"Г.К.Честертон. The Club of Queer Trades " - читать интересную книгу автора

figure of Major Brown, seen from behind, was a quaint contrast to
the hound-like stoop and flapping mantle of young Rupert Grant, who
adopted, with childlike delight, all the dramatic poses of the
detective of fiction. The finest among his many fine qualities was
his boyish appetite for the colour and poetry of London. Basil, who
walked behind, with his face turned blindly to the stars, had the
look of a somnambulist.

Rupert paused at the corner of Tanner's Court, with a quiver of
delight at danger, and gripped Basil's revolver in his great-coat
pocket.

"Shall we go in now?" he asked.

"Not get police?" asked Major Brown, glancing sharply up and down
the street.

"I am not sure," answered Rupert, knitting his brows. "Of course,
it's quite clear, the thing's all crooked. But there are three of
us, and--"

"I shouldn't get the police," said Basil in a queer voice. Rupert
glanced at him and stared hard.

"Basil," he cried, "you're trembling. What's the matter--are you
afraid?"

"Cold, perhaps," said the Major, eyeing him. There was no doubt
that he was shaking.

At last, after a few moments' scrutiny, Rupert broke into a curse.

"You're laughing," he cried. "I know that confounded, silent,
shaky laugh of yours. What the deuce is the amusement, Basil?
Here we are, all three of us, within a yard of a den of
ruffians--"

"But I shouldn't call the police," said Basil. "We four heroes
are quite equal to a host," and he continued to quake with his
mysterious mirth.

Rupert turned with impatience and strode swiftly down the court,
the rest of us following. When he reached the door of No. 14 he
turned abruptly, the revolver glittering in his hand.

"Stand close," he said in the voice of a commander. "The scoundrel
may be attempting an escape at this moment. We must fling open the
door and rush in."

The four of us cowered instantly under the archway, rigid, except