[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
The tripwire was still there, he could feel it. Immunity to personal fear often made personal danger stand
out with precise cold clarity when it came. And danger there was, in the near future, though just where
and when he would encounter it he did not know.
Or could the instincts of half a thousand years be wrong for once, and he was confronting nothing but
shadows? If a painted image could wring tears out of his eyes . . .
When the phone rang at last, Thorn roused from reverie with a quite human start. Outside the high
windows the fires of day had dimmed considerably. Looking at his watch, he saw that hours had passed.
He lifted the instrument. "Thorn here."
Joe Keogh's voice said: "I found out from the archdiocese that Mary Rogers did work here in Chicago
as you described. She's never had anything in the way of a criminal record in this state or any other.
We'd know if she did, because she was so heavily investigated after the Phoenix killings. Everyone
connected with that affair was. And you asked about Idaho; she did live out there in a convent for a
couple of months, about two years ago. That's all I've been able to find out."
"I see. Thank you. And Mr. O'Grandison?"
"Well, he's something else, not exactly what you'd call a winner. He does have a record here in Illinois:
marijuana user, cocaine user, no evidence that he's ever done any dealing. He's twenty-one now,
according to our records; been in and out of juvenile homes and mental hospitals since he was twelve.
No connection with illegal porn is shown; doesn't mean there couldn't be one, of course. Six months ago
he was charged with contributing to delinquency girl about fifteen years old who gave the name of
Annie Chapman. But this girl disappeared from a detention home somehow before the case came to
court, so it had to be dropped."
"Annie Chapman."
"You know her?"
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"I do not think so, Joe."A girl named Annie, just a runaway. She didn't count. "Pray continue." The
tone of Joe's voice had suggested to Thorn that news of importance was still to come.
"All right. I've talked to an officer on the force here who remembers O'Grandison. And he says
O'Grandison was in the right time and place to have met Helen Seabright when she was here on her
runaway. No evidence that he actually did, but he was on the scene or very near it."
"Annie Chapman too?"
"We don't know where she came from, what she might have been involved in, or where she went. There
was some mixup at that juvenile home, evidently; they just let her walk out."
"Joe, you are sounding interested. Almost excited."
"That's a very big case out there, the Seabright thing, and now the missing treasure. I hope you meant it
about giving me a tip when you can."
"Hmm. And where is Patrick O'Grandison now?"
Caution returned. "Why do you want to talk to him?"
"Joe, Joe, I have said that I mean him no harm." Thorn smiled, very slightly. "Have I ever told you a lie?"
"'Yes, goddam it, you have. Don't treat me like a kid."
The smile went away. "Have I ever lied, after pledging my solemn word?"
There was a sigh in the distance. "No, I'll give you that. Also I know you saved my life once, and Kate's
. . . all right. My informant said he thought little Pat was still in town here. Are you coming after him?"
"Perhaps later, Joe; not immediately. Consider my word pledged on that much, if you like. I am busy
with other matters."
"Listen." Joe's voice had altered. "Kate's told me that Judy's out there in the Southwest, for a summer
school or camp or whatever they call it, near Santa Fe. Mountains, horseback, opera under the stars,
and so on. I mention the fact only because I assume you know all about it already. I don't suppose
there's any use my trying to talk to you about Judy, how young she is."
She had, as a matter of fact, recently turned eighteen; Thorn had sent a discreet birthday gift. (Ah, Mina,
you must understand. He could do no less, seeing the family resemblance over four generations, seeing so
much of you in her.)
"You are a truly moral man, Joseph." Thorn called him Joseph only rarely. "Thank you, you have been
most helpful."
He hung up the phone. What Joe, like many other breathing people, failed to appreciate was how young
all breathing women were those utterly enticing creatures! when seen from the viewpoint of an age of
five hundred plus. Certainly differences exist between eighteen, say, and thirty-six, and again between
thirty-six and seventy-two. But they are not really such great differences as breathing males seem to
think. Delightfully subtle dissimilarities, rather, with the elder blood having its own bouquet, the blood of
full womanhood its own of course, and of course in the young the sweet elixir of youth itself . . .
