Flynn’s Weekly Detective Fiction. Vol. 27, No. 2, September 24, 1927

Начало книги

“Four of us met that night in a shanty in South Africa and founded a partnership of a sort—”

Through the long, narrow chink where the heavy curtains failed to meet could be seen the riding lights of vessels swinging on the tideway of the dark river. Directly below, a white glare told of the Embankment lamps, and across the farther bridge lighted trams made thunderous progress. Big Ben chimed the half hour after midnight.

Very faintly, to the ears of the two men in the luxurious sitting room of the riverside suite, came the strains of dance music from the ballroom beneath them. Apart from this, the place was heavily still with that stillness which seems always to rest on the upper regions of great hotels.

Mr. William Smith sat back in his deep, padded chair and puffed reflectively at his cigar, his somewhat mild blue eyes never swerving in their regard of the man seated opposite him. He was rather unimposing — William Smith.

Читать дальше →