Серце темряви
Chapter 1
Iwasgoingintotheyellow.Deadinthecentre.Andtheriverwasthere—fascinating—deadly—likeasnake.Ough!Adooropened,yawhite-hairedsecretarialhead,butwearingacompassionateexpression,appeared,andaskinnyforefingerbeckonedmeintothesanctuary.Itslightwasdim,andaheavywriting-desksquattedinthemiddle.Frombehindthatstructurecameoutanimpressionofpaleplumpnessinafrock-coat.Thegreatmanhimself.Hewasfivefeetsix,Ishouldjudge,andhadhisgriponthehandle-endofeversomanymillions.Heshookhands,Ifancy,murmuredvaguely,wassatisfiedwithmyFrench.BONVOYAGE.
"Inaboutforty-fivesecondsIfoundmyselfagaininthewaiting-roomwiththecompassionatesecretary,who,fullofdesolationandsympathy,mademesignsomedocument.IbelieveIundertookamongstotherthingsnottodiscloseanytradesecrets.Well,Iamnotgoingto.
"Ibegantofeelslightlyuneasy.YouknowIamnotusedtosuchceremonies,andtherewassomethingominousintheatmosphere.ItwasjustasthoughIhadbeenletintosomeconspiracy—Idon’tknow—somethingnotquiteright;andIwasgladtogetout.Intheouterroomthetwowomenknittedblackwoolfeverishly.Peoplewerearriving,andtheyoungeronewaswalkingbackandforthintroducingthem.Theoldonesatonherchair.Herflatclothslipperswereproppeduponafoot-warmer,andacatreposedonherlap.Sheworeastarchedwhiteaffaironherhead,hadawartononecheek,andsilver-rimmedspectacleshungonthetipofhernose.
