"E.Voiskunsky, I.Lukodyanov. The Crew Of The Mekong (англ.)" - читать интересную книгу автора

was given a laboratory at a research institute. Here he enthusiastically
continued his investigations in the sphere of action potentials. The young
couple led a fast-paced life, keeping open house for their many friends.
Half a year before their cruise on the Uzbekistan the Benedictovs had
moved into a new flat. On moving day there occurred a strange event which
triggered a series of disasters.
Rita and her husband had decided to leave a lot of their old things
behind when they moved. Anatole naturally protested when he found her
putting an old flower vase and a rusty bar of iron into a packing crate.
"We agreed not to take such things, Rita," he said. "You ought to throw
that trash away."
Rita discarded the vase but insisted that she could not part with the
bar of iron, which had been in the possession of her family for years and
years.
"A Matveyev relic?" Benedictov asked with a laugh, picking up the bar.
He turned it over in his hands and shook it.
The blade of a knife slid out of the side of the bar.
Benedictov stared dumbfounded at the narrow blade. It was covered with
a thin, transparent layer of grease through which a wavy pattern showed. He
cautiously touched the blade. His fingers went through it-just as they would
have passed through empty space.
He pressed his hand to his eyes.
"What's the matter?" Rita asked in alarm. She came up to him and
glanced at the bar. Her eyes widened.
No, she didn't know anything about the bar except, that according to an
old family legend a distant ancestor had brought it back from India. Her
father had treasured the bar all his life, and now she was doing the same.
No one had ever imagined there might be something inside it.
Benedictov held the bar as if it were a rattlesnake. He slowly closed
his fist over the blade. His fingers came together over emptiness.
Rita gave a start. "Wait a minute," she said. "There was another bar
just like this one, all covered with rust. We used it to prop up the old
wardrobe that had a broken leg." She ran into the next room, returning a
moment later to say, "It's gone. We must have thrown it out yesterday when
we carted all that old rubbish away."
The first few moments of astonishment gave way to curiosity. Benedictov
carefully examined the bar. Two lines of letters were engraved on one side.
Between the two lines there was something that looked like a crown. Or it
might have simply been a spot of rust. Benedictov noticed a fine line
running round the outside of the bar. The whole thing was obviously not a
solid bar of iron but a box with a cover.
After a long struggle Benedictov finally pried off the top. Inside the
box lay a knife handle, with a piece of cloth wound round it. The cloth must
have become loosened with time and when the box was shaken the blade dropped
out.
There was nothing extraordinary about the beautiful handle of yellowed
ivory. It could be grasped. He concluded that the section of the blade that
went into the handle must be made of ordinary metal too, otherwise it would
not remain attached to the handle.
But the blade itself! It passed freely through everything without