"Brian Lumley - Titus Crow 1 - The Burrowers Beneath" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lumley Brian)

To: Mr Henri-Laurent de Marigny
Blowne House 5 p.m., 30th May
Dear Henri,
I've tried to get you on the telephone twice today, only to discover at this
late hour that you're in Paris at a sale of antiques! Your housekeeper tells
me she doesn't know when you'll be back. I hope it's soon. I may very well
need your help! This note will be waiting for you when you get back. Waste no
time, de Marigny, but get round here as soon as you're able!
Titus
Marvels Strange and Terrific
(From the Notebooks of Henri-Laurent de Marigny)
I had known this strange and inexplicable feeling for weeks - a deep-rooted
mental apprehension, an uneasiness of psyche - and the cumulative effect of
this near-indefinable atmosphere of hovering hysteria upon my system, the
sheer tautness of my usually sound nerves, was horrible and soul-destroying. I
could not for my life fathom whence these brooding fears of things unknown
sprang, or even guess at the source of the hideous oppressiveness of air which
seemed to hang in tangible heaviness over all my waking and sleeping moments
alike, but the combination of the two had been more than sufficient to drive
me from London to seek refuge on the Continent.
Ostensibly I had gone to Paris to seek out certain Eastern antiques at the
House du Fouche, but when I discovered that my flight to that ancestral city
had gained me no respite from my sickening, doom-fraught mood of depression,
then I was at a complete loss as to what to do with myself.
In the end, after a stay of only four days, having made one or two small
purchases - simply, I suppose, to justify my journey - I determined to return
to England.
From the moment my plane touched down in London I felt somehow that I had been
drawn back from France, and I considered this peculiar prescience proven when,
upon arriving at my home, I found Titus Crow's summons waiting for me. His
letter had lain on a table in my study, placed there by my housekeeper, for
two days; and yet, cryptic as that note was, its message lifted my spirit
instantly from the constant gloom it had known for so many weeks, and sent me
flying to Blowne House.
It was midafternoon when I reached Crow's sprawling bungalow retreat on the
outskirts of the city, and when the leonine occultist opened his door to me I
was frankly astonished at the alterations which had taken place in his
countenance over the three months since last I had seen him. He was more than
tired, that was plain, and his face was drawn and grey. Lines of concentration
and worry had etched themselves deep in his high forehead; his broad shoulders
were slumped atop his tall, usually energetic frame; his whole aspect betrayed
the extensive and sleepless studies to which he must needs have lent himself,
making his first words almost unnecessary:
'De Marigny, you got my note! Thank goodness for that! If ever a second head
was needed it's now. I've just about knocked myself out with the thing, driven
myself to distraction. A clear mind, a fresh approach - By God, it's good to
see you!'
Crow ushered me inside, led the way to his study, and there indicated that I
should take a seat. Instead I simply stood gazing unbelievingly about the
room. My host poured me a customary welcoming glass of brandy before flopping