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

neatness of a gunshot. "We needn't bother about all that. If
you've done what I told you, all right."

And he turned sharply towards the door.

Mr Montmorency, House-Agent, presented a picture of pathos. After
stammering a moment he said: "Excuse me . . . Mr Keith . . . there
was another matter . . . about which I wasn't quite sure. I tried
to get all the heating apparatus possible under the circumstances
. . . but in winter . . . at that elevation . . ."

"Can't expect much, eh?" said the lieutenant, cutting in with
the same sudden skill. "No, of course not. That's all right,
Montmorency. There can't be any more difficulties," and he put
his hand on the handle of the door.

"I think," said Rupert Grant, with a satanic suavity, "that Mr
Montmorency has something further to say to you, lieutenant."

"Only," said the house-agent, in desperation, "what about the
birds?"

"I beg your pardon," said Rupert, in a general blank.

"What about the birds?" said the house-agent doggedly.

Basil, who had remained throughout the procedings in a state of
Napoleonic calm, which might be more accurately described as a
state of Napoleonic stupidity, suddenly lifted his leonine head.

"Before you go, Lieutenant Keith," he said. "Come now. Really,
what about the birds?"

"I'll take care of them," said Lieutenant Keith, still with his
long back turned to us; "they shan't suffer."

"Thank you, sir, thank you," cried the incomprehensible
house-agent, with an air of ecstasy. "You'll excuse my concern,
sir. You know I'm wild on wild animals. I'm as wild as any of
them on that. Thank you, sir. But there's another thing. . ."

The lieutenant, with his back turned to us, exploded with an
indescribable laugh and swung round to face us. It was a laugh,
the purport of which was direct and essential, and yet which one
cannot exactly express. As near as it said anything, verbally
speaking, it said: "Well, if you must spoil it, you must. But you
don't know what you're spoiling."

"There is another thing," continued Mr Montmorency weakly. "Of
course, if you don't want to be visited you'll paint the house