"Christopher Priest - The Space Machine" - читать интересную книгу автора (Priest Christopher)

Richmond and Hyde Park Corner, was as yet unbeaten by any other.

If I could interest him in my Mask, then surely others would follow!

In This way it became imperative that I introduce myself to Miss Fitzgibbon. That night, though, as I lay
fretfully in my hotel bed, I could have had no conception of how deeply my Visibility Protection Mask
was to change my life.



iii


All during the following day, I was preoccupied with the problem of how to approach Miss Fitzgibbon.
Although I made my rounds to the stores in the district I could not concentrate, and returned early to the
Devonshire Arms.

As Dykes had said the evening before, it was most difficult to contrive a meeting with a member of the
opposite sex in this hotel. There were no social courtesies open to me, and so I should have to approach
Miss Fitzgibbon directly. I could, of course, ask Mrs Anson to introduce me to her, but I felt in all
sincerity that her presence at the interview would be an impediment.

Further distracting me during the day had been my curiosity about Miss Fitzgibbon herself. Mrs
Anson's protective behaviour seemed to indicate that she must be quite young, and indeed her style as a
single woman was further evidence of this. If this were so, my task was greater, for surely she would
mistake any advance I made towards her for one of the kind Dykes had been planning?

As the reception-desk was not attended, I took the opportunity to look surreptitiously at the register of
guests. Dykes's information had not been misleading, for the last entry was in a neat, clear handwriting:
Miss A. Fitzgibbon, Reynolds House, Richmond Hill, Surrey.

I looked into the commercial lounge before going up to my room. Dykes was there, standing in front of
the fireplace reading The Times.

I proposed that we dine together, and afterwards take a stroll down to one of the public-houses in the
town.

"What a splendid notion!" he said. "Are you celebrating a success?"

"Not quite. I'm thinking more of the future."

"Good strategy, Turnbull. Shall we dine at six?"
 This we did, and soon after dinner we were ensconced in the snug bar of a public-house called The
King's Head. When we were settled with two glasses of porter, and Dykes had started a cigar, I
broached the subject uppermost on my mind.

"Are you wishing I'd made a wager with you last night?" I said.

"What do you mean?"