"Colin Wilson - The Glass Cage" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wilson Colin)

Lewis said, "Well, tell us what you found when you arrived home."
"A policeman."
Sarah said, "Good heavens, why?"
"It's rather a long story. Have you heard about a series of murders that have been taking place in
London?"
She said, "You mean these murders of prostitutes?" But for all her attempt at casualness, she
could not keep herself from reddening.
Lewis said, "What on earth do you know about them?"
She said defensively, "We talk about them at school."
Reade said, "Anyway, it seems that the murderer leaves quotations from Blake scrawled on walls
near the bodies."
"So they think it might be you?" Lewis said.
"Not exactly. But I suppose their next step is to try to track down any cranks or madmen who
are interested in Blake. So they wanted to know if I'd had any letters from such people. And of course I
have a drawer full. So he took them away."
She asked, "What about the letters you brought with you?"
"Well, I told him -- the policeman -- that I was pretty certain there weren't any homicidal cranks
among them. But now I'm not so sure. I thought we might look through some of them later."
 "I'll help you," she said eagerly.
Reade said, "Incidentally, do you know of a John Cox in literature?"
"John Cox. . . That wouldn't be the man in Cox and Box would it? I suppose not. There is
something. Isn't it a character mentioned in Bunyan's Mr. Badman? Sarah, look on that shelf over there
-- among the World Classic volumes. See if you can see Mr. Badman."
Reade said, with an admiration that was intended to flatter, "You're astonishing! You must be
about the most well-read man I've ever met."
Lewis smiled at the compliment. He said, "But what has John Cox to do with these murders?"
"It was a name written on some paper on one of the corpses."
Sarah had found the book. Lewis leafed through it for a few moments, then said, "Yes, I thought
so. John Cox is a man who committed suicide in Northampton. Bunyan describes it at rather gruesome
length."
"How did he kill himself?"
"He made a hole in his side with a razor and pulled out his intestines."
Sarah grimaced. "Ooh, don't."
Reade said, "It fits. The murdered man had been disemboweled."
"This is extraordinary," Lewis said. His voice was level, but Reade was aware of the depth of his
interest; it showed in his eyes. "You mean to say that this man sets out to make his murders fit quotations
from Blake and Bunyan?"
"Oh no. The other quotations don't seem so relevant."
He told them briefly all he could remember of what Lund had said. He would have preferred
Sarah not to be there, but realized, on reflection, that this was absurd; she read the newspapers and
discussed the murders at school.
After ten minutes he was finding the edge of the tea chest uncomfortable. He stood up, and
Lewis yawned and heaved himself to his feet.
"Yes, I think that's an excellent idea. Let's go and find more comfortable chairs. Well, well, this is
all very strange. A literate murderer. It shouldn't be all that difficult to trace him. In fact, I should think it
quite likely that he's among your correspondents. Do you get many letters?"
"Quite a lot, one or two a week."
"Any from mental homes?"
"Oh no."
"Any from people who mentioned being in a mental home?"