"MacLean, Alistair - The Golden Rendezvous" - читать интересную книгу автора (Maclean Alistair)

staccato backfiring of its exhaust, vibrating like a broken tuning fork
and rattling in every bolt in its superannuated chassis, the truck
trundled heavily across the cobbles and pulled up not five paces from
where macdonald was standing. A little man in white ducks and peaked
cap jumped out through the space where the door ought to have been,
stood still for a couple of seconds until he got the hang of terra firma
again, and then scuttled off in the direction of our gangway. I
recognised him as our carracio agent, the one with the low opinion of
detroit, and wondered what fresh trouble he was bringing with him. I
found out in three minutes flat when captain Bullen appeared on deck, an
anxious-looking agent scurrying along behind him. The captain's blue
eyes were snapping; the red complexion was overlaid with puce, but he
had the safety valve screwed right down. "Coffins, Mister," he said
tightly. "Coffins, no less." I suppose there is a quick and clever
answer to a conversational gambit like that, but I couldn't find it, so
I said politely, "coffins, sir?"
"Coffins, Mister. Not empty, either. For shipment to New York."
he flourished some papers. "Authorizations, shipping notes, everything
in order. Including a sealed request signed by no less than the
ambassador. Three of them. Two British, one American subject. Killed
in the hunger riots."
"The crew won't like it, sir," I said. "Especially the goanese
stewards. You know their superstitions and how "it will be all right,
senor," the little man in white broke in hurriedly. Wilson had been
right about the nervousness, but there was more to it than that; there
was a strange overlay of anxiety that came close to despair. "We have
arranged "shut up!" captain Bullen said shortly. "No need for the crew
to know, Mister. Or the passengers." you could see they were just a
careless afterthought. "Coffins are boxed that's them on the truck
there."
"Yes, sir. Killed in the riots. Last week." I paused and went on
delicately: "in this heat "lead-lined, he says. So they can go in the
hold. Some separate corner, Mister. One of the - um-deceased is a
relative of one of the passengers boarding here. Wouldn't do to stack
the coffins among the dynamos, I suppose." he sighed heavily. "On top
of everything else, we're now in the funeral-undertaking business.
Life, First, can hold no more."
"You are accepting this-ah-cargo, sir?"
"But of course, but of course," the little man interrupted again.
"One of them is a cousin of senor carreras, who sails with you. Sefior
miguel carreras. Sefior carreras, he is what you say, heartbroken.
Senor carreras is the most important man "be quiet," captain Bullen said
wearily. He made a gesture with the papers. "Yes, i'm accepting. Note
from the ambassador. More pressure. I've had enough of cables flying
across the atlantic. Too much grief. Just an old beaten man, First,
just an old beaten man. He stood there for a moment, hands outspread on
the guardrail, doing his best to look like an old beaten man and making
a singularly unsuccessful job of it, then straightened abruptly as a
procession of vehicles turned in through the dock gates and made for the
Campari. "A pound to a penny, Mister, here comes still more grief."