Чье тело? / Whose Body?

Чье тело? / Whose Body?
Dorothy Leigh Sayers

Чтение в оригинале (Каро)Detective story
Дороти Ли Сэйерс – английская писательница, наиболее известная благодаря детективным романам, филолог, драматург и переводчик. Сэйерс вместе с Агатой Кристи участвовала в основании британского Детективного клуба.

«Чьё тело?» – первый детективный роман автора, в котором появляется главный герой ее одиннадцати детективов и множества рассказов, аристократ и сыщик-любитель, лорд Питер Уимзи. История начинается с того, что сын викария находит в своей ванной комнате труп неизвестного мужчины. В тот же день при загадочных обстоятельствах исчезает известный банкир Рубен Леви. Полиция Скотленд-Ярда почти не сомневается, что покойник в ванной комнате и есть Леви. Но детектив Уимзи уверен: кому-то выгодно, чтобы банкира считали мертвым. Но кому и зачем это нужно? И что случилось в действительности с Рубеном Леви?

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Дороти Ли Сэйерс

Чье тело? / Whose Body?

© КАРО, 2020

Все права защищены

To M. J.

Dear Jim:

This book is your fault. If it had not been for your brutal insistence, Lord Peter would never have staggered through to the end of this enquiry. Pray consider that he thanks you with his accustomed suavity.

Yours ever,

    D. L. S.

Chapter I

“Oh, damn!” said Lord Peter Wimsey at Piccadilly Circus. “Hi, driver!”

The taxi man, irritated at receiving this appeal while negotiating the intricacies of turning into Lower Regent Street across the route of a 19 ’bus, a 38-B and a bicycle, bent an unwilling ear.

“I’ve left the catalogue behind,” said Lord Peter deprecatingly. “Uncommonly careless of me. D’you mind puttin’ back to where we came from?”

“To the Savile Club, sir?”

“No – 110 Piccadilly – just beyond – thank you.”

“Thought you was in a hurry,” said the man, overcome with a sense of injury.

“I’m afraid it’s an awkward place to turn in,” said Lord Peter, answering the thought rather than the words. His long, amiable face looked as if it had generated spontaneously from his top hat, as white maggots breed from Gorgonzola.

The taxi, under the severe eye of a policeman, revolved by slow jerks, with a noise like the grinding of teeth.

The block of new, perfect and expensive flats in which Lord Peter dwelt upon the second floor, stood directly opposite the Green Park, in a spot for many years occupied by the skeleton of a frustrate commercial enterprise. As Lord Peter let himself in he heard his man’s voice in the library, uplifted in that throttled stridency peculiar to well-trained persons using the telephone.

“I believe that’s his lordship just coming in again – if your Grace would kindly hold the line a moment.”

“What is it, Bunter?”

“Her Grace has just called up from Denver, my lord. I was just saying your lordship had gone to the sale when I heard your lordship’s latchkey.”

“Thanks,” said Lord Peter; “and you might find me my catalogue, would you? I think I must have left it in my bedroom, or on the desk.”

He sat down to the telephone with an air of leisurely courtesy, as though it were an acquaintance dropped in for a chat.

“Hullo, Mother – that you?”

“Oh, there you are, dear,” replied the voice of the Dowager Duchess. “I was afraid I’d just missed you.”

“Well, you had, as a matter of fact. I’d just started off to Brocklebury’s sale to pick up a book or two, but I had to come back for the catalogue. What’s up?”

“Such a quaint thing,” said the Duchess. “I thought I’d tell you. You know little Mr. Thipps?”

“Thipps?” said Lord Peter. “Thipps? Oh, yes, the little architect man who’s doing the church roof. Yes. What about him?”

“Mrs. Throgmorton’s just been in, in quite a state of mind.”

“Sorry, Mother, I can’t hear. Mrs. Who?”

“Throgmorton – Throgmorton – the vicar’s wife.”

“Oh, Throgmorton, yes?”

“Mr. Thipps rang them up this morning. It was his day to come down, you know.”

“Yes?”

“He rang them up to say he couldn’t. He was so upset, poor little man. He’d found a dead body in his bath.”

“Sorry, Mother, I can’t hear; found what, where?”

“A dead body, dear, in his bath.”

“What? – no, no, we haven’t finished. Please don’t cut us off. Hullo! Hullo! Is that you, Mother? Hullo! – Mother! – Oh, yes – sorry, the girl was trying to cut us off. What sort of body?”

“A dead man, dear, with nothing on but a pair of pince-nez. Mrs. Throgmorton positively blushed when she was telling me. I’m afraid people do get a little narrow-minded in country vicarages.”

“Well, it sounds a bit unusual. Was it anybody he knew?”

“No, dear, I don’t think so, but, of course, he couldn’t give her many details. She said he sounded quite distracted. He’s such a respectable little man – and having the police in the house and so on, really worried him.”

“Poor little Thipps! Uncommonly awkward for him. Let’s see, he lives in Battersea, doesn’t he?”

“Yes, dear; 59, Queen Caroline Mansions; opposite the Park. That big block just round the corner from the Hospital. I thought perhaps you’d like to run round and see him and ask if there’s anything we can do. I always thought him a nice little man.”