"Альфред Бестер. The Flowered Thundermug (англ.)" - читать интересную книгу автора

surrounded 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
key that fitted.

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."