Killer Dolphin

Начало книги

“Dolphin?” the clerk repeated. “Dolphin. Well, yerse. We hold the keys. Were you wanting to view?”

“If I might, I was,” Peregrine Jay mumbled, wondering why such conversations should always be conducted in the past tense. “I mean,” he added boldly, “I did and I still do. I want to view, if you please.”

The clerk made a little face that might have been a sneer or an occupational tic. He glanced at Peregrine, who supposed his appearance was not glossy enough to make him a likely prospect.

“It is for sale, I believe?” Peregrine said.

“Oh, it’s for sale, all right,” the clerk agreed contemptuously. He re-examined some document that he had on his desk.

“May I view?”

“Now?”

“If it’s possible.”

“Well — I don’t know, reely, if we’ve anybody free at the moment,” said the clerk and frowned at the rain streaming dirtily down the windows of his office.

Peregrine said, “Look. The Dolphin is an old theatre. I am a man of the theatre. Here is my card. If you care to telephone my agents or the management of my current production at The Unicorn they will tell you that I am honest, sober and industrious, a bloody good director and playwright and possessed of whatever further attributes may move you to lend me the keys of The Dolphin for an hour. I would like to view it.”

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