"Jeffrey Lord - Blade 22 - Forests of Gleor" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lord Jeffery)

and see about having an artist sent out. With a dozen good witnesses we should be able to get a fair
enough composite drawing of him."

"Yes sir."

Chapter 2

At about the same moment, Blade was on the telephone in a small pub about three miles away. He was
talking to J. If the chief constable could have overheard Blade's end of the conversation, it might have set
his mind at rest about Blade's being a criminal. It would still have left him wondering just exactly who
Blade was.

"-no indication of anyone coming after me, at least not yet. I've told the pubkeeper that I had a bit of a
car accident. Yes, he's heard of the train wreck. But the rumor going around is that everybody aboard
was either killed or so badly hurt they won't be running around the countryside. He believes my story, at
least so far.

"Fingerprints? Yes, of course. But I threw the brandy flask into a ditch. If they find it and recognize it, I
doubt if it will show a recognizable print. No, not at all, sir. I appreciate your wanting to cover every
point.

"Official car? By all means. Traffic on the line will be snarled for hours, and a car could be out here
before I could find a bus or cab: The Red Bull, Ackerbury. Yes, it's the only Red Bull in town. About an
hour and a half. Good. Thank you, sir, and see you Wednesday morning."

Blade hung up. The pubkeeper was looking at him sympathetically. "Bit of a bother, the old bus giving
out, wasn't it, guv'nor?" He hesitated. "Me brother Al runs a bit of a garage over t'west of town. I could
give him a call and-"

Blade shook his head. "Thanks, old man, but Al can sleep in peace tonight. Nothing's going to help my
car now, and I've already done what's necessary with the police. So if you'll just draw me another pint,
I'll keep out of your way until my ride arrives."

"Anything you say, guv'nor." The beer tap hissed.

Thirty miles away, in a flat in the West End of London, the man called J also hung up his telephone. He
leaned back in the leather armchair and lit up a cigar. That was one over the limit his doctor allowed him
now, but damn the limit and damn the doctor! Compared to the risks Richard Blade took week in and
week out, an extra cigar was nothing.

There was something grimly ludicrous about this new situation. Here was Richard, reacting superbly in a
crisis, as he naturally would. In fact he had reacted so superbly that he had quite accidentally made
himself a first-class hero. Never mind his modest account of the affair. From long experience J could
usually guess what lay behind Richard's modest accounts. Probably a dozen people at least owed him life
or limb.

Yet there was no bloody way Richard could ever get the credit he deserved! J almost shouted the
words aloud in his frustration. Richard had done exactly the right thing in slipping away quietly. But it was
a dammed shame that had to be the right thing to do!