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The Japanese have built a seven-eighths-scale replica of Stratford-upon-Avon
nearYokohama and love all this crap. Fifty grand, Cable,that s literature I
can relate to.
 And theChuzzlewit manuscript? I asked.  How do you relate to that?
He jumped visibly as I spoke.
 I don t, shrugged Sturmey in an unconvincing manner.
 Listen, Sturmey, said Bowden, who had picked up on Archer s nervousness,
 I d be really, really sorry to have to pull you in for questioning about
thatCardenio scam.
Archer s lower lip trembled; his eyes darted between the two of us anxiously.
 I don t knowanything , Mr. Cable, he whined.  Besides, you don t know what
he would do.
 Whowould dowhat , Sturmey?
Then I heard it. A slightclick behind us. I pushed Bowden in front of me; he
tripped and collapsed on top of Sturmey, who gave a small cry that was drowned
out by the loud concussion of a shotgun going off at close quarters. We were
lucky; the blast hit the wall where we had been standing. I told Bowden to
stay down and dashed low behind the workbench, trying to put some distance
between myself and our assailant. When I reached the other side of the room I
looked up and saw a man dressed in a black greatcoat holding a pump-action
shotgun. He spotted me and I ducked as a blast from the shotgun scattered
plaster fragments of Shakespeare all over me. The concussion of the shot had
started up a mannequin of Romeo, who intoned pleadingly:He jests at scars,
that never felt a wound. But soft! What light through yonder . . . until a
second shot from the shotgun silenced him. I looked across at Bowden, who
shook the plaster out of his hair and drew his revolver. I ran across to the
far wall, ducking as our assailant fired again, once more shattering Archer s
carefully painted plaster statues. I heard Bowden s revolver crack twice. I
stood up and fired at our attacker, who had secreted himself in an office; my
shots did nothing except splinter the wood on the door frame. Bowden fired
again and his shot ricocheted off a cast-iron spiral staircase and hit a
Will-Speak machine of Lord and Lady Macbeth; they started whispering to one
another about the wisdom of murdering the king. I caught a glimpse of the man
running across the room to outflank us. I had a clear view of him when he
stopped, but as he did so Sturmey Archer stood up between us, blocking my
shot. I couldn t believe it.
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 Felix7! cried Archer desperately.  You must help me! Dr. Müller said 
Archer, sadly, had mistaken Felix7 s intentions but had little time to regret
them as our assailant dispatched him swiftly at close range, then turned to
make his escape. Bowden and I must have opened fire at once; Felix7 managed
three paces before stumbling under the shots and falling heavily against some
packing cases.
 Bowden! I yelled.  You okay?
He answered slightly unsteadily but in the affirmative. I advanced slowly on
the fallen figure, who was breathing in short gasps, all the time watching me
with a disconcertingly calm face. I kicked away the shotgun then ran a hand
down his coat while holding my gun a few inches from his head. I found an
automatic in a shoulder holster and a Walther PPK in an inside pocket. There
was a twelve-inch knife and a baby Derringer in his other pockets. Bowden
arrived at my side.
 Archer? I asked.
 Finished.
 He knew this clown. He called him Felix7. Mentioned something about a Dr.
Müller, too.
Felix7 smiled up at me as I took out his wallet.
 James Crometty! demanded Bowden.  Did you kill him?
 I kill a lot of people, whispered Felix7.  I don t remember names.
 You shot him six times in the face.
The dying killer smiled.
 ThatI remember.
 Six times! Why?
Felix7 frowned and started to shiver.
 Six was all I had, he answered simply.
Bowden pulled the trigger of his revolver two inches from Felix7 s face. It
was lucky for Bowden that the hammer fell harmlessly on the back of a spent
cartridge. He threw the gun aside, picked up the dying man by the lapels and
shook him.
 WHO ARE YOU? he demanded.
 I don t even know myself, said Felix7 placidly.  I was married once, I
think; and I had a blue car. There was an apple tree in the house where I grew
up and I think I had a brother named Tom. The memories are vague and
indistinct. I fear nothing because I value nothing. Archer is dead. My job is
done. I have served my master; nothing else is of any consequence.
He managed a wan smile.
 Hades was right.
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 About what?
 Aboutyou , Miss Next. You re a worthy adversary.
 Die easy, I told him.  Where is Hades?
He smiled for the last time and shook his head slowly. I had been trying to
plug his wounds as he lay dying, but it was no good. His breathing became more
labored and finally stopped altogether.
 Shit!
 That sMr . Schitt to you, Next! said a voice behind us. We turned to see my
second-least favorite person and two of his minders. He didn t look in a
terribly good mood. I surreptitiously pushed Felix7 s wallet under a workbench
with my foot and stood up.
 Move to the side.
We did as we were told. One of Schitt s men reached down and felt Felix7 s [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]