The Dagger Affair - McDaniel David (читать хорошую книгу полностью .TXT) 📗
As they started up again, Baldwin said casually, "Have you ridden a cable yet, Mr. Horne?"
Their prisoner frowned. "No, as a matter of fact I haven't."
Baldwin shook his head. "That seems as shame. Irene..."
"Yes, dear, I heard. We're en route now."
* * *
It was just after two in the morning as they pulled to the curb at California and Van Ness. There were no other cars in sight, and there was a faint whispering rattling sound filling the dark street from somewhere.
"That is the cable, clattering along in its slot," said Baldwin, as they got out of the car. "Mr. Horne, it would be a great pity for you to leave San Francisco without ever having ridden a cable."
Napoleon was idly fiddling with the links of chain he had produced from somewhere, and Illya had a small padlock. They moved toward Horne from opposite sides as Baldwin continued to talk.
"Unfortunately, at this late hour there are no cars running on this line. But this should not be a bar to our ingenuity."
Napoleon flipped the end of the chain around Warren's handcuff chain, and Illya secured it with the padlock. The other end of the chain was a long loop, with some eight feet between it and the handcuffs. Baldwin gave a crisp nod to Napoleon, who ceremonially dropped the loop into the cable slot. He fished about with it for a moment, as Baldwin had instructed him, before it caught, and took off.
"I suggest you follow it," Baldwin said, as Horne's jaw dropped. "It's not likely to wait for you." And then Horne was dog-trotting down the street away from them at a steady nine-point-five miles per hour. They got back into the Rolls and started after him.
Within the first block they were driving slowly along beside him, and Baldwin continued, "The other end of the cable is about a mile and a half away, at Market Street. There are a number of hills between here and there — they aren't impossibly steep, but we hope you don't tire easily. Incidentally, I would take care not to stumble. Otherwise you would be dragged at a steady nine-point-five miles per hour all the way, up a hill and down.
"If, on your way to Market, you should decide to unburden yourself to us on the subject of DAGGER, the padlock could be opened in a moment. If, on the other hand, you should decide not to, you will eventually, shall we say, reach the end of the line. At California and Market, the cable runs down around a pulley for the return journey, and you would be drawn, by the handcuffs, through this inch-wide cable slot at a steady nine-point-five miles per hour. You have something like ten minutes to contemplate your choices. I hope you can think clearly while running."
Irene let her husband's comments sink in while another block passed, and the street began to rise. Then she said thoughtfully, "I don't think he'd be pulled all the way through, dear. After all, flesh and bone can only stand so much. I think his hands would just be torn off." She considered this a moment, and added, "Of course the result would be the same, since he would bleed to death in a minute or two."
Baldwin shook his head. "It depends on whether the end of his ulna is small enough to pass through the slot. If it were too large it could shatter and the hand be torn off. But if it fits through, his shoulders would be crushed and his rib cage would follow."
Napoleon felt rather queasy, and glanced at Illya. The dour Russian agent looked somewhat paler than usual, but that could have been the effect of the streetlights. Then he looked at Horne, trotting grimly along beside the car like a fighter doing road-work. It seemed to be having an effect on him too. Not surprising, all things considered....
The hill rose more steeply for a block or two, and Horne began to breathe heavily. Baldwin and Irene continued their pathological discussion as casually as a man and wife having a mild disagreement about what kind of cat food to buy. The hill crested off for a short way, and Napoleon hopped out of the moving car.
He trotted along with Horne for a while, chatting with him, occasionally running backwards facing him. "There's another hill coming up — it's steeper than that last one. But you look in good condition. You can probably make it without stumbling. After that there's only about a mile to go, and most of that's downhill. Pretty steep downhill. That'll be tricky. I'm looking forward to seeing how you can handle it."
He patted Horne on the shoulder and almost caused him to lose his balance, apologized profusely, and hopped back into the car.
Conversation lagged after a while, and at one point the Rolls had to stop and wait for a red light while Horne pounded off into the distance. Napoleon called after him, "Don't wait for us — we'll catch up after a little while."
They let him go on alone for another three blocks, past the crest of the hill and starting down the steeper east slope, before they caught up with him. And then the silent motor of the Rolls enabled them to cruise along behind him for another block before Baldwin coughed loudly and Horne's head jerked around partway. Again he almost stumbled.
There were tall buildings around them now, and the only sounds were the clattering of the cable under the street, the whisper of the Rolls' motor, and the heavy pounding of Horne's feet and his labored breathing.
Napoleon tapped Illya on the shoulder and said, "It's your turn to get out and encourage him."
Illya nodded and jumped lightly out the opposite side of the car. He stopped to let it pass him, then ran around and caught up with Horne. "Hello there," he said. "Just came out to see if you're comfortable. Oh, by the way, you've only got about half a mile to go. See that little thing in the middle of the street? Right next to that. It's fairly level from here on. Do you think you can make it all the way to the end? Do you really want to?"
Horne was apparently in no mood for conversation, so after a while Illya gave up and got back in the car. "He's in a foul temper," he said glumly.
Baldwin leaned forward. "We're almost there, dear. Would you care to make a little wager on the results?"
Irene looked doubtful. "We'll have to set more specific terms. For instance, if his arms were torn off, I think I should win, but if only his legs are left on the street, you would win. Shall we set the chest as the dividing line?"
"Difficult to judge. He may be torn apart rather badly. Let us be more specific and say the heart. Is that acceptable?"
"I think so. How much farther is it now?"
"Only a few blocks. We just crossed Sansome."
"Dear...I don't want to disappoint you, but would you mind if I stop the car a block or two away? This is going to be terribly messy, and Bruno objects to cleaning the car oftener than once a week. I mean, you know how far those arteries can spurt. Especially since his heart is pounding so hard now."
"That's quite all right. But didn't you have your heart set on seeing it through? I could certainly get along without it myself."
"Well, if you don't mind...Boys," she said to Napoleon and Illya, "we're going to pull over in another block or so. Would you object to going the last little way with him on foot?"
They crossed Front Street, and the Rolls pulled to one side and stopped. Napoleon and Illya got out quickly and hurried up the street. The three sets of footsteps echoed weirdly between the buildings as they came across Davis Street together. There were few streetlights, and the sky was overcast, so the gray stone fronts seemed to rise up and disappear into the darkness without ending, like impressionistic tombstones.
