a week."
She pleaded for a shorter interval. He coolly handed back her papers; the
original and the copy.
"Try somebody else," he suggested--and opened his book again. Mrs. Westerfield
yielded with the worst possible grace. In granting him the week of delay, she
approached the subject of his fee for the second time. "How much will it cost
me?" she inquired.
"I'll tell you when I've done."
"That won't do! I must know the amount first."
He handed her back her papers for the second time. Mrs. Westerfield's experience
of poverty had never been the experience of such independence as this. In sheer
bewilderment, she yielded again. He took back the original cipher, and locked it