"Ron Goulart - The Curse of the Obelisk" - читать интересную книгу автора (Goulart Ron)

"A gamekeeper from the estate where they were shooting swore he saw
a giant bird circling the spot where Sir Munson did his brodie. He wasn't
believed."
"Okay, and where do I tie in?" asked Harry. "Was that damn bat
planning to make me the next victim of the curse of the obelisk? And if so,
why?"
"Don't you know where the Osiris Obelisk is?"
Harry ground his cigar out in the pewter ashtray. "At the Musée des
Antiquités?"
"For five more days," she replied. "Then it's being shipped to the capital
of Urbania. The museum's sold it to a private collector. The whole
business has caused quite a stir."
Harry said, "You were trailing me because you figure the troubles at the
museum are linked with this curse."
"Seems likely, doesn't it?" There was a mixture of contriteness and
excitement in her voice. "Honestly, Harry, I don't like to trade on our
friendship, but so far nobody else knows the Challenge International
Detective Agency has been called in on this case. That exclusive angle'll
make my series of articles for the Daily Inquirer much more—"
"I'll make you a deal."
"You sound sort of grim."
"Instead of putting on half-wit disguises and skulking around, you can
come along to the museum with me," he said. "After I meet with M.
Allegre, in private, I'll see if he'll let you interview him."
"Well, that'd be fine, I guess. But you're scowling at me as though—"
"We've known each other for quite a spell. Back in New York and—"
"Known and liked. Even though sometimes—"
"When our paths crossed in Orlandia and it turned out we were both
interested in the prisoner of Blackwood Castle, I initially tried to ditch
you."
"Harry, I do . . . well, love you. And you can trust me," she assured him
in a quiet voice. "It's just that I'm a reporter, and a darn good one, and so
sometimes—"
"We'll forget what happened on the train from Orlandia to Paris." Harry
stood and signaled the gaunt, apronned waiter. "It never took place. We'll
go back to being rivals, friendly rivals."
"But, Harry, something did happen. We can't just—"
"I'm late for the meeting with my client. You coming along?"
She hesitated, then smiled tentatively. "Yes," she replied.


CHAPTER 2
After rubbing at his nose, Maurice Allegre tapped the drawing in the
newspaper open upon his desk. "My reputation is in shreds already, M.
Challenge," he said, wringing his small hands. "Just this past Monday here
in Le Figaro no less a formidable penman than Caran d'Ache depicted me
as a grave robber. You see?"
Harry leaned forward in his heavy wooden chair. "Doesn't resemble you
that much."
"Ah, but all Paris knows at whom this barb is aimed," said the forlorn