The Etruscan Net
6 hrs. 46 min.
Language
Russian
Author
Michael Gilbert
Author
Michael Gilbert
Narrator
Vyacheslav Gerasimov
Narrator
Vyacheslav Gerasimov
Description
Michael Gilbbert is a recognized elder of the British detective scene, whose work is practically unknown to Russian readers. This edition aims to fill one of the `white spots` on the colorful map of 20th-century English detective fiction.
THE NETWORK IS UNFOLDING
1. Monday evening: Two
That Monday evening, ten minutes to seven, two people stepped out of the Roman express at Florence’s main station. Both wore anthracite-gray suits tailored in Roman fashion, and each carried a heavy suitcase. Despite the warm summer evening, both were in gloves.
The man who came out first was tall and massive, and the moment you saw his face, you wanted to look away. It was hard to say whether this was how he was by nature or whether life had marked him. A crooked nose, deep-set temples, skin like it had been pulled tight by a vacuum. Deep folds ran down both cheeks from prominent cheekbones to a sharp chin, looking like scars.
The second man was of medium height, stocky but not fat. His round, puffy face with an olive complexion, gentle brown eyes, and lips puffed out in displeasure made him look like a capricious little girl.
They came out among the last. Domenico, the senior porter of Florence, had already delivered one passenger’s luggage to the taxi stand and now greeted them cheerfully: “Porter, signore?” The men walking unhurriedly along the platform didn’t even notice him and passed by.
THE NETWORK IS UNFOLDING
1. Monday evening: Two
That Monday evening, ten minutes to seven, two people stepped out of the Roman express at Florence’s main station. Both wore anthracite-gray suits tailored in Roman fashion, and each carried a heavy suitcase. Despite the warm summer evening, both were in gloves.
The man who came out first was tall and massive, and the moment you saw his face, you wanted to look away. It was hard to say whether this was how he was by nature or whether life had marked him. A crooked nose, deep-set temples, skin like it had been pulled tight by a vacuum. Deep folds ran down both cheeks from prominent cheekbones to a sharp chin, looking like scars.
The second man was of medium height, stocky but not fat. His round, puffy face with an olive complexion, gentle brown eyes, and lips puffed out in displeasure made him look like a capricious little girl.
They came out among the last. Domenico, the senior porter of Florence, had already delivered one passenger’s luggage to the taxi stand and now greeted them cheerfully: “Porter, signore?” The men walking unhurriedly along the platform didn’t even notice him and passed by.
10:25
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12:41
0002
27:59
0003
40:34
0004
21:42
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12:02
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11:08
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01:50
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13:44
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12:32
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04:34
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13:54
0012
15:50
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15:19
0014
18:56
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11:32
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18:40
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17:45
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17:10
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16:56
0020
14:09
0021
14:52
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13:56
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29:05
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09:38
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09:37
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