"Dixon, Franklin W - Hardy Boys 044 - The Haunted Fort (b)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dixon Franklin W)

Frank introduced himself and the others, explaining they were vacationing at Crown Lake and hoped to see his fort painting.

"Are you one of those Millwood students?" the critic asked disdainfully.

"Not exactly," Joe replied.

"Very well." Gilman shrugged and ushered the boys across the terrace toward a back door.

"Real friendly type," Joe whispered to the others.

Inside, the critic led them through elaborately furnished rooms, then up winding stairs into a large hall. To one side was an arched doorway.

"My own lake-view dining room," he announced, leading them past a suit of armor and around a long table on which lay a large dictionary. On the far wall he gestured toward a painting.

The canvas, not in the original frame, showed a distant twilight view of Fort Senandaga, with a thorn apple tree in the foreground. The boys noticed that the scene had a three-dimensional effect.

"A rather good effort," Gilman intoned grudgingly. "Acquired from a most misguided man, I might add. Fine impasto, don't you think?"

"Er-exquisite," Chet replied, receiving amazed looks from both Hardys. He bit off a smile and wondered what "impasto" meant. "Sounds like a salad," he thought.

The critic turned to Frank and Joe. "No doubt," he went on condescendingly, "you'll want to see the general's other paintings at that so-called art school." He sniggered with relish. "I'll be paying my annual visit there to the students' exhibition, and pass judgment on the-er, works of those amateur juveniles-a most amusing task!"

Chet had edged over to the large dictionary. He would get one up on the Hardys, and at the same time not feel so stupid about "impasto."

Frank observed their stout friend from the corner of his eye, but made no move to give him away. Chet picked up the book and leafed through it, backing toward the window for better light.

Joe, meanwhile, could not resist asking Gilman, "Do you paint?"

The plump man looked out the window, his hands behind his back. "I am, first and foremost, a critic," he declared haughtily, "and widely known by the elite of the artistic world. I-"

Crash!

The Hardys and Gilman jumped and wheeled about. On the floor lay the suit of armor. Standing over it was Chet, his face flaming red. "S-sorry," he stammered. "I backed right into it." Quickly he put the dictionary on the table.

"Studying too hard?" Frank grinned as he helped right the knight figure. "No damage, sir."

The critic raised his eyes to the ceiling. "My nerves!"

Chet sheepishly placed the dictionary on the table and joined the brothers as they studied the fort painting. "Impasto/' muttered the plump boy, "is the thick application of pigment to a canvas or panel, for your information."

"Okay, professor." Joe chuckled.

They peered closely at the picture's surface, trying to detect some kind of telltale marks in the composition. From several strategic questions, the Hardys gathered that Gilman knew nothing of any clue to the chaine d'or.

Finally, the critic coughed meaningfully. "If you don't mind," he said, "I must be getting to work on an important critique."

The boys, disappointed in the outcome of their mission, thanked the man and left.

"So that's Chauncey Gilman!" Joe said scornfully as they headed south on the lake road. "What a swellhead! And he sure has it in for Mill wood. No wonder Mr. Davenport doesn't like him."