"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 085 - The Mardi Gras Mystery" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

where faces peered from decorative rails. Cut through by Royal StreetтАФRue Royale to the old
FrenchтАФthe narrow thoroughfares of the quaint French Quarter formed settings that masked strollers
sought in preference to the wide sweep of Canal Street.

Many of the masked mummers had chosen costumes that were bizarre or outlandish. Turbaned Hindus
stalked with Malay pirates. Pierrots, clowns, MephistosтАФall were in evidence. But among this medley
were others more in keeping with their surroundings. They were the ones whose costumes resembled the
styles that had existed when New Orleans was young.

STROLLING along the Rue Royale was a young man garbed as a French colonial gentlemanтАФa style
that had prevailed in New Orleans two centuries ago. Silk hose and knee breeches were topped by a
lavish waistcoat, which, in turn, was enveloped beneath a long coat with large cuffed sleeves.

Upon his head he wore a wig, which was covered by a three-cornered hat. Beside him he carried a
rapier, sheathed in its scabbard. This stroller was masked; through the eyeholes of his domino he
surveyed the other passers curiously, while his lips formed a disdainful smile.

There was a reason for this masquerader's superior attitude. He felt himself apart from the boisterous
throng. To the others, Mardi Gras Day was a glorified Halloween; to this young man, the occasion held
tradition. His choice of costume had not been a random one. It had been in keeping with the locale of
New Orleans.

For Andrew Blouchet, the wearer of that costume, was the last of an old Louisiana family. His present
attire was cut to the same fashion as that of the first Blouchet who had ventured to America. Andrew had
seen that it was tailored to resemble the exact attire shown in an old family portrait.

Had the others chosen to preserve tradition, Mardi Gras, in Andrew's opinion, would be a most
picturesque event. For that reason, Andrews had appeared in one of the tableaux given this night; and he
had enjoyed the sight of costumes that were similar to his own. Returning homeward, he had lowered his
mask, that passers might not recognize him. He did not want to be considered as a mere masquerader
intent upon midnight frolic.

Turning from Royal Street, Andrew slowed his pace. He was away from the heavier throng; here, the
Vieux Carre held a charm that captured his imagination. Ignoring the costumes of those he met; noting
only their laughter, Andrew could picture himself in the city of long ago, where adventure might be had at
any corner.

Another turn brought him to the front of Gallion's restaurant. This was a place that Andrew liked; for
Gallion's, though under new management, had retained its reputation for rare French cuisine. Pausing
outside the door, Andrew was tempted to indulge in a midnight meal, for he usually ate a late supper at
Gallion's. Then the recollection of a heavy dinner made him smile and change his mind.

Before Andrew could pace onward, the door of Gallion's opened and a crew of merrymakers surged
forth. Among them was a tall man in a Harlequin costume, carrying a banjo. He was strumming a tune
and his long-jawed features showed a grin. This man, however, was masked; Andrew caught no more
than a general impression of the fellow's face.

Those with the banjo player were an odd assortment of masqueraders, who had apparently formed a
chance group. They were singing while the banjo artist strummed his tune. Andrew stepped aside to let
the group ramble on their way. Then, with a contemptuous shrug of his shoulders, he followed slowly in