"Chelsea Quinn Yarbro - Long-Term Investment" - читать интересную книгу автора (Yarbro Chelsea Quinn)

Long-Term Investment
Chelsea Quinn Yarbro
The coffins bothered him, no doubt about it. Ever since the foreign gentleman had hired him to
supervise his warehouse, the coffins had bothered himтАФthat, and working late, although he was not
completely alone at any hour, for even at night the London docks bustled; ships tugged restlessly at their
moorings out in the Thames and those secured to the vast wooden piers strained at the lines holding
them. Lamps gave off a fuzzy glow, tingeing the docks with gold and lighting the busy efforts of all who
labored here. Activity was everywhere: longshoremen worked steadily, loading or removing cargo from
the waiting holds; sailors from a hundred foreign ports polished brightwork, swabbed decks, inspected
rigging, bucked cargo, hauled lines, all as if it were midday. Many of the office windows in the
warehouses were lit, testimony to the industry of the owners of the vessels as well as the men they hired.
The brackish smell of bilgewater and the odor of tar hung on the air, stronger than the clean scent off the
distant sea, although there was a tang of salt in the fog.
Edward Hitchin sat in the dusty office above the warehouse floor and tried to keep himself busy. The
foreign gentlemanтАФ calling himself CarfaxтАФwas paying him well: ten shillings for a day's work, and
twelve when he had to remain past nine at night, handsome wages for a young man from Stepney who
was little more than a watchman. He was determined to keep the job as long as possible, for he liked the
jingle of coins in his pocket and the respectful nod from the patrolling constables.
A ship was due in from Varna, and Mister Carfax had told Edward to expect another load of coffins.
"Not that we haven't a fair supply on hand already," he had added before leaving Edward alone. "Still, it
is good business, is it not, to have an ample supply. Coffins are a long-term investment, are they not?" He
had chuckled, which Edward found disquieting, but there were so many things about Mister Carfax that
gave him pause that this chuckle seemed a minor intrusion.
"Too true," Edward said to himself as he looked out the window and down onto the warehouse floor
where several dozen elaborately carved coffins were stacked. He had been thinking about Carfax's
remark all eveningтАФthat coffins were a long-term investment; he had decided that in its way, the
observation was witty. Coffins always got used, eventually. Another load of them and the warehouse
would be more than half-filled, and that load would arrive in a matter of hours.
Edward was considering lighting up his pipe when a sharp rap on the entry door claimed his attention.
Surely the ship had not yet off-loaded the cargo for Mister Carfax. When the knock was repeated, he
bolted from the office, running noisily down the stairs as he called out, "In half a tick!" Opening the door,
he found himself facing a man he had never seen before, but knew at once, though the man wore a suit
instead of a uniform, that he was a member of the police. Edward blanched but held the door steadily.
''Good evening."
"Good evening. Am I addressing Mister Carfax?"
"No," Edward answered, wondering what the police wanted with the tall, foreign gentleman. "'He's
away just now. I'm hisтАж assistant. Edward Hitchin." He could not make himself ask what the police
were doing here, so he waited while the policeman stepped inside.
"Do you have a little time to spare, Mister Hitchin? I am Inspector Ames of Scotland Yard."
This polite inquiry, along with being called "Mister" caught Edward off-balance. "Sure enough," he
said after he thought about it.
"You've been here all evening?" The policeman took a notebook from his inner breast pocket, and a
pencil from his outer breast pocket, and prepared to write.
 "Is this official, you taking down my answers and all?" Edward asked, trying to conceal his anxiety.
"Should it not be?" Inspector Ames asked so mildly that Edward had to resist the urge to spring from
the room. "Now, have you been here all evening?"
"Since eleven in the morning. I came in late because I have to be here late to receive a new shipment
ofтАж stock." He indicated the dimly lit warehouse.
"The sign over the door says D. Carfax, importer and purveyor of fine coffins and caskets" said
the policeman. "Is this the stock on hand?"