[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
.He had been wise in his decision to begin at the western end of the beach,about half a mile along from the site of the explosion.Even then, it took hima good six and a half hours of searching in a pattern of coverage that was alot more systematic than it might have appeared before he found what he waslooking for.A corner of glass which lay exposed and glinting in the sun brought him tothe spot near a grassy dune; and it only took him a minute or so to dig allthe equipment out, after checking that he was unobserved.There was a swim-mask, flippers, weighted belt and compactbackpack-and-breathing-pipe assembly.In short, a complete scuba outfit.Simon had uncovered it only to satisfy himself that it was indeed what hethought it was, and was still shiny enough to have been put there quiterecently.It was.He buried it again and proceeded to the second stage of hisexpedition.For this his eccentric garb might not be ideal, but he thought it would do.He walked briskly along the foreshore until he came to the narrow stretch ofwater a mere fifty yards or so across which forms the entrance to ChristchurchHarbour and divides Hengistbury's curled fingertip from the main coastline atMudeford, a pleasant seaside village.As he had done his swimming for the day, he hailed an old local salt who wasreclining in a rowing-boat on the other side.A cool breeze had sprung upduring the day."Can you take me across?" he called out amiably.In due course an eye was opened and a pair of lips moved.But the man's replywas a jumbled confusion of palatals lost on the wind.Then the boatman held up both fists and opened his ten fingers to indicatehis price."Ten shillings!" the Saint muttered under his breath."Dick Turpin at leastwore a mask." But he signalled his agreement and the man inched his way acrossthe water with rhythmically plodding oars.Page 31 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html"D'you do this every day?" Simon asked conversationally, when the ploddinghad been resumed in the opposite direction with himself aboard."Row peopleback and forth, I mean."The man spat out a well-masticated wad of tobacco into the sea.He had aleathery red face; his blue eyes were watery and deeply recessed behindinscrutable walls of eyebrow and eyelid."Aas roik.Meamoi maik," he said gruffly."Ah," said the Saint, without the foggiest notion of what the man had said,but gathering that the general sense of the answer as affirmative."You mustsee a lot of people, then different people." This, Simon was uncomfortablyaware, was not destined to be remembered among his more sparkling pieces ofdialogue."I suppose that might help to keep it from getting too boring."The boatman looked at him quizzically from under sunbleached eyebrows."Aaredaiz doant zee mahren wunniz dahg."The Saint thought he might have caught an entire syllable here: he was almostsure he had heard the word "don't." He took encouragement and plunged on."I'm hoping to find out what happened to a friend of mine who may have gonemissing down this way a few days ago," he said, articulating with special careas if in compensation."As a matter of fact it was on the same day as theboat-race accident just down here and he was due to travel up to London thatevening.But he never arrived.He had no car, so I suppose he would have beenmeaning to use the train.What would be the nearest station around here?"The man manoeuvred the boat into its berth.He chewed steadily and slowly fora while on another wad of tobacco while the watery eyes regarded the Saint.Then he spoke.He said: "Oiklaff.""You.what?" queried the Saint, for once helplessly stuck for somethingto say."Oiklaff," said the boatman more loudly and positively."Oiklaff?" the Saint repeated weakly."Aas roik," said the man, as if giving encouragement to a moron."Eedaga'atrine a Lunnun frathahr ahrroik
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]