Любимые рассказы на английском / Best Short Stories

And the Englishman felt himself with astonishing conviction faced by an enormous lie, solid like a wall, with no way round to get at the truth, whose ugly murderous face he seemed to see peeping over at him with a cynical grin.

�“I dare say,” he began, suddenly, “you are wondering at my proceedings, though I am not detaining you, am I? You wouldn’t dare to move in this fog?”

�“I don’t know where I am,” the Northman ejaculated, earnestly. “I really don’t.”

�He looked around as if the very chart-room fittings were strange to him.

�“Objects! What objects? We were groping blind in the fog for days.”

�“We had a few clear intervals” said the commanding officer. “And I’ll tell you what we have seen and the conclusion I’ve come to about it.”

�He told him in a few words. He heard the sound of a sharp breath indrawn through closed teeth. The Northman with his hand on the table stood absolutely motionless and dumb.

�Or at least so it appeared to the commanding officer. Was this significant, or of no meaning whatever? He didn’t know, he couldn’t tell. All the truth had departed out of the world as if drawn in, absorbed in this monstrous villainy this man was – or was not – guilty of.

�“Shooting’s too good for people that conceive neutrality in this pretty way,” remarked the commanding officer, after a silence.

�“Yes, yes, yes,” the Northman assented, hurriedly – then added an unexpected and dreamy-voiced “Perhaps.”

�Was he pretending to be drunk, or only trying to appear sober? His glance was straight, but it was somewhat glazed. His lips outlined themselves firmly under his yellow moustache. But they twitched. Did they twitch? And why was he drooping like this in his attitude?

�“There’s no perhaps about it,” pronounced the commanding officer sternly.

�The Northman had straightened himself. And unexpectedly he looked stern, too.

�“No. But what about the tempters? Better kill that lot off. There’s about four, five, six million of them,” he said, grimly; but in a moment changed into a whining key. “But I had better hold my tongue. You have some suspicions.”

�“No, I’ve no suspicions,” declared the commanding officer.

�He never faltered.