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

Harry eyed him for a few seconds. "You want me to act as watchman
tonight?"
"Are you not ideally suited for such a task? A stalwart and manly fellow,
well versed in the handling of such unusual situations," said Allegre. "You
know how to deport yourself when faced with dangers of an unusual sort,
and you are not superstitious like Gaspar, Albert, Gerard and Paul."
"Have you ever spent a night here?"
The director shuddered. "I am, you understand, not a brave man," he
confided. "Were I to run screaming from the premises in the dead of night
it might lead to further scandal, providing fodder for yet another
unflattering caricature in Le Figaro and other vicious publications.
Besides, M. Challenge, since we are paying you such an enormous fee, it is
only fair that—"
"Substantial," corrected Harry, "not enormous. Okay, I'll stay here
tonight. That'll give me a chance to go over the Egyptian wing and the rest
of the museum."
"I appreciate that," said Allegre, allowing himself a small, sad smile.
"Will your quite charming young assistant who waits in the foyer be
sharing your nocturnal duties, monsieur?"
Harry grinned. "Yes, I seldom go anywhere without her."
 The ceiling of the vast room was lost in shadows. The air was chill,
scented faintly with sandalwood and ancient dust.
"This particular chest is one of my favorites," Allegre was saying. "The
framework is of ebony, the inner panels of beautifully carved redwood.
Here we see the bronze and ivory blended to produce . . ."
Jennie whispered to Harry, "You're a rat."
He assumed a beatific expression and ignored her.
"Passing me off as an operative in your dim-witted detective agency
after promising me a chance to interview this guy." She delivered a
disappointed nudge to his ribs.
"He loathes the press. Now hush."
". . . the king, you see, is offering Omnophris a pot of perfume and a
lamp. Omnophris is, of course, but another guise of Osiris, who guards the
. . ."
"I'm not some pushy French news hound," persisted Jennie in an
annoyed whisper. "And if you don't tell him who I really am, then I myself
will."
"Listen, didn't I arrange for you to spend the whole damn night inside
this place? When the mummy does his jig, you'll be the only reporter on
hand."
"Yes, but—"
"You go telling him who you really are and you'll get nothing but the old
heave-ho."
"Ah, but I must be boring you by riding my hobbyhorse so vehemently."
The director turned away from the glass case that housed the chest.
"I'd like to see the case the mummy climbs out of at midnight," Harry
told him.
"But certainly, monsieur." Bowing slightly, Allegre led them past more
ornate chests, an alabaster casket, a case filled with glittering bracelets
and bangles.