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
Still, Thorn thought dutifully, looking out the window into the burgeoning night, eighteenis rather young in
these modern times, and actually Joe is right. He tried to make himself think solemnly about the problem.
Sometimes he thought that he would never live long enough to bring his own life under a proper measure
of control.
TEN
Coming downstairs from the attic of thePalazzo Boccalini, Helen walked in front of me. Her hands were
behind her back, her wrists looped with the thin chain, whose free end rested lightly in my grip. Her torn
shift perforce gaped shamelessly. She looked as if she might be on her way to execution.
On the second flight of stairs we met the fat cousin, Allessandro, on his way up, candle in hand. He
stopped at once, eyeing us inquisitively; evidently he had been impelled upstairs by curiosity as to just
what games I might be playing with my gift.
"I have thought of a sport that needs some room," I told him, answering his quizzical look.
"In the courtyard," he suggested.
"Not room enough." It was not the Medici palace. "We will need the street."
Allessandro looked doubtful at that, but said nothing as he followed me down again. When we reached
the ground floor I hailed the first male servant who came in view and gave bold orders for the front door
to be opened. The masters of the house were already beginning to gather round, and looked at one
another doubtfully. Watching them, the servant hesitated. But Helen was right on cue, displaying alarm at
the prospect of being taken outside the tall foreigner must at least have hinted to her, upstairs, what this
new sport was to be like and my adoptive cousins immediately warmed to the idea.
"Come on!" I roared. "Bugger the watch and the curfew. You don't mean to let them cheat you of some
fun?"
Once I had put it in those terms, there was only one reply red-blooded youth could give. So far, at least,
everything had been almost too easy. The night outside in the street was dark as tar, except for one
feeble torch in a servant's unenthusiastic hand. "More lights!" I demanded, wishing for a distraction, and
for some delay to let whatever Medici agents might be watching get themselves ready for action.
A manservant went back into the house for lights, reducing the odds minimally. I did not wait for his
return; as soon as I had Helen facing the dark street in the direction I wanted, where there should be
running room at least, if no active help, I gave two quick tugs on her chain. In a moment she had slipped
her hands free of its loops and was off at top speed, running in desperate silence. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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The tripwire was still there, he could feel it. Immunity to personal fear often made personal danger stand
out with precise cold clarity when it came. And danger there was, in the near future, though just where
and when he would encounter it he did not know.
Or could the instincts of half a thousand years be wrong for once, and he was confronting nothing but
shadows? If a painted image could wring tears out of his eyes . . .
When the phone rang at last, Thorn roused from reverie with a quite human start. Outside the high
windows the fires of day had dimmed considerably. Looking at his watch, he saw that hours had passed.
He lifted the instrument. "Thorn here."
Joe Keogh's voice said: "I found out from the archdiocese that Mary Rogers did work here in Chicago
as you described. She's never had anything in the way of a criminal record in this state or any other.
We'd know if she did, because she was so heavily investigated after the Phoenix killings. Everyone
connected with that affair was. And you asked about Idaho; she did live out there in a convent for a
couple of months, about two years ago. That's all I've been able to find out."
"I see. Thank you. And Mr. O'Grandison?"
"Well, he's something else, not exactly what you'd call a winner. He does have a record here in Illinois:
marijuana user, cocaine user, no evidence that he's ever done any dealing. He's twenty-one now,
according to our records; been in and out of juvenile homes and mental hospitals since he was twelve.
No connection with illegal porn is shown; doesn't mean there couldn't be one, of course. Six months ago
he was charged with contributing to delinquency girl about fifteen years old who gave the name of
Annie Chapman. But this girl disappeared from a detention home somehow before the case came to
court, so it had to be dropped."
"Annie Chapman."
"You know her?"
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
"I do not think so, Joe."A girl named Annie, just a runaway. She didn't count. "Pray continue." The
tone of Joe's voice had suggested to Thorn that news of importance was still to come.
"All right. I've talked to an officer on the force here who remembers O'Grandison. And he says
O'Grandison was in the right time and place to have met Helen Seabright when she was here on her
runaway. No evidence that he actually did, but he was on the scene or very near it."
"Annie Chapman too?"
"We don't know where she came from, what she might have been involved in, or where she went. There
was some mixup at that juvenile home, evidently; they just let her walk out."
