No Way Back From Prague [antikvár]

Részlet: "Y don't know!" he shouted. "If I knew . . . For Christ's I sake!" A The telephone bawled on, indifferent, insistent. "But it's six . , . not even six yet," she said, her voice queru-lous; she was on the verge of accusation. He ripped his dressing-gown cord tighter, moving sluggishly for the door. He was unused to emergencies and doubted, in any case, if this would prove his own. "It'll be a bloody wrong number," he yelled. "Somé stupid bastard " He slammed the door behind him, moved less than briskly towards the telephone in the hall. "Yes. Barry Ferrier." He sounded crisp, irritable; almost military. "Hold the line, please—I have a call for you from Prague." The voice pleasant, level; a humming beyond, the clicking of relays across Europe. Prague! And Eva said, "Barry?" Prague! He stared, his bloodshot eyes wide and distorted in the cheap glass of the hall mirror. "Barry?" "Yes," he muttered. Glancing down the passage, he realised that it was guilt he felt. He cleared his throat, straightened. "Eva?" "I had to call you," she said. Her voice was low; he thought she sounded tired, a little strained. "I had to call you, you see." "What's wrong?" "Wrong?" There was a pause and Barry frowned. Eva said, "But you would not have heard yet—all the time you were asleep " The line hummed; for a moment it seemed as if her voice