"Harry Harrison - Rebel in Time" - читать интересную книгу автора (Harrison Harry)

breakfast, shells and wrapper in the otherwise empty garbage can. Milk, butter, more eggs, bread,
unopened sixpack in the refrigerator.

Slowly and carefully, Troy went through the rest of the house. Room by room. There was a desk in the
living-room, but all of the drawers were locked. That would require special attention later. Some
magazines in the rack next to the couch. Army and sports magazines, some well-thumbed copies of
Newsweek and the Reader's Digest. A few shelves of books. Old texts and military manuals from OCS.
Some newer ones still in their dustjackets. Popular novels, engineering texts, some historical studies, 'a
guide to western ski resorts. He wanted a record of the titles to look at later.

One thing about QCIC, they had some interesting gadgets. The small Japanese camera was completely
electronic. Instead of film it recorded pictures on an electronic card—up to ten exposures a second. It
could also be adjusted to any range of visible or invisible light. He set it now to ultraviolet. The UV
flashgun emitted only a weak blue glow that he could see. It was a brilliant flash to the camera. He
photographed the spines of all the books, then stowed the camera away again.

It was in the main bedroom upstairs, under the rug beside the double bed, that he found the inset panel.
The floor was made of polished oak boards and the wooden panel had been set into them, flush on all
sides. There was a small indentation on one edge that his finger just fitted into. When he pulled, the panel
opened like a door on its concealed hinges. Set into concrete beneath it was a combination safe.

'Now isn't that nice,' he said, rubbing his hands together in appreciation. 'A really big one. Too big just
for his medals and cheque-books. It would be very interesting to find out just what it does contain.'

He used the phone beside the bed to dial Kelly's number. It was picked up on the first ring.
'Harmon here. I've found a floor safe, a large one. I wonder if you can help me.'

'That's very interesting. I'm sure that we can. Did you notice what make it is?'

'Yes. An Atlas Executive. No keyholes. No hinges visible. A single dial with numbers running up to
ninety-nine.'

'Very good. We'll have someone there in under an hour.'

While he was waiting, Troy went back downstairs and looked into the desk; a picklock opened it
quickly. There was some correspondence, the usual collection of bills and receipts, cancelled cheques
and cheque-book stubs. He made no attempt to examine the contents in detail, but photographed it
instead. It was a quick job and he had put everything in order and locked the desk again when the
well-worn truck pulled up less than forty-five minutes later. The sign on the side said ANDY THE
PLUMBER—24 HOUR EMERGENCY SERVICE. Andy was dressed in work-clothes and carried a
large and battered toolbox. He locked the truck and strolled, whistling, up the drive. Troy opened the
door, just before he pressed the bell, and let him in.

'I'm Andy, just like the truck says. I hear you got a problem with some financial plumbing.' He took the
toothpick from his mouth and carefully put it into his pocket. 'Where's it at?'

'Upstairs. I'll show you.'

Andy knew his job well. The battered toolbox was pristine inside, with tools and equipment set into
shaped niches in the velvet-lined trays. He knelt and admired the safe.