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

dead!'

Grimly, he continued drinking his tea.

Sergeant Hughes looked up from his desk as the tall man with the receding
hairline walked into the police station.

'Yes, sir,' he grunted automatically, not bothering to rise to his feet. 'What
can I do for you?'

'If you could find my nephew, Ian Wright, and his girl friend I should be
delighted.' Professor Davenport's tone was terse. 'I have been waiting for a
call from you and, as nothing transpired, I thought that I had better come
down to Llanbedr.'

'Oh, you're Professor Davenport.' The sergeant rose to his feet and pulled
thoughtfully at his moustache. 'Everything that can be done is being done.
There was no need for you to ...'

'I prefer to,' Cliff snapped. 'They were both excellent swimmers, and there
are no dangerous currents to speak of off the South End where their car was
parked.'

'Any bathing is dangerous,' the sergeant stated adamantly. They're not the
first to be drowned on this part of the coast, you know.'

'And I have a strange feeling that they won't be the last,' Cliff turned on
his heel. 'No doubt we shall meet again during the course of my stay here,
Sergeant. Good day.'

Cliff was angry as he walked back towards the village. Of course, it could
have been an accident. Even the most experienced swimmers met with accidents.
Yet, he still had that strange feeling at the back of his mind,..'

The following morning, after breakfast, Cliff went on to Shell Island. He went
on foot, feeling it hardly worth the trouble of taking the car from Mrs
Jones's place to the South End of the island, a journey of possibly two miles.
It was a bright, sunny morning, and had it not been for the sense of
foreboding which clouded his mind he would have entered into the spirit of a
holiday-maker. His binoculars slung over his shoulders and carrying a long
stick of ash, a favourite companion on long hikes, he strode along.

Campers barely gave him a passing glance as he crossed the sand-dunes and
finally reached the long, wide rolling beach. The tide was well out. Quickly
he scanned the water's edge through his binoculars. A flock of
oyster-catchers, gulls . . . nothing. Not a movement otherwise. To his left
some children were making sandcastles, but he ignored them. It was way out
there where the answers to his many questions lay and he knew that he wouldn't
solve them from the edge of the dunes.