"Jeffrey Lord - Blade 04 - Slave of Sarma" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lord Jeffery)

His Lordship, who hated shaving, stroked a stubbled chin with fragile, liver-spotted hands. He
smiled. And when this old man, this high boffin, this chief of allBritain 's scientists, smiled, he could be
very charming indeed.
He nodded. "I can see that, Mr. Carrandish. Indeed yes. Any fool, and I am not quite that yet, can
see that we can't have all those pounds lying around unaccounted for. What I don't see, Mr. Carrandish,
is why you come to me?"
Mr. Carrandish pounced. J admitted his error. The man was no rodent.Mustela furo. The weasel
family.
"Over a million and a half pounds of the vouchers in question, sir, have been signed by you."
His Lordship sighed. "Iamgetting senile. Signing things and not remembering it." He glanced over at J.
"You may have to see about putting me away, old man. Straight off to the looney bin."
J, by herculean effort, kept his face straight. He shook his head, said nothing, and the uneasiness
grew in him. He was beginning to get aprofessionalfeeling about this little farce.
Carrandish, stern, looking as much like Britannia determined as his thin features would
accommodate, patted his forehead with a square of handkerchief and forged ahead.
"You do understand, sir, that I am as much bound by the Official Secrets Act as yтАФas anyone. I
would have to be, to have access to the accounts, the bookkeeping, relevant to the Secret Fund. You do
understand that, sir?"
The old lion was growing surly again. "Of course I understand it," he snarled. "What in the bloody hell
has it got to do with me?"
Carrandish kept charging into the cannon. "But the vouchers, sir! You signed them. Over a million
and a half pounds' worth. For what, I haven't been able to find outтАФthe purchase orders appear to be
coded, so masked that the nature of the materials, or services, whatever, are hidden. I run into a blank
wall every time I come anywhere close to finding out what that money was actually spent for. Your own
signature, sir, is barely legible. But itisyour signature. I had it carefully checked by an expert. So, in sum,
and putting it as simply as possible, Your Lordship, you have spent a million and a half pounds of Her
Majesty's money for something that I cannot find. Something that cannot even be explained. Money that
has, apparently, gone down a drain and even the drain has vanished. I have a right to know, Lord
Leighton. I am empowered toтАФ"
Lord Leighton stood up. He clung to the table for a moment, to give aid to his polio ruined legs. His
gaze was lethal, but his voice was level and courteous.
"And I, sir, am empowered to ask you to leave now. I can't answer your question. Good evening,
sir."
Carrandish had also risen. He nodded sullenly, glared at J as though he were the real malefactor,
picked up his briefcase and marched to the door. He bowed slightly to the old man and ignored J.
"I can," he said, "ask the same questions in the House, you know. And you, Your Lordship, can be
called upon to answer them under oath. Good evening, gentlemen." The door closed just a bit harder
than was necessary. J stirred the fire with a poker. He said, "He might do that, you know."
Lord L, in his chair again and already working on some papers he had taken from a desk, snorted.
"He won't. I can see to that. I'll get on to the Prime Minister tonight and see that our little man is put on a
false scent. Harry will cooperate to the fullest. He knows how important Dimension X is to us."
J dropped a few lumps of coal on the fire. He replenished his glass with a splash of soda. He went to
a tall window and stood gazing out at Prince'sGate Crescent . Street lights were on and macintoshed
pedestrians drifted in and out of the nimbi like damp ghosts. A few last stubborn leaves hung
despondently from stark branches moving in the wind like dark mobiles. J dropped the heavy drape into
place and went to prowling the room.
The table top was already littered with sheets of paper. Lord Leighton scratched industriously away
with his pen. J prowled back and forth over the worn Oriental, crossing and recrossing before the fire,
wishing he had his pipe. He concentrated better with his pipe. But his favorite was in the shop, being
repaired, and he had forgotten to bring a spare from Copra House.