"Masterton, Graham - The Djinn" - читать интересную книгу автора (Masterton Graham)

Marjorie didn't look at all happy about that idea. "Max did say not to touch it," she reminded me. "I'm not trying to fool you, Harry. It worried him more than anything ever worried him before."

"That's what I don't understand," I said. "Max was always so pragmatic. Why should it worry him so much?"

"Maybe it was black magic," said Anna. "The Arabs were tremendous wizards in their time."

I poured some more wine. Marjorie hadn't even touched hers. If I were her, I would have been as drunk as a skunk by now, but then Marjorie had always been a gentle, realistic woman. She sat there, bowed over her half-finished cottage cheese salad, like a meek shellfish that had found itself lunching in a seafood restaurant and was trying to eat discreetly in case it was spotted and devoured by its fellow diners.

"I think, quite seriously, that we ought to have a look at this jar," I told her. "You can't set fire to the house anyway. It's against fire regulations."

"Max did insist," she said anxiously.

"I know Max insisted, but Max is-well, Max is no longer with us. It's pretty hard to insist on anything from Restful Lawns."

"I think Harry's right, Mrs. Greaves," said Anna. "You can't let the whole thing get you down like this. Perhaps your husband was right, and there is something strange about the jar. You really ought to find out what it is."

"I don't know," said Marjorie. "I just don't know what to do."

"Leave it to us," said Anna reassuringly. "Harry and I will go take a look at the turret this afternoon, and we'll find out what this whole jar business is all about. If you like, we'll take it away and sell it for you-won't we, Harry?"

"Huh? Oh, sure. I mean, there's no sense getting worked up over some hideous old piece of pottery. Really, Marjorie, I believe Max was imagining things. Maybe he was overworked or something."

"He was retired," said Marjorie curtly.

"Well, that's it," I said. "A lot of active men start feeling useless and unwanted when they retire. Perhaps he invented this jar business to give himself something important to do. He was suffering from strain, that was all."

Marjorie was very pale. She dabbed her lips with her linen napkin, then laid it neatly on the table.

"I think I ought to tell you something," she said.

"Sure. Anything. We'll understand."

"I don't know whether you'll understand this. Nobody else does. It's only because of Dr. Jarvis that I've been able to keep it quiet."

I frowned. "Keep what quiet, Marjorie? Is there something wrong?"

Marjorie lowered her beady little eyes. I reached my hand sympathetically across the table, but she didn't take it.

"It was the way Max died," she said simply. "It wasn't very nice."

I looked quickly across at Anna, and she looked back at me. I was just going to say something, but Anna raised her finger across her lips and silenced me.

"It was last Thursday," Marjorie continued. "I woke up in the middle of the night and found that Max wasn't there. That wasn't unusual, especially in recent years. He often wandered around the house at night. I lay there for a while and listened to see if I could hear where he was. Then I felt thirsty, and I got up to have a drink of water from the bathroom."

Marjorie's voice was so soft I could hardly hear what she was saying. Her head had sunk down and her lips were barely moving as she told us what had happened.

"I was just filling my glass when I heard people talking in the kitchen downstairs. At least I imagined I did. I wondered who it was. One of them sounded like Max, but I don't know who the other one was. I think now that it was just my imagination. I had my drink, and I was going back to bed, when I heard terrible screeching. I can't tell you how awful it was. I was absolutely paralyzed with fright I couldn't move. It went on and on for about three or four minutes, perhaps even longer. I went downstairs. I don't know how I had the courage to do it, but I did. It sounded so much like Max, and I was terrified that something had happened to him." Marjorie stopped for a moment.

"Have a drink," I said. "It'll make you feel better."