"Robert A. Heinlein - The unpleasant profession of Johathan Ho" - читать интересную книгу автора (Heinlein Robert A)

phone.
"What am I this time? Wife, partner, or secretary?"
"What do you think? You talked to him."
"'Wife,' I'd guess. His voice sounded prissy."
"O.K."
"I'll change to a dinner gown. And you had better get your toys up off the floor,
Brain."
"Oh, I don't know. It gives a nice touch of eccentricity."
"Maybe you'd like some shag tobacco in a carpet slipper. Or some Regie
cigarettes." She moved around the room, switching off the overhead lights and arranging
table and floor lamps so that the chair a visitor would naturally sit in would be well
lighted.
Without answering he gathered up his darts and the bread board, stopping as he
did so to moisten his finger and rub the spot where he had marred the radio, then dumped
the whole collection into the kitchen and closed the door. In the subdued light, with the
kitchen and breakfast nook no longer visible, the room looked serenely opulent.

"How do you do, sir? Mr. Hoag, my dear. Mr. Hoag...Mrs. Randall."
"How do you do, madame."
Randall helped him off with his coat, assuring himself in the process that Mr.
Hoag was not armed, or -- if he was -- he had found somewhere other than shoulder or
hip to carry a gun. Randall was not suspicious, but he was pragmatically pessimistic.
"Sit down, Mr. Hoag. Cigarette?"
"No. No, thank you."
Randall said nothing in reply. He sat and stared, not rudely but mildly,
nevertheless thoroughly. The suit might be English or it might be Brooks Brothers. It was
certainly not Hart, Schaffner & Marx. A tie of that quality had to be termed a cravat,
although it was modest as a nun. He upped his fee mentally. The little man was nervous -
- he wouldn't relax in his chair. Woman's presence, probably. Good -- let him come to a
slow simmer, then move him off the fire.
"You need not mind the presence of Mrs. Randall," he said presently. "Anything
that I may hear, she may hear also."
"Oh...oh, yes. Yes, indeed." He bowed from the waist without getting up. "I am
very happy to have Mrs. Randall present." But he did not go on to say what his business
was.
"Well, Mr. Hoag," Randall added presently, "you wished to consult me about
something, did you not?"
"Uh, yes."
"Then perhaps you had better tell me about it."
"Yes, surely. It -- That is to say -- Mr. Randall, the whole business is
preposterous."
"Most businesses are. But go ahead. Woman trouble? Or has someone been
sending you threatening letters?"
"Oh, no! Nothing as simple as that. But I'm afraid."
"Of what?"
"I don't know," Hoag answered quickly with a little intake of breath. "I want you
to find out."
"Wait a minute, Mr. Hoag," Randall said. "This seems to be getting more
confused rather than less. You say you are afraid and you want me to find out what you
are afraid of. Now I'm not a psychoanalyst; I'm a detective. What is there about this