Читать книгу The Day the World Ended - Arthur Henry Ward - Страница 15

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In the office of the management I confirmed the report made by the Prussian watchman. There were polite regrets—masking incredulity, I rather fancied. But the fastenings of my shutter should certainly be looked to.

At about half-past ten on a perfect morning I set out. My Zeiss glasses I had stuffed into a pocket of my coat as I had no desire to advertise my intentions. Yet a dreadful sense of futility was growing hourly more oppressive.

The presence of a pistol on my hip no longer gave any feeling of security. One cannot shoot a Voice. I was watched, day and night: the fact was unmistakable. But although the watchers clearly possessed unusual, indeed superhuman, powers, I could not afford to suppose that they were infallible. To do so would be to acknowledge defeat. Some, at least, of my enemies were human enough; and I classified the chief suspects thus:

(A) Mme. Yburg

(B) Aldous P. Kluster

(C) M. Paul

If the men were victims of the woman or voluntary accomplices, I had yet to learn. But, until more data came into my possession, my only safe course was to look upon all three as active opponents of my mission.

In the lobby of the hotel I was confronted by a dazzling spectacle—a man arrayed in extravagant plus-fours, with really unique stockings. His tie was in harmony with his stockings but in harmony with nothing else. He wore a startling pull-over. Black hair, gray at the temples, was brushed straight back from a fine, pale brow. The handsome, clean-shaven face was dominated by laughing but penetrating eyes.

“My dear Mr. Woodville!” cried M. Paul—for he it was—“may I hope that you are not engaged?”

“Very sorry,” I replied. “But I’m afraid I am engaged until dinner time.”

“Ah!” cried the Frenchman. “But it is a shame! I am disconsolate. But dinner—yes! You will dine with me?”

“With pleasure.”

“Good. Then we meet in the bar at half after six——”

“Say, a quarter to seven.”

“Half six to quarter seven—for cocktails?”

“Delighted.”

Presently, I got on my way again. As I came out into the street, I ran into Mr. Kluster, who was standing by the hotel entrance.

“Hullo!” said he, looking me up and down, “all set for a picnic?”

“Not exactly,” I answered shortly.

“Exploring the forest?”

“Something of the sort,” I called back; for I had scarcely checked my footsteps, so resentful was I of this man’s would-be facetious remarks.

But, already, I had gathered food for reflection. It might be no more than a series of coincidences: yet the fact remained that every suspect on my list had challenged me in some way regarding my plans for that day.