"Walsh, Thomas - Nightmare In Manhattan" - читать интересную книгу автора (Walsh Thomas)

The father was still down there by the information booth, trying his best to remember what Donnelly had told him Ч to wait, to keep in position, to wait some more. Small groups of people were forming and reforming constantly around him, elbowing him aside and complaining to each other that the 6:00 was almost an hour late now, or that the 6:30 from Rochester was not expected until nine this evening. The father listened to them painfully and intently. Long afterward he could have recalled some of those conversations word for word.

At ten minutes of seven he squeezed his eyelids together for a few seconds, and addressed a petition to someone or something which was not visible in Manhattan Depot. The sense of it, expressed in a very humble and sincere way, was that nothing must be permitted to happen to Tony. For himself, yes. Anything. Anything at all. But for the childЕ

He was a little sick now Ч just a little. It did not seem to matter very much. Tony, TonyЕ

He went on waiting.


Back of him, at the information booth, Calhoun had begun to argue very ferociously with himself, and in this manner. A wait like this should have been anticipated. Why not? The kidnapers, of course, would want the father to accept almost any conditions for the ransom; and now, therefore, they would attempt to increase the pressure on him minute by minute.

What else was it? Calhoun whispered at himself. One of them, or perhaps both of them, would still show in here. Maybe at ten past seven, or a quarter after, or half pastЕ But now he discovered that he had to argue the point vehemently. George OТMara, at his desk under the big clock, shook his head once at Calhoun and then went on studying the freight atlas and concealing the open telephone under it.


УTen past seven,Ф Nolan declared. He had been in and out of RousseauТs office five times in the past ten minutes; now he stopped opposite Donnelly at the window overlooking the main concourse.

УWeТll wait,Ф Donnelly said.

УSure, weТll wait,Ф Nolan said. УWeТll wait and weТll wait and weТll wait. One hour or two hours or ЧФ

Donnelly, a topheavy and shambling man on his feet, got up quickly and suddenly.

УOr three,Ф Donnelly shouted at him. УOr four. Or five. Or six. Or seven. What in hell is the matter with you? What are you keeping after me for?Ф

Captain Rousseau attempted to smooth things over. Donnelly cut him off very abruptly.

УThat helped,Ф Nolan said, using a satisfied and rather venomous tone. УThat helped a lot. LetТs all lose our tempers.Ф

Donnelly, from very small black eyes, stared fixedly at the back of NolanТs head. The detective sergeant refolded his arms without the slightest noise and fixed his eyes on a wall calendar. He knew what to do here. His attitude was that he had suddenly become deaf, dumb and blind.


A good-looking and self-assured young man, who had been studying Frances for some time up on the west balcony, removed his hat at a quarter past seven and smiled pleasantly at her.

УSaturday night,Ф he said. УSaturday night and no girl. Now thatТs a fine predicament, isnТt it? IТm afraid IТve been watching you. And IТm afraid IТve been wondering whether ЧФ

УNo, please,Ф Frances whispered at him. УPlease!Ф

УOh, IТd say we ought to consider it,Ф the young man suggested briskly. УThereТs no harm done. A drink, maybe a dance ЧФ

There were reinforcements at hand. The middle-aged man, who had not appeared to pay the least attention to Frances previously, materialized then and hit the young one very hard on the left shoulder with the heel of his palm.

УGeddada here,Ф the middle-aged man said. УCan you understand what IТm tellinС you, stupid? Geddada here!Ф

The young man got out of there. The middle-aged one without so much as a word to Frances, went back to his bench and his newspaper.


At twenty minutes past seven the father no longer hoped for anything. But he still had the boyТs cap in his right-hand coat pocket, and he was twisting it up under his fingers, and addressing it silently. Everything was going to be all right, he told it. Nothing to be afraid about. The important thing was to do what the men wanted him to do, and not to get them angry with him. A day or so Ч that was all. And thenЕ

But there were other thoughts in him besides that meaningless effort at comfort and reassurance. The worst, and by far the worst, was an idea he began to have that he had betrayed the boy by listening to Inspector Donnelly. The back of his eyes began to feel unbearably tight and strained. He smiled painfully. Seven twenty-fourЕ