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

league college. "I have some interest in the cargo being loaded, and if
you would permit "but certainly, senor carreras." Carter, that
rough-hewn anglo-saxon diamond, not to be outdone in latin courtesy. I
waved towards the hatch. "If you would be so kind as to keep to the
starboard-the right hand of the hatch "'starboard' will do, Mr. Carter."
he smiled. "I have commanded vessels of my own. It was not a life that
ever appealed to me." he stood there for a moment, watching macdonald
tightening the sling, while I turned to dexter, who had made no move to
go. Dexter was seldom in a hurry to do anything; he had a remarkably
thick skin. "What are you on now, fourth?" I enquired. "Assisting
Mr." that meant he was unemployed. Cummings, the purser, was an
extraordinarily competent officer who never required help. He had only
one fault, brought on by years of dealing with passengers-he was far too
polite. Especially with dexter. I said, "those charts we picked up in
Kingston. You might get on with the corrections, will you?" which
meant that he would probably land us on a reef off the great bahamas in
a couple of days' time. "But Mr. cummings is expecting "the charts,
dexter." he looked at me for a long moment, his face slowly darkening,
then spun on his heel and left. I let him go three paces, then said,
not loudly, "dexter." he stopped, then turned slowly. "The charts,
dexter," I repeated. He stood there for maybe five seconds, eyes locked
on mine, then broke his gaze. "Aye, aye, sir." the accent on the "sir"
was faint but unmistakable. He turned again and walked away, and now
the flush was round to the back of his neck, his back ramrod stiff.
Little I cared; by the time he sat in the chairman's seat i'd have long
since quit. I watched him go, then turned to see carreras looking at me
with a slow, still speculation in the steady eyes. He was putting chief
officer Carter in the balance and weighing him, but whatever figures he
came up with he kept to himself, for he turned away without any haste
and made his way to the starboard side of number four hold. As he
turned, I noticed for the First time the very thin ribbon of black silk
stitched across the left lapel of his grey tropical suit. It didn't
seem to go any too well with the white rose he wore in his buttonhole,
but maybe the two of them together were recognised as a sign of mourning
in those parts. And it seemed very likely, for he stood there perfectly
straight, almost at attention, his hands loosely by his sides, as the
three crated coffins were hoisted inboard. When the third crate came
swinging in over the rail he removed his hat casually, as if to get the
benefit of the light breeze that had just sprung up from the north, the
direction of the open sea, and then, looking round him almost furtively,
lifted his right hand under the cover of the hat held in his left hand
and made a quick abbreviated sign of the cross. Even in that heat I
could feel the cold cat's-paw of a shiver brush lightly across my
shoulders. I don't know why; not even by the furthest stretch of
imagination could I visualise that prosaic hatchway giving on number
four hold as an open grave. One of my grandmothers was Scots; maybe I
was psychic or had the second sight or whatever it was they called it up
in the highlands, or maybe I had just lunched too well. Whatever might
have upset me, it didn't seem to have upset senor carreras. He replaced
his hat as the last of the crates touched lightly on the floor of the