"Charles L. Harness - The Rose" - читать интересную книгу автора (Harness Charles L)

He was standing by the studio entrance, staring at her fixedly. When she favored him with a glassy smile,
he simply shrugged his shoulders and began walking slowly toward her.

In growing panic her eyes darted about the room. Bell and Ruy Jacques were leaning over the phono,
apparently deeply absorbed in the racing clangor of the music. She saw Bell nod a covert signal in her
direction, but without looking directly at her. She tried not to seem hurried as she strolled over to join
them. She knew that Grade was now walking toward them and was but a few steps away when Bell
lifted his head and smiled.

"Everything all right?" said the psychogeneticist loudly.

She replied clearly: "Fine. Mrs. Jacques and a Security man just wanted to ask some questions." She
drew in closer. Her lips framed a question to Bell: "Can Grade hear?"

Bell's lips formed a soft, nervous guttural: "No. He's moving off toward the dressing room door. If what I
suspect happened behind that door is true, you have about ten seconds to get out of here. And then
you've got to hide." He turned abruptly to the artist. "Ruy, you've got to take her down into the Via. Right
nowтАФimmediately. Watch your opportunity and lose her when no one is looking. It shouldn't be too
hard in that mob."

Jacques shook his head doubtfully. "Martha isn't going to like this. You know how strict she is on
etiquette. I think there's a very firm statement in Emily Post that the host should never, never, never walk
out on his guests before locking up the liquor and silverware. Oh, well, if you insist."
Chapter Fourteen
"Tell ya what the professor's gonna do, ladies and gentlemen. He's gonna defend not just one paradox.
Not just two. But seventeen! In the space of one short hour, and without repeating himself, and including
one he just thought up five minutes ago: 'Security is dangerous.' "

Ruy frowned, then whispered to Anna: "That was for us. He means Security men are circulating. Let's
move on. Next door. They won't look for a woman there."

Already he was pulling her away toward the chess parlor. They both ducked under the For Men Only
sign (which she could no longer read), pushed through the bat-wing doors, and walked unobtrusively
down between the wall and a row of players. One man looked up briefly out of the corner of his eye as
they passed.

The woman paused uneasily. She had sensed the nervousness of the barker even before Ruy, and now
still fainter impressions were beginning to ripple over the straining surface of her mind. They were coming
from that chess player: from the coins in his pocket; from the lead weights of his chess pieces; and
especially from the weapon concealed somewhere on him. The resonant histories of the chess pieces and
coins she ignored. They held the encephalographic residua of too many minds. The invisible gun was
clearer. There was something abrupt and violent, alternating with a more subtle, restrained rhythm. She
put her hand to her throat as she considered one interpretation: KillтАФbut wait. Obviously, he'd dare not
fire with Ruy so close.

"Rather warm here, too," murmured the artist. "Out we go."

As they stepped out into the street again, she looked behind her and saw that the man's chair was empty.