"Guy N. Smith - Night Of The Crabs 1 - Night of the Crabs" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smith Guy N)

Monday morning. There were certain tasks that had to be attended to before Ian
and Julie arrived at nine. Certain specimens from sea plants had to be removed
from the glass tanks and allowed to dry before the next stage of discovering
their nutritional benefits could be started. They would be ready for his two
assistants to get to grips with as soon as they got back from holiday.

As he worked, the botanist caught a glimpse of his reflection in the water. He
smiled. At least he didn't think that he looked any older. Those lines in his
lean, aquiline face marked the passing of his dear wife. They could never be
erased, like his memory of her. His receding hairline and the odd flecks of
grey in his dark hair, were all that denoted his age. His lithe figure was as
sprightly as ever, and the pipe drooping out of the corner of his mouth
reminded him of the time when he had portrayed Sherlock Holmes in a local
amateur dramatic society's presentation of The Speckled Band.

His task completed, he retired to his study. There he poured himself a cup of
black coffee and relit his pipe. He felt vaguely hungry, but he knew that
Julie would automatically prepare him something to eat once she and Ian
arrived.

The morning wore on, and still there was no sign of Ian Wright and Julie
Coles. Cliff became impatient, yet he was not unduly worried. Probably they
had lingered over a 'last night' somewhere together and slept late as a result
of it.

By lunch-time, however, he was becoming increasingly worried. No longer were
sexual procrastinations uppermost in his mind. Instead his thoughts dwelt on
road accidents. Ian had always been inclined to drive far too fast in that old
heap of an MG of his!

It was shortly after three o'clock in the afternoon that the doorbell rang. As
Cliff Davenport saw the two blue uniforms through the frosted glass, his
stomach muscles tightened. The MG...

'Professor Davenport?' the thin-faced sergeant had an expression on his face
that boded distinct ill-tidings.

'Yes, yes.' Cliff's tone could not conceal his anxiety.

'I'm afraid, sir,' the officer said as he stepped over the threshold without
being invited to do so, 'we might have some rather grave news for you.'

'Might?'

'Well.. , er .. .' the policeman shuffled his feet awkwardly. The Merioneth
Force have reason to believe that a red MG sports car, registration number MNO
897, is the property of Mr Ian Wright, your nephew, who resides at this
address. The vehicle in question was found abandoned on Shelf Island. The
gentleman in question's clothing was found in it, along with those of a lady.
A search has been made, in fact it's still going on. The coast guards are