"Alexander Abramov, Sergei Abramov. Journey Across Three Worlds (англ.)" - читать интересную книгу автора

Stevenson's tale. A regular Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Only which is Jekyll
and which is Hyde?"
"It's perfectly clear who," parried Galya. "You wouldn't hurt yourself
in choosing between them."
Olga did not understand, and asked: "Who are you talking about?"
"About international imperialist spies, Olga," I said jocularly.
"Parachuted here from an unidentified plane."
"I'm serious."
"So am I. Look, there is a certain English writer, Stevenson by name.
Usually, you read his stuff when you're a teenager. However, even doctors
do. For them, by the way, his story is almost like a course in psychiatry,
for Jekyll and Hyde, in reality, are the same man. To be more exact, a
quintessence of the good and evil inherent in one person. By drinking an
elixir that he discovered - medically speaking, a particular combination of
sulphanilamide and antibiotics - the noble Dr. Jekyll turned himself into
the scoundrel Hyde. Is that precise enough for you?" I asked Galya.
"Quite. Search your pockets, maybe Hyde left some clues behind during
his temporary transmutation."
I dug into my pockets and threw on the table a packet of headache
tablets.
"That must be one clue. I certainly never bought them."
"Perhaps you put them there?" Galya asked Olga.
"No. More than likely he bought them on the way home."
"I didn't buy anything," I put in angrily. "And, for the record, I
didn't go into the chemist's."
"That means Hyde did. Is there anything else he left?"
I mechanically felt the inside pocket of my jacket.
"Wait. This notebook doesn't belong here." I pulled it out and opened
it. "Something's written here. Where are my glasses?"
"Give it here." Galya grabbed the notebook and read aloud: 'If anything
happens to me, advise my wife, Galina Gromova, 43 Griboyedov Street. Also
inform Professors Zargaryan and Nikodimov at the Brain Institute. Very
important.' "The 'very important' is even underlined," she laughed. "And
Galina Gromova, that's me, of course. I already told you his delirium was
consistent. Only why Griboyedov Street? There's Staro-Pimenovsky, and now
it's Medvedev Street."
"But have we a Griboyedov Street?" asked Olga. "Somehow, I never heard
of it."
"There is," I interrupted. "It used to be Maly Kharitonevsky. Only
there's no building on it with that number. Apparently, Hyde had in mind
some avenue, rather than street."
"But who's this Zargaryan?" Galya said, full of curiosity. "I know of a
Nikodimov. He's a physicist, a rather famous one, by the way. Only he's not
at the Brain Institute, but at the Institute of New Problems in Physics. But
who this Zargaryan is, I really don't know."
"But Sergei didn't write this!" cried Olga suddenly. "It's not his
handwriting ... though the 'v' has the same flourish and the down stroke in
the 't' is the same. Look for yourself!"
I found my glasses and read the note.
"The handwriting's similar. I wrote that way as a student. Working on