Read Online Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency by Douglas Adams - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Douglas Adams
Tags: Fiction, General, Humorous, Science-Fiction, adventure, Fantasy fiction, Fantasy, Mystery & Detective, Private Investigators, Detective and Mystery Stories, Science Fiction - General, Fiction - Science Fiction, Space Opera, Fantastic fiction, Cambridge (England), Adams, Douglas - Prose & Criticism
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Rooms in the older parts of the college have double doors, like airlocks, and like airlocks they are fiddly to open. The outer door is a sturdy slab of grey painted oak, with no features other than a very narrow slit for letters, and a Yale lock, to which suddenly Reg at last found the key.
He unlocked it and pulled it open. Behind it lay an ordinary white-panelled door with an ordinary brass doorknob.
‘Come in, come in,’ repeated Reg, opening this and fumbling for the light switch. For a moment only the dying embers of a fire in the stone grate threw ghostly red shadows dancing around the room, but then electric light flooded it and extinguished the magic. Reg hesitated on the threshold for a moment, oddly tense, as if wishing to be sure of something before he entered, then bustled in with at least the appearance of cheeriness.
It was a large panelled room, which a collection of gently shabby furniture contrived to fill quite comfortably. Against the far wall stood a large and battered old mahogany table with fat ugly legs, which was laden with books, files, folders and teetering piles of papers. Standing in its own space on the desk, Richard was amused to note, was actually a battered old abacus.
There was a small Regency writing desk standing nearby which might have been quite valuable had it not been knocked about so much, also a couple of elegant Georgian chairs, a portentous Victorian bookcase, and so on. It was, in short, a don’s room. It had a don’s framed maps and prints on the walls a threadbare and faded don’s carpet on the floor, and it looked as if little had changed in it for decades, which was probably the case because a don lived in it.
Two doors led out from either end of the opposite wall, and Richard knew from previous visits that one led to a study which looked much like a smaller and more intense version of this room -- larger clumps of books, taller piles of paper in more imminent danger of actually falling, furniture which, however old and valuable, was heavily marked with myriad rings of hot tea or coffee cups, on many of which the original cups themselves were probably still standing.
The other door led to a small and rather basically equipped kitchen, and a twisty internal staircase at the top of which lay the Professor’s bedroom and bathroom.
‘Try and make yourself comfortable on the sofa,’ invited Reg, fussing around hospitably. ‘I don’t know if you’ll manage it. It always feels to me as if it’s been stuffed with cabbage leaves and cutlery.’ He peered at Richard seriously. ‘Do you have a good sofa?’ he enquired.
‘Well, yes.’ Richard laughed. He was cheered by the silliness of the question.
‘Oh,’ said Reg solemnly. ‘Well, I wish you’d tell me where you got it. I have endless trouble with them, quite endless. Never found a comfortable one in all my life. How do you find yours?’ He encountered, with a slight air of surprise, a small silver tray he had left out with a decanter of port and three glasses.
‘Well, it’s odd you should ask that,’ said Richard. ‘I’ve never sat on it.’
‘Very wise,’ insisted Reg earnestly, ‘very, very wise.’ He went through a palaver similar to his previous one with his coat and hat.
‘Not that I wouldn’t like to,’ said Richard. ‘It’s just that it’s stuck halfway up a long flight of stairs which leads up into my flat. As far as I can make it out, the delivery men got it part way up the stairs, got it stuck, turned it around any way they could, couldn’t get it any further, and then found, curiously enough, that they couldn’t get it back down again. Now, that should be impossible.’
‘Odd,’ agreed Reg. ‘I’ve certainly never come across any irreversible mathematics involving sofas. Could be a new field. Have you spoken to any spatial geometricians?’
‘I did better than that. I called in a neighbour’s kid who used to
Rooms in the older parts of the college have double doors, like airlocks, and like airlocks they are fiddly to open. The outer door is a sturdy slab of grey painted oak, with no features other than a very narrow slit for letters, and a Yale lock, to which suddenly Reg at last found the key.
He unlocked it and pulled it open. Behind it lay an ordinary white-panelled door with an ordinary brass doorknob.
‘Come in, come in,’ repeated Reg, opening this and fumbling for the light switch. For a moment only the dying embers of a fire in the stone grate threw ghostly red shadows dancing around the room, but then electric light flooded it and extinguished the magic. Reg hesitated on the threshold for a moment, oddly tense, as if wishing to be sure of something before he entered, then bustled in with at least the appearance of cheeriness.
It was a large panelled room, which a collection of gently shabby furniture contrived to fill quite comfortably. Against the far wall stood a large and battered old mahogany table with fat ugly legs, which was laden with books, files, folders and teetering piles of papers. Standing in its own space on the desk, Richard was amused to note, was actually a battered old abacus.
There was a small Regency writing desk standing nearby which might have been quite valuable had it not been knocked about so much, also a couple of elegant Georgian chairs, a portentous Victorian bookcase, and so on. It was, in short, a don’s room. It had a don’s framed maps and prints on the walls a threadbare and faded don’s carpet on the floor, and it looked as if little had changed in it for decades, which was probably the case because a don lived in it.
Two doors led out from either end of the opposite wall, and Richard knew from previous visits that one led to a study which looked much like a smaller and more intense version of this room -- larger clumps of books, taller piles of paper in more imminent danger of actually falling, furniture which, however old and valuable, was heavily marked with myriad rings of hot tea or coffee cups, on many of which the original cups themselves were probably still standing.
The other door led to a small and rather basically equipped kitchen, and a twisty internal staircase at the top of which lay the Professor’s bedroom and bathroom.
‘Try and make yourself comfortable on the sofa,’ invited Reg, fussing around hospitably. ‘I don’t know if you’ll manage it. It always feels to me as if it’s been stuffed with cabbage leaves and cutlery.’ He peered at Richard seriously. ‘Do you have a good sofa?’ he enquired.
‘Well, yes.’ Richard laughed. He was cheered by the silliness of the question.
‘Oh,’ said Reg solemnly. ‘Well, I wish you’d tell me where you got it. I have endless trouble with them, quite endless. Never found a comfortable one in all my life. How do you find yours?’ He encountered, with a slight air of surprise, a small silver tray he had left out with a decanter of port and three glasses.
‘Well, it’s odd you should ask that,’ said Richard. ‘I’ve never sat on it.’
‘Very wise,’ insisted Reg earnestly, ‘very, very wise.’ He went through a palaver similar to his previous one with his coat and hat.
‘Not that I wouldn’t like to,’ said Richard. ‘It’s just that it’s stuck halfway up a long flight of stairs which leads up into my flat. As far as I can make it out, the delivery men got it part way up the stairs, got it stuck, turned it around any way they could, couldn’t get it any further, and then found, curiously enough, that they couldn’t get it back down again. Now, that should be impossible.’
‘Odd,’ agreed Reg. ‘I’ve certainly never come across any irreversible mathematics involving sofas. Could be a new field. Have you spoken to any spatial geometricians?’
‘I did better than that. I called in a neighbour’s kid who used to
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