Wycliffe's Wild-Goose Chase [antikvár]

CHAPTER ONEThursday evening. Outside it was raining. The three men sat round the fire in well-worn leather armchairs. Smoke rose from their pipes and drifted^ ialong the ceiling between the beams. On the high mantelpiece an alarm clock in a shiny metal case"tticked the seconds away, clink-chnk, clink-clink Each man had a glass at hand; the major was drinking whisky, the other two, white wine. The room was clean and warm but bare, like a farm kitchen. Apart fi"om the three armchairs there was a large, square kitchen table and four bentwood chairs; there was fibre matting on the floor and a three-legged crock for a coal-scuttle. On the wall opposite the fireplace tiers of shelves were crammed'with a tattered collection of books, many of them lacking a spine and therefore anonymous.Bunny Lane reached for the botde of white wine which he had placed behind his chair, away from the heat of the fire. 'Can I top you up, Joseph?' Bunny was so called because he had a hare-lip which a black moustache failed to hide and when he spoke his words came with a sibilant whisde.Joseph, the red-head, held out his glass, 'Thanks.'Bunny made his own wine, largely from grapes which he grew in the lean-to greenhouse behind the kitchen. 'You all right. Major?'The major sat back in his chair, his legs stretched to the fire. He was massively built with machine-clipped grey hair which accentuated the Teutonic mould of his skull. He looked at the whisky glass in