"Harmon, Daniel Elton - The Swindlers Circle" - читать интересную книгу автора (Harmon Daniel Elton)

= The Swindlers Circle
by Daniel Elton Harmon


Harper sat one dreary Saturday morning in his city quarters at his chessboard--a fine, worn old set of ebony and sandalwood, one of the very few family heirlooms he possessed. The pieces still retained a vestige of their distinctive scents. His father had brought the souvenir home from Borneo in the early 1850s. "They play chess in Borneo?" the young Harper used to ask, and his father would smile kindly and shake his head. "No, but they know their wood, and they know the wants of the European."

The lad never had forgotten the strange, pat response: They know their wood, and they know the wants of the European. Even this day he remembered it, and wondered again why those in foreign lands so revered the invasive European. It was true enough: In the few remote islands and unexplored sections of continents he had visited, he had been disconcerted to find himself always treated like a god. It made him wholly uncomfortable, mitigating his love of travel.

He was alone. Playing chess against himself provided the silence and freedom from distraction he required to think out possible combinations beyond one or two moves. It also eliminated the stress of competition--how he loathed competition! Moreover, he was the only chess player in Columbia against whom he felt...competent.

His hallway entry door unexpectedly banged open amid a commotion of voices. Into his quiet study charged Lora, his ten-year-old niece.

"Who's winning?" she demanded, scrutinizing the half-vanquished board as she jumped into the single padded visitor's chair.

The reporter's eyes twinkled warmly. "I am."

"White or black? Looks like there's been a devil of a brawl."

He was a bit nonplussed. Lora knew the rudiments of the game--he had taught her. Just how much did she understand? he wondered. "I'm really not sure which side has the advantage at the moment," he answered.

She laughed and clapped her hands. "An...an...how do you say it? An impasse!"

"Something like that." Harper was truly pleased by Lora's developing vocabulary--an achievement for which he privately claimed a degree of credit. From her earliest years, he always had spoken to his niece in adult language, never infantile monosyllables. And from her earliest years, she had seemed to understand the words he used. That, combined with several other intriguing signs in the child's nature, to some extent unsettled him. He had a dogged impression Lora, not a quarter his age, understood certain things about life he did not.

"Lora, now, you must behave," instructed Harper's sister--his editor's wife--taking off her white shopping gloves as she entered the room. "Uncle has agreed to let you stay here a few hours. He never agreed to serve as your parole officer."

The child again laughed, causing Harper to smile. She was to him the dearest delight of life in the capital city--although he sometimes let her believe she was a burden, an intruder to be endured. He had forgotten his promise to entertain her awhile this morning, but at her entry he was not at all annoyed. Any other interruption to his game would have been resented. Lora, to the contrary, always had something to tell him. In her childish concerns, he invariably found helpful reprieve from his own.

She turned on him mischievously. "Daddy still hates you."

Harper tossed back his head with a broad grin.

"Do you still hate him?" she pressed.

"Lora!" the mother rebuked.

The journalist intervened calmly. "I don't think we hate each other at all, Lora. We merely don't see eye to eye on...on...."

"On anything," Mrs. Sweeney finished, frowning. After Lora left them to go exploring into Harper's eternally mysterious, cluttered closet, sister turned to brother. "When will you two ever come to some sort of...agreement?"

Harper shrugged with an air of complete innocence. "I've never fathomed what it is about me he dislikes."

She scowled in disgust. "That's what he says, verbatim." Rising abruptly: "Must go, dear. Luncheon at 11:30 at the Sandlapper Club, and I've a number of things to arrange for Sunday dinner. Lot of people coming tomorrow.... You'll join us this time?"

He cocked his head noncommittally.

"You rogue." She kissed his cheek. "Thank you for doing this. Lora adores you, you know."

His face turned deep crimson. She smiled wryly and left.