"William Morrison - Light in Darkness" - читать интересную книгу автора (Morrison William)

could feel himself becoming light, and he knew that the ship was passing out of the field of Earth's gravity.
When he was about half his usual weight, the artificial gravity went on, and from that time on, there was
no further change.
When a dim red light was finally switched on, it was quite unexpected. He stared around him, and
whistled. There were five men, all Martians, and one girl. Naturally, it was at her that he looked first. She
had at least one-half Earth blood, possibly more, and she was a beauty.
He couldn't help that whistle of his. Any centenarian not a total wreck would probably have tried to
whistle through toothless gums at seeing her.
Her face was stern, but she wasn't scowling as the men were. Now that the atom-gun was out of his
side, Randall felt the courage flowing back into him.
"What's the big idea of snatching me?" he demanded. "I'm only a poor cop. I can't pay you enough of
a ransom to make it worth your while."
One of the Martians spoke. He was buck-toothed, which was unusual among Martians, and his teeth
had an unpleasant resemblance to fangs. "You will please hand over the map."
"Huh?"
"I am not joking. I want the map you took from that Irishman."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
The man's eyes gleamed with anger. So there was an Irishman somehow involved in this, thought
Randall, and realized suddenly why the man who had kidnaped him had been so upset by his attempt at
humor. He had thought Randall was trying to be funny at his expense.
The man spoke again. "Perhaps you have heard of me. I am Mungh Fahz."
"Sure I've heard of you. You're a crook." And then, as an afterthought: "Among other things," added
Randall.
Mungh Fahz smiled, showing those fanglike teeth more clearly. "You realize then that when I ask for
something, I am serious. Give it to me, please."
"I can't give you what I haven't got."

ANOTHER Martian interrupted. He was a little shorter than Mungh Fahz, and pleasanter looking,
although no more pleasant in actuality. "Perhaps, Mungh Fahz, Mr. Randall would like to know why we
are so sure the map is in his possession."
A shrug. "You may tell him, Duorr, if it pleases you."
"Last night," said Duorr, "you made an arrest."
"Oh, that Irishman. He was only a drunk. Petty nice guy, too. I was sorry. I had to run him in."
"He was not a drunk. He deliberately had himself arrested."
Randall smiled. This was beginning to be funny. "Look, buddy," he replied. "Do you know what he
talked to me about on his way to the station? About his dear old mother in good old Ireland, and how
one Irishman was worth ten Martians, and again about his good old mother in dear old Ireland. He was
as drunk as they come."
"He was pretending," contradicted Duorr coldly. "No doubt he had been drunk before, and he knew
how to talk. He was running away from us. He knew that it was only a matter of hours before we caught
him, and he had himself arrested so that in the police station he might be out of danger."
"What's that got to do with me?"
"This afternoon he died. The map was not on him."
Randall's eyes narrowed as he took in the meaning of the words. "You killed him. How?"
"He died. We know that he did not give the map to the jailer. You were the only other person who
saw him. Therefore he must have given it to you."
"How do you know he didn't pass it over to some one else before I picked him up?"
"We know. He was watched."
Randall bit his lips. "What makes you so sure there was a map, anyway?"
It was Mungh Fahz's turn to interrupt. "It will do us no harm to tell you," he said harshly. "Sean