Bodies from the Library: Lost Tales of Mystery and Suspense by Agatha Christie and other Masters of the Golden Age. Georgette Heyer

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СКАЧАТЬ some Mother Siegel’s. Where’s James?

      (Fade. Sound of subdued voices. Voice of Page-boy growing louder.)

      PAGE-BOY: Calling Sir James Braithwaite. Room 15. Calling Sir James Braithwaite. Room 15. Calling Sir James Braithwaite. Room—

      (Snapping of fingers.)

      JAMES: Here, boy. Haven’t you got eyes in your head? What is it, now?

      PAGE-BOY: Mr Nigel Strangeways to see you, sir. In the lobby, sir.

      (Sir James rises. As he goes out, the murder of voices is heard again. Above it, three voices rise.)

      VOICE I: Who’s that old bird, Reggie?

      VOICE II: Sir James Braithwaite. The shipowner. Sailing on one of his own ships next tide, I believe.

      VOICE III: Jimmy Braithwaite sailing on one of his own ships? Crikey! Is he tired of life, or what?

      (Fade. A door closes.)

      JAMES: Morning, Strangeways. So you’ve decided to take on the job, eh?

      NIGEL: Yes, Sir James. I—

      JAMES: Just step out on the terrace with me a moment. It’ll be quieter out there.

      (Sound of swing-door. Lobby noises cut off.)

      NIGEL: (brisk, cheerful, not at all overawed by Sir James) Yes. You made such a mystery of it over the telephone. And I just can’t refrain from poking my nose into mysteries.

      JAMES: (very frigid) Indeed? It is understood that you will be sailing as my employee, my secretary?

      NIGEL: (faintest note of amusement in voice) Yes, Sir James.

      JAMES: Very well, As I think I told you, we are to sail on one of my own ships: the ‘James Braithwaite’. She’s a freighter of some 2,500 tons, with accommodation for a few passengers. My wife—Lady Alice; Laurence Annesley and his sister, Laura—he’s a junior partner in my firm—will be coming as well. We go out on the evening tide.

      NIGEL: And where does the—er—secretary come in?

      JAMES: Your job is to keep your eyes open, Strangeways—and your mouth shut.

      NIGEL: Hmm. A sea trip and a nice fat fee for—keeping my eyes open.

      JAMES: When I need a job doing, young man, I can afford to pay for it.

      NIGEL: So you’ve purchased the best detective that money can buy, to keep his eyes open. Open for what, Sir James?… Are you anticipating an attempt on your life, for instance?

      JAMES: Don’t be ridiculous … I’ll tell you more when we get on board. There’s several kinds of treachery, young man.

      NIGEL: Just one thing, Sir James. Why the ‘James Braithwaite’? Why have you decided to sail on a small, uncomfortable cargo-steamer, when—

      JAMES: That’s my affair. Nothing wrong with my ships, let me tell you—

      (Fade out. Fade in to quayside. Sound of seagulls, winches, commands. Voices, Tyneside accent, are of two stevedores and one seaman.)

      VOICE I: Got the owner sailing with you, Geordie, eh?

      VOICE II: Aye, the old—(loud expectoration). And a cargo of skirts. Women on board! I don’t like it. It’s not lucky.

      VOICE III: Won’t be the first time a Braithwaite boat’s been unlucky, mate.

      VOICE II: Aye, and for why? Look at the way he sorts them out. Ruddy suicide ships, that’s all they are.

      VOICE I: Reckon your owner doesn’t worry. He gets the insurance, see?

      VOICE II: Too true he does. (lowers voice) I was on the ‘Mary Garside’, chum. Gaw, she was a packet! Chuck a cupful of water at her, and she’d start her rivets. And roll! Jees, we was hardly off soundings, and she rolled so you could see passing ships through the ventilators. When she went down—

      VOICE III: Pipe down, Geordie. There’s the master going aboard.

      GREER: Morning, Mr Maclean.

      MACLEAN: Good day to you, Captain.

      GREER: Got your loading done?

      MACLEAN: There’s just those crates for Number 3 hold to go in. She’s trimmed by the head a wee bit, I’m thinking.

      GREER: Step this way a minute, mister. Let Mr Cafferty attend to it.

      (Steps along deck, down companionway. Noises shut off as they enter the captain’s saloon. The two men relax.)

      GREER: A-Ah. Well, Donald, they’ll be aboard presently, it’s a great day for me—Alice and Sir James sailing with us.

      MACLEAN: I don’t grudge it to you, John. I wish he might have picked on some other ship, though.

      GREER: I know. But ye must let bygones be bygones.

      MACLEAN: Bygones be bygones! I could forgive him for sailing out the ‘Mary Garside’ ill-found that voyage. Maybe I’d find it in my heart to forgive him that. But when he sets on his lawyers at the inquiry to make out it was my fault, when he loses me my master’s ticket—na, na, John, flesh and blood wilna endure that.

      GREER: I know, Donald. But he had to save his face. And he kept you on in the company’s service.

      MACLEAN: Wasn’t that great! A robber steals your reputation and allows ye to keep your badge-cap! And now he’s coming aboard to gloat over it. I’m wondering how I’ll keep my hands off the blasted wee runt. Why must he choose the ‘James Braithwaite’?

      GREER: You know that as well as I do. (lowers voice) It’s a nice bit of eyewash, sailing on one of his own fleet. After the ‘Triton’ and the ‘Mary Garside’, well, there was nasty talk going about. So he’s sailing with us just to show the Braithwaite ships are all right. And he chose this ship because he knows she’s the soundest in the fleet. He’s got his head screwed on all right.

      MACLEAN: He’s a damned hypocrite, John, and you know it.

      GREER: Eh, well, you don’t get on in this world without a bit of that, and he’s good to Alice. Remember that, Donald. He’s made her happy. You should see the letters she writes me. She’s got everything she wants, everything I wanted for her—money, a grand position, hobnobbing with the swells—

      MACLEAN: Everything she wants?—

      GREER: Eh, it’s a fair knock-over. To think of my little Alice riding about in a Rolls-Royce—and me who started life a deck-side Geordie. Lady Braithwaite. Her mother’d be proud if she could see her now. And I’m to be a grandfather next year. What d’ye say to that, Donald? A grandfather … No, I’ll not deny he gave you a bad deal: but he’s not as bad as he’s СКАЧАТЬ