"Альфред Бестер. The Flowered Thundermug (англ.)" - читать интересную книгу автораsurrounded by seven grim detectives, all leveling guns at his
head. The fact that they were wearing nightshirts did not make them look any less resolute. For their part, the detectives saw a broad-shouldered, bullnecked burglar with a lantern jaw. The fact that he had not altogether shaken off the contents of the flowerpot and wore a Parma violet (Viola pallida plena) on his night shoe, did not make him look any less vicious. "And now, Kid, if you please," Inspector Robinson said with the exaggerated courtesy that made his admirers call him the Beau Brummel of the Bunco Squad. They bore the malefactor off to headquarters in triumph. Five minutes after the detectives departed with their captive, a gentleman in full evening cloak sauntered up to the front door of the Webb mansion. He rang the doorbell. Prom within came the music of the first eight bars of Ravel's Bolero played on full carillon orchestra in waltz tempo. While the gentleman appeared to wait carelessly, his right hand slid through a slit in his cloak and rapidly tried a series of keys in the lock. The gentleman rang the bell again. Midway through the second rendition of the Bolero, he found a He turned the lock, thrust the door open a few inches with a twist of his toe, and spoke pleasantly, as to an invisible servant inside. "Good evening. I'm afraid I'm rather late. Is everybody asleep, or am I still expected? Oh, good. Thank you." The gentleman entered the house, shut the door behind him softly, looked around at the dark, empty foyer, and grinned. "Like taking candy from kids," he murmured. "I ought to be ashamed of myself. He located the library, entered and turned on all the lights. He removed his cloak, lit a cigarette, noticed the bar and then poured himself a drink from one of the more appealing decanters. He tried it and gagged. "Ack! A new horror, and I thought I knew them all. What the hell is it?" He dipped his tongue into the glass. "Scotch, yes; but Scotch and what?" He sampled again. "My God, it's broccoli juice." He glanced around, found the safe, crossed to it and inspected it. "Great heavens!" he exclaimed. "A whole three-number dial-all of twenty-seven possible combinations. Absolutely burglar-proof. I really am impressed." |
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