"Joe, you are sounding interested. Almost excited."
"That's a very big case out there, the Seabright thing, and now the missing treasure. I hope you meant it
about giving me a tip when you can."
"Hmm. And where is Patrick O'Grandison now?"
Caution returned. "Why do you want to talk to him?"
"Joe, Joe, I have said that I mean him no harm." Thorn smiled, very slightly. "Have I ever told you a lie?"
"'Yes, goddam it, you have. Don't treat me like a kid."
The smile went away. "Have I ever lied, after pledging my solemn word?"
There was a sigh in the distance. "No, I'll give you that. Also I know you saved my life once, and Kate's
. . . all right. My informant said he thought little Pat was still in town here. Are you coming after him?"
"Perhaps later, Joe; not immediately. Consider my word pledged on that much, if you like. I am busy
with other matters."
"Listen." Joe's voice had altered. "Kate's told me that Judy's out there in the Southwest, for a summer
school or camp or whatever they call it, near Santa Fe. Mountains, horseback, opera under the stars,
and so on. I mention the fact only because I assume you know all about it already. I don't suppose
there's any use my trying to talk to you about Judy, how young she is."
She had, as a matter of fact, recently turned eighteen; Thorn had sent a discreet birthday gift. (Ah, Mina,
you must understand. He could do no less, seeing the family resemblance over four generations, seeing so
much of you in her.)
"You are a truly moral man, Joseph." Thorn called him Joseph only rarely. "Thank you, you have been
most helpful."
He hung up the phone. What Joe, like many other breathing people, failed to appreciate was how young
all breathing women were those utterly enticing creatures! when seen from the viewpoint of an age of
five hundred plus. Certainly differences exist between eighteen, say, and thirty-six, and again between
thirty-six and seventy-two. But they are not really such great differences as breathing males seem to
think. Delightfully subtle dissimilarities, rather, with the elder blood having its own bouquet, the blood of
full womanhood its own of course, and of course in the young the sweet elixir of youth itself . . .
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
Still, Thorn thought dutifully, looking out the window into the burgeoning night, eighteenis rather young in
these modern times, and actually Joe is right. He tried to make himself think solemnly about the problem.
Sometimes he thought that he would never live long enough to bring his own life under a proper measure
of control.
TEN
Coming downstairs from the attic of thePalazzo Boccalini, Helen walked in front of me. Her hands were
behind her back, her wrists looped with the thin chain, whose free end rested lightly in my grip. Her torn
shift perforce gaped shamelessly. She looked as if she might be on her way to execution.
On the second flight of stairs we met the fat cousin, Allessandro, on his way up, candle in hand. He
stopped at once, eyeing us inquisitively; evidently he had been impelled upstairs by curiosity as to just
what games I might be playing with my gift.
"I have thought of a sport that needs some room," I told him, answering his quizzical look.
"In the courtyard," he suggested.
"Not room enough." It was not the Medici palace. "We will need the street."
Allessandro looked doubtful at that, but said nothing as he followed me down again. When we reached
the ground floor I hailed the first male servant who came in view and gave bold orders for the front door
to be opened. The masters of the house were already beginning to gather round, and looked at one
another doubtfully. Watching them, the servant hesitated. But Helen was right on cue, displaying alarm at
the prospect of being taken outside the tall foreigner must at least have hinted to her, upstairs, what this
new sport was to be like and my adoptive cousins immediately warmed to the idea.
"Come on!" I roared. "Bugger the watch and the curfew. You don't mean to let them cheat you of some
fun?"
Once I had put it in those terms, there was only one reply red-blooded youth could give. So far, at least,
everything had been almost too easy. The night outside in the street was dark as tar, except for one
feeble torch in a servant's unenthusiastic hand. "More lights!" I demanded, wishing for a distraction, and
for some delay to let whatever Medici agents might be watching get themselves ready for action.
A manservant went back into the house for lights, reducing the odds minimally. I did not wait for his
return; as soon as I had Helen facing the dark street in the direction I wanted, where there should be
running room at least, if no active help, I gave two quick tugs on her chain. In a moment she had slipped
her hands free of its loops and was off at top speed, running in desperate silence. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]