"Barbara Hambly - Benjamin January 1 - A Free Man of Color" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hambly Barbara)

The most prominent men in the city and their colored mistresses, thought January. Any one of whom can
be headed out the side door this minute, masked and disguised as who-knows-what.

And French or not, Froissart was white. January looked down again and made his tone still more
conciliating, like the wise old uncle common to so many of the plantations. "Believe me, Monsieur
Froissart, if I had a choice between what your guests'11 say about your calling the police, and what the
police'll say if you don't call—if it was me, I'd call."

Froissart said nothing, staring in fascinated horror down at the dead woman's face. The beautiful light skin
of which she had been so vain was suffused with dark blood, the delicate features—indistinguishable
from a white woman's—contorted almost beyond recognition.

"I could be dismissed," he whispered in a wan little voice. "M'sieu Davis wants no trouble in this house,
not in the gaming rooms, not in the Theatre. . . ." He swallowed hard. "And bien sur, she is only a placee
. . ."

January could see where that was going. The custom of the country ... So could Dominique; she
gestured toward the door with her eyes, and January bent down closer to the body, his motion
deliberately drawing Froissart's attention. "You see how her neck's marked?" The man would have had
to be an idiot not to note the massive bar of bruise circling the white throat like a noose, but Froissart
knelt at his side, leaned attentively, fascinated by the gruesome melding of beauty and death. Dominique
slipped from the room with barely a rustle of silk petticoat.

"She was strangled with a cloth or a scarf, like a Spanish garrote. A woman could have done it as easily
as a man. She was wearing a necklace of pearls and emeralds earlier- -see where the pressure drove the
fixings into her skin?" His light fingers brushed the ring of tiny cuts. "They took it off her afterward. So it's
a thief. . . . Which means they might strike here again."

"Again!" gasped Froissart in horror.

January nodded, remaining on his knees in spite of an overwhelming desire to thrust the nattering fool
aside and fetch Romulus Valle. Romulus could organize an unobtrusive cordon around both the ballroom
and the Theatre while he himself could have enough time alone to examine the body and see if Angelique
had been raped as well as robbed.

But such a cordon—such an examination—would never be permitted.

"Of course none of the gentlemen in the ballroom would have done this—why would they have needed to
steal? But one of them may have seen something. And there's nothing says they have to take off their
masks or give their right names when the police ask them questions."

And if you believe that, he thought, watching the groping quest for guidance in the manager's eyes, I
have the crown jewels of France right here in my pocket, and I'll let you have them cheap at two
thousand dollars American. . . .

"But . . . But how will it look?" stammered Froissart. "I depend on the goodwill of the ladies and
gende-men. ... Of course, there must be a discreet investigation of some sort, conducted quietly, but can
it not wait until morning?" He dug in his waistcoat pocket, took January's hand, and slapped four gold
ten-dollar pieces into his palm. "Here, my boy. I'll send for Romulus, and the two of you can get her to