"DERLETH, August - The Adventure of the Seven Passengers (A Solar Pons story)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Derleth August)

THE ADVENTURE OF THE SEVEN PASSENGERS
A Solar Pons story
By August Derleth
(From Regarding Sherlock Holmes: The Adventures of Solar Pons, Copyright 1945 by August Derleth)
Version 1.0 - January 26, 2002

THERE IS a certain name which, when mentioned in his presence, invariably causes my friend Solar Pons to look up with a challenging glint in his eyes but a certain grim tightness of his lips, starting in his mind a reminiscence which embraces some of the most interesting cases of his entire career as an investigator of those curious manifestations of criminal activity which reveal the workings of the human mind. Pons had several encounters with the work of the Baron Ennesfred Kroll, who first came to Pons' attention in a social capacity, for Pons had met him at a ball given at the German Embassy late in 1929, where Kroll, who was a social lion, was a compelling figure, despite his stooped shoulders and his sinister appearance, moving among the throngs at the Embassy ball with a singular ability to attract people to him. Pons regarded Baron Ennesfred Kroll as the prototype of the arch-criminal, and found himself ultimately involved in several adventures in which he recognized the hand of the baron, before he was enabled to trap him. Of these, perhaps two--those chronicled in my notes under the headings of "The Adventure of the Seven Passengers," and "The Adventure of the Lost Holiday,"--are most fascinating.

The curious affair of the seven passengers was brought to Pons' attention early one morning in January, 1930. Pons had preceded me to the breakfast table that morning, and was engaged in reading the reports in the Times relating to the Naval Limitations Conference then in progress in London.

"Anything new?" I asked, as I sat down opposite him.

Pons shrugged. "Not in the city. An interesting murder in Kent, a robbery of some ingenuity in a small village south of London; beyond those, nothing. But here," he continued, tapping the paper at his elbow, "is an admirable opening for something of major interest."

"What is that?"

"The Naval Conference. I fancy an astute spy could cause a considerable disturbance among the envoys of the nations represented here, if he were to announce the plans of the Conference before the proper time."

Pons had just tasted his egg, murmured the customary compliment for Mrs. Johnson, our estimable and long suffering landlady, and was about to go on with his breakfast, when there came a sudden ring at the doorbell.

Ah!" exclaimed Pons, his face brightening. He pushed his chair slightly away from the table, and sat listening with a smile of anticipation to the deliberate footsteps of W. Johnson on the stairs.

Her rap, was followed by the appearance of her head with its wisps of hair escaping from her heavy coils. "A gentleman to see you, Mr. Pons," she said, and thrust in our direction a card, which I took and handed to Pons.

Pons' eyebrows raised a little in surprise, and a little gleam of satisfaction appeared briefly in his eyes. "Show him up, by all means, Mrs. Johnson."

"I see you are pleasurably surprised," I observed.

"Elementary, my dear fellow--but still, a deduction. We are about to have a visitor from Downing Street." He dropped the card on the table. "I should not be at all surprised if the Naval Conference has encountered some difficulties."

I took up the card. "Mr. Evan Holdridge St. John," I read. "That is both an imposing and attractive name."

"Withal somewhat affected, one might add. Do not be disconcerted to find him something of an elegant."

At this moment there was a light, discreet tap on the door. Pons called out; the door opened, and a young man not quite six feet in height, a dark blonde, and by no means unhandsome, walked into the room. He was faultlessly dressed in morning clothes, and carried a stick and gloves. Certainly the word "elegant," which Pons had just used, was not in error in describing him.

"Pray sit down, Mr. St. John," invited Pons. "Dr. Parker and I are still at breakfast, but I could not very well disregard a call from Downing Street, no matter at what hour."

Our visitor, who had seated himself at Pons' invitation, leaned forward, supporting himself on his ebony stick, and glanced cursorily in my direction, biting his lips somewhat uncertainly.

"I assure you Dr. Parker is the soul of discretion. Perhaps I am not amiss in supposing that you are working with the Naval Conference, and that something has gone wrong?"

St. John sighed, covered his eyes with one hand, and shook his head. "The bottom has fallen out of it. Everything has gone wrong," he said in a voice that trembled with conviction.

"Dear me!" exclaimed Pons, leaning back and folding his hands. "What precisely?"

"Important papers--I may say, the most important papers of the Conference so far--have unaccountably disappeared. Perhaps it is not too much to say that the entire future of the Conference rests upon these papers."

"Not mislaid, of course?"