Оглавление
Джозеф Джефферсон Фарджон. Тринадцать гостей / Thirteen Guests
Chapter I. Completion of the Number
Chapter II. Inventory
Chapter III. At the Black Stag
Chapter IV. Over the Yellow Cups
Chapter V. The 5.56
Chapter VI. Spottings of a Leopard
Chapter VII. Whitewash and Paint
Chapter VIII. How Things Happen
Chapter IX. Largely Concerning Chater
Chapter X. Movements in the Night
Chapter XI. Haig
Chapter XII. Undeveloped Details
Chapter XIII. The Meet
Chapter XIV. The Finding of Z
Chapter XV. In the Quarry
Chapter XVI. The Second Victim
Chapter XVII. Nadine’s Story
Chapter XVIII. Enter the Police
Chapter XIX. Short Interlude
Chapter XX. Bultin’s Time-Sheet
Chapter XXI. A Woman With a Knife
Chapter XXII. Earnshaw Answers Some Questions
Chapter XXIII. Theories of an Authoress
Chapter XXIV. Taverley’s Version
Chapter XXV. Dinner Under Difficulties
Chapter XXVI. Shocks for Earnshaw
Chapter XXVII. Contents of a Bag
Chapter XXVIII. John’s Turn
Chapter XXIX. The Troubles of Thomas
Chapter XXX. Origins of Evil
Chapter XXXI. Almost the Truth
Chapter XXXII. The Truth
Chapter XXXIII. Death and Life
Отрывок из книги
Every station has its special voice. Some are of grit. Some are of sand. Some are of milk cans. Some are of rock muffled by tunnel smoke. Whatever the voice, it speaks to those who know it, sounding a name without pronouncing it; but those who do not know it drowse on, for to them it brings no message, and is merely a noise unilluminated by personal tradition.
Of the two passengers who alighted at Flensham from the 3.28 one Friday afternoon in autumn, only one had an advance vision of these things. She was a lady of about thirty, and Puritans and Victorians would have called her too attractive. Her hair was tinged with bronze. Her nose delighted your thoughts and defied your theories. Her complexion was too perfect. Her frankly ridiculous lips annoyed you because by all the rules of sanity they should have disgusted you, yet they did not.
.....
There was always something vaguely personal in her use of the word “Arthur.” It implied no social unbending on her part, and permitted no familiarity on his, but it recognised his existence; almost, his male existence. Now it added two miles to the speedometer.
“Bragley Court doesn’t sound like an inn,” commented the young man wearily. He found he couldn’t fight.
.....
