"Smith, Guy N - Crabs 01 - Night of the Crabs" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smith Guy N)

Cliff paused. Just in time he checked the reply that was on the top of his tongue. Hell, he couldn't start raving on about giant crabs. Just what was he to say? There were two courses open to him. He could either condemn himself as a spy or else commit himself to an asylum. He drew a deep breath. Everybody was watching him intently. Hesitation would be interpreted at guilt.

He expelled a long sigh. 'Well, you know the two bathers who went missing last Sunday?'

'Which two bathers?'

God! Didn't they read the papers or were they just inhuman?

'A young man and his fiancщe. Their car was found on the South End of the Island.'

'Was it?'

Of course it bloody well was! He felt his temper rising, but knew that he must keep a tight rein on it. He fought back an angry retort and tried to appear more relaxed.

'Yes,' he said, even essaying a smile, 'it was. The police and the coastguards have been searching since then but they haven't found the bodies.'

'How does that relate to the fact that you were examining our aircraft through binoculars?' There was neither emotion nor sympathy in his interrogator's voice or expression.

'It doesn't. . . except that. . . that...' Cliff fought for a plausible explanation. 'I had been out on the sands looking for signs of the missing bathers all morning and I wondered if, well, if any of your planes might be utilised in the search.' Somebody behind him was trying hard not to snigger.

'You were observed to be studying the planes in question for quite some considerable time.'

'I was tired.' That was certainly the truth. 'I had been walking for miles all morning. I was glad of the opportunity to rest, and ... as a boy I was fanatically interested in aircraft. There has been a terrible mistake and I can only offer my profuse apologies.'

The man in the grey suit stroked his chin, showing neither belief nor disbelief.

'I shall need proof of your identity,' he remarked at last 'Sergeant Hughes of your local force knows me,' Cliff replied. 'Failing that, I must refer you to Sir Ronald Bradley of Whitehall, who is a personal friend of mine. I take it you have heard of him?'

The Professor felt a sudden surge of hope as surprise registered for a brief second on that deadpan face. A brief flicker and it was gone. Then a decisive move. The receiver of the telephone on the desk was lifted and a long slender forefinger began to dial. A brief pause. The ringing of the phone on the other end of the line could be heard.

Brr ... brr ... brr. On and on it went. Nobody seemed to be in a hurry. Nobody moved.

At fast there was a distant crackling and a voice was speaking. The words were inaudible.

'Sir Ronald?' There was now even a note of respect in the grim-faced man's tone, a relaxing of tension. 'Myerscough here, sir. Shell Island. Do you know a Professor Davenport, sir?'

Silence again except for a jumble of distant conversation. Myerscough listened intently. A frown appeared on his face. One of disappointment.

'Yes, yes, Sir Ronald.' He was almost humble now. 'Your description fits him perfectly. No, no, sir, I'll take your word for it There appears to have been some mistake. Yes, yes, of course, sir. I'm sorry to have troubled you.'

He replaced the receiver and shook his head slowly. Then he smiled. It was merely a movement of facial muscles. There was no humour in his expression.

There appears to have been some mistake, Professor Davenport,' he said. 'You are free to go. You may take your binoculars also. Please, though, for your own sake do not go examining our aircraft again.'

Cliff Davenport walked back to the hotel in Llanbedr shortly before six o'clock. He felt physically and mentally fatigued. Above all, he had gained nothing. He was even inclined to believe that he had imagined those claw prints along the tide line. Maybe a band of foraging gulls had disturbed the sand after all...

The small dining room was full when he came down to dinner.

'Ah, Professor,' said Mrs Jones as she suddenly emerged from the kitchen. 'There you are. I was getting worried about you when you didn't come in to lunch.'