"L. Sprague De Camp - The Queen of Zamba" - читать интересную книгу автора (De Camp L Sprague)

Hasselborg held his breath to let the germs settle then said: "Now, now, I assure you I won't waste a
minute. Not a microsecond."
"You had better not," said Batruni. "And if you car return my JulnarтАФahтАФunharmed, I will add fifty
percent to the fee."
Hasselborg cocked an eyebrow, thinking that if you could only strap a howdah to Batruni's back, he'd fit
perfectly into a circus parade. "I get your point However, Mr. Batruni, while I can trail runaways, I can't
bring back the infirm glory of the positive hour nor can I put Humpty Dumpty together again."
"Then you don't think there is any chanceтАФ?"
"About as much chance as there is of having an Irishman turn down a drink when you offer it to him
However, I'll do my best."
"Fine," said Batruni. "By the way, Mr. Hasselborg you do not talk like a Londoner. Are you Swedish?"
Hasselborg pushed back the brown hair that drooped untidily over his broad forehead. "By descent only. I'm
a North American; born in Vancouver." "How did you happen to settle in London?" "WhyтАФ" Hasselborg
became wary, not wishing to go into the sordid details of his fall and partial resur-rection. "After I left the
Division of Investigation to go into private work, I specialized in insurance frauds. And Europe
offers a good opportunity for that kind of work now." He laughed apologetically. "In-vestigating them, I
mean. Follow me?"
"Yes." Batruni looked at his watch. "My plane leaves in an hour, so you must excuse me. You have the
photographs, the key to her apartment, the list of addresses, and the letter of credit. I do not doubt that you
will live up to your recommendations." However, he said this with a rising inflection that did imply a doubt.
Hasselborg, as he stood up, worked the little trick that he sometimes used on dubious clients: he pushed
back his hair, straighted his scarf, took off his glas-ses, pulled back his shoulders, and stuck out his big
square jaw. By these acts he changed in a couple of seconds from a nondescript, mild-looking person with
an air of utter unimportance to a large, well-built character whom an evildoer would think twice about
meddling with.
Batruni smiled with renewed confidence as he shook hands.
Hasselborg warned him: "I'm no miracle-working yogi, you know. If she's gone outside the. Solar System,
it'll take years to bring her back. There's no extradition from most planets, and once I get her aboard the
Viagens Interplanetarias she'll be under Earth law and I can't drag her by main force. It would cost me my
license at least."
Batruni waved a hand. "Never mind that. I will take care of your future if you get me my darling. But to
wait all those yearsтАФ" He seemed ready to blubber again.
"You could put yourself in a trance, couldn't you?" "And wake up to find those bad Socialists had stolen all
my factories? No, thank you. It is not the timeтАФthe doctors tell me I have another seventy-five years at
leastтАФbut the suspense. It will not be so long for you."
"The Fitzgerald effect," said Hasselborg. "If you're not back from Aleppo when I shove off from London I'll
leave a report for you. Mah salami!"
Viagens Interplanetarias wired back a list of name from Barcelona, and the name of Julnar Batrun turned
up on the list for the Jurua, bound for Pluto with four other Londoners in addition to other passengers. Of
the Londoners, one was a well-known spinster sociologist, two a minor World Federation official and his
wife, and the remaining one a radio announcer named Anthony Fallon.
Hasselborg trotted around to the BBC offices where he unearthed the Personnel Director and asked about
Fallon. He learned that Fallon was in his early thirtiesтАФa little younger than Hasselborg himselfтАФa native
of London, married, with a varied background as a World Police trooper, a cameraman on a scientific
expedition to Greenland, a hippopotamus-farmer, an actor, a professional cricket player, and other jobs. No,
BBC had no notion when he was now. The blighter had simply called Person-nel one fine day, told him he
was resigning, and walked out. (That was two days before the Jurua left Barcelona.) And really you know,
this is England, where a chap can go where he pleases without some copper checking up on him.
Finding the Director of Personnel stuffy, Hassel-borg inquired among the staff, adding details to his picture
of Fallon. The man, it transpired, had cut something of a swath among the female help; he'd apparently led