Читать книгу The Inquisitor. A Novel онлайн

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He went into the front shop, and, looking about him, thought that he would soon close, for it was not likely that there would be any more customers to-day. He was filled with pride and satisfaction. The front shop was nice, very nice indeed. He arranged a few things, humming 'Raindrops on the Roof' as he did so. He stopped and patted his Chinese Warrior on the shoulder. He was very proud of his Warrior, a big figure in red-and-gold lacquer, carrying a sword. He had a black hat and black boots and in his eyes there was a stare of cold arrogant brutality which Klitch greatly appreciated.

Then (Klitch often afterwards remembered the exact circumstances) his shop-bell rang, the door opened and a man came in. He was tall, broad and stout. He was wearing an ulster and carried a shabby brown bag. This last he at once put down on a sham Chippendale chair and said: 'Mr. Herbert Klitch?' His voice, even as revealed by those few words, was remarkable. It had a resonance quite unusual, so that you felt that it was carried on in a series of reverberating echoes. Nevertheless its tone was tunefully deep and true.