"Gadget Had a Ghost, The" - читать интересную книгу автора (Leinster Murray)

Goghian pulled off the clips that held the police-department letterhead over the top of the parchment page, and immediately wondered if his hair was really standing on end. There was writing there. He saw words in faded, unbelievably ancient ink. It was modern English script. The handwriting was as familiar to Coghlan as his ownЧ Which it was. It said!

See Thomas Coghian, 750 Fatima, Istanbul.
Professor, President, so what?
Gadget at 8o Hosain, second floor, back room.
Make sure of Mannard. To be killed.

Underneath, his fingerprints remained visible.
Coghlan stared at the sheet. He found his glass and gulped at it. On more mature consideration, he drained it. The situation seemed to call for something of the sort.
There was silence in the room, save for the drowsy sounds of the night outside. They were not all drowsy, at that. There were
voices, and somewhere a radio emitted that nasal masculine howling which to the Turkish ear is music. Uninhibited taxicabs, an unidentifiable jingling, an intonation of speech, all made the sound that of Istanbul and no other place on earth. Moreover, they were the sounds of Istanbul at nightfall.
Duval was still. Ghalil looked at Coghian and was silent. And Coghlan stared at the sheet of ancient parchment.
He faced the completely inexplicable, and he had to accept it. His name and present addressЧno puzzle, if Ghalil simply lied. The line about LaurieТs father, Mannard, implied that he was in danger of some sort; but it didnТt mean much because of its vagueness. The line referring to another address, 8o Hosain, and a УgadgetФ was wholly without any meaning at all. But the line about Уprofessor, presidentФЧthat hit hard.
It was what Coghlan told himself whenever he thought of Laurie. He was a mere instructor in physics. As such, it would not be a good idea for him to ask Laurie to marry him. In time he might become a professor. Even then it would not be a good idea to ask the daughter of an umpty-millionaire to marry him. In more time, with the breaks, he might become a college presidentЧthe odds were astronomically against it, but it could happen. Then what? HeТd last in that high estate until a college board of trustees decided that somebody else might be better at begging for money. All in all, then, too darned few prospects to justify his ever asking Laurie to marry himЧonly an instructor, with a professorship the likely peak of his career, and a presidency of a college something almost unimaginable. So, when Coghlan thought of Laurie, he said sourly to himself, УProfessor, president, so what?Ф And was reminded not to yield to any inclination to be romantic.
But he had not said that four-word phrase to anybody on earth. He was the only human being to whom it would mean anything at all. It was absolute proof that he, Thomas Coghlan, had written those words. But he hadnТt.
He swallowed.
УThatТs my handwriting,Ф he said carefully, Уand I have to
suppose that I wrote it. But I have no memory of doing so. IТll be much obliged if youТll tell me what this is all about.Ф
Duval burst into frantic speech.
УThat is what I have come to demand of you, M. Coghlan! I have been a sane man! I have been a student of the Byzantine empire and its history! I am an authority upon it! But thisЧ modern English, written when there was no modern English? Arabic numerals, when Arabic numerals of that form were unknown? House-numbers when they did not exist, and the city of Istanbul when there was no city of that name on Earth? I could not rest! M. Coghlan, I demand of youЧwhat is the meaning of this?Ф
Coghlan looked again at the faded brown writing on the parchment. Duval abruptly collapsed, buried his face in his hands. Ghalil carefully crushed out his cigarette. He waited.
Coghlan stood up with a certain deliberation.
УI think we can do with another drink.Ф
He gathered up the glasses and left the room, but he did not find that his mind grew any clearer. He found himself wishing that Duval and Ghalil had never been born, to bring a puzzle like this into his life. He hadnТt written that messageЧbut nobody else could have. And it was written.
It suddenly occurred to him that he had no idea what the message referred to, or what he should do about it.
