Travels with my aunt / Путешествие с тетушкой. Книга для чтения на английском языке

Now wouldn’t it be much better, sir, from all points of view to know for certain that these are your mother’s ashes? Your aunt told us you planned to keep it in your garden – you wouldn’t want to see that urn every day and wonder, Are those really the ashes of the dear departed or are they an illegal supply of marijuana?”

He had a very sympathetic manner, and I really began to see his point[41 - began to see his point – (разг.) начал понимать, к чему он клонит].

“We’d only take out a tiny pinch, sir, less than a teaspoonful.

We’d treat the rest with all due reverence.”

“All right,” I said, “take your pinch. I suppose you are only doing your duty.” The young policeman had been making notes all the time.

The detective said, “Take a note that Mr. Pulling behaved most helpfully and that he voluntarily surrendered the urn. That will sound well in court, sir, if the worst happens.”

“When will I get the urn back?”

“Not later than tomorrow – if all is as it should be.

” He shook hands quite cordially as if he believed in my innocence, but perhaps that was just his professional manner.

Of course I hastened to telephone to my aunt. “They’ve taken away the urn,” I said. “They think my mother’s ashes are marijuana. Where’s Wordsworth?”

“He went out after breakfast and hasn’t come back.”

“They found marijuana dust in the fluff of his suit.”

“Oh dear, how careless of the poor boy.

I thought he was a little disturbed. And he asked for a CTC before he went out.”

“Did you give him one?”

“Well, you know, I’m really very fond of him, and he said it was his birthday. He never had a birthday last year, so I gave him twenty pounds.”

“Twenty pounds! I never keep as much as that in the house.”

“It will get him as far as Paris. He left in time for the Golden Arrow, now I come to think of it, and he always carries his passport to prove he’s not an illegal immigrant.

Do you know, Henry, I’ve a great desire for a little sea air myself.”

“You’ll never find him in Paris.”

“I wasn’t thinking of Paris. I was thinking of Istanbul.”

“Istanbul is not on the sea.”

“I think you are wrong. There’s something called the Sea of Marmara.”

“Why Istanbul?”

“I was reminded of it by that letter from Abdul the police found. A strange coincidence.