"James White - Custom Fitting" - читать интересную книгу автора (White James)

Custom Fitting
James White
For many years Hewlitt had been in the habit of spending half an hour sunning himself at the entrance to
his shop when the sunlight was available in sufficient strength. The period was determined by the length of
time it took for the sun to clear the eaves of the buildings on his side of the street and to move far enough
out to necessitate his pulling out the shop's awning so that the cloth on display would not fade. He spent
the time watching the passersby--hoping that some of them wouldn'tтАФand anything else of interest.
Usually there was nothing interesting to see, but today was an exception.

A large, plain furniture van, preceded by a police car and followed closely by an Electricity Department
truck, turned into his street from the main road. The presence of the police vehicle was explained by the
fact that the convoy was moving in the wrong direction along a one-way street. When the procession
finally halted, the removals van was directly facing him.

For perhaps a minute there was nothing to see except the reflection of himself and his doorway in the
dark, glossy flanks of the van. It was the slightly distorted picture of a thin and rather ridiculous figure
wearing a black jacket and waistcoat with striped trousers, a small flower in the lapel, and a tape
measureтАФthe outward sign of his professionтАФhanging loosely from his neck. The lettering on the door
behind the figure was executed in gold leaf in a bold italic script and said, in reverse:

GEORGE L. HEWLITT,

TAILOR

SuddenlyтАФas if some hypothetical film director had shouted "Action!"тАФeverything happened at once.

Two senior police officers carrying traffic-diversion signs left their vehicle and moved in opposite
directions to seal off each end of the street. The Electricity Department truck disgorged a gang of neatly
overalled workmen, who quickly began unloading collapsible screening, a nightwatchman's hut, and a
man wearing a well-tailored suit of dark gray worsted and a tie which was strictly establishment. He also
wore a very worried expression as he glanced up and down the street and at the windows overlooking it.

"Good morning, Mr. Hewlitt," the man said, coming forward. "My name is Fox. I'm with the Foreign
Office. I, ah, would like to consult you professionally. May I come inside?"

Hewlitt inclined his head politely and followed him into the shop.

For a few minutes nothing else was said because Fox was pacing nervously about the interior, staring at
the shelves of neatly rolled cloth lengths, fingering the pattern books which were placed strategically on
the polished wooden counters, and examining the paneling and crystal-clear mirrors in the big fitting
room. While the Foreign Office official was looking over the premises, Hewlitt was studying Fox with
equal attention.

Fox was of medium height, slimly built, with a head-forward tendency and prominent shoulder blades.
From the small but noticeable lateral crease behind the jacket collar, it was obvious that he tried to
correct the HF and PSB tendency by carrying himself unnaturally erect. Plainly Fox's tailor had had
problems, and Hewlitt wondered if he was about to inherit them.

"How may I help you, sir?" Hewlitt said when his visitor had finally come to rest. He used a tone which
was friendly but one with that touch of condescension which very plainly said that it would be Hewlitt's