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

probably going about it in the wrong way. If they got a man like old George Pickingill, for example. In his
younger days there was almost no crime in the village because he could solve it without leaving his
cottage. He could tell where stolen goods had been hidden and who'd taken them. But that's besides the
point. . ."
He stopped speaking. It suddenly seemed that the discussion had come a full circle, and that
there was no point in going on. Lewis seemed to feel this too. He stood up and crossed to the fireplace.
His voice sounded tired as he said, "I don't know. It's entirely up to you now. If I was one of those old
stepfathers in a fairy tale, I'd tell you to go away for a year and make your fortune, and then come and
claim her, like Dick Whittington. Or go to London and solve these murders," he added ironically.
Reade said, "All right. Let's talk about it later."
Lewis seemed to welcome this suggestion. He said quickly, "Yes, let's. After all, there's plenty of
time. . . Think about it." He shrugged suddenly, then said tiredly, "I don't suppose it really matters what
happens."
Reade found his coat. He said, "I'll come over later. Thank you for the entertainment."
Lewis said, "Not at all." Then, as Reade paused at the door, he added drily, "Thank Sarah."


Instead of walking home, he spent the morning at the Druidic Circle of stones near Keswick. It
was a calm, misty day. He sat for two hours, his back against the largest stone, staring across at the
brown and scarred sides of Brackenthwaite Fell and Skiddaw. Again the quietness settled on him; Lewis
became as unimportant as if he had been dead for ten years. He walked back into Keswick at midday
and met Sarah out of school. She blushed with pleasure to see him. They walked to the side of the lake,
and he told her about the talk with Lewis.
She said angrily, "He doesn't know me at all. I shan't be bored in the cottage. I love it."
"I know. But he's being very reasonable, all the same. He could forbid me to see you."
"How could he? He's too lazy to keep a watch on me. Anyway, why should he? I know exactly
what he'll do. He'll advertise for some girl to come and look after him."
Her perception astonished him. "Do you think so?"
"Of course. He's often talked about it. And if you go to London, I want to come with you."
He said, laughing, "That wouldn't be a good idea. Hugh wants me to go alone."
"Of course he does. He wants to break us up."
 "I suppose he does. He probably thinks that I'll get so sick of it that I'll want to rush back home
and live alone for the rest of my life. Anyway, I think I shall have to go alone. I have some ideas that I
want to try out."
"Not about this murder, I hope?"
"Not entirely. Do you remember that old wizard called Pickingill we once had an argument
about? The man who can make a mowing machine stop by putting a spell on it? I'm going to take these
letters along to him."
"What on earth for? You don't think he's really a wizard, do you?"
"Perhaps not. . . But he has curious powers. I've seen him stop a clock. He walked into the local
pub one day at closing time and wanted a drink. It was a new landlord, and he refused to serve him. Just
then the clock started to strike two. Pickingill stared at it and it stopped. The landlord was so astonished
that he gave him the pint. Pickingill drank it straight down -- and the clock finished striking as soon as the
glass was empty."
"But how did he do it?"
"I don't know. I could explain my theories, but they'd take hours. There'll be plenty of time later.
Meanwhile, you'd better get home for lunch. I'll ring you at home this evening,"


The cottage stood alone in the corner of a field. Most of its windows were broken and covered