The Bishop's Pawn

Начало книги

Doubtful Dick Dougherty was taking his early-morningconstitutional, ambling placidly down the west side of Bay Streetas he had done now each day for the past six weeks. “Ambling” wouldhave been his own description of his descent, though the rarecity-dweller abroad at seven A.M. in the near-dark might havereferred to the locomotion of his three-hundred-pound bulk moreaptly as “trundelling.” Still, such ordinary folk seemed pleasedenough to see the infamous barrister – touching the peak of atradesman’s cap in silent greeting or nodding sleepily from thebench of a market-cart or waving a trowel from the other side ofthe street in jocular salute. These courtesies were invariablyacknowledged by the single dip of a Dougherty chin (one ofseveral), as if too fervid a response might upset the delicatebalance of the great man’s progress through the streets of hisadopted town. On this particular morning Dougherty had slowed hispace, though only he would have noticed. For spring was in the air.Its taste could be detected on the tongue, its scents anticipatedin the redolent breeze wafting up from the lake at the foot of thestreet. The last of the winter slush had melted in yesterday’s sun,while the overnight frost had kept the side-path stiff andconducive to walking for those prudent enough to rise before dawnand venture forth into the free and unfettered air of QueenVictoria’s dominion.

Читать дальше →