He went back into the living-room with the refilled glasses. Duval still sat with his head in his hands. Ghalil had another cigarette going, was regarding its ash with an expression of acute discomfort. Coghlan put down the drinks.
УI donТt see how anyone else could have written that message,Ф he observed, Уbut I donТt remember writing it myself, and IТve no idea what it means. Since you brought it, you must have some idea.Ф
УNo,Ф said Ghalil. УMy first question was the only sane one
I can ask. Have you been traveling in the thirteenth century?
I gather that you have not. I even feel that you have no plans
of the sort.Ф
УAt least no plans,Ф agreed Coghian, with irony. УI know of nowhere I am less likely to visit.Ф
Ghalil waved his cigarette, and the ash fell off.
УAs a police officer, there is a mention of someone to be killed; possibly murdered. That makes it my affair. As a student of philosophy it is surely my affair! In both police work and in philosophy it is sometimes necessary to assume the absurd, in order to reason toward the sensible. I would like to do so.Ф
УBy all means!Ф said Coghlan dryly.
УAt the moment, then,Ф said Ghalil, with a second wave of his cigarette, Уyou have as yet no anticipation of any attempt to murder Mr. Mannard. You have no scar upon your thumb, nor any expectation of one. And the existence ofЧlet us sayЧa СgadgetТ at 8o Hosain is not in your memory. Right?Ф
УQuite right,Ф admitted Coghian.
УNow if you are to acquire the scar,Ф observed Ghalil, Уyou will makeЧor have made, I must addЧthose fingerprints at some time in the future, when you will know of danger to Mr. Mannard, and of a gadget at 8o Hosain. This-i---Ф
УCe nТest pas logique!Ф protested Duval bitterly.
УBut it is logic,Ф said Ghalil calmly. УThe only flaw is that it is not common sense. Logically, then, one concludes that at some time in the future, Mr. Goghlan will know these things and will wish to inform himself, in what is now the present, of them. He will wishЧperhaps next weekЧto inform himself today that there is danger to Mr. Mannard and that there is something of significance at 8o Hosain, on the second floor in the back room. So he will do so. And this memorandum on the fly-leaf of this very ancient book will be the method by which he informs himself.Ф
Coghlan said, УBut you donТt believe that!Ф
УI do not admit that I believe it,Ф said Ghalil with a smile. УBut I think it would be wise to visit 8o Hosain. I cannot think of anything else to do!Ф
УWhy not tell Mannard about all this?Ф asked Coghian dryly.
УHe would think me insane,Ф said the Turk, just as dryly. УAnd with reason. In fact, I suspect it myself.Ф
УIТll tell him,Ф said Coghlan, Уfor what itТs worth. IТm having dinner with him and with his daughter tonight. It will make small talk at least.Ф He looked at his watch. УI really should be leaving now.Ф
Lieutenant Chalil rose politely. Duval took his head from his hands and stood up also, looking more haggard now than at the beginning of the talk. Something occurred to Coghlan.
УTell me,Ф he said curiously, УM. Duval, when you first found this book, what made you loosen a glued-down page?Ф
Duval spread out his hands. Ghalil turned back the cover again, and put the fly-leaf flat. On what had been the visible side there was a note, a gloss, of five or six lines. It was in an informal sort of Greek lettering, and unintelligible to Coghian. But, judging by its placement, it was a memo by some previous owner of the book, rather than any contribution of the copyist.
УMy translator and M. Duval agree,Ф observed Ghalil. УThey say it says, СThis book has traveled to the frigid Beyond and returned, bearing writing of the adepts who ask news of Appolonius.Т I do not know what that means, nor did M. Duval, but he searched for other writings. When he saw a page glued down, he loosened itЧand you know what has resulted.Ф
Goghlan said vexedly, УI wouldnТt know what an adept is, and I can hardly guess what a frigid beyond is, or a warm one either. But I do know an Appolonius. I think heТs a Greek, but he calls himself a Neoplatonist as if that were a nationality, and says he hails from somewhere in Arabia. HeТs trying to get Mannard to finance some sort of political shenanigan. But he wouldnТt be referred to. Not seven centuries ago!Ф