"Maclean, Alistair - 1970 - Caravan to Vaccares" - читать интересную книгу автора (Maclean Alistair)

Bowman crooked a finger at a passing waiter.
'Well?'
'She went into a chemist's shop. She bought bandages— yards and yards—and a whole lot of cream and ointment and then she went back to the caravans—in a square not far from here—'
"The green-and-white caravan?'
'Yes. There were two women waiting for her at the caravan door and then all three went inside.'
'Two women?'
'One middle-aged, the other young with auburn hair.'
'Marie's mother and Sara. Poor Tina.'
'What do you mean?'
'Just rambling.' He glanced across the courtyard. "The love-birds across there.'
Cecile followed his gaze to where Le Grand Duc, who was now sitting back with the relieved air of a man who has narrowly escaped death from starvation, smiled indulgently at Lila as she put her hand on his and talked animatedly.
Bowman said: 'Is your girl-friend simple-minded or anything like that?'
She gave him a long cool look. 'Not any more than I am.'
'Um. She knew you, of course. What did you tell her?'

'Nothing—except that you had to run for your life.'
'Didn't she wonder why you came?'
'Because I wanted to, I said.'
'Tell her I was suspicious of the Duke?'
'Well—'
'It doesn't matter. She have anything to tell you?'
'Not much. Just that they stopped by to watch a gypsy service this morning.'
'Service?'
'You know—religious.'
'Regular priest?'
'So Lila said.'
'Finish your breakfast.' He pushed back his chair. 'I won't be long.'
'But I thought—I thought you would want to know what the Duke said, his reactions. After all, that's why you sent me.'
'Was it?' Bowman seemed abstracted. 'Later.' He rose and entered the hotel: the girl watched him go with a puzzled expression on her face.
Tall, you say, El Brocador. Thick-set. Very fast.' Czerda rubbed his own battered and bandaged face in painfully tender recollection, and looked at the four men seated at the table in his caravan—El Brocador, the swarthy young man Bowman had bumped into in the street, Ferenc, Pierre Lacabro and a still shaken and pale Simon Searl who was trying to rub the back of his neck and the back of his thigh simultaneously.
'His face was darker than you say,' El Brocador said. "And a moustache.'
'Dark faces and a moustache you can buy in shops. He can't hide his stock in trade—violence.'
'I hope I meet this man soon,' Pierre Lacabro said. His tone was almost wistful.
'I wouldn't be in too much of a hurry,' Czerda said drily. 'You didn't see him at all, Searl?'
'I saw nothing. I just felt those two blows in the back-no, I didn't even feel the second blow.'
'Why in God's name did you have to go to that hotel patio anyway?'
'I wanted to get a close-up of this Ducde Croytor. It was you, Czerda, who made me curious about him, I wanted to hear his voice. Who he spoke to, see if he has any contacts, who—'
'He's with this English girl. He's harmless.'
'Clever men do things like that,' Searl said.
'Clever men don't do the things you do,' Czerda said grimly. 'Now Bowman knows who you are. He almost certainly knows now that someone in Madame Zigair's caravan has been badly hurt. If the Duc de Croytor is who you think he is then he must know now that you suspect him of being Gaiuse Strome—and, if he is, he's not going to like any of those three things at all.' The expression on Searl's face left no doubt but that he himself was of the same opinion. Czerda went on: 'Bowman. He's the only solution. This man must be silenced. Today. But carefully. Quietly. By accident. Who knows what friends this man may not have?'
'I have told you how this can be done,' El Brocador said.
'And a good way. We move on this afternoon. Lacabro, you're the only one of us he does not know. Go to his hotel. Keep watch. Follow him. We dare not lose him now.'
That will be a pleasure.'
'No violence,' Czerda warned.
'Of course not.' He looked suddenly crestfallen. 'But I don't know what he looks like. Dark and thickset—there are hundreds of dark and thickset—'
'If he's the man El Brocador described and the man I remember seeing on the hotel patio,' Searl said, 'he'll be with a girl dressed as a gypsy. Young, dark, pretty, dressed mainly green and gold, four gold bangles on her left wrist.'
Cecile looked up from the remains of her breakfast as Bowman joined her at her table.
'You took your time,' she observed.
'I have not been idle. I've been out. Shopping.'
'I didn't see you go.'