"Gill, B.M. - Death Drop" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gill B M)

"You know the procedure, Durrant. If you need to go into Marristone Port for any reason, you ask your housemaster."

Durrant licked his thick lower lip. "I can't find Mr. Hammond, sir. I don't think he's on the premises."

Brannigan glanced at his watch. It had just gone four. Hammond wouldn't be back, if he had any sense, until a lot later. He had forgotten momentarily that Durrant was in Hammond's House. " "Why do you want to go into Marristone Port?"

"It's my mother's birthday, sir. I want to get her a card and a present."

Brannigan wondered if it were a variation of the grandmother's funeral theme and decided it wasn't. Durrani's mother didn't give a tuppeny damn for Durrant, but Durrant cared quite deeply for her. During his first year at the Grange he had found his way home twice. The first time to an empty house and he had walked the night streets of Leeds until the police had picked him up. The second time to a house which had been far from empty. His mother had returned him personally the following day. Her anger had been greater than her discretion and it hadn't been difficult to imagine what the boy had walked in on. After that he had stayed put. Whatever illusions he had left he clung to. His father, with less tenacity, had long since ditched his and taken himself off. He wrote to the boy once or twice a term and the boy wrote a duty letter back. Their relationship was polite and distant.

"When is your mother's birthday, Durrant?"

"Tomorrow, sir."

Brannigan felt the boy's anxiety coming across the room in almost tangible waves. He was expecting to have his request refused. He had probably spent a lot of time in a fruitless search for Hammond and in desperation had come at last to him. The shops closed at six.

He tried to remember Durrani's Christian name and at last it came to him. "Unless you're a lightning shopper, Steven, you're likely to miss the post."

"I have my bike, sir. It won't take me long to get into Marristone Port and I know what I want to buy."

"Something you can parcel up quickly?"

Durrani's stoop became almost more pronounced. He was five foot eleven when he stood straight, but in moments of embarrassment lost several inches. "A book of Keats' poems, sir." It came out as a mumble.

Brannigan looked down at the blotter on his desk and positioned it more centrally. When he looked up his face was expressionless, amusement quenched.

"Mr. Hammond normally acts as banker for the House. As he's not around what are you using for cash?"

Durrant shuffled his feet. "I was wondering if you could spare the time to come across to the House office, sir, and get me five pounds from my account?"

Brannigan took out his wallet. "No, I haven't time. You can return this later when you've seen Mr. Hammond." He took out a five-pound note. "Is it a small book?"

"Yes, quite light, sir."

Brannigan took out an extra pound. "If you have any change -- and any time -- go to the chemist and get yourself a razor ... or have you already got one?"

Durrant pocketed the money. "Thank you, sir. No, sir."

Brannigan's smile, though forced, came out with a little warmth. "You haven't a full-blown moustache yet, but it's coming along. You know the rules about that, Steven."

"Yes, sir."

"Then see to it."

As Durrant turned to go he called after him. "At fifteen you're old enough to go into Marristone Port without a prefect, and you're old enough to ride that bike of yours with due care and attention. Just a warning."

"Yes, sir."

"Well, go on then, or you'll miss the shops."