Читать книгу The Complete Works of F. Scott Fitzgerald онлайн

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Corcoran took the snub with a cool nod.

“Another thing,” he said. “Did you get money from the bank this morning—or anything that would make you likely to be followed?”

“What do you mean?” demanded Nosby quickly.

“Somebody’s been keeping pretty close track of our movements all day.”

Nosby eyed him shrewdly.

“You’d like us to stay here in Naples a day or so more, wouldn’t you?” he said. “Unfortunately you’re not running this party. If you stay, you can stay alone.”

“And you won’t take the other car?”

“I’m getting a little weary of your suggestions.”

At the hotel, as the porters piled the bags into the high old-fashioned car, Corcoran was again possessed by a feeling of being watched. With an effort he resisted the impulse to turn his head and look behind. If this was a product of his imagination, it was better to put it immediately from his mind.

It was already eight o’clock when they drove off into a windy twilight. The sun had gone behind Naples, leaving a sky of pigeon’s-blood and gold, and as they rounded the bay and climbed slowly toward Torre Annunziata, the Mediterranean momentarily toasted the fading splendor in pink wine. Above them loomed Vesuvius and from its crater a small persistent fountain of smoke contributed darkness to the gathering night.