"Norton, Mary - Bedknob and Broomstick 01-02 - Bedknob and Broomstick" - читать интересную книгу автора (Norton Mary)

The policeman, who had switched off his light, switched it on again right into Paul's eyes. Carey and Charles, who up to that moment had thought little or nothing of Paul's looks, suddenly realized that he had a face like an angel. Two little wings could have been tied to his back and they would not have looked out of place. Even a halo would have suited Paul.
The policeman switched out his light. "Poor little shaver," he muttered, "dragging 'im round London at this time o' night."
This was more than Carey could stand. "Why," she cried indignantly, "it's all his fault. It was all his idea-"
"Now, now," said the policeman. "That's enough. What I want to know is, where did you get this 'ere bed? What part o' London, to be exact?"
"It didn't come from London at all," said Charles.
"Then WHERE did it come from?" thundered the policeman.
"From Bedfordshire," said Carey.
The policeman stood up. Carey heard him catch his breath angrily.
"Joke, eh?"
"Not at all," said Carey.
"You mean to tell me you brought this 'ere bed all the
way up from Bedfordshke?"
"Yes," said Carey.
The policeman sighed. Carey felt him trying to be patient. "By train?"
"No," said Carey.
"Then how, may I ask?"
"Well-" said Carey. She thought again of Miss Price. "Well, we can't really tell you."
"You tell me how you brought this bed up from Bedfordshire or you come along with me to the police station-where you're coming anyway," he added.
"All right," said Carey, feeling the tears sting into her eyes. "I'll tell you. If you want to know, we brought it up by magic."
There was a silence. A terrific silence. Carey wondered if the policeman was going to hit her with his truncheon, but when at last he spoke, he spoke very quietly. "Oh, you did, did you? By magic. Now I'll tell you something. You've 'card of the law, 'aven't you? Well, the law is just and, in a manner of speaking, the law is kind, but there's one thing the law can't be-" He took a deep breath. "The law can't be made fun of. Now, all three of you, get out of that there bed and come along with me to the station!"
With a sinking heart Carey drew her legs from under the blankets.
"I haven't any shoes on," said Charles.
There was no reply. The policeman seemed drawn away from them in spirit, wrapped in lofty silence.
"Nor has Paul," pointed out Carey. "You'll have to carry him," she added.
THE POLICE STATION
It was not a long walk, but it was a trying one for Charles in his stocking feet. Never before had he realized quite how many different kinds of surface go to make a London street. Paul rode majestically in the policeman's arms, sharing the policeman's vast aloofness. Carey walked in dark depression. Every step they took away from the bed decreased their chances of escape. Prison! "Oh," she thought in desperation, "why didn't I tell Paul to wish the bed away with us, policeman and all?" But that might have been even more complicated; arriving back at Aunt Beatrice's with a policeman; trying to smuggle a policeman out of Paul's bedroom, to smuggle a policeman out of the house . . . and he wasn't at all the kind of policeman who would lend himself to being smuggled anywhere. There was, Carey realized unhappily, practically no reliable method of getting rid of unwanted policemen. No, bad as it was,-this possibly was the lesser of the two evils.
They were in the police station almost before they knew it. There was a long counter, a green-shaded light, and a gray-haired policeman without a hat. He had a tired, thin face, a soldier's face. Carey felt herself trembling.
"Well, Sergeant?" said the gray-haired officer wearily. "I thought we were through for tonight."
"Well, sir, these 'ere children, sir. Thought I'd better bring 'em along. Out in the street, with a bed, sir. Obstructing traffic-public nuisance as it were."
The inspector was reaching for his cap, which hung on a peg.
"Well, take their names and addresses and get hold of the parents." He paused and turned slowly. "Out in the street with a what?"
"With a bed, sir."
"A BED!"
"Yes, sir, an iron bed like, with brass knobs on."
The inspector looked wonderingly at Carey. Suddenly Carey knew she liked his face. She liked the screwed-up look of his eyes and the tired lines of his mouth. She wished terribly that she had not been brought before him as a criminal. He looked at all three of them for a moment longer, then he addressed the sergeant.
"Where is the bed now?"
"There in the street, sir. Markham Square."
"Better send the van to collect the bed." He sighed. "And hand these children over to Mrs. Watkins till you get hold of the parents. I'm dead beat, Sergeant. Court at nine-thirty, don't forget. I'll need you and Sergeant Coles."
"Yes, sir. Good night, sir."
As the inspector passed, on his way to the door, he glanced again at the children. "He would have talked to us," Carey thought, "if he hadn't been so tired." She felt very frightened. If only someone had scolded them, she would have felt less frightened. She felt as if something bigger than a person had got hold of them, something enormous, something of
which the policemen themselves stood in awe. She guessed it was the "law"-the law that "could not be made fun of."
The sergeant was speaking into a telephone, which hung from a bracket on the wall.
"Yes, three of 'em. . . . No-just overnight. . . . No, 'e's gone off. Dead beat, 'e was. . . . Cup o' tea? Not if you got it made, I wouldn't. . . . Righty oh."
He brought out his notebook and wrote down their mother's address. "Why," he said, after some minutes of silent and ponderous calculation. "You was right by your own 'ouse."
"Mother's away," said Carey quickly, hoping to stop him ringing up.
"Did you say you brought the bed up from Bedfordshire?"
"We did," said Carey. "The house is locked up."
The policeman was busy writing. "Right by your own 'ouse," he murmured. "That's different."
"Well," he said, closing his notebook. "Come along with me for the time being."
He took the children down a passage, out of a back door into a pitch-dark, courtyard. "Mind where you tread," he told them.