"Деннис Уитли. The Devil Rides Out (англ.)" - читать интересную книгу автора

The Duke inhaled the first cloud of fragrant smoke from another
of those long Hoyos which were his especial pride, and answered
guardedly. 'Had you not better tell me Rex, to what particular beans
you refer?'
'Simon of course! For years now the three of us have dined
together on my first night, each time I've come across, and you were
too mighty casual to be natural when I asked about him before
dinner. Why isn't he here?'
'Why, indeed, my friend?' the Duke repeated, running the tips of
his fingers down his lean handsome face. 'I asked him, and told him
that your ship docked this morning, but he declined to honour us
tonight.'
'Is he ill then?'
'No, as far as I know he's perfectly well-at all events he was at
his office today.'
'He must have had a date then that he couldn't scrap, or some
mighty urgent work. Nothing less could induce him to let us down on
one of these occasions. They've become-well, in a way, almost sacred
to our friendship.'
'On the contrary he is at home alone tonight. He made his
apologies of course, something about resting for a Bridge Tournament
that starts…'
'Bridge Tournament my foot!' exclaimed Rex angrily. 'He'd never
let that interfere between us three-it sounds mighty fishy to me.
When did you see him last?'
'About three months ago.'
'What! But that's incredible. Now look here!' Rex thrust the onyx
ash-tray from in front of him, and leaned across the table. 'You
haven't quarrelled-have you?'
De Richleau shook his head. 'If you were my age, Rex, and had no
children, then met two younger men who gave you their affection, and
had all the attributes you could wish for in your sons, how would it
be possible for you to quarrel with either of them?'
'That's so, but three months is a whale of a while for friends
who are accustomed to meet two or three times a week. I just don't
get this thing at all, and you're being a sight too reticent about
it. Come on now-what do you know?'
The grey eyes of almost piercing brilliance which gave such
character to De Richleau's face, lit up. That,' he said suddenly,
'is just the trouble. I don't know anything.'
'But you fear that, to use his own phrase, Simon's "in a muddle-a
really nasty muddle" eh? And you're a little hurt that he hasn't
brought his worry to you.'
'To whom else should he turn if not to one of us-and you were in
the States.'
'Richard maybe, he's an even older friend of Simon's than we
are.'
'No. I spent last week-end at Cardinals Folly and neither Richard
nor Marie Lou could tell me anything. They haven't seen him since he
went down to stay last Christmas and arrived with a dozen crates of