"The Sphinx" - читать интересную книгу автора (Masterton Graham)

Two
It was Walter Farlowe, his boss. He wanted to remind Gene that there was an eleven o'clock meeting the following day to discuss the West Indies negotiations, and that he expected Gene's punctual attendance. Gene said he had everything ready,- and that everything, was fine.
"Do you have a headcold?" asked Walter.
"Do I sound as if I do?"
"I don't know. You sound funny. Like your mouth is full of breadroll or something."
"Oh, that," said Gene. "I bit my tongue by mistake."
Walter chuckled. "You bit your tongue? I wish Henry Ness would."
"I wish Henry would bite his whole goddamned head off."
After putting the phone down, Gene poured himself another drink and sat down to think some more. All his political life.he had made his mark by being the kind of man who finishes everything he sets out to do. Every 51e, every report, every incident was carefully documented, detailed, and closed. Loose ends disturbed him, and that was exactly what this business with Lorie Semple had turned out to be. Apart from that, his pride had taken its biggest beating in twenty years. Not only had a busty nineteen-ye.ar-old virgin bitten his tongue, but she'd set her watchdogs on him and made
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him leave one of his $75 English shoes stuck in a goddamn gate.
He groped around for his telephone book and looked up the Semples. As he expected, they weren't listed. He stood there tapping his glass thoughtfully against his front teeth for a while, and then he picked up the phone and dialed a number. After all, he thought, it's only just past midnight, and not many young ladies in Washington go to bed this early to sleep.
The phone rang ten or eleven times before it was answered. A dozey girl's voice said, "Hello? Who is this?"
"Maggie," said Gene, as brightly as he could manage. "It's me, Gene."
"What's the time?"
"Oh, I don't know. Around twelve I guess."
"You don't know? I buy you a three-hundred-dollar Jaeger-le-Coultre and you don't know?"
"Don't get sore. You weren't asleep, were you?"
Maggie let out a long, patient sigh. "No, Gene, I wasn't asleep. How could any girl keep a job as your private secretary if she ever slept? I am awake, twenty four hours of the day. It's just that some of the time I'm a little less awake than the rest of the time."
Gene listened patiently. "Maggie," he said. "I know this is kind of an imposition, but I was wondering if you could do me a small favor."
"That's what you always say. Gene, it's my night off! Just for once, can't a girl get some of that rest that makes her beautiful?"
"Maggie, you're always beautiful, rested or exhausted."
"Don't give me that. What do you want me to do?"
"Do you remember a French diplomat called Jean 29
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Semple? He died about three months ago in Canada or someplace."
"That's right. He was mauled by bears on a hunting trip."
"Well, what do you know about his background? His family? Particularly his house?"
"Nothing at all. Why?"
Gene picked up the phone and walked over to the couch. On the color TV screen, some moth-eaten monsters were rising from their graves, and a bunch of ter-. rifled people were running away, waving their arms in the air, and mouthing silently. Mozart continued to play calmly in the background.
"I met Semple's daughter tonight, 'round at the Schirra's. She was very mysterious, you know? Very . . . what can I say? . . . remote. I get the feeling there's something strange about her that I ought to know."
Maggie sighed again. "You mean, she gave you the brush-off and you want some inside dope that's going to assure your seductive success?"
"Oh, come on, Maggiej it's not like that at all. She lives in this huge house outside of town, with walls around it like Fort Knox, and there are wild dogs run-ning around in the grounds that could tear a man's leg off with a single bite."
"Maybe the Semples have a valuable art collection or something. Did you see the house itself?"
"I wasn't even allowed past the gates. She has this kind of chaperone, called Mathieu. He's a mute, and he looks like Jack Palance playing Dracula. When I faintly and meekly suggested that I might be allowed ini I was given the rebuff of the century." • "You? Faint and meek?"
"I can be faint and meek when I want to. The trou-30
ble was, the whole place was off limits, no matter what kind of line I came out with. All I want to know is, what goes on there? I mean, Lorie Semple's a terrific-looking girl, and believe it or not I would like to get to know her better, but mainly I'm just curious."
"Do you think it could ever happen again?" Maggie asked wistfully.
"Do I think that what could ever happen again?"
"Us. You and me. The couple most likely to succeed. Isn't that what they said in the yearbook?"
"Maggie . . . I'm a young man. I have my whole life ahead of me."
"If you think that thirty-two's young, you ought to remember that it's only eight years away from forty."
He swallowed whiskey. "Okay, call 'me in eight years' time. But meanwhile, will you just do this one favor for me?"
"What do you want to know?"
"I want to know the Semple telephone number. I also want to know if Lorie ever goes out, and if she does, where she goes and how she spends her time. I would particularly like some photographs of the Semple estate, and some background on Jean Semple's death. Oh, and see if you can dig up anything on Mrs. Semple, Lorie's mother. It seems that she's quite a dragon in her own quiet way."
Maggie finished jotting down what he wanted. "How Boon do you need this, as if I didn't know?"
"How about tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow's Sunday."
"That's all right—it won't interfere with your regular work. I'll be 'round at Walter's, office most of the morning. Why don't you come by with, the stuff, and I'll take you to lunch."
"That a promise?"