Death and the Black Pyramid

Начало книги

The horses were being backed into the traces, the guard — heavily loaded with blunderbuss and pistols — was clambering up to take his seat beside the coachman, the passengers were all aboard. The stagecoach bound for the West Country stood almost ready to leave, the relatives waving a farewell, two or three of them gathered on the covered balcony of the Gloucester Hotel and Coffee House for a better view and also to keep out of the rain. For, even though it was September, the weather was inclement, the shower being of the fine sort that drove into one’s face and rapidly made one’s clothes damp and unpleasant.

A figure came running through the gloom; a figure holding its hat firmly upon its head as it sped along shouting, ‘Have you any room left?’

The coachman called an answer. ‘Only in the basket, Sir.’

There was an audible groan. ‘Oh dear. I feel I’m getting a little old for that.’

But at that moment the door of the stagecoach swung open and a young man, looking very pale and covered in a clammy cold sweat, got out, reeling slightly. A girl popped her head out of the window.

Читать дальше →