"Davis, Richard Harding - The Lost House" - читать интересную книгу автора (Davis Richard Harding)

"She sells sea-shells on the sea-shore," the vocalist wailed. "The
shells she sells are sea-shells, I'm sure."

The effect was instantaneous. A window was flung open, and an
indignant householder with one hand frantically waved the musicians
away, and with the other threw them a copper coin.

At the same moment Ford walked quickly to the piano and laid a
half-crown on top of it.

"Follow me to Harley Street," he commanded. "Don't hurry. Take your
time. I want you to help me in a sort of practical joke. It's worth
a sovereign to you."

He passed on quickly. When he glanced behind him, he saw the two
men, fearful lest the promised fortune might escape them, pursuing
him at a trot. At Harley Street they halted, breathless.

"How long," Ford demanded of the one who played the piano, "will it
take you to learn the accompaniment to a new song?"

"While you're whistling it," answered the man eagerly.

"And I'm as quick at a tune as him," assured the other anxiously.
"I can sing----"

"You cannot," interrupted Ford. "I'm going to do the singing
myself. Where is there a public-house near here where we can hire
a back room, and rehearse?"

Half an hour later, Ford and the piano-player entered Sowell Street
dragging the piano behind them. The amateur detective still wore
his rain-coat, but his hat he had exchanged for a cap, and, instead
of a collar, he had knotted around his bare neck a dirty kerchief.
At the end of the street they halted, and in some embarrassment
Ford raised his voice in the chorus of a song well known in the
music-halls. It was a very good voice, much too good for "open-air
work," as his companion had already assured him, but, what was of
chief importance to Ford, it carried as far as he wished it to go.
Already in Wimpole Street four coins of the realm, flung to him
from the highest windows, had testified to its power. From the end
of Sowell Street Ford moved slowly from house to house until he was
directly opposite the three in one of which he believed the girl to
be. "We will try the NEW songs here," he said.

Night had fallen, and, except for the gas-lamps, the street was
empty, and in such darkness that even without his disguise Ford ran
no risk of recognition. His plan was not new. It dated from the
days of Richard the Lion-hearted. But if the prisoner were alert
and intelligent, even though she could make no answer, Ford