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

"Not at all. Please do, sir."
"I shan't be long. I just want to get some water."
He picked up a bucket and took the oilskin hat from beside the door as he went out. The rain
was now heavy. He held the bucket under the waterfall, allowed it to fill to the brim, then carried it
carefully back to the house without losing any water. The man watched this performance with interest.
"I suppose the water's quite all right for drinking?"
"Oh, perfectly. It sometimes gets a little muddy in winter, but it's all right if you let it settle for half
an hour. There's nothing up there but rock."
 He gestured vaguely in the direction of Scafell Pike. The man watched him as he poured the
chopped vegetables and meat into the iron cooking pot, then hung it on the iron spike that projected from
the back of the fire.
Reade said conversationally, "I could easily bring the water into the house if I wanted to. But it
doesn't seem worth the trouble -- except sometimes in winter when it rains for a week on end. There is a
pipe that carries water to the boiler in the bathroom. . ." He threw another log on the fire, then sat down
in the rocking chair. "Would you like a cup of tea?"
"That's a nice idea, sir."
He leaned forward and moved the heavy black kettle across the stones until the fire was
underneath it. The water began to simmer immediately.
"You came earlier today?"
"Two hours ago. Your neighbor said he thought you'd be back later. Incidentally, he was in
here."
"Inside? When you came?"
"No. But I saw him come out of your front door. I thought he was you at first."
Reade shrugged. "I suppose he was taking a look around. There's nothing worth stealing."
"Don't you lock up when you go out?"
"What's the point? They could easily force a window."
The man looked puzzled. "That's not very satisfactory. I've come across that character before.
I've seen him in court. I'd say he's a regular villain."
"He is," Reade said. "But he's not a bad sort all the same. There's more stupidity than villainy."
"Mind if I smoke? Thanks."
Reade had time to examine his face as he stuffed the pipe. He must have been about thirty-five --
Reade's own age -- with fair hair and blue eyes. At first sight he looked younger, but a closer look
showed the lines of tiredness and worry.
He looked up, smiling. "I ought to introduce myself. My name's Lund. Detective sergeant."
"From Kendal?"
"Carlisle."
The kettle was boiling. As Reade spooned tea into the teapot, he said, "I'm sorry I brought you
back twice. I've been in Keswick."
"Good thing you got back before the rain."
"Yes. It's a nasty walk in the rain."
"Do you always walk?"
"It's the only way from here. It's only fifteen miles on foot. It's be fifty by road."
Lund took a long pull at the pipe and visibly relaxed. He asked, "You like living here?"
"On the whole, yes. It's sometimes inconvenient in the winter -- it's difficult to get coal or wood
out here, and I sometimes get snowed in."
Lund said, grinning, "Not to mention your neighbors."
"Oh, Bowden's all right. You see, the trouble with that family is that they all look so awful, so
everyone distrusts them. They're quite nice really."
Lund said with gentle mockery, "Quite honest, in fact."
"Oh, no. They're not honest. Why should they be? It's not their nature. They're rather like human